Hunter x Hunter: The Strongest Zoldyck

call.....

Wiping his mouth, Fica took a deep breath, regained his balance, and calmly swept his gaze over the bright lights above, over the audience in the stands, and over the referees and players below.

The image finally settled on Hisoka's eerie and indifferent face.

"You're really amazing."

Fica's pupils contracted, and he swallowed a mouthful of blood, involuntarily letting out a sigh of admiration.

"No, no, it's not that I'm strong... it's that you're too weak."

Hisoka raised his right index finger and waved it in front of his eyes.

"And you don't have much time left... only 5 minutes..."

"Six minutes?"

Fica repeated a sentence and then continued:

"That's enough."

He suppressed the faint throbbing pain in his abdomen, gathered all his strength, and clenched his fists, which were no bigger than apples, again.

This time... he was determined to hit the strange man in front of him.

hiss!

The air hissed, and a lightning-fast strike suddenly appeared in front of Hisoka's chest.

This time... Hisoka didn't dodge; he stood still, making no movement.

He simply waited blankly as Fica's powerful blow struck his chest.

Boom!

With a muffled thud, Fika felt as if he had hit a steel plate. Not only did it not achieve the desired effect, but it also made his hand hurt from the shock.

"Not bad..."

Hisoka straightened up, his 1.87-meter height making him look like a tower in front of Fika.

He looked down at the red-haired boy's pale face, which was covered in cold sweat.

There was no mockery or contempt in his slender, golden eyes, only a faint boredom, like watching a rabbit trying to bite.

"4 minutes."

Hisoka raised his right index finger and waved it in front of Fika's eyes.

"You have four minutes. In four minutes, if you haven't made me move an inch..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Fika already understood what he meant from his expression.

He took a step back, pulled his fist from Hisoka's chest, and let it hang at his side. His gaze swept over the row of blinding lights above, over the blurry, cheering and screaming spectators in the stands, over the referee's tense face as he repeatedly checked his watch, and finally, his gaze returned to Hisoka's eerie and indifferent face.

"4 minutes."

Fica repeated it, his voice low but flat.

"That's enough..."

He suppressed the faint throbbing pain in his abdomen, gathered all his strength again, and poured all the remaining power into his fists, which were no bigger than apples, from the soles of his feet to his ankles, from his knees to his thighs, from his waist to his abdomen, from his wrists to his fists, like pouring water into a bottle.

hiss!

The air hissed, making a sound like tearing silk.

Fica's right fist shot out from his waist, slicing through the sky like lightning.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, and his fist went straight toward Hisoka's chest.

This time, he still didn't test the waters or make any feints.

It's just one punch, the dumbest, fastest, and most straightforward punch.

"well....."

A soft sigh suddenly rang in Fica's ears, and he instinctively looked in the direction of the sound.

With a slight sway of his upper body, the strange man dodged the attack and let out a melodious, gentle sigh.

After a sigh, a whip kick, as swift as a python hunting its prey, came crashing down on Fica.

It looks like it has the power and force of a thunderbolt.

Without much analysis, Fica already knew that being kicked like that would cripple him, if not kill him.

In that fraction of a second, his body reacted before his brain.

He dodged Hisoka's kick in a very unseemly way... he rolled away like a lazy donkey.

This is a life-saving trick that his boss taught him these past few days, and it turns out that this trick is very practical.

"Three minutes left..."

Hisoka didn't show any more emotion just because Fica dodged his kick; he simply announced the time to go, like a machine.

"I know I don't need you to count down."

With an angry shout, Fica dusted himself off and stood up again.

His voice was flat, as flat as stating a fact.

Then Fica lowered his right hand to his side, raised his left hand with his fingers spread and his palm facing forward, towards Hisoka.

It's not an offensive stance... it's a defensive one.

"Hmm? Not fighting anymore?" Hisoka raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Hit," Fica said.

"But not like this."

He took a deep breath and swallowed back the rusty-tasting blood that surged up in his throat.

Fica's gaze shifted from Hisoka's face to the arena floor... the floor stained with his sweat and blood...

"Your feet have never left the same spot."

Fica's voice was very flat...

"From the moment you started this game until now, your left foot has remained stationary, but your right foot has already kicked me twice..."

"So... your weight has been on your left foot the whole time."

Fica continued, his voice low but steady.

"Your right foot can kick, sweep, and bounce... but your left foot doesn't move."

"Because if you move your left foot, your center of gravity will become unstable."

"Your hands are tied, so you can't use your hands to balance."

"So your left foot is your anchor..."

"What I need to do is break this state of yours..."

Upon hearing this, Hisoka's pupils contracted slightly.

The contraction was so brief that it was almost invisible unless Fika's eyes were constantly watching.

But Fica saw it.

He saw something flash across those golden eyes, like a spark... not anger, not surprise, but interest.

"So?" Hisoka asked.

"so......."

Fica took a step forward—not rushing, not running, but walking.

"I'm going to make you move your left foot."

Hisoka raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Oh? How do you move?"

Fica has not yet responded.

He just did something strange; he started circling around Hisoka.

It's not a fast run, not a sprint; it's a leisurely, normal hunt, like a wolf probing its prey, or an ant searching for a crack in the wall.

His feet stomped on the floor, making a soft, rhythmic sound.

Tap....tap.....tap.

Fica's every step lands on the same circle, with Hisoka's bare feet at the center and the radius always remaining at two meters.

It was exactly the distance he could roll away from within the range of Hisoka's whip kick, and also exactly the distance he could rush forward in one step when Hisoka showed an opening.

One lap... two laps... three laps...

Fica's right wrist was still bleeding, and the cloth strip had been completely stained dark red.

As she continued to lose blood, Fica felt a bit short of breath, her breathing became heavy, and her chest heaved like a bellows.

But his steps remained steady, his rhythm unchanged, and his gaze unwavering.

He's watching.

Look at Hisoka's left foot... that left foot that's always stuck in place, never moving, like an anchor.

Melee...no, he's too strong. Even if he just stands there and lets me hit him, I might not be able to hurt him.

Long-range combat?

It seems I don't have any ranged attack methods...

Shaking his head bitterly, Fica regained his confidence. This time, he did not act rashly, but began to observe Hisoka seriously.