As the long-haired woman conceded, the referee immediately announced the result.
The referee then took out a machine resembling a card reader and printed a pass for the winner to proceed to the higher floors.
"Contestant 2792, although your registration form indicates zero combat experience, based on your performance in this match, I believe you can advance directly to the 50th floor. Here is your pass to the 50th floor. Please take it."
As he spoke, the referee handed the slip of paper to Morrow.
Each referee had their own judgment criteria.
From a purely technical standpoint, the referee of Ring C would have judged Morrow worthy of advancing to the 20th floor, while the long-haired woman belonged on the 50th.
But in terms of the outcome, the long-haired woman had stood no chance against Morrow.
The Ring C referee prioritized results over process and, disregarding the registration details, concluded that Morrow deserved to advance to the 50th floor.
However, Morrow did not take the slip. Instead, he tentatively asked, "Referee, may I choose to advance to the 10th floor instead?"
"Of course. That is your right."
The referee nodded.
Heavens Arena held at least two thousand preliminary matches daily, and among so many contestants, there were always those like Morrow who, for personal reasons or needs, chose to climb the floors slowly.
This was not unusual.
Morrow smiled. "Then please give me a pass to the 10th floor."
"One moment."
The referee promptly printed a new slip for him.
"Thank you."
Morrow took the slip and turned to leave the ring.
As he walked from the ring to the passageway, he could feel numerous eyes on him from all directions, including the long-haired woman who had just conceded.
But he paid no mind and strode straight into the passage, then ascended to the 10th floor of Heavens Arena.
—--
Instead of rushing to the counter to register his advancement, Morrow entered the elevator and casually pressed the button for the 15th floor.
A short while later.
Morrow arrived on the 15th floor and followed the directional marks along the walls, casually entering one of the rooms.
At that moment.
A match was underway on the central ring inside the room.
The spectator seats around the ring were sparsely populated.
Heavens Arena had 251 floors, and between the 11th to 19th or 21st to 29th floors, most were equipped with rings for matches and comprehensive service facilities.
Every year, a billion spectators bought tickets to watch the matches, but for the audience, the lower-floor matches lacked appeal.
In fact, when Morrow entered, no staff stopped him or checked his ticket.
Finding a seat in the spectator area, Morrow turned his attention to the match on the ring.
The two contestants were aggressive in their attacks.
Yet their movements were completely disorganized, relying solely on brute strength to throw punches or kicks.
Morrow watched for less than a minute before standing up to leave.
Compared to the two contestants he had seen earlier, who specialized in lethal martial artsand the long-haired woman he had fought, the two on the ring now seemed like nothing more than street thugs brawling. Yet these two contestants managed to advance to the 10th floor, while that nimble-footed long-haired woman lost her preliminary match against him, and the fighter with formidable kicking techniques even died outright on the arena.
It just goes to show how unpredictable life can be.
And what's truly tragic…
Morrow saw his own shadow in those two fighters who brawled like street thugs.
Fortunately, he still had the chance to strive for change.
—--
Stepping out of the match room into the hallway, Morrow was filled with reflection.
He couldn't help but wonder… Would these martial artists, who had devoted decades of effort and dedication to their training, feel utter despair upon suddenly encountering the power known as Nen, realizing they had wasted so much time?
A few minutes later.
Morrow returned to the 10th-floor registration desk to confirm his advancement and immediately chose to proceed to his next match.
Below the 200th floor, fighters could compete in two matches per day.
Those with confidence and a desire to climb quickly naturally opted to fight both matches.
After waiting briefly in the contestants' lounge, Morrow was soon assigned to Arena B on the 17th floor.
Heavens Arena's matchmaking efficiency was remarkably high.
One could say that the countless arenas within this towering structure operated like gears, ceaselessly turning.
Every minute of the day, victories and defeats were decided on these stages.
On his way to Arena B, Morrow mused with amusement… If there were some cheat ability that grew stronger by absorbing the "will to win," then staying in Heavens Arena for a while would surely allow one to emerge as an invincible force.
Even if one did emerge invincible, they could still be reduced to a pile of flesh by the indifferent words of a "wishing machine" saying, "Go die."
In a way, this world had its own absurdities.
Just like how, akin to a time assassin, he had been fortunate enough to get a second chance under the influence of some ability phenomenon.
—--
Soon arriving at Arena B on the 17th floor, Morrow saw his opponent this time, a man built like a bear.
Hmm, promising.
Yet once the referee announced the start, Morrow was disappointed.
His opponent was strong, but it was purely brute strength with no finesse.
Still, Morrow didn't end the fight quickly. Instead, he observed his opponent's movement habits and the underlying thought process embedded in his attacks.
The defensive power granted by his aura allowed him to calmly analyze mid-fight.
He didn't consider this a meaningless exercise.
On the contrary, he believed the power of "thought" was crucial.
It's just that, for now, he was still a novice in this regard, unable to fully harness this power in battle.
So he had no choice but to accumulate experience the hard way, gradually improving the speed of his thinking…
Just before the three-minute mark, Morrow struck.
With a single casual palm strike, he sent his burly opponent flying out of the arena.
The fight ended in an instant.
The referee, surprised, handed Morrow an advancement certificate.
Morrow thanked him as usual, then left the match room.
Every opponent he observed in battle, every moment of reflection in the arena, felt like adding information to a knowledge bank.
And once enough data was gathered, the habit of thinking would, like an AI retrieving information, swiftly and efficiently produce the right decision in combat. Morrow wasn't sure if this path was the right one.
The only reason that drove him to do this was a combat ability Biscuit had mentioned in the original story.
—--
In the following days, Morrow gradually advanced through the ranks using this method.
By the time he reached the 80th floor, many spectators had taken notice of this somewhat special fighter.
Gradually, he earned a title at Heavens Arena.
The Little Meditator…
Oh, no.
It was Meditator Morrow.