Chapter 27: Moro the Thinker

As the woman with the long ponytail admitted defeat, the referee immediately announced the result.

He then took out a device resembling a card reader and printed a paper pass for the winner to proceed to the upper floors.

“2792, although the registration form you filled out states that you have no combat experience, based on your performance in this match, I believe you can advance directly to the fiftieth floor. This is your pass. Please keep it safe.”

As he spoke, the referee held the slip out to Moro.

Every referee had a different way of making judgments.

Judging solely by the techniques displayed during the fight, the referee at Ring C would probably have determined that Moro was fit to advance to the twentieth floor, while the woman with the long ponytail was judged capable of reaching the fiftieth.

Yet in terms of the actual outcome, the woman with the long ponytail had virtually no chance of defeating Moro.

The referee at Ring C believed that the result mattered more than the process. He therefore disregarded the information on Moro’s registration form and directly concluded that Moro was capable of reaching the fiftieth floor.

However, faced with the referee’s earnest assessment, Moro did not accept the slip. Instead, he asked tentatively, “Sir, may I choose to advance to the tenth floor instead?”

“Of course. That is your right.”

The referee nodded.

The Sky Arena held at least two thousand preliminary matches every day, and among so many contestants, there were always people like Moro who, for one reason or another, chose to climb the tower gradually.

It was hardly unusual.

Moro smiled. “Then please give me a pass for the tenth floor.”

“Please wait a moment.”

The referee readily printed another slip for him.

“Thank you.”

Moro took the pass and turned to leave the ring.

On the way from the ring to the passageway, Moro could feel countless gazes directed at him from every direction. One of them belonged to the woman who had just surrendered.

He paid it no mind, walking straight into the passageway and then taking the elevator to the tenth floor of the Sky Arena.

Without hurrying to the registration counter to register his promotion, Moro entered an elevator and casually pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.

A moment later, Moro arrived on the fifteenth floor. Following the signs along the walls, he casually entered one of the rooms.

At that moment, a match was taking place on the central ring inside.

Only a sparse scattering of spectators occupied the seats surrounding it.

The Sky Arena had 251 floors. Floors such as the eleventh through nineteenth and the twenty-first through twenty-ninth generally contained arenas equipped with rings, along with a full range of service facilities.

A billion spectators bought tickets to watch matches each year, but for most of them, the bouts on the lower floors clearly lacked appeal.

Even when Moro entered, no staff member stopped him or checked his ticket.

After finding a seat in the stands, Moro looked toward the match on the ring.

The two contestants were extremely aggressive in their attacks.

Yet they had no technique whatsoever. They relied entirely on their physical strength, throwing punches and kicks with all their might.

Moro watched for less than a minute before standing up and leaving.

Compared with the two contestants he had seen earlier, who specialized in martial arts designed for killing, and the woman with the long ponytail whom he had fought himself, the two fighters in the ring looked like a pair of street thugs brawling.

And yet these two contestants had managed to advance to the tenth floor, while the nimble-footed woman with the long ponytail had lost her preliminary match after encountering him. The fighter with the formidable leg techniques, meanwhile, had died outright on the ring.

The only thing one could say was that life was unpredictable.

More sadly still…

Moro saw his own reflection in those two contestants who fought like street thugs.

Fortunately, he still had the opportunity to change.

After leaving the competition room and arriving in the corridor, Moro’s heart was filled with emotion.

He was still wondering—

If martial artists who had devoted ten or twenty years of effort and painstaking dedication to the path of cultivation suddenly came into contact with a power called Nen, would they despair upon realizing that they had wasted far too much time?

Several minutes later, Moro returned to the tenth floor to register his promotion, then immediately chose to begin another match.

Below the two-hundredth floor, contestants could fight twice a day.

Those who had confidence and wanted to advance quickly naturally chose to fight both matches.

Moro spent some time in the contestants’ waiting room before being assigned to a match at Ring B on the seventeenth floor.

The Sky Arena was remarkably efficient at matching opponents.

One could say that the countless rings inside this tower-like structure operated like gears, turning without pause every day.

During every second of daylight, victories and defeats were being decided on the rings.

As he made his way to Ring B on the seventeenth floor, Moro mused with interest—

If someone possessed a cheat ability that allowed them to grow stronger by absorbing the desire to win, then after spending some time in the Sky Arena, they would surely emerge into the world with an invincible presence.

But then Moro thought of how, even if one emerged invincible, the Wish Machine could turn them into a heap of minced flesh with nothing more than the casual words, “Go die.”

In a sense, this world had an absurd side of its own.

Much like Moro himself, who, under the influence of a strange phenomenon involving certain abilities, had been lucky enough to receive the chance to begin his life again, like an assassin of time.

Moro soon arrived at Ring B on the seventeenth floor and saw his opponent: a man as massive and powerful as a bear.

Hmm. Worth looking forward to.

That was what Moro thought.

However, after the referee announced the start, Moro was disappointed.

His opponent was very strong, but he was also the standard sort who possessed nothing but brute force.

Moro did not end the fight quickly. Instead, he observed his opponent’s habits when exerting force, as well as the underlying ideas embedded in his methods of attack.

The defensive power granted by Nen allowed Moro to think calmly while on the ring.

He did not believe this was meaningless.

On the contrary, he believed that the power of thought was extremely important.

At present, however, he was still a complete novice in this regard and could not properly bring that power into play during battle.

So he could only use the clumsy method of accumulating experience, gradually increasing the speed of his thoughts…

Just before the three minutes were up, Moro finally attacked. With nothing more than a casual palm strike, he sent his powerful opponent flying off the ring.

The battle ended in an instant.

Seeing this, the referee printed Moro a promotion pass, somewhat astonished.

As usual, Moro offered his thanks and then left the competition room.

Observing every opponent during battle, and every moment of thought on the ring, was like filling a storehouse of knowledge with information.

Once enough information had been gathered, the habit of thinking would function in battle like an AI searching a database, rapidly and efficiently producing the correct course of action.

Moro was not certain that this was the right path.

The reason he had chosen to proceed this way was merely something Biscuit had mentioned in the original story—a combat ability known as the explosive power of thought in an instant.

Over the following days, Moro continued advancing step by step in this manner.

By the time he reached the eightieth floor, many spectators had taken notice of this rather unusual fighter.

Gradually, he acquired a nickname in the Sky Arena.

The Meditative Little Five…

Oh, no.

Moro the Thinker.