Chapter 14
The line inched forward too slow .
Alison sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, arms folded across her chest. The floor was hard. Her legs were getting numb. Her eyes got into work , scanning the people in front of her. Most of them looked either anxious, overconfident, or like they were trying very hard to look like they didn't care.
Nobody was really talking . Just mutters here and there , barely audible, like the collective stress was a physical pressure pushing everyone down.
The guy two spots ahead of her—Mr. Insomnia with the half-open eyes—kept swaying like he was gonna drop at any second. Every few minutes, he'd snap back up, blink around like he forgot where he was, then slump forward again.
Which earned him a snicker coming from Alison.
Behind her, the Kid was still throwing half-punches in the air, whispering things like "one-two-hook, feint low, elbow up." His breath smelled like energy drinks .
Alison glanced at the clock on the wall.
Twelve minutes.
Twelve minutes, and she'd moved five feet.
" I'm about to rip my hair off " she muttered.
She turned around noticing that the line was so incredibly long ,that people were waiting outside of the building.
She took her time observing them.Some looked like tourists who took a wrong turn. A few were real contenders—tall, scarred, or too calm to be new. Alison watched one girl walk by with a broken nose and a towel around her neck like it was nothing. Ice bag in her hand .
People got chewed up here, and they just kept coming back.
Alison tapped her fingers on her arm, impatient. Her hood slipped a little. But she didn't fix it .
A flicker on the screen overhead caught her eye , Somebody got kicked so hard they spun midair like a ragdoll. It cut to another match: a wiry guy dodging every punch before popping his opponent's knee backward.
Damn.
There were levels to this shit.
She glanced down at her own arms. No muscle. No real upper body strength. Just a girl in a hoodie with a decent brain and a bit of taekwondo from back when gym class wasn't optional.
This was a chance to level up her strength and hone her skills.
Another five minutes passed. They were halfway through the snake-shaped queue now. A few people gave up and stepped out of line entirely. Quit before they even got inside.
Alison smirked to herself. What a bunch of cowards.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, arms folded, eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. Same types everywhere , overconfident teens, muscleheads, wiry freaks pretending not to size each other up.
" I wonder if this applies to me" she sweat dropped.
The guy in front finally made it to the front desk. There was a small booth with bulletproof glass, like a bank teller window. A tired woman behind it slid a form across .
Behind him ,was a silver-haired kid she hadn't noticed before.
"Weird" She usually clocked people fast. This one had somehow slipped under her radar .
He couldn't have been older than her. pale skin, baggy clothes, hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets. He looked bored, like he'd been here a hundred times before and none of it mattered.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. And as if he had sensed her looking at him, he turned around, scanning the people nearby, his gaze sharp and suspicious.
She turned her head away, feigning disinterest. Thankfully, he didn't make a scene , just frowned a little, then faced forward again.
He was next. The lady behind the registration desk handed him a blank form, which he took wordlessly. As he scribbled something down with quick, practiced movements, she reached to take it back, giving the page a cursory glance—
And froze.
"Zoldyck!?" she gasped, voice pitched high in disbelief.
A few heads turned . Curious.
Alison stiffed ' NO WAY ' but then it started to make sense, the silver hair , the silent footsteps and also one more thing.
She recalled that killua have told Gon that his father left him flat broke in heavens arena and told him to reach the two-hundredth floor when he was just 6 years old.
The boy—Killua, she assumed ,didn't react much. Just a little twitch of his brow.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, a hint of warning under the surface.
The woman looked like she'd just been handed a live grenade. "uh—no, no problem! " she tapped something quickly on the keyboard then said " your number is #2977 please head to the arena and wait for your number to be called"
He raised a brow but nodded nonetheless.
The line crept forward in silence after that. Just awkward air and the soft scratch of pens on paper.
She blinked, then frowned to herself. Six, and already here? What the hell was that family feeding their kids?
Not that she had room to judge.
Alison exhaled slowly. Her turn was coming up.
She stepped forward when the person in front of her moved. The woman at the counter had mostly recovered , her face a little pale, but everything was normal.
When her turn came, the lady gave her a form just like all the other applicants which she shortly filled with the information needed. like her name, last name and age.
She returned it to the woman who took a swift look at the paper then proceeded to ask ."You've never registered before?"
"No."
"First-time fighters must start from the first floor. If you win ten matches, you'll automatically be moved to the 50th."
"I know."
She tapped some buttons then stated,
"Welcome to Heavens Arena. You'll be assigned your first match shortly , your number is #2981 ." Alison nodded.
"On the first arena floor they'll be calling you by your number so try not to forget it." she added .
Alison thanked her then moved out of the line allowing the others to advance. She folded the slip of paper holding her number and tucked it into her jacket's pocket , then she headed to the arena through a long hallway.
Once she reached its end , she was met with blinding lights emitting from the screens , there were the combat areas where beginner matches were held.
She saw a series of small fighting arenas, each with their own entrances, where matches were happening simultaneously.
And rows of beginner fighters, mostly kids and teens, either waiting for their turn or watching others.
There wasn't really a crowd. The first floor is where fighters are being tested unlike the upper floors where real fights were held.
A match ended nearby with a loud thud and a quick buzz from the overhead speaker. A staff member called, "Winner, #2531."
Alison leaned against a bench, letting her eyes drift from match to match. Most of these fighters didn't even know how to guard their face. A lot of wide stances.