"So fast!"Jon couldn't help but exclaim as Killua shot toward him like lightning.
But he didn't panic.
Over the past few days, Jon's combat instincts had sharpened under constant pressure. He had fought tooth and nail through every floor, climbing higher with every grueling match. Though Killua's speed was in a league of its own, Jon had learned how to read a battlefield, how to think in split-seconds.
And right now, he understood something crucial—No matter which way he dodged, he'd expose his back.
And turning your back on a Zoldyck…was asking to die.
Jon didn't flinch. Instead, he lowered his center of gravity, crouching low to the ground and raising both fists protectively in front of his face, shielding—but not blocking—his vision.
Killua's eyes narrowed.
Strange... most people can't even react when I close the distance. He didn't try to run. He didn't freeze. He braced.What's his play?
Killua slowed slightly as he closed in. He had fought dozens of opponents since arriving at the 130th floor, and most did one of two things: either they panicked and fled—easy kills—or they braced, thinking they could tank his strike. None of them had done what Jon just did.
Crouch low, fists up—but eyes wide open.
And in Jon's eyes, Killua saw something that made his instincts scream.
There was no fear. No hesitation. No glazed look of someone about to lose.
What he saw was… focus. Intention. Confidence.
No way… He's baiting me?
Killua immediately aborted the attack. His assassin's intuition flared. He pivoted sharply, sliding back several meters to reassess, warily circling Jon like a predator second-guessing its prey.
But Jon had already moved.
The moment Killua pulled back, Jon's legs exploded with force.
"Bang!" The arena floor cracked beneath his feet as Jon launched forward like a cannonball.
A trail of displaced air followed his figure as he became a blazing projectile.
This wasn't just a dash—it was a high-speed suicidal blitz. A risky counter Jon had been refining for days. It turned defense into offense in a split-second—if it landed.
The downside?
No course correction.
No brakes.
No second chances.
A one-way ticket straight into the enemy's chest—or a trap.
To anyone else, it would've been reckless. But Killua had hesitated for just a moment.
And that moment was all Jon needed.
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORAAAA—!!"Jon's fists blurred as he unleashed a furious flurry, Ripple energy sparking around his arms. It wasn't as fast as Killua's ghost-like speed, but it carried raw impact and controlled rage, each punch hammering down like a piston.
Killua crossed his forearms, taking the barrage head-on while skidding backward from the sheer force.
"Tch—!"His feet carved grooves in the arena floor. Each blow shook his arms. The damage was real.
He twisted his body and finally managed to slip past Jon's wild momentum, launching himself to Jon's flank and leaping away. When he landed, his arms were visibly bruised—small purplish marks beginning to bloom beneath his skin.
The pain didn't bother Killua. But what did bother him… was the look on Jon's face.
Jon hadn't overextended. He hadn't panicked. He was calm. Focused. Deliberate.
He used that move knowing I'd react. He forced me on the defensive…This guy's dangerous.
For the first time in the match, the composure drained from Killua's expression. His calm, icy demeanor was replaced by a sharp tension. His rhythm was broken, his flow interrupted.
Jon stood up straight again, cracking his neck, a bead of sweat running down his brow.
"Hah... That woke me up."
The crowd, stunned just seconds ago, exploded with cheers.
The reversal had happened so fast, so unexpectedly, that it left even veteran gamblers gaping in awe. The offense had flipped in an instant. And now, the two young prodigies stood facing each other, bruised and breathing heavier, but not backing down.
This wasn't some beginner-tier skirmish.
The intensity matched that of the 150th floor or higher.
And yet—Jon knew something.
That wasn't the end.
Killua hadn't gone all out yet.
And neither had he.
He tightened his fists.
I wanted to fight him to test myself. I didn't expect this level of pressure... but I'm not backing down. Let's see how far I've really come.
Killua, now glaring with sharp, calculating eyes, took a step forward, electricity faintly crackling at his fingertips.
This won't be like before, he thought. Now I know. He's not just another floor-climber. He's a threat.
Killua had stopped his aggressive charge. He no longer rushed in recklessly as before.Instead, he stepped back—silent, calculated—and began to circle.
