Chapter 17: The Golden Agent
Gotoh was still waiting in the corridor.
Seeing Ronin descend from the arena, the butler offered a polite, friendly smile.
Ronin simply waved his hand in acknowledgment. It was just business—money for services rendered.
Walking out of the arena, Ronin's primary concern wasn't Killua, but Illumi.
The killing intent the assassin had radiated earlier was genuine. Ronin had no desire to provoke a twisted, brother-obsessed psychopath like Illumi Zoldyck.
He had no intention of interacting further with Killua. Under the watchful eyes of both a butler and a homicidal brother, approaching the kid was suicidal.
Ronin, armed with only C-Rank Jutsu, wasn't arrogant enough to think he was invincible.
Fortunately, Illumi didn't pursue him. It seemed the killing intent was merely a knee-jerk reaction to seeing his precious little brother getting thrashed, rather than a calculated decision to eliminate Ronin.
Or perhaps the Zoldyck family's strict code of "only killing for contracts" kept Illumi from acting without payment.
Still, Ronin didn't relax his guard. Caution was never a mistake, especially with the Phantom Troupe still out there.
In this world, information tracking was surprisingly advanced. Between the growing internet and the Hunter Association's network, finding someone was easy if you had enough money.
Unless he chose to live like a hermit in the deep mountains, complete anonymity was impossible.
Ronin's self-assessment of his recovery was accurate. By his eighth day at Heavens Arena—the day he cleared the 190th floor and qualified for the 200th—his broken arm and abdominal wound were fully healed.
After winning his final qualifying match, Ronin spotted a shock of white hair in the audience.
It was Killua.
The kid seemed frustrated, likely still stewing over his effortless defeat at Ronin's hands.
However, Ronin sensed a fleeting spike of murderous intent from the boy—sharp, but disappearing as quickly as it came.
Watching Killua turn and hurry away, a thought crossed Ronin's mind. Did Illumi already plant the needle in Killua's brain this early?
Whatever the case, it wasn't his problem.
Reaching the 200th floor boosted Ronin's bank account significantly.
The victory on the 190th floor alone earned him 200 Million Jenny.
However, winning subsequent matches wouldn't grant any more prize money; it only earned him the ticket to the 200th floor.
As he walked down the corridor after the match, he saw someone waiting for him again.
This time, it wasn't the butler Gotoh. It was a woman he didn't recognize.
"Mr. Ronin. Good afternoon. I'm Miria, a Golden-Tier Agent. I'd like to discuss a mutually beneficial business opportunity with you."
She handed him a business card as she spoke.
Ronin took it.
Miria. Golden Agent.
He pocketed the card and scrutinized her properly.
She had waist-length, jet-black hair and a refined, beautiful face with light makeup. Dressed in a sharp black business suit with a pencil skirt, she adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses with a professional air. The very image of a corporate elite.
However, Ronin noticed something else. She was shrouded in Ten.
This agent was a Nen user.
Ronin's guard went up immediately.
"I believe your personal value is immense, Mr. Ronin. With my assistance, you have a very high chance of becoming a Floor Master," Miria said politely, her voice cool but sincere.
Floor Master? That's a big promise.
Ronin knew how the system worked.
Heavens Arena matches drew over a billion viewers daily, and that number was growing.
The highest viewership came from the 200th floor and above. Every fighter up there had massive commercial potential, but the Floor Masters were superstars, eclipsing even movie celebrities.
Since arriving in the city, Ronin had seen posters of Floor Masters endorsing everything from energy drinks to cars.
Being a Floor Master meant immense wealth and fame. It also meant you were hard to kill, given the high mortality rate of the upper floors.
Agents like Miria specialized in grooming fighters into stars. They had the resources to help fighters earn money and fame faster than they could on their own.
For Miria to be a "Golden Agent," she had to be competent.
Ronin didn't reject her outright. instead, he led her to the lounge. As they walked, he weighed the pros and cons.
He didn't mind being famous.
But fame made him a beacon. To the Phantom Troupe—specifically Uvogin—a famous Ronin would be a bright, irresistible lure.
However, if he prepared adequately, that lure could turn into a trap. Killing Uvogin and escaping unscathed was possible if he played his cards right.
"You really think I have the potential to be a Floor Master?" Ronin asked skeptically.
Dealing with Uvogin was a long-term problem. But becoming a Floor Master? He didn't have that kind of confidence in his current strength.
Miria shook her head. "Your current strength isn't enough. But your image is marketable. And like I said, you have a chance with my assistance."
Ronin began to understand.
"You can enhance me?" Ronin wasn't good at intricate scheming. He had to admit, Hisoka was right about Enhancers sometimes—he preferred straight talk over mind games.
His intuition told him Miria didn't have malicious intent, just a calculated business interest.
"You could interpret it that way," Miria nodded. "I've watched your fights. I have a rough estimate of your aura capacity. It's decent—better than some rookies. But what stands out is your growth. You're deliberately using matches to hone your skills, and your improvement rate is terrifying. You are a genius."
She paused for emphasis. "A combat genius."
"So, here's the key question," Ronin asked directly. "Does your 'enhancement' give me temporary power, or does it help me permanently increase my own strength faster?"
This was crucial.
He didn't actually care about being a Floor Master.
Like Miria said, he came to the Arena to grind XP and level up his skills. The title was irrelevant.
Miria offered two potential benefits: a training accelerator (like Biscuit Krueger) or a money multiplier.
Ronin suspected she couldn't offer the former, but definitely the latter.
By framing his question around training, he was downplaying his need for money, hoping to gain leverage in the negotiation.
Miria frowned slightly but answered honestly. "Temporary."