Kite observed his opponent. Activating his newly-learned Gyo, he channeled aura into his eyes, scrutinizing Kevin's energy flow. The aura above Kevin's head dissipated naturally, like faint, rising smoke. No focused defense, no concentration of power.
"An ordinary person," he concluded.
The battle was about to begin. His opponent seemed wary, yet his stance was loose, unpracticed—clearly no seasoned martial artist. In that case, there was no need for a protracted fight. One decisive blow would suffice.
"Begin!"
At the referee's signal, Kite shot forward. His movement was a clean, efficient burst of speed, culminating in a swift, powerful palm strike aimed at Kevin's center of mass. The force behind it was enough to send even a seasoned fighter crashing out of the ring for an instant KO.
Bang!
A sharp impact echoed, not of flesh hitting flesh, but of something meeting a resilient barrier. In the same instant, a sharp pain bloomed in Kite's own stomach. He back-flipped instinctively, putting distance between them, his hand flying to his abdomen.
A referee's whistle pierced the air. "Valid hit!"
Kevin had scored the first point.
What? Kite stared, his surprise plain. The strike he'd landed had felt… wrong. It wasn't the solid impact of a human body.
"Why is this guy all brute force? But his strength is impressive," Kevin muttered to himself, rubbing the spot where he'd been struck. Even with his Nen-enhanced defense dispersing the force, the raw power behind Kite's charge was undeniable. Three months of training couldn't bridge the gap in pure physicality between him and what was clearly a naturally gifted fighter.
But this wasn't the kind of exchange he was here for. He wanted technique, variety, the polished art of combat—not just raw power. "Anyone can throw a haymaker," he thought. He needed more.
"Hey, are you just going to stand there?" Kevin called out, snapping Kite from his analysis.
The provocation worked. Kite charged again, but this time without the previous arrogance. He closed the distance with blinding speed, feinted a frontal assault, then pivoted with liquid grace to Kevin's left. A sharp hook punch snapped toward Kevin's ribs.
Thud.
The hit connected cleanly. But instead of pressing the advantage, Kite disengaged again, back-flipping to a safe distance. He watched, hawk-like, for a reaction.
Kevin took the blow, his body rocking slightly from the force, but his feet never shifted. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.
"Yes. This is more like it."
This was the battle he needed. He would use Nen for nothing but the most basic, subconscious defense—a constant, low-level Ken to prevent serious injury. Everything else, he would leave to his body. He would let his muscles learn through repetition, through pain and reaction, forcing them to develop instinct even if his conscious mind struggled to learn. The endless, readily available high-level martial artists of Heaven's Arena were the perfect grindstone for this brutal, repetitive polishing. Bisky's plan was brilliant: here, his body would be tempered without life-threatening risk, and the constant, low-grade feedback of pain would be the perfect teacher for his stubborn physiology.
The score was tied 1-1. Kite didn't rush in for a third time. Instead, he stood his ground, his focus intensifying. He was certain his last hit had landed with substantial force. A non-Nen user, even a tough one, shouldn't have absorbed it so completely, showing no sign of distress. There was only one logical explanation.
He activated Gyo again, pouring more aura into his vision. His gaze fixed on the aura above Kevin's head—the naturally dissipating mist he'd seen before. But this time, he looked deeper, past the surface manifestation. His eyes widened a fraction. The dissipation pattern was… too perfect. Too consistent. It wasn't the unconscious leakage of an ordinary person. It was a facade, maintained with exquisite, effortless control. Beneath that placid surface, the aura was not dissipating at all; it was being tightly held, woven into an all-encompassing, nearly invisible shield around Kevin's entire body.
He's using Ken. He's a Nen user. And his control… is flawless.
The game had just changed completely.
"An illusion," Kite thought, his mind racing. "The opponent's control over Nen is on a completely different level. He's creating a perfect facade."
This was a first for him. This wasn't a life-or-death struggle, just a standard arena match. Yet, his opponent maintained this sophisticated deception from the outset, not as a specific tactic against him, but seemingly as a habitual, ingrained state of caution.
Since awakening his Nen under Jin's guidance and learning the basic techniques, he had never encountered a situation like this. He was in the midst of Jin's trial: to find the man using his own strength. Only then would the trial end, and Jin would formally accept him as a disciple. His plan had been to pass the Hunter Exam first, gain the privileges of a Hunter, and then begin his search in earnest. But six months ago, he'd encountered a Nen user during the exam and failed. The experience had been a stark lesson—he was utterly unfamiliar with Nen combat.
He remembered Jin mentioning the Heaven's Arena. That's why he'd come here, intending to climb to the 200th floor and immerse himself in battles against other Nen users. Coming here had been the right choice. In his very first match, he'd encountered a Nen user—and what seemed to be a master of the art.
Kevin, unaware he was now considered a Nen master, simply noted the shift in his opponent's demeanor. Kite's entire bearing had changed, sharpening into pure, focused intent.
Just as I wanted.
Kite attacked again. Through a blend of solid defense and evasive footwork, Kevin managed to land another clean hit, scoring a point. After several more exchanges, the score stood at 2 to 5 in Kite's favor.
Once again, Kite disengaged, putting space between them. He had the points lead, but he felt no satisfaction. He frowned, his expression cycling through frustration, dissatisfaction, and a stubborn refusal to accept the situation. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath, his features settling into a look of resigned clarity.
"It seems I am not yet qualified," Kite announced, his voice calm and resolved. "I will continue to work hard. When we meet again, I hope you will face our battle seriously."
With that, and under Kevin's utterly bewildered gaze, Kite raised his hand. "I forfeit."
Interestingly, the nearby referee merely nodded, as if this were a perfectly logical conclusion, and immediately declared Kevin the winner. The referee approached and handed Kevin a slip. "You've been promoted. You may proceed directly to the 50th-floor battles."
"Why?" Kevin asked, genuinely confused.
Now it was the referee's turn to look puzzled. He'd seen this type before—fighters whose inherent power was so obvious in their debut that they were fast-tracked to a more appropriate competitive tier. The first-floor referees had keen eyes; they could spot someone who didn't belong in the beginner's bracket.
"You don't wish to?" the referee asked.
"Of course not," Kevin shook his head firmly.
"Very well." The referee issued a new slip, this time for the 20th floor, and made a note in Kevin's file for standard, match-by-match promotion. He'd seen this behavior too—martial artists who used the lower floors as a deliberate grinding stone to hone their skills. Kevin clearly had the same intention. If his goal were mere advancement, he could simply use his overwhelming Nen to one-shot every opponent. There'd be no need for this drawn-out, technical sparring.
Meanwhile, Kite, despite his forfeit, was promoted to the 30th floor to begin his climb. Without wasting time, Kevin proceeded to his next match. His opponent's technique was so rudimentary that Kevin saw no value in prolonging it; he ended the fight with a single, decisive punch.
He began his ascent at a standard pace, fighting floor by floor.
And Kite, his first opponent, began to quietly track Kevin's progress, carefully studying each of his subsequent battles from the stands.