Chapter 25: Did I Remember Wrong?
The next day, in the arena
"...Impressive."
A towering soldier—taller even than Haze—was being throttled by the neck by a blood-soaked fighter in a tattered suit.
Zalon's throat twisted under the pressure. Struggling to breathe, he managed to rasp out two words—
And then Haze's fingers tightened.
A gush of blood burst from Zalon's mouth, spraying across the floor.
The Nen users in the audience froze in disbelief.
A chilling silence spread through their section—
in stark contrast to the roar of the ordinary spectators, whose faces were flushed with excitement, voices hoarse from cheering.
Zalon had been defeated.
If Haze had only beaten Aishimiru, they might have accepted it as a fluke.
But to defeat Zalon—that was something no one expected.
Since reaching the 200th floor, the mercenary Zalon had built an unbroken streak of victories, crushing every challenger with overwhelming strength.
Zalon was a Enhancement-type Nen user. In terms of sheer physical might and lethal efficiency, he outclassed Aishimiru entirely.
More than that, Zalon's background was well known. He once served a royal family in a small war-torn independent nation—
a man forged in countless battlefields, hardened by death and chaos.
That upbringing had shaped him into something far beyond a simple martial artist—
his mind and body both tempered into steel.
Compared to Zalon, most Nen users were... pure.
They came to the Heavens Arena for fame, for rank, for the thrill of combat.
But not him.
For Zalon, battle was life itself.
Haze's left hand hung broken—five fingers twisted at grotesque angles, the result of a single blow from Zalon during their exchange of punches.
His body, drenched in blood, was a gruesome sight.
Yet in the end, through calculated timing and unorthodox tactics, he was the one who emerged victorious.
Blood streaked Haze's face, but his eyes still glimmered faintly, a thin smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at Zalon.
"Even if you can't speak," he said quietly, "you can still raise your hand to admit defeat."
Blood bubbled between Zalon's lips.
He didn't move.
Though his body trembled, his gaze remained calm—serene, even.
Defeat was defeat.
As a soldier, he would never beg.
He had entered the arena knowing full well he might die.
"...Thank you," Haze murmured, understanding that look in his eyes.
With a final twist of his wrist, a sharp crack echoed—
and Zalon's neck snapped.
Silence fell.
Haze didn't dare release him immediately. He knew—if Zalon still had a sliver of life, he would counterattack without hesitation.
This was not cruelty.
It was respect.
Respect for a warrior.
When it was over, Haze exhaled deeply, slumping to the bloodstained floor, chest heaving, utterly drained—
body and mind.
"Winner: Haze!"
The announcer's voice thundered through the arena, followed by an explosion of cheers.
Haze stared up at the blinding spotlight above, the deafening roars washing over him.
But inside, a hollow feeling lingered—
a strange emptiness after triumph.
Unbidden, the words of the circus leader, Moritonio, echoed in his mind:
"Oh no... You can enjoy the fight, sure—but don't become a lunatic like Hisoka."
Realizing how his thoughts had shifted, Haze chuckled softly.
He truly did enjoy fighting—
not out of bloodlust, but because every battle taught him something new.
It was like a game.
Facing a higher-ranked player, clashing head-to-head.
Even in defeat, he wouldn't be disappointed.
Victory, on the other hand, brought a deep sense of fulfillment.
He wasn't just a battle junkie.
He was a learner—one who grew through combat.
From the viewing area, Wing glanced at Biscuit in confusion.
His observation skills had improved lately; he could see more of what was happening.
He replayed the match between Haze and Zalon in his mind—
a brutal, bloody fight that ended in less than ten minutes.
From what he saw, Haze's physical prowess and stamina were clearly inferior.
Zalon's every punch and kick hit like a hammer.
Being an Enhancer, his raw damage far exceeded Aishimiru's.
And yet... Zalon lost.
Both had used Nen, but Haze's technique this time was different—
nothing like the summons he'd relied on in his previous fight.
Seeing Wing's questioning expression, Biscuit spoke calmly, arms crossed.
"There are two reasons he won," she said. "First—his brain."
That little brat knew before the fight even began that he couldn't win a pure power brawl.
So he didn't waste time.
He couldn't afford a Haze battle; the Hazeer it went, the worse his odds became.
He predicted that Zalon would unleash a full-force assault from the start—
and he was right.
From the last match, Haze must've realized his opponent wouldn't give him room to breathe.
So, he'd probably simulated the entire fight in his head over and over these past few days—
imagining himself as Zalon, rehearsing every move, every counter.
That's why, in those first few minutes, he barely expended any aura defending himself.
