Gon's Harem System
Chapter 198: Guess I have to dial it up

Chapter 198: Guess I have to dial it up

He attacked again.

The boy came rushing forward like a blur of pink and silver, his wooden staff raised high above his head, the carved serpent at its tip gleaming wickedly in the sun.

Gon’s eyes narrowed, every muscle in his body bracing.

There it was again, that snake, slithering unnaturally along the shaft, its eyes like molten gold, its tongue flickering with venomous intent. The creature hissed, fangs bared, coiled and ready to strike.

The sand beneath Gon’s boots shifted slightly as he took a step back, his mind already racing. The boy was fast, too fast. His movements had the kind of practiced rhythm that came from endless drills, relentless sparring, and battles fought with no room for hesitation. He was sharp, nimble, and worst of all, clever.

Gon had already tried slipping past his guard earlier, aiming to circle around and slice at his back, but the boy had twisted at just the right moment, parried, danced away, even laughed.

He remembered the sound of that laugh. Taunting. Mocking.

This time, that wouldn’t work.

No, Gon told himself. Not again. He’d seen it now, this boy didn’t just fight. He predicted.

Which meant Gon would have to be unpredictable.

The roar of the crowd echoed all around the arena, distant and thunderous, as though coming from beneath layers of cotton.

But inside his head, the world had narrowed to a single, focused moment. Just him and the boy. Just the sand, the stick, the snake. His breathing slowed. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.

The boy was almost upon him now, eyes gleaming with excitement, that ridiculous pink bob of hair bouncing with every step like a banner of overconfidence.

His grin was wide and sure, stretching his cheeks as if he’d already won, as if he’d already landed the blow and was just waiting for Gon to realize it.

But Gon was done playing the part of the slow learner.

The answer came to him in a flash, sudden and bright, like the click of a lock sliding open. He didn’t need to dodge. He didn’t need to move at all.

He needed to take the hit.

Gon smirked, his decision made.

He planted his feet firmly in the sand, shoulders squared, arms loose at his sides like a swordsman inviting the duel. His heart beat once, hard. Then again. And he braced himself.

As the boy lunged forward, the snake struck.

Gon didn’t flinch. Instead, he summoned mana from the depths of his core, forcing it up through his veins like liquid iron.

His skin shimmered faintly, as if catching the light from beneath, and then it hardened all at once. smooth and unyielding, like polished steel beneath his tunic. The spell wrapped around him in an instant: Iron Veil.

The snake’s fangs met his forearm with a sharp, cracking sound, like bone against stone. There was a flash of pain, sharp and bright, but nothing deeper than a hard pinch.

The creature reeled back, hissing furiously, its fangs glancing off the enchanted skin, unable to pierce through. It slithered back up the staff with a hiss of frustration.

The boy’s eyes went wide.

There it was, the opening.

Gon moved.

He twisted his body, bringing his sword around in a tight, practiced arc. The steel sang as it cut through the air, a sound as precise as it was deadly.

It caught the boy just below the ribs, tearing through fabric first, then skin.

There was a wet sound, like cloth being torn underwater, followed by a sharp intake of breath from the boy.

He stumbled backwards, gasping, clutching his side with both hands. Blood, dark, thick, and shockingly vivid,welled up between his fingers, staining them crimson.

Gon exhaled slowly, letting the breath leave his lungs in a controlled stream. The blade in his hand shimmered slightly in the sunlight, blood already sliding down the edge.

He flicked it clean with a sharp movement, then wiped it lazily on his sleeve for good measure.

The boy was still staring at his palm, at the blood. He looked dazed, almost disbelieving, as if his mind was still trying to process what had just happened.

His pink fringe had fallen into his face, soaked with sweat. He looked younger now, less like a cocky prodigy and more like a scared kid who had just been reminded that pain was real.

The crowd’s roar dimmed into a distant, droning hum, like waves crashing far from shore.

Gon stepped forward, tilting his head ever so slightly.

"Not so talkative now, are you?" he said softly, his voice low and laced with venom.

The boy’s head snapped up like a puppet jerked on a string, and in an instant, his entire face transformed.

Rage, pure, unfiltered, and terrifying, twisted his delicate features. His wide, expressive eyes, which only moments ago had sparkled with smug amusement, now blazed like twin suns.

They were lit from within with something furious and unrelenting, something that crackled just beneath the surface like fire behind glass. His lips curled back, baring clenched teeth in a feral snarl, and a low, guttural sound rumbled from his throat.

For one long, tense heartbeat, he stood there like that, trembling with fury, his blood-slicked hand clenched at his side, red rivulets dripping silently onto the golden sand below.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

The anger melted away as though it had never been there at all.

In its place came a smile, slow and smooth, stretching across his face with something far worse than anger. It was cold, calculating, and worst of all, calm. A predator’s grin.

"I’m impressed," he said, his voice steady and strangely light, as if they were sharing tea instead of trading blows in a sun-scorched arena.

Despite the steady stream of blood leaking between his fingers, he sounded utterly unaffected.

Gon blinked.

His smirk faltered, just a fraction, but enough to show the sudden ripple of unease passing through him. Impressed? After that? After taking a sword to the ribs?