HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

The group of people who had been cut in line were still glaring daggers at Cyr and Maro, openly and covertly attempting to "kill" them with their eyes.

Cyr, however, was completely unfazed and ignored them entirely. Maro, on the other hand, seemed a bit nervous.

Walking down a corridor, they had not yet reached the end, but the glow of light at the exit was already visible, accompanied by faint, excited cheers.

The moment they stepped out, the cheers amplified tenfold.

This single arena alone housed sixteen different fighting rings, surrounded by spectator seats on all four sides, capable of accommodating tens of thousands of people simultaneously.

At the moment, the seats were already nearly filled.

The two found a spot as close to the rings as possible and sat down.

"Looks like I'm number 1999…" Cyr glanced at his participant number.

Judging by the numbering, it seemed that thousands of people competed here every day.

"I'm number 2000," Maro reported, clutching his registration slip tightly.

"Relax. Before the 200th floor, everyone you'll face is weak," Cyr said casually, waving his hand dismissively as he glanced at the visibly nervous Maro.

On all sixteen rings, matches were ongoing, and the contestants rotated quickly.

In Cyr's eyes, it was nothing more than a bunch of weaklings pecking at each other.

None of them seemed any better than the others—he hadn't even seen anyone capable of using Nen.

They weren't worth paying attention to.

Even with his Six Eyes, Cyr couldn't detect anyone with significant life energy in the vicinity—though there were a few notable presences on the floors above the 200th level.

"Indeed, they are weak compared to you, my lord," Maro agreed with a nod.

This exchange drew yet more angry glares toward them.

These two young guys sure had big mouths! What did they mean by saying everyone below the 200th floor was weak? Were they looking down on everyone here?

"Contestant 2000 and Contestant 2033, please report to Ring C."

The announcement blared through the speakers.

Maro stood up nervously. "My lord, I'm heading up."

"Yeah," Cyr replied absentmindedly, waving a hand without even glancing toward the ring.

He wasn't about to waste his time watching weaklings fight. He'd much rather spend that time contemplating his own Nen ability.

If three identical cards of the same attribute were used simultaneously, they could unleash their maximum effect. However, if he wanted the freedom to choose all three cards, what kind of price would he have to pay?

Nen was a power that allowed its users to achieve almost anything, as long as they set appropriate restrictions and vows.

However, those restrictions and vows had to be balanced and feasible.

Cyr needed a certain level of control to choose his cards, but the price he paid couldn't be too steep.

At the moment, he didn't have the kind of determination that came from life-or-death situations or deep-seated hatred—those were the circumstances under which people were usually willing to pay any price.

But Cyr? His life here was going quite smoothly. He wasn't desperate, nor did he harbor any vendettas.

He needed to carefully consider what price would be most appropriate.

"Contestant 2000, Maro, is a first-time competitor, just eighteen years old, while Contestant 2033 is a professional martial artist—"

The announcer's voice boomed through the microphone with excitement.

"Let's take a look at their win probabilities…"

The large screen displayed the profiles of both contestants, along with their betting odds beneath.

Maro's odds were a staggering 3.0.

The match began, and the burly man on the opposite side landed a heavy punch square on the golden-haired youth's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Contestant 2000 is knocked down by Contestant 2033 with a single punch! Point awarded to Contestant 2033."

"With ten points, Contestant 2033 will be declared the winner!"

Maro quickly steadied himself and stood back up.

"Contestant 2000 is back on his feet!" the announcer exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he narrated the match.

2000? Wasn't that Maro's number?

Cyr's brow twitched, and he lazily lifted his eyes to glance at the ring.

Contestant 2033 was a massive man, standing over two meters tall. Maro looked like a schoolboy facing off against an adult.

But still, that was no excuse for Maro to be knocked down with a single punch… right?

Cyr rested his chin on one hand, observing the fight with disinterest.

"Contestant 2033 launches another attack, but Contestant 2000 dodges!" the announcer continued narrating the match.

"Contestant 2000 initiates an attack…"

"Contestant 2033 counters with an elbow strike! A beautiful move—two points awarded!" the scorekeeper declared loudly.

The crowd erupted into cheers for 2033.

Though Maro had taken a hit, the opponent's punches hadn't caused him any real harm. As expected.

