HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

"Cyr, current record: four wins, zero losses…" The commentator continued announcing the victor's stats, as if they had just discovered the ultimate key to boosting audience engagement.

The white-haired boy wore a cold expression, his brows furrowed in dissatisfaction. His entire demeanor screamed not satisfied enough.

Ignoring the referee, who was frantically calling for the medical team over their radio, Cyr lazily stepped down from the arena. Before Maro could offer any words of praise, Cyr spoke first.

"You can contact that guy now… What's his name again…" Cyr frowned, thinking for a while.

"Oh, right. Zorge Zichler. What a weird name," he muttered, clicking his tongue in distaste.

"Tell him—we'll take his boss's job offer."

A One-Star Bounty Hunter who formed a mercenary group just to work for the rich in pursuit of a stable life.

Well, Cyr didn't really get it, but he supposed he could respect the choice.

"Understood. I'll inform him now," Maro nodded and pulled out his phone, dialing Zorge Zichler's number.

The call was picked up almost immediately.

"You've decided to take the job?" Zorge sounded surprised.

He had already assumed these two wouldn't accept. After all, it had been over a month since the Hunter Exam ended, and they hadn't reached out to him even once.

Not that it mattered. If they refused, so be it. His employer had money—there were plenty of other choices.

But now, a month later, they were suddenly calling him?

"Of course. We're still short on people, so you're welcome to join us anytime," Zorge responded quickly.

Given how his employer had been acting, they were willing to spend whatever it took to increase their chances of success—no hesitation whatsoever.

"Got it. We'll meet with your employer sometime soon," Maro replied politely.

Soon.

How soon? That depended.

Vague, flexible, and deliberately avoiding specifics—he was a natural at this.

"Speaking of timing, Hisoka's got a match coming up in a few days," Cyr muttered to himself, ignoring Marlo's phone call.

"Since Gon and Killua have already arrived, Hisoka's next opponent should be Kastro…"

The result was Kastro got killed, and then Gon fought Hisoka?

Then after winning, Hisoka became a Floor Master…

Meanwhile, Cyr only had four victories—he still needed six more to reach that rank.

Damn, that's embarrassing.

"We're leaving. Once you're done, we're out of here," Cyr made a snap decision to retreat.

Stick around to watch Hisoka's over-the-top theatrics? Not a chance.

"I understand. I'll finish quickly," Maro gave a slight bow, his every movement resembling that of a professional butler.

Then, in the arena, his fighting style was utterly reckless. He sacrificed an arm—letting his bones snap in the process—to ensure his opponent's death.

"Sir, it's over. Let's go," he said, holding his broken arm with his other hand. His face was pale, but he remained eerily calm, even smiling in a serene, submissive manner.

Cyr studied him for a moment before suddenly laughing.

"Alright. Let's go."

Maro seemed to be growing more and more unhinged. Or perhaps, his true nature was simply surfacing.

Now this is interesting.

As they were leaving, they ran into Gon and Killua again. This time, they had another boy with them.

He was younger, wearing a white martial arts gi, with thick eyebrows—clearly the stubborn type. And he had already awakened Nen.

Well, there goes the title of youngest fighter to reach the 200th floor.

Cyr stared at the three with a peculiar expression. An ominous feeling washed over them, making them instinctively take a few steps back, their eyes filled with wariness.

"…Should I just kill you all right now?" the white-haired boy murmured.

It sounded like a joke, but the murderous intent leaking from him was all too real.

Gon and Killua's hair practically stood on end.

"This guy is strong," the younger boy crouched into a fighting stance, his fists clenched at his waist, staring at Cyr with a serious expression.

"Obviously! This guy was our Exam Proctor not too long ago," Killua rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"A One-Star Bounty Hunter… Cyr DeVille. I didn't expect to run into you here," a man in glasses and a dress shirt with neatly combed black hair stepped forward. "Zushi, step back. You're no match for him."

"You know him?"

"Master!"

Gon, Killua, and Zushi all turned toward the man.

"…You look kind of familiar," Cyr muttered, digging through his memories.

Back at Heaven's Arena, Gon and Killua had met someone who taught them Nen. That guy's name was…

"Ah, Wing!" The white-haired boy suddenly realized.

"Well, whatever," he sighed. "Not like any of you are gonna win more stylishly than me anyway."

Heaven's Arena's biggest stars were still him… and Hisoka.

That damn magician always pulled off such ridiculous tricks in battle—his fights were pure entertainment.

And since he'd been around longer, he had a dedicated fanbase.

So when it came to popularity among fighters in Heaven's Arena, Cyr and Hisoka were pretty much tied.

Wing looked slightly surprised. He hadn't expected this boy to recognize him.

Not that he underestimated himself, but… he really wasn't famous.

How does he even know about me?!

"Oh, right. When you reach the 200th floor, be careful," Cyr said casually, unfazed by Wing's suspicious look. He kept walking toward the exit but gave a passing remark as he brushed past Killua and the others.

"The people up there really love weak prey."

Especially those who hadn't learned Nen yet.

Otherwise, there wouldn't even be a so-called initiation ritual.

The white-haired boy's departing figure was relaxed and carefree, as if nothing in the world could truly concern him.

"So, he's saying that, to the fighters above the 200th floor, we're just weak prey?" Killua muttered, clearly unwilling to accept it.

"…" Gon scratched his head, unsure how to respond. He could only give an awkward laugh to cover his uncertainty.

"For a bounty devil like him, I'd say most fighters probably look like weak prey," Wing adjusted his glasses, his tone carrying a hint of caution.

"I was gonna ask—how do you even know that guy?" Killua frowned, staring at Wing.

"He's somewhat famous in the Hunter community. You'll probably hear his name more in the future," Wing smiled, choosing not to elaborate.

Cyr wasn't just known for his strength—his ruthless, merciless methods had earned him quite a reputation.

Some people even believed that he was the one who truly deserved to be locked up.

"Tch, acting all mysterious," Killua turned away, clearly unimpressed.

At this moment, neither of them fully understood what Cyr had meant.

Not until they stepped into the hallway leading to the 200th-floor registration desk.

That invisible, omnipresent force—spreading through the air like an overwhelming, suffocating pressure—made them freeze in place.

And in that instant, they remembered the white-haired boy's words.

So this is what he meant…?

The gap between them and the fighters on the 200th floor—

Was it really this massive?

°°°

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