"Let's go."
The three filler players bolted for the exit.
They were weak, sure—but they were ability users. The door wasn't far, and three seconds was just enough for them to make it out.
Now, only twelve people remained.
The three who had won their matches earlier were barred from competing again.
To prevent any single player from steamrolling the entire event, Razor had enforced a one match per person rule.
That left exactly eight players—plus one white tiger.
Killua, Gon, Goreinu, Biscuit, Hisoka, Maro, Cyr, and Tzesguerra.
Which meant… Sora couldn't play.
Cyr looked down at the massive white tiger rolling on the ground in front of him, whining and pawing at his legs.
Classic feline behavior.
Acting spoiled came naturally to all cats, it seemed—big or small.
Sora licked his hand with its rough, barbed tongue, rubbing its head against him enthusiastically. "I wanna play too! Let me play! Roar! Roar!"
"Geez…"
"Fine." Cyr ruffled the big cat's head, digging his fingers into the fluffy fur.
Then, he turned to Tzesguerra—who was already preparing to step onto the court—and cut him off with a casual command.
"Go sit this one out."
There was no room for negotiation in his tone.
"Me?" Tzesguerra frowned.
Him? Sit out?
"Well, you are getting up there in years. Your eyebrows are turning white, after all. If you get hurt, your recovery won't be as fast as a younger guy's."
The white-haired teen spoke in a calm, considerate tone—one that should have sounded thoughtful.
But instead, it was absolutely dripping with mockery.
"I—" Tzesguerra opened his mouth to argue but was cut off again.
"Besides, when was the last time you fought seriously? Based on your reaction speed… you're not suited for an event like this." Cyr shrugged.
If they were just up against weaklings, then sure—Tzesguerra could have fun smacking them around.
But dodgeball? A game that tested reaction speed and reflexes?
A guy who'd spent years living a comfortable, stable life—could he really keep up?
Better to let Sora play instead.
Sure, Sora's skill level wasn't much better than Tzesguerra's…
But Sora wanted to play.
And that was reason enough.
"…Fine."
He took a deep breath and stepped back, leaning against the wall.
Cyr's words were irritating—but he wasn't wrong.
In terms of overall strength, Tzesguerra might still have an edge over the others.
But when it came to reaction speed?
He probably couldn't keep up.
"If Tzesguerra's sitting out… are you seriously letting that thing play?" Killua scowled, pointing at the massive white tiger rubbing its face against Cyr's stomach.
Come on! You're spoiling that beast way too much!
"Does it matter? I'm here anyway."
Cyr lazily ran a hand through Sora's fur, speaking in a completely indifferent tone.
"No matter what happens… we're not losing."
"Exactly! Exactly!"
Sora nodded furiously, acting like a bootlicking minion. If it weren't afraid of getting smacked, it probably would've slobbered all over Cyr from head to toe by now.
It had tried that before—only to get double-teamed by Maro and Cyr in a brutal beatdown.
"Go stand somewhere." Cyr patted the tiger's head, casually pointing at an empty spot for it to stay put.
Then, he turned to Razor.
"First, let's confirm the rules. As long as we catch or dodge the ball, we're safe, right?"
"And if we fail to catch it and get hit, we're out?"
Knowing the rules was crucial when playing a game.
"That's right." Razor spun the volleyball in his hand, his gaze locked onto the boy in green—Gon.
That face…
How should he put it?
It gave him a sense of déjà vu.
It was like looking at a carbon copy of someone else.
Ging.
They were practically identical—only their ages set them apart.
Ging had a baby face too. If he shaved his beard, he and Gon would look like brothers.
Ging's kid, huh…
Back when the game was finished, Ging had mentioned his son.
What was it he had said?
"One day, my son will come to this island too."
"When he does—don't hold back. Make sure to beat him with everything you've got."
Well…
Razor smirked at the green-clad boy.
Your old man told me not to go easy on you.
With that thought, Razor launched the very first serve—straight at Gon's face.
Full power.
No hesitation.
"Oops."
He rubbed his fingers together in mock contemplation.
For some reason, when I saw that face, my hand just… acted on its own.
Of course, he felt no guilt. No regrets.
In fact—his smile grew even wider.
The ball shot forward like a cannon, blasting Gon out of bounds.
His body slammed into the far wall before being ricocheted upwards—embedding itself deep into the ceiling several meters above.
Gon had caught the ball.
He hadn't been knocked out of the game.
But his reward?
A bloody head.
A mild injury.
Cyr glanced over and dismissed it as nothing.
A mild concussion at worst. No skull fractures. No brain damage.
No need for Reverse Curse Technique.
After all, in Biscuit's eyes, Cyr's healing technique came with a cost.
Gon was still in play, but since he was injured, the others pulled him aside to rest.
The game continued.
Goreinu swapped places with his conjured beast—only for it to get obliterated by a single throw.
Out.
Razor's conjured teammates were also getting knocked out one by one.
Biscuit dodged—only for the ball to graze her dress, ripping the skirt.
Out.
"…Yeah. Poofy skirts are hard to manage." Cyr shook his head.
The price of beauty, huh?
"Damn it…!"
Biscuit glared at her ruined dress, absolutely fuming.
She could have dodged it.
But… her skirt was too big.
"Now then, let's see who's next…" Razor tossed the volleyball in his hand, scanning for his next target.
Suddenly—he tossed the ball high into the air, leapt up, and spiked it toward the opposing team.
Infused with Nen, the ball curved mid-air.
After narrowly missing a few players, it swerved directly toward…
A certain tiger.
With its large size, it was much easier to hit than the others.
"Awoo—!"
Sora let out a whimper and curled into a ball.
Thanks to its tough hide and Nen, the damage wasn't too bad.
But still—
It acted like it had suffered a grave injustice.
Like a massive, several-hundred-pound baby, it nudged the volleyball toward Cyr with its nose.
"Whimper, whimper…"
Tears streamed down its face—without a shred of shame.
"…This thing…"
Maro covered his face with his hand, unable to watch.
How could an adult's pet cry so easily?! Damn it! Stupid beast, don't embarrass your master like this!
"…Alright, alright…"
Cyr didn't even need to check—he knew Sora was only lightly hurt.
All that crying?
Just an excuse to act spoiled.
"Stay on the sidelines and watch."
Casually, Cyr used Reverse Curse Technique to heal Sora's minor injuries.
Then, he picked up the volleyball it had pushed toward him and weighed it in his hand.
Heavier than a normal volleyball—custom-made.
Well, of course. With the way we're playing, a regular volleyball would've exploded by now.
Now that he thought about it…
If I use Red with this ball…
He didn't have to use it in the usual way.
If he concentrated energy into the ball itself, rather than releasing it outward—
That could actually work.
With that thought, Cyr raised an eyebrow and looked across the court at Razor.
"Catch this."
He tossed the ball high into the air—lightly jumped up—
And spiked it.
The ball, now wrapped in a crimson energy, hurtled toward Razor—
Like a meteor about to obliterate its target.
°°°
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