Chapter 286: A Mysterious Gift
Ryū closed the door behind him, looked at the box with genuine curiosity, and opened it.
Several pristine volumes stacked neatly inside.
Make-Out Paradise (Volumes 1–5) — Deluxe Edition with Illustrations, Signed by the Author. Author: Jiraiya.
Ryū: "…"
What in the world was this. Make-Out Paradise. Authored by Jiraiya. Signed.
This was very Kakashi, actually, now that he thought about it. Kakashi was a devoted reader of Jiraiya's work — a genuine fan. Of course the gift he'd carefully selected was a set of Jiraiya novels.
Make-Out Paradise was presumably the earlier installment in the series — Make-Out Violence was the one Kakashi had at eighteen, and the present Kakashi was fourteen or fifteen, so this predated that. The naming convention tracked.
Why was that white-haired hedgehog spending his days writing this kind of material was a question that could wait for another time.
The more immediately pressing question: how had a minor successfully purchased age-restricted content? He supposed an ANBU jōnin whose entire skill set included disguise and transformation techniques could probably pass for an adult without difficulty.
The twitch at the corner of his mouth was involuntary.
His collection of anime, manga, films, and games was already extensive. Five volumes of an adult novel written by someone he saw around the village was not a gap he had any particular need to fill.
In his previous life, he had developed a very specific opinion about this category of content. It led nowhere good.
He pushed the five volumes into a back corner of the shelf behind other things — not displayed, not accessible at a glance.
That said — it was probably Jiraiya's early work, possibly even a practice run before his "real" novels. The binding looked quality. If it sold well, that explained a few things about Jiraiya's career trajectory.
Recalling his own failed attempts at writing fiction in a previous life — tens of thousands of words without a single publishing contract — the universe felt slightly unfair.
He closed the thought off. If he ever had time and nothing better to do, he'd look at them. Each volume looked substantial — at least 200,000 characters, probably — five volumes adding up to a million. Decent entertainment if they turned out to be something other than what the title implied.
He sealed the windows, settled, and let his awareness pass into the Chat Group — then directly into the Arena.
Solo Mode. Same as always.
The Solo Mode format held no surprises at this point. The Versus Mode existed but he'd never tried it. He wasn't in the mood to think about that.
The environment materialized.
Space. An unfamiliar planetary body underfoot, small enough that its gravity registered as barely present. The disorientation of low gravity was immediate and unpleasant.
Vacuum registered against his skin — various forms of radiation washing across his body continuously. None of it was doing actual damage; his constitution was well past the threshold where space exposure caused direct harm. But it was uncomfortable, the way touching something cold without being hurt is still unpleasant.
He called on his Ki. It gathered at his skin's surface, condensing into a thin layer of energy — an improvised containment field that intercepted the radiation and held it at arm's length. The discomfort dropped considerably.
The breathing issue remained. No oxygen meant he was holding his breath. Had been since arrival.
Stillness. The quiet of space. A specific quality of unease that open vacuum reliably produced.
Then Observation Haki fired — ten seconds of predicted future arriving in his awareness — and his expression changed.
"Are they serious. This is a bit much. How many times am I going to have to die before this is killable?"
He wasn't going to figure out a strategy. He wasn't going to think of an approach. His internal plan was simple: don't flinch, hit back, dying just costs Points.
Seven seconds.
The surface of the "planet" underfoot began to shudder.
Eight seconds.
Massive movement in every direction.
Nine seconds.
Something appeared in his field of vision — appendages the size of mountain ranges, rising.
Ten seconds.
The corner of his mouth pulled slightly.
Is this the biggest opponent the Arena has ever generated?
The challenge the Arena had prepared was not the usual several-hundred-meter creature. Not the fast-type opponent roughly his own scale. Not the invisible class.
The "planet" he was standing on was the enemy's head.
He couldn't locate the eyes. But the sense of being noticed had already arrived — the enormous tentacle coming down needed no further introduction. The sound of it would have been tremendous if there had been air to carry sound.
His hands were already Armament-coated. Every muscle in his arms contracted simultaneously. Something in his cells responded to the incoming impact with what he could only describe as excitement.
The tentacle came down.
His fist went out.
First contact was first exchange — that was the Arena's nature. The enemy appeared and attacked; you attacked back.
The Armament-coated punch connected.
Cracks split across the mountain-range tentacle.
Chunks of flesh, larger than hills, tore loose and scattered.
Deep blue blood fountained outward in every direction.
Like watching an ocean pour from above.
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Hollowborn
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you