For the past few days, Jon had been fighting in what felt like scripted battles—predictable, repetitive, but undeniably profitable. He kept grinding match after match, collecting gold like a man on a mission.
And on this particular day, his next opponent was... interesting.
"Kid, you are indeed very strong—but it's useless!"
Jon blinked, eyes locking on the strange man standing across from him in the ring.
The guy was… unique, to say the least.
Clad in what could barely be called clothing, the man wore scraps that resembled the outfit of the legendary martial arts philosopher Van. His wild, uncombed black hair cascaded past his shoulders, and a dramatic white mask covered his face. His chest was bare, and what few garments remained fluttered with every dramatic pose he struck.
What is going on with this guy…? You're basically naked, yet you're still wearing a mask? Is this some kind of budget cosplay or psychological warfare? And seriously, why is your outfit a 1:1 recreation of Van's?
Before Jon could say anything, the man suddenly roared:
"Heaven-Shattering, Earth-Destroying, Invincible Overlord Fist — First Form!!"
With a loud yell, the masked fighter leaped into the air, spun in a perfect 360-degree corkscrew, and hurled himself at Jon with all the intensity of a B-list anime protagonist.
Jon raised both arms and blocked the punch casually.
Bang!
Jon took a few dramatic steps backward for effect, pretending to struggle under the "power" of the blow.
"So strong!" he gasped, playing along. "I almost didn't block that one!"
Yeah, no. That punch had the force of a pillow fight.
The man stood tall, face full of shock. "Impossible! I trained for years to steal that ultimate move from the floor master! And you blocked it so easily?!"
Jon stared at him in silence.
Dude… how did you even make it to this floor?
With intense conviction, the masked man pointed at Jon, voice trembling with melodrama. "As expected of a genius young man... Could you be... my destined nemesis!?"
He flung his arms wide and charged again, eyes full of battle spirit.
Wait, is this the legendary 'welcoming the man head-on' technique?!
Jon side-stepped the charge without hesitation. "Yeah, no thanks."
"I don't get it! Why won't you take it head-on?! This move has the same power level as the last one—you can totally handle it!"
That was the last straw. Jon snapped his fingers, and Stone Free burst into view. One clean punch was all it took to send the masked man flying out of the arena, spinning like a broken propeller.
I've had enough.
Having released the restrictions on his Stand, Jon was now practically untouchable below the 200th floor. And it wasn't like he used Stone Free right away—most of the time, he humored his opponents for a bit first.
But truth be told, Jon couldn't beat them in a fair fight without any powers… yet. His Stand, however, could.
With Stone Free, Jon breezed through opponents like paper. Over the course of just two weeks, he climbed nearly 200 floors.
He even found a proxy better to start placing wagers on his matches. With Stone Free in his corner, Jon was unstoppable. But he was careful. He made sure to "act" in every match, throwing in moments of suspense, fake injuries, and narrow dodges to keep the audience guessing.
He became a dark horse, rising from obscurity to stardom. His matches were always thrilling—up until the last second, when his opponent would suddenly be taken out in one devastating blow.
But those paying close attention started to notice something odd.
Jon was never actually injured in any fight. Not even once.
Suspicion grew. Insiders whispered. Yet that only fueled his fame.
Eventually, his odds plummeted. Betting on Jon barely earned anything now—but it didn't matter. Jon had already raked in over 300 million Jenny between prize money and betting profits.
He had arrived at the 200th floor.
At this point, the game changed.
Unlike previous levels, there were no staff to guide you to the next floor. If you wanted to continue, you had to ride the elevator yourself.
The 200th floor was like a barrier—a checkpoint that separated ordinary fighters from true monsters.
While many could claw their way to this floor, very few stayed.
Prize money no longer existed beyond this point. The battles were harsher, the rules stricter. The cost of continuing was high, and the reward was nothing but prestige—and survival.
Weapons of all kinds were permitted—blades, guns, hidden weapons, whatever you wanted. You had to re-register to continue, signing new forms, confirming your intent to compete, and declaring yourself ready.
Fights were no longer randomly scheduled. Instead, you had 90 days to challenge someone—or be eliminated.
Some maniacs fought every day. After each match, they received another 90-day buffer.
Victory in ten consecutive battles granted the chance to challenge a floor master. From the 230th to the 251st floor, these 21 elite fighters ruled. Defeat one, and you could take their place.
To become a floor master was the pinnacle of the Heavens Arena. Even Isaac Netero, Chairman of the Hunter Association, was rumored to be among them.
And if Star Platinum went blow for blow with Netero's 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva, it would likely lose—at least without using The World.
Plain physical power, Star Platinum might be the best. But against Netero's sheer speed and range? It's not enough.
As Jon walked past the alley where Hisoka had once warned Gon in the original story, he half-expected someone to appear.
But no one did.
No shadowy Nen master appeared to offer advice. No mysterious mentor lurking in the dark.
If Robson hadn't repeatedly sworn that someone would come, Jon might've believed it was just a myth.
If that guy doesn't show up soon, I'll have no choice but to get baptized by the 200th floor myself...
Just then, three figures stepped out of the shadows behind him.
They wore matching kill-mat uniforms, their bodies oddly shaped.
Each looked injured, crippled, or half-functional—and yet, all three had made it to the 200th floor.
To the untrained eye, they were an inspiring sight. Heroes who rose above their disabilities. A tale of grit and guts.
To those in the know, however…
They were simply known as The Disabled Trio:
Gido, Riehlvelt, and Sadaso.
They were the notorious newbie killers of the 200th floor—each of them trained in Nen. Their specialty? Crushing rookies who hadn't awakened Nen yet.
When they saw Jon, their eyes lit up.
To them, he was just another clueless upstart who had climbed the floors with brute strength or tricks. After all, he didn't even know how to do Ten, right? Clearly not a Nen user.
Jon saw them approach and sighed.
To soothe my wounded heart, I think I'll humor them.
"Looks like we caught ourselves a fresh one," Riehlvelt whispered.
"A newbie's been hooked!" ×3
Time to vent a little, Jon thought, cracking his knuckles.
Both sides silently agreed.
They thought they'd caught a juicy fish. What they didn't realize was… Jon wasn't a newbie.
He was a veteran Stand user, and right now, three chapters of "ORA ORA ORA" were about to be published.
Hopefully, they were as durable as Lovers.
By the way, Jon's gold farming had paid off handsomely. Just recently, he'd pulled two more Universal Cards.
One revealed Teresa's Perfume, a magical item that could completely eliminate a man's body odor.
Pretty awesome actually... No need for classic deodorant anymore.
The second?
A Stand.
[Six Pistols].
Six individual entities numbered from 1 to 7—minus 4—attached to bullets and capable of altering their trajectory mid-air. Belonging to Guido Mista from Part 5, they were cute, feisty, and surprisingly useful.
Their growth, precision, and sustainability were all ranked A—but they had no destructive power on their own.
In JoJo's world, they were deadly.
In the Hunter World?
Not so much.
Unless Jon paired them with a high-fire-rate Nen gun or custom weapon, they'd be difficult to use effectively in real battles against anyone of semi-importance.
Still, he got his hands on a Glock that he kept in his pocket.
After all, you never know when a Stand might come in handy.