Hisoka’s narrowed eyes followed him, his ever-present smile twisting even further. What an unexpected surprise. To think he would run into this man here. It was only because of the Sky Arena’s nonstop broadcasts that Hisoka had realized Larry was here. Which was why he had waited on the 190th floor. And, as expected—he had found him.
The elevator doors slid shut, and for a mont, Hisoka’s spinning deck of cards ca to a halt. His breath slowed. A tiny sigh. A hint of regret flickered across his wicked smile. Larry was a fruit too ripe to pick. Right now, he was untouchable. If Hisoka were to rank his targets in terms of "ripeness", the order would be clear. First—Chrollo. Second—Gon. And finally—Larry. But not yet. Not until the fruit was ready to be harvested.
The reason Hisoka ranked Chrollo before Gon was simple—Gon had imnse potential, but he still needed ti to grow. That ti was enough for Hisoka to challenge Chrollo first. As for Larry being third, it didn’t an Hisoka planned to challenge him in that order.
In truth, Larry was likely the strongest fruit Hisoka had ever encountered. He would probably never et another opponent of Larry’s caliber again. And that was precisely the problem. Because no matter how much he wanted to pluck this fruit, Hisoka couldn’t. Not yet.
A rare flicker of frustration crossed his usually amused expression. He brought a playing card to his lips, his eyes filled with deep reluctance. He had to hold back. If he tried to pick this fruit now, he would only end up destroying himself. And Hisoka wasn’t ready to die just yet. There were still other fruits left to pick.
Taking a slow breath, he cald the conflicted emotions swirling in his chest. His mood lifted slightly as he rembered that a different fruit—one he had planted earlier—was almost ripe. Larry was out of reach for now. But that person? That person was still within his grasp. A slow, sinister smile curled at the edges of his lips. "I hope he doesn’t disappoint …."
Larry, blissfully unaware of Hisoka’s madness, had already made his way to the 200th floor. The Sky Arena had 251 floors, but the true dividing line wasn’t the top—it was the 200th floor.
Starting from the 200th floor, every opponent was a Nen user. That was why the Zoldycks had allowed Killua to co here—to witness the true nature of combat and the importance of Nen. However, before he could fight his first match, he and Gon were forced to leave after violating the rules by reaching the floor without unlocking Nen.
The battles above this point were no longer ant for ordinary people. Even Hisoka had been waiting for them there, only willing to let them pass once they learned how to use Nen properly. They later returned, having trained under Wing, and were able to advance further into the arena as true fighters.
Larry didn’t have such restrictions. He walked straight to the registration counter, eager to see what kind of interesting Nen abilities he would encounter. More importantly, he was ready to harvest the experience that ca with them. The receptionist smiled politely and launched into a long-winded explanation of the rules. Larry barely listened, summarizing the key points in his head.
First Rule, Floors 230 to 250 were ruled by 21 floor masters, each owning a floor. Becoming a floor master had perks—there was no prize money, but the ticket revenue from battles above the 200th floor was split among them. The title of floor master also carried weight. Many of them monetized their status, giving lectures, opening dojos, or taking in disciples. It was why so many fighters were desperate to reach the top. The rewards were worth it.
Second Rule, From this point onward, battles had to be scheduled in advance. Each challenger was given 90 days to prepare for a match. They could fight at any ti within those 90 days, and every match would reset the tir. Winning ten battles granted promotion to the 230th floor. But if a challenger lost four tis before reaching ten wins, they had to start over from scratch. And if they failed to fight within 90 days, they would be disqualified entirely.
In the original story, Sadaso had abandoned his challenge after realizing Gon and Killua were too strong. He fled, choosing to save his life instead of risking it. There was also a tournant held every two years, where the winner could challenge the 251st floor—the top of the Sky Arena.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t ti for the tournant yet. Even if it was, the event might never happen this year.
The reason?
A certain group was involved, and the tournant had descended into chaos because of them. Larry skimd the application form, quickly checking the box that allowed him to fight anyti. As he finished signing, his gaze drifted to the corner of the room.
There, three n stood watching him. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of Larry’s lips. Their expressions were tense, uneasy. Each of them bore severe injuries—proof of the price they had paid for failing the "baptism." The first wore a red cloak, a mask obscuring his face, and an iron prosthetic where his legs should have been. The second sat in a wheelchair, his spiky hair crackling with static electricity. The third had an ashen complexion, his gaunt face resembling a ghostly mask. His left sleeve was empty, fluttering from where his arm had once been.
These three were known as the "Failure Trio"—Gido, Taneru, and Sadaso. All of them had been permanently crippled from their failed baptism. One had lost his lower body. One had beco paralyzed from the waist down. One had lost an arm.
Larry had seen another victim of the baptism before. Back at Pier Casino, his body had been shattered beyond repair. He only clung to life through sheer Nen manipulation. The truth was, these three were lucky compared to most.
The majority of those who underwent baptism never even survived. Yet, despite everything, Gido grinned beneath his mask, leaning on his cane."Hehehe… kid, thanks to you, I’m one step closer to becoming a floor master." His voice was low and grating, filled with a false sense of superiority.
They didn’t see Larry as a threat. They assud he was just another overconfident rookie, oblivious to what was coming. Larry crossed his arms, his smirk widening into sothing amused—and condescending. His eyes glimred with interest as he studied the three of them. They had no idea what they were dealing with.
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