Chapter Nineteen: The Lottery and "Nen"

“Mr. Genda, I didn’t expect the company registration to be completed so quickly. Thank you for your efforts.”
At night, Hakudo Kyou spoke into his phone while sitting in his bedroom.
A lively voice replied from the other end.
“No trouble at all. Registering a company is a routine process—especially for a company that invests fifty million dollars without batting an eye. Truly impressive, young Hakudo.”
Kyou couldn’t help but smile wryly at the familiar address. It always felt as if he’d wandered onto the set of some detective manga.
On the other end of the line was Ryuzo Genda, president of the Genda Law Office—the institution affiliated with the Yagami Detective Agency.
Thanks to his good relationship with Yagami, Kyou also counted this legal heavyweight as a friend.
Perhaps it was the strange contrast: a sixteen-year-old with the poise and maturity of someone much older. This peculiarity seemed to help him get along with people of all ages—Master Takemoto, Mr. Genda…
And so, today, the founding process for his company—Hakudo Storage and Logistics, which he would use to enter the Kengan Deathmatch—had begun under Genda’s guidance.
In a matter of days, the operating license would arrive as a matter of course.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the two, despite the age gap, agreed to meet soon for karaoke in Kamurocho and finally hung up.
“Phew—”
Kyou put away his phone.
“So Yagami didn’t tell Genda about the Fukushima matter… Well, that’s just like him—stubborn as ever.”
He knew Yagami well enough to recognize the man’s reluctance to seek help before exhausting every personal effort.
Shaking his head, Kyou pushed aside the tangled thoughts.
A spark of anticipation glimmered in his eyes.
“I’ll worry about that later. Right now, it’s time for the lottery!”
With eager hands, the boy rubbed his palms together.
In the next instant, shadows spilled outward from him, flooding the world beyond.
The vivid world was drained into monochrome, like an old film.
Soft light gathered at his feet.
Before him stretched the Sea of Dimensions, formed by countless glowing orbs representing different worlds!
Having entered this place many times, Kyou no longer felt the panic he once did.
Carefully, as soon as he arrived, he began to survey the orbs at his feet.
“Ooh! Not bad—there are quite a few large orbs this time!”
Within his field of vision, aside from the many two-centimeter spheres, there were seven or eight much larger ones, ranging from ten to twenty centimeters in diameter.
This brought Kyou great excitement!
So far, the most useful and long-serving acquisition he’d fished up—a sentient bio-intelligence—had come from a seventeen-centimeter orb.
Although he didn’t know if “seventeen centimeters” had any supernatural significance, he estimated that, in terms of pure technological advancement, that world was at least capable of free navigation through the solar system.
His most promising tool for transcending humanity, the “Dragonblood Secret Art,” had come from an orb nearly thirty centimeters wide.
After that haul, he’d made generous offerings at the temples and shrines near his home.
But those two finds were his only worthwhile gains in eight years.
The fishing lines he used regenerated automatically—one every six months, with no discovered method of speeding up the process after years of testing.
Kyou considered one such line the “standard length.”
Lines could be combined, their lengths added together, expanding his reach in the Sea of Dimensions and increasing the chance of catching something valuable.
His inventory now:
Standard lines—two
Double-length line—one
Triple-length line—one
This was the resource he’d carefully hoarded, his most precious asset!
He still remembered the regret of missing a massive orb on his first try.
Though he had settled for a lesser catch, which proved to be a timely warning from the “Mud Buddha,” awakening him to his fate and spurring him to train relentlessly under the shadow of that “crimson future,”
Given a choice, who would ever wish to draw an undated death sentence?
Death itself was not terrifying… it was waiting for death that was unbearable.
Kyou exhaled, steadying his mind.
“Well, so be it.
After eight years, I should be used to the pressure of a predestined end.
Today, let’s just enjoy fishing for some new prizes!”
With a careless smile, he flicked the crystal-clear line between his fingers and cast it down.
~~~~~~
“Sigh—So much junk from higher worlds…”
The boy lay sprawled on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Had it not been for the delinquent with dyed hair living next door, he’d have been tempted to punch a hole in the wall.
Because of the distances between the orbs, he was left with only his “triple-length” line; every other asset was deployed—and the result…
A single wooden chopstick, still clinging to some wilted vegetable.
The glistening liquid on it could have been oil or spit.
Because of this uncertainty—even though his Dragonblood internal energy ached with desire for the spiritual aura clinging to it—
Kyou dared only to hold it in his hand, not put it in his mouth, and instead slowly absorbed the energy.
“…Well, at least my reserves are full again. If I’d relied solely on food, it would’ve taken three or four meals.”
Next: a pair of gaudy, hip-hop style sneakers.
Clearly from a technological world, but nothing outstanding—just a design that inflated or deflated to fit his feet.
They were totally not to his taste, but after trying them on, he could understand the phrase “like stepping on clouds.”
Lastly, a folding knife, about the length of his palm.
It was clearly handmade, and something about it felt off—as if an alien vitality had suffused the blade.

A living weapon from the Dragon Clan? An animated object out of D&D? Or perhaps a blood-imbued artifact from the East?
Too many possibilities—no certainty.
Yet, after much anticipation, Kyou could not fathom why a high-level world would produce such a knife.
It didn’t even absorb spiritual energy—and when he tried slicing a table corner, it barely left a mark! If you’re going to make a sacrificial weapon, at least use better materials!
So much for a lucky haul!
He’d fused two standard lines on the spot, forming a “double-length” line, just to fish up this twenty-centimeter-class junk!
“So, in short… a complete failure.”
The shoes, the chopstick drained of all spiritual energy, and the folding knife were all tossed in a corner, rejected.
Kyou felt that throwing fifty million dollars into the ocean would have hurt less.
Making money was easy for him, but waiting six months for each new line was an unchangeable fact.
“Phew—”
With a deep breath, he adjusted his mindset.
For someone who lived every day under the sentence of inevitable death, such disappointment was nothing.
He quickly shook off the gambler’s mix of frustration and excitement.
Stripping off his outerwear, revealing a sharply defined physique, he knelt on the floor, preparing for his daily internal cultivation.
Since the day he began training in the martial arts, he’d known that luck alone could not save him.
But personal effort and relentless perseverance—those would not fail him.
As he closed his eyes in meditation, letting his internal energy flow,
A sudden surge of murderous intent erupted from the corner of the room!
“That knife!”
His eyes snapped open, sharp and furious.
A strange, warped vitality wrapped in killing intent—utterly unprecedented.
In this ordinary world, it was a presence that signified only “the resolve to kill.”
But now, that presence seemed to have become a power with real, terrifying force!
How could this be?
Kyou’s gaze grew grim.
It was as if merely shouting “I’ll kill you!” in anger actually inflicted harm,
His well-honed body and spirit ignored—he felt as helpless and exposed as a naked man in a storm of blades.
Only when the force touched his internal reserves did it slow, just a little.
In shock and anger, one thought flashed through his mind:
“Is this… ‘Nen’?!”