"When's your scheduled match?" Kevin Carpenberg asked.
"September 21st, more than a month away."
"No wonder. But don't worry. You've already learned Nen, so you don't need to fear the 'Initiation' hurting you too badly. Worst case, you just lose your first match," Kevin said casually to reassure him.
It was true. He'd seen many matches above the 200th floor. The danger at that level mostly stemmed from the difference between those who could use Nen and those who couldn't.
When both fighters knew Nen, killing your opponent became much harder during combat.
After all, these were still competitive fights—not death matches. Nobody wanted to kill their opponent here for no reason. That only brought trouble.
Of course, the higher you went, the more unhinged opponents you met compared to below the 200th floor.
As a regular spectator, Kevin had witnessed many brutal fights.
Thinking of this, he patted Mito on the shoulder with a smile. "Today's only August… August 10…"
"The 14th."
"Right, August 14th. You've got over a month. I'm still learning myself, but I can at least teach you some of the basics." Kevin smiled.
Mito nodded. Learning Nen had definitely brought him some peace of mind.
"Is your health not good?" Kevin suddenly asked.
"Why do you say that… Oh, you mean that." Mito was confused at first, then quickly realized.
In the corner of the living room sat a large pile of medicine.
"That's for my people. I came out to buy medicine for my son—his eyes and legs aren't great. I picked some up for others too."
"You have a son?!" Kevin looked at Mito, completely shocked.
Mito didn't look that old—probably about the same age as Jin Freecss.
Speaking of which, was Jin ever married?
From the way he acted, that seemed unlikely.
"Hahaha." Seeing Kevin's stunned expression, Mito laughed heartily. "My son is already thirteen. He's a smart and filial boy."
Mito's face glowed with pride at the mention of his son.
"Alright, I'll leave you to it. I'll come by again later. For now, just keep practicing those basic moves I showed you."
…
The next day.
Heaven's Arena.
175th floor, Arena A.
The audience seats were packed. The crowd roared wildly, shouting the names of the two fighters about to enter the ring.
"Unmovable Mountain!"
"White Cat!"
Killua's expression turned bitter as he walked slowly from the fighter's entrance.
"Damn it, why does his nickname sound so cool!"
The comparison was unbearable.
Kevin also stepped steadily onto the stage.
The two faced each other without exchanging words.
"Begin!"
At the signal, Kevin stood still, hands in his pockets, smiling and motioning for Killua to come at him.
"Tch." Killua clicked his tongue, annoyed.
After their encounter yesterday, he realized he probably wasn't Kevin's match.
If he couldn't win, then at least he'd land some hits. Killua had his pride.
He began circling Kevin slowly, eyes locked on him, observing closely.
Kevin remained motionless, hands in his pockets, smiling as if completely defenseless.
The more he acted relaxed and indifferent, the more it irritated Killua.
Suddenly, Killua's movements slowed. Shadows trailed behind his form—afterimages, like illusions.
"It's Killua's signature—his phantom step! A movement technique like a clone illusion! How will Kevin respond?" the announcer shouted, and the stands erupted in cheers.
This was where the "White Cat" nickname came from—his style mimicked a cat stalking and toying with prey.
"Impressive," Kevin said with genuine admiration.
He could tell Killua wasn't using Nen—he didn't have the ability yet.
That meant the technique was purely based on skill and visual trickery.
Still, it was worthy of praise. Even though Kevin saw through it, it was an excellent move.
Choosing Killua as a sparring partner had definitely been the right call.
Soon, Kevin was surrounded by afterimages.
A breeze passed.
"Swish!"
Killua's hand struck like a knife, aimed directly at Kevin.
But it didn't land. Kevin caught his hand, then flipped him aside.
Killua adjusted in midair and landed smoothly with a sliding cat pose.
He didn't try observing again. Instead, he launched another rush.
He came at Kevin from every angle, rapid and deadly.
Every strike was aimed at a vital point and came with blinding speed.
Kevin blocked or grabbed some, sometimes just tanked the hits.
But it was clear—Kevin now controlled the rhythm.
Dusting himself off, Kevin watched as Killua pulled back, panting.
"You ripped my shirt. I really liked this one." Kevin looked at the slash marks in his shirt and smiled.
That grin instantly set Killua off.
"Relax. My turn now."
As Kevin spoke, Killua jumped back several steps.
"Let's see how well I learned."
Kevin's form shifted—he mirrored Killua's earlier pose and charged.
He was like a pouncing leopard, eyes locked on his prey.
Kevin's right hand formed a sharp, blade-like strike. It wasn't charged with aura, but it looked dangerous.
That move!
A shadowy black-haired man in the stands widened his eyes.
"That kid's lost."
Mito, also watching, spoke the moment Kevin moved.
He could now sense aura and confirmed Kevin hadn't used any—but his speed and precision were more than enough.
Dodge! Killua screamed in his head.
"Swish!"
A slicing sound tore through the air.
Killua tried to dodge, but froze.
Kevin appeared beside him—his hand didn't strike Killua, only grazed past his cheek.
A thin red line appeared. Blood slowly trickled down.
Kevin stood up straight and gently patted Killua's shoulder.
Without a word, he turned and walked off the stage.
Just as he was about to leave—
Killua, head still lowered, raised his hand.
"I surrender."
His eyes were wide, sweat pouring down.
He had truly felt the threat of death—a bone-deep chill from the abyss.
For a moment, he thought he was going to die.
Only when the blow passed did he realize it was just an illusion.
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