The boy's expression darkened, his features settling into something grim, almost hollow.
The pale light glinted off his staff as he raised it slightly, pointing it toward Gon like an accusing finger.
"I told you," the boy said softly, his voice carrying even over the rumbling arena, "I'd come for revenge."
Gon's grip tightened on his sword. He didn't flinch. His eyes remained locked on the boy's, cold, steady, unwavering. "I didn't forget," he said, voice low and resolute.
There was a moment's silence, as if the arena itself held its breath.
Then the boy moved.
He sprinted forward, his boots barely making a sound against the uneven stone.
His staff came sweeping up, aimed straight for Gon's ribs.
But Gon was ready
The moment his opponent struck, Gon moved, not with panic, but with precision.
His foot slid across the cracked earth in a sharp, practiced pivot, his body twisting just enough to let the blow glance past his shoulder.
