Floor 50 - Passive Battle - Chapter 20

About five to ten seconds later, everybody watching the small battle comes to their senses.

The referee blinked.

The crowd murmured louder now, uncertain what they'd just witnessed.

"W-Winner by knockout, Arin Wolker!"

The announcement felt delayed, the referee stumbling over the words.

Arin didn't raise his other hand in triumph.

He didn't smile.

He didn't nod toward the crowd.

He simply stepped back, looked at the referee, and waited.

"It would be pretty shameless to be happy to win on the first floor."

"Not to mention the fact that my opponent is just an ordinary guy."

After a second, the man snapped out of his stunned silence and pulled a small hand-held device from his side.

He typed something quickly, and a small slip of paper slid out from the machine.

He handed it to Arin.

"You… uh… don't have to go through each floor, sir," he said.

"You're approved to skip to Floor 50 immediately. That… was a qualifying-level performance."

Arin took the slip without a word.

His opponent was being carried away by medical staff. Breathing, but unconscious.

The crowd watched as Arin left the floor.

Most of them didn't know what they had seen.

Some did.

"That wasn't raw strength…"

"Was that a real technique?"

Arin didn't pay attention.

He returned to the fighter's corridor and removed his outer jacket.

It wasn't a hard fight.

But it was a start.

He glanced at the paper again. Floor 50.

This was impressive for his first fight.

He knew the difficulty would rise now.

But that's what he wanted.

The elevator ride to Floor 50 was smoother than expected.

Arin leaned against the wall.

"This is exactly what I wanted," he told himself.

"A structured place to fight. A clean system to measure myself. And I have time before I hit danger."

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to a much more polished waiting area than the first floor.

Men and women who had already passed through dozens of matches sat in corners, some stretching, others sharpening knives or doing slow push-ups in silence.

He made his way to the clerk's desk, where a clean-cut woman in her thirties stood behind a small glass window.

Without a word, Arin slid the slip of paper across the surface.

The woman gave a single glance at it and then reached into a drawer, pulling out a sealed envelope.

She handed it to him and offered a polite but neutral smile.

"Congratulations on your victory," she said. "Your earnings: one thousand Jenny."

Arin took the envelope and nodded.

"Not bad," he muttered. "Enough for a small meal."

He didn't linger.

He turned and made his way to the Floor 50 waiting area, where fighters were called in order depending on match rotation, rest status, and medical clearance.

Since Arin had taken no damage, he assumed correctly that his name would rise quickly.

He found a chair in the corner and sat down.

There were three men and two women in the room besides him, none younger than twenty-five. Some had visible scars.

One man had a lazy eye and a shoulder too high, likely from an improperly healed injury.

Arin kept mental notes. 

"I am sure these people have no means to fight against me due to them being not using "Nen"."

 he thought,

"But I can see that they are used to pain. That means their instincts are better than the average thug."

Arin sat still, but his inner world was moving.

He brought his aura inward, narrowing it to a tight circulation around his spine.

Suppressed even his use of Ten to the barest threshold.

"I won't use any Nen unless I'm in real danger."

"If I need to use my Nen against these people with no aura or any knowledge of 'Nen"

Arin shook his head and thought no more.

His strategy was simple: limit his own power to simulate real combat pressure.

He opened the envelope and peeked at the money.

"Dinner," he whispered. "Then a floor higher. One fight at a time."

"WALKER vs. DARDUSNA!"

The loudspeaker echoed across the waiting area. Arin stood up without hesitation.

"Because I am at the level of fifties; instead of the number, they use my name."

"A change."

Arin thought.

He stepped through the hallway, into the staging area, and toward the arena door.

The handler beside him, a lean man with a clipboard, glanced down and said,

"Your opponent's got fifteen wins on record. It may make sense to forfeit this fight."

Arin said nothing.

The man looked at him again, then smirked.

"You're the quiet type."

Arin gave a single nod.

Then the doors opened.

He stepped into the arena again.

This one is slightly bigger, with a crowd from each direction.

Instead of many arenas in the middle, this time there was only one.

His opponent stood across the ring.

A guy named "Dardusna."

A stocky man in military trousers and a sleeveless vest, fists taped, shoulders hunched.

He looked like someone who had spent years in street brawls and bar fights.

The referee stepped forward, giving the rules.

"Standard match. No killing. Knockout or submission, as well as the point system, begins on my call."

Arin inhaled once.

"I will try to not use my Nen, just use my passive capabilities and what I know about fighting."

"Even like this, due to the enhancement of the Nen, my physical capabilities should be great enough to give an edge in this fight."

He thought, and then the referee started the match.

"BEGIN!"