He'd prepared for it.
He'd grown sharper.
"He's clever," Biscuit continued. "That's why I never let you fight him."
She remembered their first meeting—
how Haze had seen through her 'girly disguise' instantly.
This boy wasn't some random thief.
He was dangerous.
By now, Haze had left the arena, trailing blood as he limped away.
Biscuit went on, frowning thoughtfully.
"The second reason—his ability."
The technique he used in his last match was just one function of it.
He's hiding something deeper.
Zalon was tricked.
His ability's structure is extremely complex.
There's no way a pure Conjuration or simple Telekinesis could hold off a powerhouse like Zalon head-on—
yet he did.
When Zalon unleashed his full power, a golden barrier appeared around Haze, absorbing most of the impact.
He also seemed to receive a temporary boost—a kind of blessing—
and in that crucial instant, he made Zalon fall into a state of sudden weakness.
That was how he turned the tide.
A real battle isn't just about strength or aura—
it's about information.
The gap between what you know and what your opponent knows.
That's what I brought you to Heaven's Arena to understand.
"Don't lose sight of that," Biscuit said softly.
"You can learn a lot from him."
There's no "cheating" among Nen users.
If you lose—it's because the other side was better.
After her lecture, Biscuit pinched her chin thoughtfully.
She was already trying to analyze Haze's Nen.
That night—
Bandaged and swathed in gauze, Haze stood by the window of his hotel room, staring at the glowing city beyond the glass.
If Aishimiru had taught him about battle rhythm,
Zalon had taught him about raw endurance and resilience.
It was the first time since arriving at Heaven's Arena that he'd met someone superior in both.
His Game System had drawn rune-based skills that morning,
allowing him to preselect "talents" before the fight.
For this match, he'd chosen Green Talent: Resolution,
aHaze with runic abilities like Grip of the Undying and Bone Coating for defense and durability.
His summoner skills were Barrier and Weakness.
Zalon had no idea what these abilities were—
and that ignorance was Haze's greatest advantage.
"This world is truly fascinating," he murmured, flexing his bandaged hand.
"Even outside the main story, there are countless powerful individuals."
He smiled faintly.
"But if this keeps up, I might not be able to fight again for a while... The faint-hearted wouldn't even dare try."
"Ninety days between mandatory matches... that's too slow."
"Even then, some might forfeit rather than face me."
"So... I'll have to lose intentionally."
"In upcoming matches, I'll rely only on Nen. Unless my life's in danger, I won't surrender."
"Unless a true master appears... I can play with them."
"As test subjects—to refine my Nen—they'll do just fine."
He muttered the words quietly to himself.
For the next few days, he would still attend the arena—
but only as an observer.
Watching others fight, from a distance, sometimes revealed truths you could never see in the ring.
He wanted to see how other Nen users fought—
and what made them strong.
"Hey."
One day, before a match began, Haze found an empty seat and sat down.
Next to him were Biscuit and Wing.
He greeted the old woman cheerfully.
"Hello, I'm Wing."
As polite as ever, Wing smiled and extended his hand.
"I know you," Haze said, nodding slightly.
"Tsk."
Biscuit smacked him on the back of the head with a scowl and turned away, clearly not in the mood.
"Master…" Wing said awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension.
Haze smiled awkwardly.
He'd always disliked people—
but this was the first time someone truly disliked him.
"I've been wanting to see you again," he teased. "Aren't you a fan? Or should I say... a girlfriend? You may be older, but I don't mind."
"Wha—?! You idiot! You little devil!" Biscuit snapped.
"How dare you say such things to a beautiful young girl like me!?"
She spun around, glaring at him furiously.
"Master…"
Wing could feel the strange energy between them, unsure whether to laugh or hide.
"Hmm? Did I remember wrong?" Haze tilted his head.
"It seemed like someone sneaked into my room late at night, saying how much they liked me... and that they wanted to—"
Biscuit's fists clenched.
Her expression darkened.
Haze smirked. "Never mind. The match is about to start. Let's watch, shall we?"
After teasing her to the edge of fury, he changed the topic with infuriating calm.
Biscuit swallowed her rage, face twitching.
Seeing this, Wing wiped the sweat from his forehead, finally relaxing a little.
He glanced sideways at Haze.
It was the first time he'd ever really watched another man closely—
and then looked back at his fuming master.
He knew Biscuit too well.
She was always the one teasing others.
This was the first time he'd ever seen someone capable of teasing her instead.
"He's... quite something," Wing thought, adjusting his glasses as their lenses caught the light.
(End of Chapter 25)