As a female warrior who's constantly underestimated, Oby wants nothing more than to be one of the strongest hunters in the world. She gravitates towards robberies, animal poaching, and racketeering just to prove herself worthy. But one challenge she...
Author's Note: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to @TheNadoraAwards and @pomalo_ for hosting a competition and choosing my work out of so many other talented writers to win this year's award for Action/Adventure!!
Please VOTE, VOTE, VOTE FOR THIS CHAPTER. This was definitely an unexpected twist in the story for me, but I hope ya'll like being inside Hisoka's brain for a bit and learning how he feels about Oby. I'll sporadically do some chapters from his POV moving forward. Next up, we'll get back to Ging n Oby and the next part of her mission! Suggestions? Comments? Leave them below. As always thanks for reading fam! xoxox
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I can't believe Oby blew me off, and not in the good way. Now I have to fend for myself. Get rid of all this pent up energy. Luckily it's easy to find vice this time of night, some chaos for me to blend into. There's a sense of someone following me that I've had since leaving her house, but I can't pinpoint it no matter where I look. Like a ghost, no one's really there. Perhaps I'm just hypersensitized from the nen user who snuck up on Oby and I earlier. In a nearby bar in town I see a few low-brow miscreants sneak into a backroom.
When I go in behind them, I discover there's a room full of drunken, rowdy men placing bets on some sweaty fighters in the middle, wrestling each other in mud. The room is set up like a dingy, out of date auditorium made of wood. It smells like it's had too many drinks and cigarettes and is in need of a shower...how I've missed this.
I look around to see who's collecting money for the bets to see if I can join in the fun. A short man with moss green eyes and a curly-cued ginger beard smokes a cigar as he counts out money. I squeeze through the audience to get to him. "Looking for another fighter tonight?" I ask. The little man looks up at me and jumps. I'm surprised he isn't more aware of his surroundings.
He looks me up and down assessing my body. I grin and brace my muscles so he can see the fight in them. 20 minutes later, I'm in the pit with a bald, thickly mustached mountain of a man with a slash of mud across his hairy chest and blank, beady eyes. Our names are announced by the referee so everyone knows who to praise and boo. The man I'm up against is named Stone. He's about 6'7, a few inches taller than me, not that it matters. I'll beat him eventually, but there's no rush. We can play around a little.
Mostly everyone bets on him because he's bigger. It feels strange to be the underdog for once. I wonder if this is how Oby feels when she goes up against men. I can see how it becomes annoying after a while. The crowd throws cheers, insults, and alcohol on us like we're dogs. I can tell this is the only time in most of their miserable lives that they feel powerful, that they live vicariously through these battles. I take off my shirt and stretch for a few moments.
