Gon's Harem System
Chapter 83: Can I fight Milo?

Chapter 83: Can I fight Milo?

Celia’s sharp eyes caught the way his body wavered, his strength seemingly drained in an instant.

His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the bed, his arms barely mustering the energy to break his fall.

His face, once filled with determination, was now pale and slightly damp with sweat, his eyelids fluttering as if he was struggling to stay conscious.

Without hesitation, Celia’s instincts took over.

The lover in her faded into the background, and the trained nurse stepped forward in its place.

Her posture straightened, her hands moved with practiced precision, and her mind quickly assessed the situation.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with worry as she hurried toward him.

Her hands, warm and trembling, reached for his forehead, brushing aside damp strands of hair to feel his temperature.

A frown settled between her brows as she pressed her palm against his clammy skin, searching for any sign of fever.

Then, with a weak, raspy breath, he croaked, "Yes... just a little weak. Can I get water?"

"Of course," she said quickly, her tone a mix of relief and urgency. She stood, casting a final glance at him before hurrying toward the pitcher on the nearby table.

Celia hurried to the small wooden table in the corner, her fingers shaking slightly as she grabbed the pitcher.

The cool water sloshed gently inside as she poured it into a cup, her mind racing with concern.

She turned back to him, kneeling beside the bed as she carefully handed him the cup. "Here, drink this," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost coaxing.

Gon took the cup with shaky hands, his fingers brushing against Celia’s before he brought it to his lips.

The first sip was heaven, cool, soothing, easing the raw dryness in his throat.

He swallowed slowly, feeling the water spread through him like a refreshing wave, chasing away the heaviness in his limbs.

With each careful sip, his strength returned. His breathing steadied, and the dizzy haze clouding his vision began to lift.

He exhaled a slow breath, bracing himself as he shifted on the bed.

Summoning the energy he had, Gon pushed himself up, his muscles protesting but obeying.

He sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist, his shoulders still slumped from exhaustion.

Gon exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples as a lingering ache pulsed in his head. He glanced up at Celia, who was still watching him with concern, her brows slightly furrowed.

A question weighed on his mind, and after a moment, he voiced it.

"Do you know what happened after I passed out?"

Celia blinked, momentarily distracted as she wrung out a damp cloth and ran it over her back, wiping away the sweat and dust that clung to her skin. "I don’t understand," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Gon shifted, sitting up a little straighter. "I mean in the tournament," he clarified, his voice gaining a bit more steadiness.

His last memory was the intense clash with Milo, the heat of the battle, the rush of adrenaline, the sharp pain that had sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.

But what happened after that?

"Oh, that," Celia replied, her tone shifting slightly as she set the cloth aside.

She turned back to Gon, watching him carefully as if deciding how much to say. "There was only one more match left before you passed out."

"Yeah, the final match was between Milo and Trois," Gon said, still waiting for a response, leaning forward slightly, anticipation flickering in his eyes. "So who won?" he pressed.

"Milo did," Celia said simply, stretching her arms as if recalling the tension of the match. "It was a tough fight, though. It went on for ages."

Gon exhaled, a slow sigh escaping his lips. He leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as if deep in thought. "I’m not surprised," he murmured.

Gon closed his eyes for a second, letting that sink in.

So, Milo had won against Trois. Gon hadn’t expected a different outcome, but still, something about it felt strange.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers idly gripping the edge of the blanket as he let the realization settle.

Milo was strong, Gon knew that better than most.

Trois had been impressive, no, more than that.

She had been dominant. He could still picture the way she had carried herself in her first match, her movements precise, calculated.

There had been a quiet confidence in the way she fought, an assurance that she was in control.

She had read her opponent like an open book, countering with ease, striking with an almost effortless efficiency.

From the moment the fight started, she had dictated its pace, never once seeming overwhelmed.

Gon had watched her, his eyes wide with admiration, taking in every step, every feint, every well-timed attack.

It had been clear she was no ordinary fighter, her skill was undeniable, her presence commanding.

And then there was her surprise move.

That moment had been electrifying, a sudden, decisive shift in tempo that had left her opponent completely exposed.

It was the kind of technique that could turn the tide of a battle in an instant, a hidden ace that caught even skilled fighters off guard.

It was fast, unpredictable, and perfectly executed.

But, Gon supposed, the element of surprise only worked once.

If Milo had seen it before, he would have been more prepared this time.

Perhaps that was the difference.

What had once been a trump card was now just another attack in her arsenal, one that Milo could counter, evade, or shut down before it became a threat.

Still, the fact remained, Trois had lost. And that meant something.

It meant Milo was a very talented mage.

It was a good thing there were going to be two winners.

That meant Gon potentially wouldn’t have to fight Milo again.

The idea brought him some relief.

However, a thought crept into his mind, unsettling and persistent.

What if he and Milo were drawn against each other before then?

The realization made his stomach twist slightly.

Right now, only eight competitors remained.

That meant just one last round before the finals were decided.

And the matches... well, those were left up to chance.

Gon frowned, his fingers absentmindedly gripping the blanket as he considered the possibilities.

There were only two matchups left for the finals .

If fate decided to pit him against Milo again, then there would be no avoiding it.

He would have to fight him, ready or not.

His body still ached from his last encounter, a dull soreness lingering in his muscles, a reminder of how much he had pushed himself.

Could he handle another fight like that? Did he even have a strategy that could work against Milo now, knowing what he was capable of?

Gon let out a slow breath. was he ready?