Chapter 10: Seeing Through

April 17th, the 221st floor arena for the Martial Arts Exhibition was packed to the brim.

“Today’s highly anticipated battle is about to begin! The unstoppable ‘One-Hit Man,’ Hather, has stepped onto the stage!”

“His opponent boasts an impressive record of seven wins and one loss—Gryffindor!”

The 221st floor featured only this single arena for combat, its vast size beyond imagination. Row upon row of glaring spotlights illuminated the roaring crowd, a host shouting energetically to hype the atmosphere, and the two contenders standing on either side of the ring.

A silver-haired youth carried a glass of chilled fruit juice as he settled into his seat. The ticket had cost him 100,000 Zaini, so he intended to savor every moment.

This youth was Killua Zoldyck. If Hather saw him, he would instantly recognize this boy as the legitimate heir of the infamous Zoldyck family—the world’s most renowned lineage of assassins. A prodigious genius, destined to be a protagonist of this world, just like Gon Freecss, the fated hero of the Hunter world.

Killua relaxed slightly, noting that a few minutes remained before the match began. He had spent too long queuing for the drink; who would have thought that this beverage stall was so popular? As he glanced around, a sudden shiver ran through him, like a startled kitten.

Not far from him sat a tall man dressed flamboyantly like a clown, his gaze fixed intently on the two fighters about to clash in the arena.

His name was Hisoka, known as the “Death Magician,” a battle-obsessed veteran Nen user and professional Hunter, the arch-nemesis of Gon Freecss.

“Wow, it’s Hisoka!” Killua thought gloomily. He wasn’t afraid Hisoka would attack him on the spot, but just knowing this pervert was nearby dampened his good mood.

Yet, Hisoka’s keen interest in the two combatants suggested their strength was extraordinary. On this thought, Killua perked up, took a sip through his straw, and refocused on the arena.

He recalled the pre-match information he had read about the two fighters.

The young man named Hather, a bespectacled youth, bore a slight resemblance to Killua’s Nen teacher, Wing, but appeared more handsome and taller—perfectly proportioned. Yet, for some reason, his face was always obscured by those glasses, which annoyed Killua. According to the introduction, Hather, like Killua and Gon, had fought his way up from the lower floors to the 200th floor with a “one-strike knockout” style. It was unknown whether he had learned Nen.

As for Gryffindor, his record was formidable—seven wins and one loss on the Nen-dense 200th floor spoke volumes. He might even be on a par with Hisoka in terms of Nen mastery.

Who would win? Killua had intended to follow the crowd and bet on Gryffindor, but at the last moment, on a whim, he wagered 5 million Zaini on Hather.

At that moment, the host’s ceaseless commentary paused. Ten seconds remained before the match began!

Hather wore a black tracksuit, his matte black hair curling just past his ears and falling casually. His “Superman Invisibility Glasses” perfectly concealed his face. He stretched his neck and arms, then looked across the ring.

His opponent was a burly middle-aged man clad in dark red ethnic attire. His brown hair stood stiffly like needles. His face was ordinary but sunken, his narrow eyes flickering unpleasantly like dim lanterns in darkness. Notably, his hands were pale and delicate, with long, bony fingers resembling spider limbs.

“...The match begins!”

At the sound of the whistle, the battle officially commenced.

Nen energy slowly surged beneath Hather’s skin, thick and powerful like a semi-solid fluid flowing over his body. Neither fighter launched a thunderous attack at once; both circled cautiously, searching for openings.

“Just a question—do you have a buddy named Slytherin or Hufflepuff? Or maybe your nickname’s Ravenclaw?” Hather teased playfully.

Gryffindor ignored the jibe but smirked, “Trash talk tactics? Only street thugs fight like that... Your Nen is good, but just good, kid!”

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet shattered; Gryffindor seized the moment to charge fiercely. His fingers, stiffened with dense Nen, curled into claws aiming simultaneously at Hather’s chest and head!

Hather braced himself; his Nen-encased arms moved swiftly, exchanging dozens of lightning-fast blows with Gryffindor.

Stone shards flew everywhere as the arena echoed with a relentless, heavy pounding.

“The two are locked in fierce combat from the start! So fast! Both Hather and Gryffindor move with incredible speed! It’s impossible to see clearly!”

Not only the female commentator screaming in excitement, but even the judge beside the ring shielded his face from flying debris, squinting to keep track of the fighters’ blurred forms.

“Ha!”

Unable to gain the upper hand after a prolonged close-quarters struggle, Gryffindor stomped hard on the floor tiles. A thunderous crash shattered the stones, sending up a cloud of dust and debris halfway to the judge’s waist.

Trying to obscure vision with dust? Hather narrowed his eyes, leapt backward beyond the cloud’s edge. At almost the same moment, a clawed fist slammed into the space Hather had just vacated—an empty strike.

Or was it?

Gryffindor’s lips curled into a savage grin. His clawed fingers, tightly closed, thrust forward through the dust in a piercing motion.

Five invisible Nen threads extended sharply like spider legs, greatly extending the attack’s reach, stabbing toward Hather’s head from a distance.

Hather snapped to alertness, dodging his head at the last instant, but a cut appeared across his cheek, his shoulder torn in several places.

Hmm? They’d pulled apart, but it was Nen capability?

That moment cost him the advantage.

Gryffindor seized the chance, lowering his body into a tiger-like pounce. In an instant, he was before Hather, his Nen-clad claws crashing heavily onto Hather’s sternum. Nen erupted violently, hurling Hather backward into the arena’s rear wall.

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