The cheers had barely faded from Ethan's match when the announcer stepped forward again, voice amplified across the stone-walled arena.
"Next match… will begin in ten minutes."
Ten minutes wasn't long, but it was enough time for adrenaline to either settle or curdle. Fighters stretched. Others brooded. Some paced in tight little loops like animals waiting for a cage door to open. Ethan found himself in the middle—alert, collected, but aware of the slow, deep thrum in his pulse.
The stands buzzed with speculation.
Some spoke about Pokkle's surrender.
Others whispered about Ethan's strange, precise fighting style.
A few simply admired the discipline of the match.
Ethan leaned against a low wall, rolling his shoulders to keep them loose. Gon hovered beside him like a little sun.
"That was the kind of fight I like," Gon said, bright-eyed. "Not flashy—just… real."
Killua snorted. "Yeah, but he made Pokkle work for every breath. It was smart."
Then, eyes narrowing, he added, "Still… you weren't fighting full strength, were you?"
Ethan smiled without answering.
He didn't need to explain.
Killua shrugged as if that itself was an answer.
Kurapika crossed his arms. "The next fights may escalate. Fighters will adapt."
Leorio cracked his knuckles, still excited from the last match. "Ethan'll be fine. The guy's built like a calm disaster waiting to happen."
Ethan laughed under his breath. "That's a weird compliment, but thanks."
Kurapika's gaze flicked to the judges' dais. "Just… stay mindful. Netero was watching you closely."
Ethan nodded. He felt that too.
---
Inside the Waiting Hall
The contestants filtered into a side hallway—a long, dimly lit space lined with benches and cold stone pillars. A thick curtain separated it from the arena. Every so often it twitched as a gust of wind slid through the cracks.
Some fighters sat with focused stillness.
Others stretched their legs, swung their arms, or whispered mantras.
A tall, broad-shouldered man—Bourbon—leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyeing Ethan like someone inspecting a puzzle box with missing pieces.
"You fight clean," Bourbon said without preamble.
Ethan blinked. "Thanks?"
"That wasn't a compliment." He tilted his head. "You use minimal force. Minimal movement. You guide instead of attack. Means you're either hiding something… or extremely disciplined."
Ethan kept his voice level. "Which one do you think it is?"
Bourbon shrugged. "Doesn't matter. If we fight, I'll know."
Before Ethan could respond, the curtain swayed—and Hanzo stepped through.
Hanzo.
A name that carried weight even among the more seasoned examinees.
Fast. Skilled. Calm as lake water and twice as deep.
He walked past Bourbon without acknowledging him and stopped right in front of Ethan.
"Your match with Pokkle was insightful," Hanzo said quietly.
Gon perked up. Killua leaned forward.
Hanzo continued, "You don't fight like someone who's still learning. You fight like someone correcting mistakes they already solved."
Ethan suppressed an involuntary twitch.
He wasn't used to being read that accurately.
Hanzo bowed slightly—short, sharp, respectful.
"I look forward to facing you."
Then he walked away, steps ghost-quiet.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
Killua let out a low whistle. "Welp. You're on Hanzo's radar now. Lucky you."
"Great," Ethan muttered. "My reward for winning: attention."
Leorio clapped his shoulder. "Hey—better than being completely ignored."
---
A Change in Atmosphere
A bell rang from the arena.
The next match was ready.
Contestants gathered near the curtain, forming a slow-moving line. Ethan stepped into formation, eyes focused but mind turning quietly.
His Panel stayed silent—no hints, no boosts, no calculations intruding. He preferred it that way during the exam. Let the humans stay human.
When the curtain drew back, the sunlight flashed across the polished stone floor. The crowd shifted with excitement.
"Next match," the announcer bellowed, "will be: Bourbon vs. Sadaso!"
A roar rose from the stands.
Ethan moved off to the side with Gon and the others. The fight underway wasn't his—but information was ammunition. Watching other matches told him everything he needed to know about the threats coming down the line.
Bourbon and Sadaso took the center. The contrast was immediate—Bourbon's stance rooted and straightforward, Sadaso loose and twitching, eyes darting like a rodent's.
Netero gave the signal.
"Begin."
---
Bourbon vs. Sadaso — Study of Violence
Sadaso moved first—fast, jittery, unpredictable. He lunged with a crooked grin, hands flashing in an attempt to grab Bourbon's wrist.
Bourbon sidestepped and delivered a blunt, crushing strike to Sadaso's ribs. The sound echoed—a deep thud that made even Leorio wince.
Sadaso snarled, stumbling back. "You bastard—!"
Bourbon didn't wait. He pressed forward with relentless pressure. His movements were not elegant like Ethan's; they were strong, aggressive, built to break willpower quickly.
Within a minute, Sadaso was gasping.
Within two, he was cornered.
Within three, he surrendered with hands shaking.
The crowd cheered for Bourbon.
The medics hauled Sadaso away.
Kurapika murmured, "Dangerous man."
Killua nodded. "His strength is real. No wasted effort."
Gon frowned. "But Ethan's still faster. Right?"
Killua smirked. "Speed's not the only thing that decides a fight."
Ethan watched Bourbon walk from the stage without celebration, without even acknowledging the cheers. There was no ego—just efficiency.
A person like that wouldn't lose easily.
---
Ethan's Name Appears Again
Thirty minutes of matches passed.
Some brutal.
Some anticlimactic.
Some technical.
Ethan gathered every scrap of information like a quiet machine.
Then the announcer's voice rose again.
"Next match… Ethan Cross vs. Bourbon."
Gon gulped audibly.
Leorio's hands shot into his hair.
Killua's eyebrows shot up.
Kurapika's eyes sharpened to razor slits.
Ethan inhaled—then exhaled slowly.
"Oh boy," Leorio whispered. "Do you want—like—water? A pep talk? Emotional support?"
Ethan gave him a half-smirk. "I'll take the water afterward."
Killua leaned forward. "This fight is different. He's not like Pokkle. He won't get tired the same way."
"I know."
"Be careful," Kurapika added softly. "He's reading you, too."
Ethan nodded, stepping toward the arena entrance.
His mind felt strangely clear.
No fear.
Just focus.
Just calculation.
Just the steady beat of someone who had decided his path long ago.
---
Entering the Arena
The arena seemed louder than before—like the sound had gained a pulse of its own. A few spectators chanted Bourbon's name. Others murmured, curious to see whether Ethan's earlier performance had been a fluke or a sign of something more dangerous.
Bourbon stood at the center, arms folded, waiting.
Ethan approached until they were only a few meters apart.
Bourbon spoke first.
"You fought with restraint earlier."
"Maybe," Ethan said lightly. "Or maybe Pokkle was the one who set the pace."
Bourbon considered this, eyes narrowing. "We'll see."
Netero raised his hand.
"Begin."