Roy moved.
Simply standing drew every gaze in the arena.
Wutong's. Biscuit's. "Godshot" Guy's. "Ninja" Masayoshi Kikuta's.
And—two boys hiding in the shadows, watching.
Huaishi Dourou stared blankly at Roy's back. Ten meters behind him stood Illumi, arms folded in silence.
The foolish Ododo leaned on the wall, brow faintly furrowed when he noticed Huaishi's gaze.
The night before, Huaishi had returned to his dojo in despair to see his one-armed master.
His master told him, "You lost your hand because you know fists, your leg because you know kicks. What you take pride in, there's always someone better. So what's there to grieve over?"
The old man understood, but Huaishi still stood on the riverbank, not yet across. He didn't understand. He came to see with his own eyes what he couldn't grasp—Nen.
"I can't accept it, Master! I know you're right, but I can't accept it!" Huaishi knelt, tears streaming.
The master was silent, then patted his head. "What do you plan to do?"
"Find a new master!"
"Whoever defeated you?"
"Yes! I'll take him as my teacher!" Huaishi knocked his forehead to the floor three times. "Please remove me from your register."
The master laughed. "What era do you think this is? You don't need to be struck from any record. Go. When you've learned enough, come back and show me. My disciple will never be lesser than anyone."
"Master…"
"Go already. You're annoying."
"Yes."
As Huaishi reached the door, his master raised his severed arm and shouted, "Dourou! Do your best!"
Tears burst forth. He nodded hard, and now—he was here, eyes locked on Roy stepping toward the stage.
'Wait… this kid can actually fight?'
Roy unsheathed his cane-sword and walked forward with calm precision.
Biscuit stared, dazed. Behind her, Guy and Kikuta exchanged a look of disbelief.
They'd heard that "Iluo" specialized in hand-to-hand combat—eighty-one consecutive wins barehanded—but never that he'd trained with a sword.
"Unusual," Guy murmured, "but still not Harrison's match. No blade cuts iron."
The cheers thundered as Harrison entered.
Excitement came and went quickly; from Yungu's victory to Harrison's entrance was less than a minute.
Yungu adjusted his glasses, crossing paths with Roy.
"Careful," he said with a grin. "Enhancers are always trouble."
"You mean you or him?"
Harrison dropped from the stands like a hammer, landing so hard the ring cracked like a spiderweb.
Yungu squinted. "Both tough. Both trouble."
Roy nodded in agreement, brushed past him, and stepped onto the ring. "I'll be waiting."
He drew his cane-sword with a sharp clang, holding it one-handed, face blank.
"Oh-ho! Our streak champion brought a sword today!" the host shouted. "What surprise will he bring this time?"
The blade gleamed, the black flame pattern along it glowing faintly under the lights, as if declaring—better to stay straight and break than bend to survive.
"This doesn't look like a killer's sword," Yungu said, sitting where Roy had been.
He asked Wutong, "When did your master start sword training?"
Biscuit leaned forward, twin ponytails swaying.
"Ten days ago," Wutong replied proudly.
"Ten days? Then he's doomed," Kikuta said flatly. "Harrison's poured every drop of Nen into tempering his iron body. Bullets can't pierce it. A rookie with ten days of sword work? Dead man walking."
"You insult even amateurs," Guy muttered with a sigh. "Shame he'll lose. Otherwise that prize money would've been mine. A month for a staff, a year for a blade—without a year you can't even grip it steady. Iluo's playing games."
"You two have a death wish?" Wutong adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, eyes glinting dangerously.
Biscuit chewed her lollipop, cutting in: "They're right. Ten days isn't enough to pierce Harrison. Look at his skin—bronzed, almost metallic. You don't reach that without ten years of body training."
Wutong didn't like it, but he knew she was right. Harrison earned the nickname "Meat Grinder" for pulverizing opponents' bones with his fists. His body was a fortress.
"My master will win," Wutong said stiffly.
His words sounded thin.
The host finished introducing Roy and moved on to Harrison, whose fame dwarfed his.
Gamblers screamed, betting everything on Harrison, chanting for him to crush Roy's bones quickly.
Harrison stood two meters tall, broad and bull-necked, a necklace of bones around his throat. His bald head shone under the lights. He grinned, eyes fixed on Roy. "You shouldn't have accepted."
"I already did."
"Then you'll die."
"Talking about yourself?"
"Ohhh! I smell blood already!" the host yelled, trembling with excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear your cheers!"
"I announce tonight's headline match—"
"'Piercing Hand' Iluo versus 'Meat Grinder' Harrison!"
"Begin!"
Boom! The cracked arena erupted with gale-force wind.
Harrison's violent Ren sent the host flying; lucky for him, he was a Nen user too, or that blast would've crippled him.
"He's here. What power," Kikuta muttered, eyes narrowing.
Everyone—except Biscuit—turned to Roy.
The boy stood within the whirlwind, cane-sword in hand, body swaying like a small boat tossed by storm waves.
Harrison sneered. "What's this supposed to be?"
"Your Ren—where is it?"
When your opponent releases Ren, the best defense is to answer with your own. That's basic knowledge.
After all, Ren is not only aura control—it's a clash of spirit and will.
Didn't Gon and Killua almost wet themselves when Hisoka blocked the 200th floor gate?
'This kid's mocking me?' Harrison's fury flared.
Roy shrugged innocently. "Don't know how to do it…"
Harrison: "…"
Biscuit, Yungu, Guy, Kikuta: "…"
T/n:
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