HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

Maro also glanced up at the two avatars on the screen, then turned back and asked, "Sir, do you know him?"

"Not personally, but I've heard of him," Cyr replied with a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"He's one of Hisoka's targets."

The white-haired, blue-eyed boy continued, his tone both amused and dismissive. "If I had to say, Hisoka probably ranks him and me in the same category in his mind."

"What? How dare he compare himself to you, sir?" Maro clenched his fists in anger. "That Hisoka really has terrible judgment! To think he could look at anyone else after knowing you? What poor taste!"

"Right? I think so too," Cyr nodded in agreement.

The very idea that Hisoka might place him in the same "toy box" as others irritated him to no end.

"Couldn't you at least set up a special box for me in your mind, Hisoka?" he grumbled inwardly.

Still, his hand betrayed his annoyance as he pointed to Kastro's avatar and said to Maro, "Bet on him to win."

"…Understood," Maro replied after a moment of hesitation.

He had already been planning to bet on Kastro, as he believed the man's strength was superior to his opponent's.

"After all, money doesn't lie," Cyr remarked, patting Maro on the shoulder.

Maro always trailed a few steps behind Cyr and habitually bowed his head slightly, making it easy for Cyr to reach his shoulder.

Perfect. If Maro stood upright and proud beside him, it would feel like he was being looked down on—completely unacceptable.

At the moment, Cyr was only 163 cm tall, but with Sukuna's original height of over 2 meters and Gojo's towering 190+ cm, he figured he'd grow quite a bit. By the time he hit 16, he'd likely be around 180 cm tall.

When that happened, he would be the one looking down on others.

"How much money do we have now?" Cyr abruptly changed the subject.

"450 million," Maro calculated in his head and replied.

Kastro's odds weren't high—in fact, they were incredibly low. Betting on him to win wouldn't yield much profit, even if they were right. And there were still taxes and fees to account for.

Taxes… no matter the world, they always existed.

"Only that much?" Cyr muttered, tugging at the corner of his mouth. But he knew better than to complain.

Oh well, considering they had only been at the Heaven's Arena for a few days and already made 200 million, it wasn't bad.

Even if they were still halfway short of the 10 billion needed to buy Storage Curse…

All he wanted was a portable storage space, nothing extravagant.

"My apologies…" Maro instinctively murmured.

"Let's go watch that guy's match," Cyr said, dropping the subject.

He purchased two tickets, and they made their way to the arena where Kastro's fight was about to begin.

The long-haired white-haired man and the dark-skinned, amber-eyed man stood face to face.

As the announcer declared the match's start, both fighters sprang into action.

"They're so fast… I can't see a thing," Maro muttered, his eyes glued to the stage. After a while, he gave up and shifted his gaze to the slow-motion replay on the overhead screen.

"Try channeling your aura into your eyes," Cyr said nonchalantly, leaning on the railing in front of him without looking back.

"Aura can be directed to any part of your body. You can also imbue it into objects. When you infuse your will—or rather, your intent—into the aura, you can grant those objects the desired effect. It's a very subjective and will-driven ability."

Seeming to indulge in the role of a teacher, Cyr explained, though it was clear he wasn't particularly adept at it. Fortunately, Maro was a diligent student.

"Understood," the blonde youth nodded, signifying his comprehension. He refocused on the arena, and for the first time, he could actually follow what was happening—at least to some extent.

Even so, he still couldn't quite understand it. Sweat began to bead on his forehead from the effort.

On the stage, Kastro appeared in front of his opponent and unleashed a technique, Tiger Fang Fist, severing half of the opponent's arm.

"How… how did he do that? He's so fast! I couldn't catch his movements at all," Maro muttered, his brows furrowed in frustration.

"You're focusing on the wrong thing," Cyr replied lazily. "It looks like he's attacking from the front, but he's actually striking from the side."

After a brief pause, he added in an indifferent tone, "He's got an extra pair of hands."

That jogged his memory—he recalled watching clips of Kastro's fight with Hisoka. One of the comments lamented the former's wasted potential.

Apparently, despite being an Enhancement type, Kastro had developed Double Shadow Clone, an ability more aligned with Conjuration. This deviation significantly weakened his natural strength as an Enhancer.

In other words, he could have been much stronger.

"An extra pair of hands?" Maro was taken aback.

"That's what happens with self-taught ability users," Cyr remarked casually. "No systematic training in Nen techniques, no proper guidance… If he'd just taken the Hunter Exam, he wouldn't have ended up like this."

After all, obtaining a Hunter License would have given him access to the association's resources, including a mentor to teach the basics of Nen.

Hisoka probably just opened Kastro's aura nodes and left him to figure out the rest.

"For an Enhancer to develop a clone technique—it's no wonder people see it as unconventional."

Cyr turned to Maro and offered some advice: "Remember to stick to the path that suits you best."

Maro wasn't particularly strong, and if his Nen development veered off course, he'd be wasted potential—just like Kastro.

"I'll do my best!" Maro vowed earnestly.

As a Transmuter, he wondered what kind of ability would be most fitting for him. From what Cyr had mentioned, Hisoka was also a Transmuter. What exactly was Hisoka's ability like?

The match on the stage ended quickly. Kastro defeated his opponent with ease. Cyr could tell that he hadn't even used his full strength.

But—

"Boring," Cyr muttered, losing any interest in fighting Kastro.

The clone ability relied entirely on catching opponents off-guard to land critical hits. But against someone with Six Eyes like Cyr?

Such abilities were entirely ineffective. Any match between them would be dull and over in no time.

Kastro's power would crumble the moment his clone technique was exposed.

And then there was that guy who fought with spinning tops—what was his ability called? "Dancing Tops"? His entire strategy revolved around imbuing aura into the tops and letting them attack his opponents.

If Cyr fought him, the tops wouldn't even touch him. Yet another uninspiring match.

"How boring. Let's make 500 more million and leave this place," Cyr muttered as he left the stands, Maro trailing behind him.

The two spent the rest of the day placing bets. With the Six Eyes ability, Cyr always picked seemingly unknown fighters who, from his perspective, showed significant potential.

These underdogs had the highest odds.

The higher the floor level, the lower the odds—unless the skill disparity was so blatant that even the audience could see it.

In the massive Heaven's Arena, thousands of new fighters showed up daily. Cyr made two billion in a single day just by betting.

---

That evening, Cyr and Maro sat on a couch, calculating their total assets.

"So now we have nearly 700 million. In a couple more days, we can leave and head somewhere else," Cyr declared.

As long as the Heaven's Arena didn't ban him from betting, of course.

He could already imagine them putting up a sign with his photo and the words "This person is banned from betting."

Surely a place this big wouldn't be that petty, right?

After all, Six Eyes was a passive ability—he couldn't turn it off even if he wanted to. How could that be considered cheating?

And with that, Cyr cheekily ended his day.

°°°

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