Chương 91: One-Slap Aren

Generally speaking, a contestant in Heavens Arena could fight at most twice in one day. In other words, reaching the two-hundredth floor as quickly as possible still required eight days.

"Sent flying! He can't get up. Winner: Aren Voss." Another contestant was slapped out of the ring by Aren. Although Aren had blown apart the bald fat man's head in his first match, he had not killed anyone after that. Aside from that first idiot, no one else had truly offended him. After all, anyone who climbed this high was not that stupid. They knew better than to provoke someone for no reason. Only the trash on the lower floors made that kind of stupid challenge. People grew more arrogant the less they knew.

Since they did not provoke him, Aren had no reason to kill them. Blowing someone's head apart dirtied his hand too. After confirming that Aren's opponent had been knocked out of the ring, the referee began the judgment.

"This is contestant Aren Voss's fourteenth consecutive flawless victory over the past seven days. One-Slap Aren, with his rapid ascent, how far can he climb? Will he reach the two-hundredth floor without slowing down? Who can stop him?" As Aren left the stage, the commentator followed his departure with a final summary. He had already won on the one-hundred-seventieth floor. If nothing unexpected happened, he would reach the two-hundredth floor tomorrow. One-Slap Aren.

That was the nickname Heavens Arena had given him. It made Aren's mouth twitch.

'Yes, I have been slapping my opponents away with one hand every time, but did they have to give me such an ugly nickname?' Uvogin had once said his own nickname here was One-Punch Man.

'How did I end up with this?'

"Woohoo! Master won again." In the contestants' passage, Neon bounced around Aren excitedly when she saw him return. She knew he would win, but she never got tired of celebrating. If Aren was in a good mood, he might create a few extra snacks for her. Aren gave the bouncing little girl a helpless look, then stretched out a hand. A chocolate-coated ice cream bar appeared in his palm.

"All right, you little fox. Stop circling me. You're making me dizzy."

"Hehe. Thank you, Master." Neon's eyes lit up. She took the ice cream and ate with visible happiness. Aren watched her fondly.

"Eat if you want, but don't overdo it." He took her hand and walked toward the end of the passage. At the exit, several Heavens Arena media crews were already waiting. The moment Aren came out, they surrounded him.

"Mr. Aren, may we ask how you feel right now?"

"Mr. Aren, do you have confidence in your next match?" This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it"Mr. Aren, are you confident you can reach the two-hundredth floor in one push?"

"Mr. Aren, we've heard your next opponent may be Bart. He once said you were overrated and all hype. How do you respond?" As soon as Aren opened the door, cameras started flashing and microphones almost shoved into his face. Aren only said calmly, "No comment." Then he scooped up Neon, who was still focused on her ice cream, and vanished from the reporters' sight like a gust of wind. He had long since grown used to this. Ever since he reached the hundredth floor, Heavens Arena reporters had started watching him.

As the most successful fighting organization in the Hunter world, Heavens Arena had its own reporters, television channels, films, merchandise, and a whole commercial system built around combat. Naturally, its own reporters received favorable treatment everywhere. Many of them simply waited at the contestants' exit after a match to grab the first interview. Aren was a rare idol-type contestant in recent years, so of course those reporters refused to let him go.

They had begun watching him from the hundredth floor onward. As his victories grew, so did his fame. Since the reporters followed the rules and only blocked the exit after matches, rarely disturbing him at other times, Aren had not removed them. After all, Aren considered himself a reasonable person. At first, he had been worried that his growing fame might make Uvogin and Machi discover he had secretly come to Heavens Arena. He had even called both of them separately to test the waters.

To his relief, neither cared about the news. They did not even watch television. Both believed that time was better spent training. That was especially true of Machi. Uvogin was fine. Even after reaching the two-hundredth floor, he still had not felt much pressure because no real opponents had appeared. Before opening Nen, Uvogin had already possessed overwhelming strength. Someone called a monster in a place like Meteor City had top-tier talent in every area.

So even after reaching the two-hundredth floor, Uvogin did not feel obvious pressure. He simply enjoyed training and growing stronger by nature. Machi was different. After reaching the two-hundredth floor, her advantages were no longer as obvious. She had won her first two matches there, but she clearly felt the pressure. That made her desire to grow stronger even more urgent, even more important than earning money. From beginning to end, Machi's position was support.

What she excelled at was not direct one-on-one confrontation. It was delicate, precise control. Heavens Arena's ring format reduced that advantage almost completely. The battlefield was restricted to a square ring, with no cover and no obstacles. Machi could not fully display her strengths there. After realizing this, she had holed herself up to train, just as Aren had once done in Meteor City. So she had no idea Aren had come to Heavens Arena and stirred up another wave of attention.

Machi had once complained to Aren about being interviewed too. But her popularity was nowhere near his. Although Machi was beautiful, her age was still a hard limit. She was too young. Like Gon and Killua in the future, she could create some buzz, but not enough to attract true mass attention. That was a limitation of age, no matter the world. After confirming that Uvogin and Machi were not gossip lovers, Aren breathed easier. If his plan were ruined by reporters, he would have been depressed for a while.

"Ah! One-Slap Aren disappeared again. Hurry and search somewhere else." When Aren vanished from the exit, one rookie reporter shouted in surprise.

"Damn it. He got away again." Another reporter sighed with irritation. The rookie looked around in confusion.

"What is it? Aren't you all going to look?" The irritated reporter rolled his eyes.

"First time covering One-Slap Aren? With that skinny body, how are you going to chase him? You'd be better off going back, looking at the photos, and figuring out how to write a story people will click. At least we got a few pictures. That's material." Before leaving, he warned the rookies.

"Also, if you photographed the little girl beside One-Slap Aren, delete the photos immediately. Don't mention anything about her in your article either. Otherwise, I can't guarantee your safety." After saying that, he left with his cameraman, regardless of whether they listened. The warning was not baseless. Two days earlier, one reporter had grown angry because Aren refused to cooperate. His camera had accidentally captured Neon. Inspired, he changed the angle of his article.

He not only published Neon's photo, but filled the whole report with wild speculation. The next day, his entire team was slaughtered in their office. Every head had been smashed open. Blood and brain matter covered the room. Their corpses looked exactly like Aren's first-floor opponent. On the one clean wall, someone had posted the article about Neon. Anyone with eyes could tell the killer had to be Aren. But there was no evidence. The cameras had not captured the slightest trace of him.

So the matter ended unresolved. There was nothing anyone could say without evidence. Even if they found Aren, he could claim he had been framed. As for Heavens Arena itself, someone with Aren's looks and strength had already caught the attention of the higher-ups. They were considering promoting him as an unofficial face of the organization, like Castro would become in the future. There was no way they would target Aren for the sake of one small reporter. After that, no reporter dared write about Neon.

If they accidentally photographed her, they deleted the image immediately. Aren did not care much about their dramatic writing when it only involved him. But involving a child was different. That annoyed him. And so far, aside from Silva, whom Aren reluctantly spared because he still needed him to have children, everyone who annoyed him had died. Naturally, after the office massacre, the reporters reached a second consensus. Praise Aren as hard as possible.

He might not care most of the time, but no one knew what might suddenly annoy him. If he became annoyed, their heads might be next.