"I watched both of your fights," the man said, a glint of admiration in his eyes.
"I must say, you’re a genius."
"People like you don’t co around often in Heavens Arena."
"Those two matches already drew a lot of attention. You’ve beco one of the rising stars here."
"Many fighters above the 100th floor aren’t half as good as you."
He leaned in closer. "Work with , and we’ll make a fortune together. Enough wealth to live without worrying about food or rent."
The man paused, offering a smug smile. "By the way, I’m Klose—an agent."
Kaizen gave him a asured look, his expression calm but cautious. The middle-aged man, with his broad grin and confident deanor, clearly thought he had Kaizen figured out. But Kaizen already knew what Klose was aiming for.
Heavens Arena wasn’t just a battleground—it was a business empire. Famous fighters often branched out into other ventures. So gathered disciples, so with looks as sharp as their skills joined the entertainnt industry, starring in movies, TV shows, and even variety programs.
The bigger the na, the greater the opportunities—and the more ways there were to "harvest" the public’s admiration.
But two industries stood above all the others.
First, the arena’s own operations, where ticket sales alone raked in massive profits.
Second, the betting scene. Every match had odds, and every result made or ruined fortunes. Fans gambled with the hope of hitting the jackpot, and many left with empty pockets, their dreams shattered.
Klose’s grin widened as he pulled out the bait.
"All you have to do is lose today’s match. In return, you’ll pocket 3 million Jenny. That’s far more than you’d make from winning."
Kaizen gave a slight nod, considering the offer.
"True."
Klose leaned forward eagerly. "So, you’re in?"
Kaizen shook his head, expression steady.
"No."
Klose blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Kaizen’s voice was calm, yet there was an edge to it. "I suppose 3 million Jenny sounds like a lot... but do you really think that counts as money?"
Klose’s smile faltered.
3 million Jenny? For Kaizen, that was a pittance. He recalled how, in the original story, Killua had risen from the lower floors to the 200th floor in just six months, earning a total of 200 million Jenny in prize money.
Even if Kaizen took a different path or fought fewer rounds, the prize money on the upper floors was worth far more than what Klose was offering.
Klose stared at him, stunned. "You... think that’s not enough?"
Kaizen stood up, brushing off the conversation. "I’m not interested in sches like this. Money’s only useful if it serves a purpose—and not the kind of purpose you have in mind."
Klose’s expression darkened. "Do you understand the consequences of rejecting ?"
Before he could say more, a wave of killing intent surged from Kaizen.
Klose’s words died in his throat. His face paled, and he felt an icy chill seep into his bones, as if he had been thrown into a freezing cellar.
He couldn’t move.
"I suggest you don’t co to again," Kaizen said quietly, his voice deadly calm. "Otherwise, you won’t just lose money—you’ll lose a lot more than that."
With that, Kaizen left the lounge without looking back.
Klose remained frozen in place for several minutes, barely daring to breathe. Only when Kaizen’s presence was completely gone did he stagger to the door, peeking out cautiously. Seeing no sign of him, Klose exhaled shakily, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Damn brat," Klose muttered, anger bubbling beneath his fear. "Who the hell is he? How does a kid have that kind of aura?"
His fingers clenched into fists as frustration took over.
"No way I’m letting this slide. If people find out I was cowed by so kid, my reputation is finished!"
Determined not to give up, Klose began formulating a plan.
"Fine. I don’t need to confront him myself. I’m just a cadre—no need to stick my neck out." His eyes glinted with malice. "I’ll let soone higher up handle him. If things go south, I’ll just lie low."
He smirked, reassured by the wealth he had accumulated over the years.
Kaizen wandered from the 10th to the 15th floor, searching for his opponent’s companions. But after a fruitless search, he checked the ti—it was almost 10 o’clock.
"Guess I’ll have to deal with this after the match," Kaizen muttered, abandoning his search for now.
At the arena entrance, a staff mber waved him over. "Kaizen, it’s ti."
He nodded and followed the long corridor toward the arena. The noise grew louder with every step, and soon the vast arena opened before him.
His opponent was already waiting on the other side of the ring, standing next to the referee. The crowd was packed, their eager eyes glued to the arena floor. Kaizen could feel their excitent—it was obvious that many of them had co just to watch him fight.
Kaizen had already crushed two opponents in a row, skyrocketing to the 70th floor. He wasn’t just winning—he was dominating.
"Like the UFC, it’s not about how many fights you win," Kaizen thought to himself. "It’s about putting on a show. And right now, I’m putting on quite the spectacle."
He glanced at the audience, feeling the weight of their expectations.
"And with all the bets placed on , it’s not just about the fight—it’s about the gamble."
The host seated high above the arena announced the fighters, and the crowd roared in approval.
"Begin!"
At the referee’s signal, he quickly retreated to the edge of the ring, giving the fighters space.
Kaizen’s opponent took a few steps forward, his eyes burning with hostility.
"So," the man sneered. "You think you’re a big shot, huh? Heard you turned down our little offer."
He cracked his knuckles nacingly. "You’ve got so nerve, kid. Guess I’ll just have to beat so respect into you."
Kaizen’s expression remained calm as he studied his opponent.
"Try it," he said quietly.
The man’s sneer deepened. "I’ll smash that smug face of yours to pieces."
And with that, the fight began.
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