Gon's second match began under the eyes of a packed arena.
His opponent was a lean, agile boxer nicknamed Philip the Razor.
He was a formidable contender between the fiftieth and sixtieth floors, known for his speed and tricky punches.
The moment the opening bell rang, Philip lived up to his nickname, becoming a blur as he launched his attack.
His punches were light but blindingly fast. Both fists flew, their afterimages overlapping as they closed in on Gon's face and chest.
Following his old instincts, Gon would probably have either taken a punch and sent his opponent flying with a counter, or thrown a heavy punch outright, using sheer strength to smash through every attack.
But now, his head was filled with the rules Lin Yan had laid down.
"No brute force!"
"Use finesse!"
"Find the opening when he exerts his strength!"
"Interrupt his attack with the least possible force!"
Those instructions buzzed through his head like a binding spell, shackling his hands and feet.
And so, an utterly ridiculous scene unfolded in the ring.
Facing Philip's relentless barrage, Gon bobbed and swayed like a clumsy duck.
He had several chances to end the match with a single punch, but forcibly pulled his fist back each time. Instead, he stuck out a finger, awkwardly trying to hook, jab, or tap his opponent's wrist or ankle.
The result was predictable.
His movements could not keep up with Philip's speed. That finger, entrusted with his dream of Four Ounces Deflect a Thousand Pounds, stabbed at empty air every time.
Meanwhile, his distraction as he searched for those supposed "openings" left him wide open.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Philip's fists landed squarely on Gon's face, shoulder, and stomach.
"Ugh!"
Gon grunted and staggered backward.
Pain coursed through his nerves, but at the instant