HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

After the white-haired boy said those words, he left the arena, leaving the two men behind.

[Congratulations, Host. Character compatibility has each increased by 5%.]

Now it's 30% for Gojo Satoru and 35% for Sukuna. The skill power should have also increased accordingly.

But the Six Eyes… for now, it's more of a burden than a benefit to him.

"..."

The man in the black robe and the man with squinted eyes exchanged looks, neither saying a word at first.

"He wants us to register just because he said so? That's spineless!" the man in the black robe said, trying to sound tough.

"Exactly, I agree." The squinting man nodded.

"I love saying 'no' to arrogant little brats like him!" the black-robed man added.

The squinting man nodded again. "Same here."

As Bowie was carried away on a stretcher by the Heaven's Arena staff, the stretcher passed by the two men. Bowie weakly raised a trembling finger and said feebly: "...Avenge… avenge me."

After forcing out those words, his head lolled to the side, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

He was clearly unconscious again.

Out of a faint sense of camaraderie, the two men fell silent for a moment.

"Bowie is the strongest in defense among us. If even his defense couldn't withstand that kid's final attack, there's no way we could." The squinting man analyzed.

Bowie was a specialist in defense, dedicating all his efforts to perfecting it without developing any other abilities.

Yet even he couldn't hold up.

If they went up against Cyr, they wouldn't just fail to avenge Bowie—they'd likely end up in the medical ward alongside him.

Luckily, in the Heaven's Arena, medical services for injuries sustained in matches above the 200th floor are free.

"Anyway, my next match isn't for a while, so there's no rush." The black-robed man said as he headed for the exit.

The squinting man followed without hesitation.

Not a single one of them suggested checking on Bowie. The fragility of their friendship was on full display.

---

Cyr stepped into the elevator, leaning into the corner as he muttered to himself, "How boring."

"Once the turtle shell is broken, there's nothing else. Single-purpose abilities are the dullest."

He had hoped for something surprising.

At the very least, Bowie could've developed some creative ways to use his abilities.

"It feels like even you, elevator lady, are stronger than my opponent," Cyr remarked, his gaze landing on the elevator operator.

It wasn't entirely a joke—her life energy was indeed stronger than Bowie's.

"Hahaha—what nonsense! You flatter me too much!" The elevator lady covered her face with one hand, laughing brightly, her tone tinged with pride.

This newcomer, he's not only good-looking but also has great taste!

"It's a shame you're not a contestant…" the white-haired boy sighed.

The elevator lady crossed her arms over her chest and declared seriously: "It's forbidden to harm staff members!"

"I would never think of such a thing, I swear," Cyr replied nonchalantly.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and Cyr stepped out.

"Liar! I'm sure you've thought about it—" The elevator lady called out, still inside, her tone full of doubt.

Cyr didn't look back or respond. The elevator doors closed, cutting off her line of sight.

"Surely, there must be other contestants with more interesting abilities…" he mused as he walked toward the registration counter.

From then on, Cyr didn't encounter anyone recklessly releasing murderous intent or pressure.

It was as if he had already gained the recognition of others.

But Cyr didn't need that kind of recognition.

He preferred how things were at the start—when everyone came to challenge him. That would've been more entertaining.

---

At the Registration Counter

"Oh my, this contestant! I heard you won your match. Congratulations, congratulations." The woman at the registration counter greeted him with a bright smile as soon as she saw him.

"So, what brings you here this time?" she asked, her cheerful tone turning slightly curious.

The white-haired, blue-eyed boy pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing his legs in a languid posture. "Anyone challenging me?"

"If so, arrange the match as soon as possible," he added casually, his tone light but impatient.

His attitude was contradictory—on the surface, he didn't seem to care, but his insistence to get it done quickly suggested otherwise.

"Nope, no challenges at the moment." The woman smiled.

"You still have 90 days of preparation time. If you're eager to compete, you can issue challenges yourself, pick your opponent, and agree on the time and venue," she explained.

"Once the opponent accepts, we'll arrange the match immediately." Her professionalism was clear, though her tone carried a hint of exasperation.

How could someone be this eager to fight? Most contestants would rest until the deadline before even thinking about registering for a match.

"Huh? Why would I challenge someone?" Cyr raised his eyebrows high, his face full of arrogance.

Issuing a challenge was tantamount to putting oneself in an inferior position.

Only the weak needed to challenge the strong.

Did people like Gojo Satoru or Sukuna ever challenge others? Of course not. Because they were the strongest. It was always others who wanted to challenge them.

And often, because of the fear of their strength, most wouldn't even dare to issue a challenge.

"In that case, you can simply submit your registration form, and we'll match you with an opponent," the woman suggested.

Which, of course, would mean being matched with some boring contestant.

"Forget it." Cyr drooped his eyes, his face filled with disinterest and dejection as he got up to leave.

---

At the Betting Window

"Might as well check how much money Maro's made." He thought.

If they'd gathered enough to hit the 1 billion mark, he could buy the Storage Curse and leave the Heaven's Arena altogether.

Hisoka, after all, stayed here to nurture opponents, treating it like a hunting ground. But Cyr wasn't interested in raising opponents and waiting for them to grow stronger.

To him, that was a waste of time.

When Cyr arrived at the betting window, he found Maro standing in line.

He glanced at the upcoming match.

Contestants:

Kastro: Male, 4 wins, 1 loss.

Rico: Male, 2 wins, 2 losses.

Kastro was a tall, thin man with long, straight, white hair, while Rico was a muscular dark-skinned man with amber eyes.

Though their names weren't exactly inspiring.

"Kastro... That name sounds familiar," Cyr murmured as he glanced at the avatar displayed above.

Hearing the familiar voice, Maro, who was still waiting in line, quickly turned around with an excited expression. "Sir!"

"Ah, Maro," the white-haired boy responded lazily, his mind still preoccupied with why the name felt familiar.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his brain, and he figured out the answer.

If memory served, this guy was one of Hisoka's toys!

However… perhaps due to the overly gory or violent nature of the story arc, Cyr hadn't seen that episode on certain streaming platforms. It seemed to have been censored, like it was wiped clean by some divine force.

But he had come across some fan edits posted by creators online.

Apparently, Kastro had once fought against Hisoka. In a way, Hisoka was even his mentor, having "baptized" him. In the context of the Heaven's Arena, this likely referred to an elder opening the aura nodes of a newcomer.

Ultimately, Kastro lost to Hisoka. But Hisoka spared his life—clearly treating him as a toy.

As for what Cyr remembered from the edited clips?

Well, it seemed Hisoka wasn't satisfied with how his toy turned out later on and ended up killing him outright.

°°°

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