Kevin looked at Mito, his mind briefly flickering back to his earlier conversation with Kite. He'd never personally set foot on the 200th floor, but Kite had provided a clear, if grim, picture of its realities.
For someone like Mito—a skilled martial artist but utterly ignorant of Nen—ascending to that tier typically ended in one of two ways: severe injury or death in combat, or surviving a brutal awakening to Nen itself.
For both personal and practical reasons, Kevin couldn't let Mito walk into that blind. They were friends, and Kevin owed him a favor. More pragmatically, Mito was his sole lead to those precious, craving-inducing petals—a resource far too valuable to lose.
"What you felt is called Nen," Kevin stated, his voice calm. He slowly raised a hand, focusing his intent.
Mito instantly felt a weight settle over him, his head bowing slightly under the invisible pressure. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. "I feel it," he said, his voice tight. "It's like a pressure… similar to what I felt up there, but without that… murderous chill."
"And now?" Kevin asked.
He released a sharp, focused spike of hostility, lacing it with his aura. It was a controlled burst, but for Mito, it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his soul. His face went stark white. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came.
By then, Kevin had already sat back down and picked up a meat skewer. "If you step onto that arena ignorant," he said between bites, "you'll receive what they call a 'newcomer's gift' from the fighters up there."
"A gift?" Mito croaked, still recovering.
"A 'Baptism'," Kevin clarified, using the term Kite had taught him. "They'll hit you with Nen-infused attacks during the fight. For someone who doesn't know how to control their own aura, those strikes are… disproportionately lethal. Then you face the two outcomes: crippling injury or death, or crippling injury and awakening your own Nen."
"You can… learn it from being attacked?" Mito asked, a flicker of something other than despair in his eyes.
Kevin nodded. "How else do you think everyone up there got it? You've seen the other contestants, haven't you? The ones missing limbs, or eyes, or walking with permanent limps? They paid the price of that 'Baptism' and survived. With luck or a resilient constitution, some even recover."
Mito fell silent, the images of maimed fighters he'd seen in the halls flashing through his mind. The cost was horrifyingly clear.
After a long moment, he looked up, his gaze locking onto Kevin's with a desperate intensity. "You… you can do it too, right? If those fighters can perform this 'Baptism' in battle… you definitely can?"
Compared to a stranger in the ring, his trust was undeniably with Kevin.
"Yes, I can," Kevin confirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I owe you a favor, and I'll likely need your help again in the future. Consider this part of the repayment."
In Kevin's view, Mito had potential—anyone who clawed their way to the 200th floor did. Helping him awaken wasn't particularly difficult. While Kevin wasn't a master, his Nen training was orthodox, from a "professional" lineage.
He hadn't undergone the process himself, but he knew the methods. Bisky had outlined them: the safe, slow path of dedicated training over months or years, and the risky, accelerated path of forced awakening—injecting one's own Nen into another to forcibly open their aura nodes. The recipient would then have to struggle to control the raging energy, culminating in mastering Ten to be considered a true initiate.
It was a brutal shortcut, but for someone already at the doorstep, it was often the only option they were given. Kevin could offer it with slightly more care than a battlefield opponent, but the inherent risks remained. The choice, ultimately, was Mito's.
Of course, forced awakening came with a cost. If the recipient repeatedly failed to gain control, their life energy would hemorrhage continuously, leading to extreme weakness and exhaustion. Prolonged failure could cause significant, lasting harm to the body.
"I have two methods," Kevin laid out plainly. "One is slow, step-by-step training. The other carries risks but guarantees quick results. The second is similar to the 'Baptism' I described, but administered non-aggressively, making it far safer."
"Then I'll choose the second one," Mito replied without a moment's hesitation.
"Since you've decided, let's eat first."
The meal concluded with Kevin devouring his share and Mito pushing his food around his plate, his mind too preoccupied with apprehension to eat much.
Afterward, they proceeded to Mito's residence—a luxurious suite within the Heaven's Arena competitor's wing, as opulent as Kite's had been.
"Are you ready?" Kevin asked.
Mito, dressed in a thin tank top, nodded firmly.
Kevin placed a palm on his shoulder. With the precise, fluid control that was second nature to him, he channeled a stream of his own aura into Mito's body, expertly forcing open the latent aura nodes.
"What is this?!" Mito gasped, his body shuddering as he felt the unfamiliar energy erupt within him.
"Calm down," Kevin instructed, his voice steady. "Control the aura bursting from your body. Imagine it gathering around you, containing it…"
Under Kevin's guidance, Mito closed his eyes, his will grappling with the surging tide of his own life force. In Kevin's perception, Mito's aura twisted and churned chaotically—a clear sign of a conscious mind struggling to impose order.
Nearly half an hour passed. The aura hadn't yet stabilized into the controlled sheath of Ten. The prolonged, uncontrolled emission was taking its toll; Mito could feel a deep, draining weakness seeping into his limbs.
Suddenly, the aura within Mito's body flared violently, its output intensifying sharply.
? Kevin was puzzled, but quickly understood. This was a repeat of the phenomenon from their arena fight—Mito's unique reaction under extreme emotion or stress.
"Don't let your emotions control you! Calm down and focus, just as I told you!"
Before Kevin could finish, however, the violently surging aura did something unexpected. Instead of scattering further, it seemed to snap back, coiling tightly around Mito's body in a concentrated, controlled layer. The wild, wasteful overflow ceased.
Could intense emotion actually make control easier in his case? Kevin wondered.
Mito's eyes flew open, filled with elation. He'd succeeded.
But Kevin's attention was caught by something else. "Hey… what's with your eyes?"
At that moment, Mito's irises shone like brilliant, polished gems, shimmering with a vivid, almost luminous crimson. It was a stunning, otherworldly color.
Mito's expression shifted from joy to alarm. He bolted into the adjoining bathroom without a word.
A few minutes later, he emerged, his features schooled into calmness. His eyes had returned to their normal hue. He met Kevin's gaze, a silent question hanging in the air.
Kevin understood immediately. He raised a hand in a placating gesture. "Don't worry. I didn't see anything."
If this was a secret Mito wished to keep, Kevin had no intention of prying. Though curiosity burned within him, he respected his friend's privacy. Combining Mito's earlier words—his nomadic tribe, their migrations, his deliberate vagueness—it wasn't hard to piece together a likely truth. The fiery red eyes under stress were probably a tribal trait. Their constant movement and secrecy were likely measures to avoid the dangers such a conspicuous feature might attract.
"Thank you," Mito said, the words carrying a weight of gratitude for more than just the Nen awakening.