Jon's gut twisted. Something was wrong.
He's not charging? He's... waiting?
Killua's footsteps changed in tempo—sometimes brisk, sometimes lethargic—creating a strange, hypnotic rhythm as he moved. Then it happened.
Three Killuas appeared on the field.
"W-What?!" Jon's eyes widened in disbelief.He wasn't the only one. The audience erupted in murmurs and gasps, stunned by the spectacle. The fight had suddenly entered what looked like a supernatural dimension.
In truth, it was not magic or Nen. This was a legendary assassination technique known only to the highest echelons of the Zoldyck family.
Rhythm Echo.
Using a specialized movement pattern called Silent Steps, combined with precise changes in speed and weight distribution, Killua created perfect afterimages—phantoms that mirrored his motion.
It's not an illusion, Jon realized grimly. It's a trick of the body... a technique.A technique meant to kill.
Killua had used it once in the Hunter Exam—against Netero, no less—but that moment had faded from Jon's memory. He had underestimated just how lethal it could be.
Jon's heartbeat quickened.His eyes darted from image to image, but each one looked equally real. The Killuas moved with eerie synchronicity, weaving in and out, their tempo never breaking.
He tightened his fists.Sweat dripped from his temple.
I can't keep up. I won't be able to dodge whatever's coming.
And it wasn't just visual confusion.Jon didn't know it, but Rhythm Echo also carried a mental edge—a psychological dagger. The growing tension, the pressure of tracking multiple threats at once, was designed to fray nerves, expose weaknesses, and break an opponent's sense of timing.
Jon was already on edge, and Killua knew it.
He's flustered.
Now break him.
But Killua didn't pounce yet.
He began to tighten the circle, his phantom selves closing in with silent, ghost-like steps.
Jon's mind raced. Ripple wasn't going to help him here—not offensively. At best, it could help slow the bleeding if he got hit. But at this speed? At this range?He was moments from being dissected alive.
And for the first time, Jon saw it—the faint flicker of true killing intent in Killua's eyes.The eyes of a child raised to murder without emotion. Before Gon. Before friendship. Before compassion.
Just raw, distilled training and instinct.
Jon was not confident that he could influence the current Killua's personality until he defeated him first at least.
I need to do something—now!
But he couldn't act fast enough.
Suddenly, all three Killuas lunged at once.
Their synchronization was terrifying. It wasn't flashy or wild—it was surgical. A clean, efficient assault. Killua's real body surged forward, arm outstretched, his fingers sharpened like claws, aimed directly at Jon's heart.
The crowd held its breath.
From the audience's view, this looked like the end. The sharpened hand stopped just twenty centimeters from Jon's chest.
In a real assassination, this is where he dies, Killua thought coldly. This is checkmate.
But then—
"ORA!"
A sudden burst of force rocketed Killua backward, sending his small frame skidding across the arena like a ragdoll.He bounced once, tumbled, then slammed against the wall of the ring.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Killua lay there for a moment, stunned—his eyes wide, mind blank.
What... just happened?
He hadn't even attacked yet—hadn't touched Jon—and yet it felt like he'd been sucker-punched by an invisible wall.
He sat up slowly, eyes narrowed, chest heaving.A single bead of sweat trickled down his cheek.
No movement. No wind-up. No stance. But I was hit.
Was that... air pressure? Or... something else?
Across from him, Jon was panting heavily, hunched slightly forward, fists clenched. His breathing was ragged, adrenaline still surging through his system.
He had narrowly avoided death.
That was too close... I couldn't dodge in time. If I hadn't...
Jon glanced down at his side, where a faint blue thread shimmered before fading into invisibility.
Yeah no... Time to end this quickly.
Jon had done what no one else could in Killua's brief but dominant time on the 130th floor—he repelled him. Not through brute force alone, but by activating his secret weapon—his Stand.
Killua climbed back to his feet, visibly shaken.His eyes locked onto Jon, sharp and searching.
That wasn't normal. That wasn't a punch.It came from... something else. Something I couldn't see.
He narrowed his eyes.
This guy... he's hiding something. Something dangerous.