On the arena stage, the potion's effects were immediate. The bleeding from Kevin's arm ceased, and the flesh began to visibly knit itself back together under a faint, shimmering aura.
This blatant recovery made Chello's eyes narrow with fury and suspicion. "What kind of medicine is that?!"
Kevin offered no answer, a basic tenet of combat. Simultaneously, the aura around his body swelled further, its intensity clearly surpassing his previous baseline.
The change was noted by the sharper observers in the stands.
"Is it because of those two potions?"
"So that's his Nen ability?"
Mori couldn't help but murmur, "It seems he's fully developed and understood his ability."
Bisky gave a slow nod. Her sources were more extensive; she knew of the hundreds of millions Kevin had poured into procuring rare materials over the past months. This display, therefore, didn't shock her.
In a shadowed corner, Illumi watched, idly shaking the potion vial Kevin had given him. As a Zoldyck, blind trust was a fatal flaw. He'd recognized the potion as a Nen construct, but its practicality was surprising. He mentally compared it to the high-grade medicines used by his own family. None had such a rapid, visible healing effect. He'd seen it clearly—one of the potions Kevin drank matched the one in his hand. I'll find a test subject later, he decided. He had no intention of consuming it himself; he preferred combat that left no openings for injury.
In the Arena.
The first two exchanges had allowed both fighters to map the rough contours of the other's ability. However, Chello was growing anxious. He still hadn't pinned down the nature of Kevin's Nen ability. The potion's effect seemed medicinal, not necessarily ability-based. Perhaps it was just a high-grade compound?
His strategy shifted to extreme caution. He maintained maximum distance, having internalized a brutal truth: letting Kevin get close meant certain defeat. The opponent had deciphered his weapon rhythms and wouldn't grant another escape like the first time. One solid hit from that enhanced strength would shatter his capacity to fight back.
Kevin charged again.
Chello fell back on his pattern: the meteor hammer shot out, its shockwave meant to disrupt and create space. He held the dagger in reserve now, a last-ditch melee defense. The hammer's true power required the throwing motion. The steel needles were his ace, his plan now to score points through precise, needle-based strikes and win by points. Grandiose ideas of "pruning" were forgotten; survival and a tactical victory were all that mattered.
The meteor hammer missed. Kevin, anticipating the shockwave, evaded it cleanly.
Immediately, Chello's grappling hook shot out in a low arc, aiming to snag a specific point on the arena floor to anchor and facilitate his rapid repositioning.
Clang!
A sharp, metallic sound echoed. The hook, struck mid-flight by an invisible force, was knocked violently off course. It skittered across the floor and came to a useless rest just outside the boundary line.
Chello's eyes bulged. "What did you do?!" he roared. The hook needed to latch onto a precise spot to function. Now it was just a piece of discarded metal.
Kevin merely smiled. He had no habit of explaining himself to enemies.
The truth was simple: an In-shrouded burst of aura, an Emission-type attack fired with his non-dominant 80% efficiency. Over their exchanges, he'd calculated the hook's typical flight path. He'd attempted it twice before and missed. This time, he connected.
Chello, like many fighters, didn't habitually maintain Gyo to counter invisible threats during the heat of battle. He never saw the attack coming. And since the aura blast wasn't aimed directly at his person, there was no telltale disturbance in the air to alert him.
And this time, the Nen blast found its mark.
With Kevin closing in fast, Chello's last resort—the steel needles—shot out once more. Kevin didn't try to track them visually. Instead, he expanded his aura in a tight, one-meter sphere around his body—a miniature, instinctive En. Months of training his body to react to impacts while maintaining this state had honed a new kind of reflex.
His body twisted in mid-air, a contortion with no apparent leverage. The steel needles whistled past, one grazing his waist and tearing his clothes, but failing to find flesh.
Missed!
"This is impossible!" Chello's cry was one of pure disbelief. The needles were his ultimate, unseen gambit. They had never missed before. And a miss came with a price—a ten-second cooldown before he could recall them.
He'd simply dodged it.
Eyes wide with panic, Chello gritted his teeth, the dagger clenched in a white-knuckled grip as he scrambled back. Kevin was already upon him. Chello thrust the dagger forward in a desperate lunge.
"Your form is terrible," Kevin said, his voice calm as he sidestepped the thrust. His hands shot out, clamping onto Chello's extended arm. Using the man's own momentum, Kevin pivoted and executed a violent, exaggerated shoulder throw.
CRASH!
Chello described a helpless arc through the air before his body slammed into the arena floor with a sickening crunch. The impact forced a gout of blood from his lips.
"I surr—" he gasped, trying to form the words of surrender.
Kevin's fist was already descending. It wasn't a technique, just pure, enhanced force. The punch connected with Chello's face, driving his head back into the fractured concrete.
"Too late for that now."
Chello's conjured weapons winked out of existence. His tight suit was shredded. The referee sprinted over, checked the unmoving form, and raised an arm.
"UNCONSCIOUS! KNOCKOUT!"
The arena erupted. While most spectators hadn't fully grasped the Nen intricacies, the spectacle of shattered flooring and decisive violence was more than enough.
Kevin let out a long, controlled breath and walked from the ring. Victory was satisfying, but the mental and physical toll of a high-stakes Nen battle was profound.
Back in his room, just as he was about to collapse into a chair and mentally replay the fight, a knock sounded at the door.
He opened it.
"Master?"
Bisky swept into the room, Mori trailing behind her.
"It's Princess Bisky, you know."
"Yes, yes, yes," Kevin agreed, a tired smile touching his lips. He was used to it. "I just reached the 200th floor, and you're already here… Wait, you were in the stands, weren't you?"
Mori nodded.
Bisky stepped forward and gave Kevin's shoulder a firm, approving pat. "Very good. Your growth these past few months has surpassed even my expectations."
"Really? Hahahaha!" Kevin's laughter was unrestrained, pride and relief mingling in the sound. He was deeply satisfied with his own progress.
Bisky took a seat at the table. Kevin poured her a cup of sweetened black tea. She took a sip, nodded appreciatively, and set the cup down.
"It seems you've accomplished the goal I set for you quite thoroughly."
Kevin nodded and gave a concise summary of his months at the Arena, his research, and his breakthroughs.
"Based on that understanding, I constructed my own Nen ability. I call it Blank Meteor. The ability is—"
"Stop!" Bisky cut him off sharply. "You don't need to explain the details. A Nen user's ability is their most critical secret. Especially one with specific conditions or rules. If an enemy grasps them, it creates a fatal vulnerability."
Taking the lesson to heart, Kevin nodded. He'd thought it wouldn't matter much if his ability was known—it didn't directly boost combat power but was for training and assimilation. It was simple, direct. But he trusted Bisky's wisdom.
After a moment, he selected only the most essential, non-compromising details to share. "Then let me talk about the Specialist-type ability you've seen before." With that, he materialized the alchemical table. "Teacher, I need your help now!"
He needed Bisky's decades of experience and encyclopedic knowledge. He needed ideas about materials, synergies, possibilities. The information available online was painfully limited in this still-developing digital age. She was a living library, and he was a keen student with a very specific, very hungry query.