Heaven's Arena, 163rd Floor, Arena A, Player Lounge.
Kevin sat alone in the quiet lounge, a heavy tome on flora and fauna open on his lap, the distant murmur of arena broadcasts a faint backdrop. A few days after reaching the 150th floor, he'd taken time to recuperate and train before returning to the relentless climb.
The lounge door hissed open. A new contestant entered. Killua.
The six-year-old prodigy from Kevin's first-ever arena visit three months ago. The child had left a searing impression.
Sensing Kevin's gaze, Killua didn't even bother looking up. He was numb to it. His age made him a walking spectacle, and it annoyed him to no end. That annoyance often manifested in violence; he'd already maimed several fighters whose mouths ran faster than their sense. The only reason there weren't fatalities was that fighters above the 150th floor were durable enough to survive his initial, non-lethal strikes. Match schedulers now tried their best to keep him isolated before fights.
Today, he was early.
Killua tensed, ready to teach another idiot a brutal lesson if a single condescending word left the man's mouth.
But the gaze lifted. The scrutiny vanished.
"Hmm?" This reaction piqued Killua's curiosity. He looked up.
Kevin had already returned to his book, his focus absolute. He was genuinely studying. While his body struggled to learn new movements, his mind was a sponge. A Moment of Dream was inextricably linked to botanical, zoological, and pharmacological knowledge, forcing him into a near-constant state of academic rigor. It had been almost half a year since his transmigration, and he hadn't had a single day of what could be called 'relaxation'; his life was a cycle of grueling training and intense study.
"Peculiar," Killua thought. His assassin's training went beyond combat; it was a holistic discipline in observation, in reading friend from foe, threat from triviality. A misjudgment could be fatal in his family's trade.
Looking closer, Killua's slight frown deepened. He had to admit, the man radiated a different kind of strength from the brawlers he usually fought. Not just physical potential, but a disquieting solidity. A faint, familiar dread tickled his instincts—a feeling reminiscent of facing his older brother, though vastly diluted. The thought of his brother soured his mood further.
Kevin shifted his gaze from the dense text, meeting Killua's analytical stare.
"You're Killua, right?"
"...Mm." Killua gave a short, acknowledging nod, an unusual concession.
A warm, brilliant smile spread across Kevin's face. "Would you like to train with me later? Spar, I mean."
"What?" Killua blinked, thrown off.
"I've watched your matches," Kevin continued, his tone gentle and appreciative. "For a six-year-old—no, for anyone—your technique is incredibly solid. When I was your age, I was probably still playing in the mud somewhere, following other kids around."
The compliment visibly pleased Killua. A proud smirk flickered, but he quickly corrected, "Seven. I'm seven now."
"Haha, really? Well, congratulations on the birthday," Kevin laughed, charmed by the childlike insistence. So he cares about that.
The simple, respectful exchange had disarmed Killua's hostility. His posture softened almost imperceptibly.
"So, what do you think?" Kevin pressed, sincere in his offer. He had analyzed Killua's fights; the boy's technique was pristine, far superior to most in the arena. His only limitation was his physical frame and raw power, which often prevented his strikes from being fight-enders. For Kevin, who needed to ingrain technique through repetition against a skilled opponent, Killua was a perfect, high-level training partner who wouldn't accidentally kill him with a Nen-enhanced blow.
Considering his age, what he could already do was nothing short of astounding.
"How about this," Kevin offered, sweetening the deal. "I'll be your training dummy, your sparring partner. I won't even fight back. How does that sound?"
The offer, however, seemed to strike a nerve. Killua's face instantly darkened. "Ha! You think I can't beat you?" he shot back, his pride bristling.
A child's self-esteem is a fragile thing, Kevin noted, already adapting. "Haha, well, I am more than ten years older than you. It wouldn't be difficult for me to win."
Before Killua could fire off another retort, Kevin extended a fist. "Let's make a deal then. As a way to become friends. If we meet in the arena and I win, you'll come and be my sparring partner. Fair?"
The proposition neatly sidestepped the argument and reframed it as a wager. Killua stood still, a flicker of conflict crossing his features. Finally, with a put-upon sigh, he walked over and bumped his small fist against Kevin's.
"Hmph! I'll definitely beat you. And when I do, I'm going to teach you a real lesson!" he declared, a competitive fire lighting in his eyes.
"Is that so? Well then, I'll be counting on Teacher Killua's guidance when the time comes," Kevin replied, his smile unfazed.
"Hmph, hmph!" Killua hummed with a newly inflated pride, clearly pleased with the respectful title.
This kid is really something, Kevin mused. Are all children in this world so… intense?
He then offered a formal hand. "I haven't properly introduced myself. Kevin Carpenberg."
Killua, with a touch of novelty, took the offered hand and shook it firmly. "Killua. Killua Zoldyck."
"I look forward to our match in the arena later."
Kevin had little doubt they would meet. He'd deciphered the Arena's matchmaking logic well enough. He himself was a rising figure, and the phenomenally young Killua was a perpetual draw. They were now competing in the same tier. Killua had clearly hit a plateau after reaching the 150th floor—his progress had stalled, but he never fell below it, meaning he still won more than he lost. Kevin, freshly promoted, couldn't afford to lose and be demoted; he had to win his debut match at this level.
Under these circumstances, with a little strategic scheduling from the Arena organizers who loved nothing more than a juicy, high-stakes narrative to drive betting traffic, a clash between them was almost guaranteed. It was no exaggeration to say that matches involving Kevin already saw a noticeable spike in wagers.
Just then, a tone sounded over the lounge speaker, followed by Kevin's name. His match was up.
He stood, offering Killua a final, easygoing wave. "My turn. I'll head in first."
"Mm! Bye!" Killua replied, finally letting a genuine, unguarded child's smile show as he waved back.
Patreon Seasay