HunterxHunter: I Became Stronger After Death

In a deathmatch, only one person can walk away alive.

Tagore had fallen, but he wasn't dead yet.

The match wasn't over.

The crowd supporting Tagore erupted after a brief moment of stunned silence, screaming frantically for him to get up and keep fighting.

They didn't care about Tagore's injuries—what mattered to them was that if he didn't stand up, they would lose a significant amount of money.

But no matter how loud their shouts, Tagore couldn't stand.

Moro's decisive blow had left him completely unable to retaliate.

Now, Tagore was like a newborn foal, struggling to rise only to collapse again in a trembling heap.

Tap, tap…

Moro walked toward him.

The sound of his calm footsteps reached Tagore's ears like a deafening drum, the ominous echoes of death approaching.

Tagore let out a hoarse growl, straining to rise as veins bulged across his forehead and temples.

But the next moment, blood spurted from his mouth, and he collapsed again.

An attack infused with aura, when directed at a weak point, could deal devastating damage in an instant. The battle was effectively over.

Tagore understood this better than anyone.

"Lifespan Strike"—

This was his transformation-type ability, designed to exploit his opponents' weak points in battle.

But now, having been struck on his own weak point, he knew he had no chance to turn the tables. He could only wait for death to claim him.

Even so, he refused to accept this outcome.

"I give up! I surrender!" Tagore shouted in a raspy voice as he watched Moro approach.

The referee, standing not far from the ring, heard Tagore's plea but didn't react.

This was a deathmatch. A referee had no role to play here.

Moro stopped in front of Tagore, watching his futile attempts to struggle, his defiance of death evident in his eyes.

"You lack even this much resolve?" Moro muttered softly.

Without hesitation, he reached out and snuffed out the last flicker of life in Tagore's body.

The level indicator on the back of his hand jumped from Lv. 5 to Lv. 7 in an instant—a two-level gain.

Moro didn't bother checking it. He simply stood up, indifferent to the cheers or jeers around him.

Tagore lay motionless on the arena floor, his body growing colder by the second.

From the audience, angry shouts and curses rained down upon Moro, particularly from those who had placed bets on Tagore.

Moro ignored the noise and walked toward the tunnel leading out of the arena.

Some might later accuse him of unnecessary cruelty for killing an already defeated Tagore. But Moro wouldn't care.

He had killed Tagore not because it was a deathmatch, nor because it granted him a level-up.

He did it because Tagore had wanted to kill him.

That was reason enough.

Leaving the chaotic noise of the arena behind, Moro strode into the passageway.

Yet even as he disappeared from view, countless eyes remained fixed on the tunnel's entrance.

"This newcomer… is dangerous," murmured a spectator who was one of the 200th-floor competitors.

He had watched the entire match.

Though he noted Moro's ability to grow stronger during battle, he still believed he could defeat Moro in the controlled environment of the arena.

But something in his subconscious urged him to avoid provoking Moro.

"Forget it. Better to focus on other rookies," he decided.

Many of the 200th-floor fighters had come to observe this match, aiming to gather intel on promising newcomers like Moro and Tagore.

For these seasoned competitors, understanding their future rivals was key to securing victories on the 200th floor.

Some fighters, after witnessing the match, deemed Moro too risky to target and shifted their focus elsewhere. Others believed Moro was still too inexperienced and saw an opportunity to secure an easy win against him.

For these fighters, targeting rookies was a common strategy, and they saw nothing unethical about it. In their minds, it was simply part of the game.

But when cornered with no other options, many of these same fighters wouldn't hesitate to break the rules if it meant survival.

As Moro walked toward the 190th-floor rest area, he encountered a familiar face: the long-haired woman he had defeated in a previous match.

"Are you here to charge me tuition fees?" Moro joked lightly, noticing her serious demeanor.

Her name was Callista, and she had introduced herself as soon as she approached.

Callista quickly waved her hands in denial. "Oh, no, I wouldn't dare."

Moro chuckled, already understanding her intentions. "You want to know why I can use your footwork technique, don't you?"

"That's part of it," Callista admitted, shaking her head slightly.

"Ever since I lost to you, I've been watching your matches. I've noticed how you're constantly learning from your opponents, adapting as you fight. Seeing you use the 'Gazelle Step' earlier really surprised me. But more than that…"

Her tone grew serious, and her gaze locked onto Moro with intensity.

"I want to know how you're able to use it so well. I can sense it—you've grasped something, a secret I don't understand. What is it?"

Moro raised an eyebrow, surprised by her observation. After a moment, he nodded. "I won't deny it."

Callista's eyes lit up with hope. "Then would you—"

Before she could finish, Moro interrupted her, turning his attention to the corner of the hallway.

"You're here for the same reason?" he asked, his voice calm but directed at the unseen figure.

A brief silence followed before a man with short silver hair and strikingly handsome features stepped out from the shadows.

The man didn't seem surprised that Moro had noticed him. To him, Moro's presence was already so formidable that swallowing his pride to investigate further seemed worth it.

"Yes," the man admitted frankly. "I'm curious about that wall-like force you displayed."

He stepped closer, his tone sincere.

"My name is Haruto Tora. If Mr. Moro could help me understand it, I'm willing to fulfill any request you might have. I'll do whatever it takes."

Moro glanced at Haruto, intrigued by his boldness.

Callista, standing nearby, stared at Haruto with frustration. I should have declared my determination first!

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