If a single punch from his opponent could leave a lasting mark on Maro, Cyr thought, I'd be speechless.

"...I can't take this anymore." Cyr sighed and lazily called out toward the ring. "Hey, Maro."

The blond youth on the platform turned toward the voice.

Sitting among the spectators, the white-haired boy gazed back with an expression of utter boredom and fatigue.

"Watching you fight is making me sick."

"Just end this boring charade already," he instructed nonchalantly.

Maro's movements on the ring still seemed hesitant, and progress was slow.

"Can't do it?" the white-haired, blue-eyed boy asked, his expression filled with disdain.

"If you can't, forget it. It just proves you're nothing but a useless weakling."

"A weakling who can only cook has no right to stay by my side," Cyr said casually, though his words dripped with scorn.

"...I have to prove to him… I'm not a weakling." Maro clenched his fists tightly.

The truth was, his opponent wasn't that strong, and he wasn't as weak as he thought. After all, the other guy still hadn't been able to beat him after all this time.

So why couldn't he be the winner? He refused to be seen as a weakling and left behind.

"You've been using it well all along, haven't you? That ability." Cyr spoke slowly.

"Control it and channel it through your fist."

"Don't understand?" The white-haired boy let out a soft sigh, as if disappointed.

Ability? Maro thought. Was Cyr referring to the technique the gourmet hunter had taught him?

Control it… channel it through my fist…

Maro raised his fist.

"Contestant 2000 counters! He knocks Contestant 2033 down with one punch!" The announcer's voice carried a note of astonishment.

"One… two… three…"

"Contestant 2033 fails to get up in time. The winner is Contestant 2000!" the announcer declared loudly.

The audience, shocked by the unexpected outcome, fell silent.

Or perhaps, Cyr mused, it was because most of them had bet on 2033 to win. Now that they had lost their money, they couldn't find it in themselves to cheer.

Maro returned to his seat but didn't sit down. Instead, he stood beside Cyr and bowed deeply. "I'm sorry, my lord. My performance must have disappointed you."

Cyr glanced at him briefly before looking away.

He wasn't exactly disappointed. After all, he had known from the beginning that Maro wasn't particularly strong. If he were, Cyr wouldn't have mocked him so much in the first place.

What was surprising, though—

"Taking so long to deal with someone who can't even use Nen is pretty embarrassing," Cyr sneered.

Maro could use Nen—Cyr had known that from the moment he first saw him.

But apparently, aside from basic Ten (Enhancement), Maro didn't seem to know any other techniques.

"…Because the hunter I met before only taught me how to keep my aura from leaking… he didn't teach me anything else," Maro muttered softly, head bowed.

"…Well, you sure met an unreliable teacher," Cyr mocked with a sneer.

Teaching someone just how to prevent aura leakage so they can endure getting beaten up better? Truly useless.

"Contestant 1999 and Contestant 2064, please proceed to Ring A," the broadcast announced.

Cyr stood and began walking toward the ring.

"Good luck, my lord!" Maro called out, his eyes shining as he watched the boy approach the platform.

Contestant 2064 was a burly man, standing about 185 cm tall. Dressed in martial arts attire, his face bore a long, jagged scar that added to his menacing appearance.

"So, you're with that 2000 kid, huh? That guy lucked out to beat his opponent, but you won't be so fortunate."

"You brats should just go home crying like the kids you are," he jeered, arms crossed.

"How dare he speak to my lord like that!" Maro clenched his fists tightly, glaring at the man with dark intensity from the sidelines.

"Contestant 1999 seems to be another newcomer, accompanying Contestant 2000. This is also his first match…" the announcer remarked.

"And now, the match begins!"

The white-haired boy stood with a blank expression, looking as though he might fall asleep at any moment. He didn't react to his opponent's taunts, nor did he say a word.

But the moment the announcer declared the match started, Cyr vanished from sight.

In the blink of an eye, the burly man was sent flying across the ring, slamming into the wall of the outer boundary with such force that it left a cracked, crater-like indentation.

"All that noise… you're annoying," the white-haired, blue-eyed boy muttered coldly, one hand resting casually on the back of his neck while the other hung naturally by his side. His expression was indifferent.

The audience fell into stunned silence for a moment before erupting into wild, thunderous cheers.

°°°

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