Chapter: Rising Tensions – The 130th Floor Duel
The hundredth floor marked a crucial turning point in Heavens Arena—a true watershed moment for any aspiring fighter. From this floor onward, everything changed. The treatment, the respect, the stakes—all elevated. Just reaching the hundredth floor came with a reward of one million Jenny. Climbing to the 150th floor would increase that sum tenfold, and reaching the two hundredth floor would net a staggering 200 million Jenny in total earnings.
More importantly, each competitor above the hundredth floor was granted their own private room, a luxury unthinkable on the chaotic lower levels. With such generous rewards and improved living conditions, every fighter began giving it their all, pulling out every trick and technique they'd ever learned.
From this point forward, raw strength alone was no longer enough.
The opponents Jon faced on these upper floors weren't reckless brawlers—they were calculated, cunning, and often skilled in martial arts or Nen techniques. Unless a fighter possessed superhuman physical abilities, they needed well-honed combat skills to survive. Matches on these floors were intense, strategic, and sometimes brutal. For fighters who lived for battle, this was the ultimate proving ground.
Jon learned that lesson quickly—and painfully.
Upon entering the hundredth floor for the first time, he nearly suffered a catastrophic defeat. His opponent was fast, his movements unpredictable and deceptive. Without any warning, Jon found himself on the back foot, the tide of the match slipping away from him.
At the last possible second, he broke his own restriction.
He activated Ripple Dash, catching his opponent off guard with a sudden burst of speed and power. Only through that last-minute gamble was Jon able to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Had he hesitated, he would have plummeted back below the hundredth floor, forced to start his climb again.
From the hundredth floor onward, victory was no longer guaranteed by a lucky strike or superior physique.
His raw strength was no longer enough to knock out opponents in one blow. They were smarter now—more patient, more brutal. Some tried to bait him into traps; others dragged out fights to test his endurance. Jon could only win by playing within the rules—scoring clean hits and surviving long enough to outlast his opponents.
But through struggle came growth.
Jon's fighting instincts sharpened. He began to understand spacing, feints, and footwork. Every narrow victory became a lesson. His body moved faster, his mind calculated quicker, and his confidence, though cautious, began to grow. He was still far from perfect—but undeniably, he was getting stronger.
The elevator gave a soft chime—"Ding."
The doors slid open.
Jon stepped into the corridor of the 130th floor. He was no longer a nameless underdog. His name had begun to spread, murmured in the waiting halls and echoed through the betting booths.
Above the hundredth floor, things worked differently. Fighters didn't hang around the common areas anymore. They trained, they rested, they waited. Each fighter was only required to participate in one match per day, unless seriously injured. Unlike the chaos of the lower levels, matches here were scheduled, professional, and high-stakes.
And they were also big business.
Each bout was assigned betting odds by Heaven's Arena organizers, generating massive profits from spectators wagering on their favorites. Alongside that, ticket sales became a major source of revenue—especially for floors above the 200th, where matches were rare and seats were often booked months in advance. Contestants above the 200th floor had VIP access, allowed to enter and exit the arena freely.
Jon soon found himself standing at the 135th floor's waiting room, surrounded by roaring cheers from the crowd.
Unlike the earlier matches, the spectators here were deeply invested—both emotionally and financially. Most had already placed bets. Their excitement was palpable.
After a few minutes, Jon's match was called.
"No. 3052, Jon Berosevich, versus No. 2054, Killua Zoldyck."
The crowd erupted in noise. Camera drones zoomed in from every angle, projecting footage onto the massive screens suspended above the arena.
A bright, enthusiastic announcer, a girl with pink headphones and sparkling energy, addressed the crowd:
"This is a clash between two young prodigies! Who will emerge victorious?!"
A dynamic highlight reel began to play.
Jon's footage showed him weaving effortlessly through attacks, dodging by a hair's breadth before landing devastating counters—each opponent crumbling beneath his precise, calculating strikes.
Then came Killua's footage. The small, silver-haired boy moved like a blur—a phantom. He left afterimages in his wake, striking from all angles, reducing his opponents to broken heaps before they even registered his presence.
The audience's excitement soared.
And yet, no one was more thrilled than Jon himself.
Is that… Killua? For real?
His heart pounded—not from fear, but from awe. Standing before him was none other than Killua Zoldyck, the second male lead from Hunter x Hunter. In Jon's world, Killua had always been a fan favorite—cute and deadly, emotionally complex, and endlessly cool.
He's not some edgy loner, nor is he a golden-boy hero. He's a perfect blend. No wonder fans liked him more than Gon…
What surprised Jon the most was that Killua had already made it to the 130th floor—at just seven years old. He remembered thinking that during the canon arc, Killua must have trained at home for years before joining the arena. But clearly, that wasn't the case. Killua was already a force here.
And now, Jon was facing him.
Killua descended into the arena with effortless grace, landing with a quiet thud. His face was cold, unreadable, but his eyes were sharp—unblinking and locked onto Jon.
He's not underestimating me, Jon realized. He's doing what any assassin would do. He's measuring my movements before the fight even begins.
The crowd buzzed with energy. Cheers, chants, and wild predictions filled the air. The tension was unbearable.
This was a headline match, the kind that sparked discussions for weeks. On one side stood Killua Zoldyck, the child assassin, already a fixture of the 130th floor. On the other, Jon Berosevich, a twelve-year-old newcomer who had climbed to this height in under a week.
Yet beneath Killua's calm surface, Jon could sense it—the shadow of Illumi, always looming. Killua, for all his power, was still shackled by his family's expectations. He fought because he was ordered to. He had no friends, no freedom. Only discipline and cold precision.
"Begin!" the referee declared.
Silence reigned.
Jon didn't move. He didn't even raise a guard.
His mind was clear. He wasn't here to beat Killua out of some desire to win or prove himself. He was here to benchmark his strength—to see how far he'd come and how far he had left to go.
Killua, however, was not one to hesitate.
In a blink, he launched himself forward, his body like a bullet fired from a cannon.
Jon's eyes widened.
He is pretty fast…!