酉 (Kuruk)—a member of the Twelve Zodiacs.
Though officially a Plant Hunter, her knowledge of animals was nothing short of encyclopedic. Looking after an orange tabby cat? Child's play.
Under normal circumstances, she probably wouldn't have accepted something so trivial. But this cat—Little Ju—was different. The surge of aura, the abnormalities in its data, and Sambika's personal request... That was enough to pique Kuruk's interest.
When Joey found her, Kuruk had just finished a concert—a high-end event full of glitz, classical strings, and velvet claps.
Because Kuruk was more than a scientist.
She was a virtuoso.
Music. Dance. Stagecraft. Every performance of hers sold out instantly, ticket prices reaching into the millions, and still barely enough to meet demand.
"You're the one Sambika mentioned?" she asked, her voice smooth, her tone crisp.
"I'm Kuruk."
Her gaze scanned Joey from head to toe—an appraisal. Clinical but not cold. Somehow, even that inspection didn't feel rude. It was just... natural. Like she had every right to look, and you were lucky to be seen.
Joey knew this reception came at a cost. He'd dressed perfectly for it. No battlefield grime, no blood-smeared shirt, no half-burned sleeves.
Sambika had texted him in advance, after all.
"Kuruk is picky. Proud. Hates rudeness."
Joey didn't mind. People with real skills were allowed to have quirks. And frankly, he hated rude idiots too. First impressions mattered—especially when the other party wore high fashion and operated million-dollar labs.
"Joey. Joey Joestar."
"Let's go. I've moved the cat into the lab. You can inspect the setup.
If there's anything you need changed, say so. After all, you know Little Ju best."
She led him to a sleek black car waiting by the curb.
"By the way," Kuruk frowned slightly, "does the cat even have a name?"
"Just... 'Little Ju'," Joey admitted, scratching his cheek.
He was, admittedly, trash at naming things.
"That's lazy," she smiled, "but oddly fitting. Sounds like something Sambika would say."
Joey laughed but didn't clarify. Knowing Sambika, she'd probably never bothered giving the cat a name either. Every time she texted about it, it was just "the orange cat" or "it."
Still... four out of twelve.
Joey wasn't even a licensed Hunter yet, and he'd already met a third of the Zodiacs.
Two of them—Mizaistorm and Piyon—were regular contacts. Business, banter, bizarre text threads at midnight.
Then there were Chito and now Kuruk. Chito knew more about him than anyone else did... but that was still a professional relationship. Kuruk? That was Sambika's bridge.
Still—acquaintance was better than anonymity.
Kuruk's lab wasn't in the city. The car drove them past hills and thickets until they reached what looked like an old-world castle hidden in dense forest.
Joey didn't need to ask—this whole estate probably belonged to her.
Kuruk was loaded. No question.
"Sambika mentioned you were planning a private lab—for Little Ju and potential viral samples.
I recommend an area about thirty kilometers northwest. Close to the city, quiet, cheap, and isolated enough for research."
She pointed, off into the woods.
"Thanks. I'll check it out," Joey said, memorizing the details.
"Don't mention it. If Sambika's building a lab, I'm all for it."
Seeing that he didn't brush off her help, her smile turned more genuine. From her bag, she produced a business card.
Joey took it with both hands, glanced at it, then carefully tucked it into his jacket pocket.
The lab itself wasn't inside the castle—it was separate, behind it. A standalone facility that hummed with sterile energy.
Fully equipped.
And in the corner... lay Little Ju, loafed out like a sentient beanbag.
This much tech... for one lazy cat, Joey thought.
He took out a fresh notebook and began jotting down details as he walked. Not because he had anything to say—but because this was also a learning trip. He'd never built a lab before.
Kuruk, seeing his diligence, took the time to explain things. Precise. Efficient. No wasted words.
When he left, Joey felt like he'd just earned a minor degree in virology logistics.
Kuruk? He liked her. Definitely.
Back in the city, Joey got to work.
He contacted the landowner Kuruk had recommended. Made arrangements. Paid deposits.
Then he rang Nob—and offloaded the entire construction process to a pro team Nob introduced. He shared his ideas, sketches, rough schematics, and then?
Back to the Sky Arena.
At the same time, Joey put out an official Hunter Association bounty—looking for a lab manager with expertise in virology and animal biology.
He'd asked around first. No one had good leads.
So... it was time to pay.
And pay big.
A licensed Hunter with that kind of skillset would run into the billions.
Only a few had gigs like Mizaiston, whose base pay was a few million, but raked in cash via commissions and contracts.
By the time he landed back at the Arena, it was already mid-October.
And still—no perfect candidate had appeared.
The fights?
Still easy.
The 100th-floor match was almost insulting. Joey barely flicked his wrist and sent the opponent soaring.
He was winning too easily. Too cleanly.
When the final match came—the one to push him to the 200th floor—Joey spotted something amusing.
In the stands... fans holding up signs.
His name. His symbol.
Sky Arena had started marketing him.
And while he wanted to speedrun his way up, the organizers slowed him down—one match per ten floors.
He resisted at first.
But then sponsors approached.
Cash. Lots of it.
If it meant just a two-day delay... fine.
Besides, he needed those two days to finalize lab construction and sync up with Sambika.
At the 200th floor, things changed.
Battles now followed a points system. First to 10 or a knockout wins. Clean hits earned you a point. Brilliant hits got you two. Knockdowns that hit a full ref count? Another point.
Or... you could choose a death match.
But unless you had serious beef, no one really went that route.
The receptionist was all smiles. Pretty, polished, clearly trained to welcome new blood.
"Welcome to the 200th floor! Please sign here."
"From here on, you'll enter a declared-match format.
Each fighter gets 90 days for preparation. You can schedule your match anytime in that window…"
She kept explaining.
Joey?
Already scanning the room.
He could feel it—a few fighters already eyeing him like a fresh steak.
New guy? Easy points?
He chuckled.
Their auras screamed rookie. No threat.
He wasn't here for rats.
He wanted the floor master.
Signing the form with a flourish, he turned toward the gathered hopefuls—grinning.
Come at me, then.
His new room?
2302. He didn't bother chatting with the wannabes. Let them book the match. He'd beat them on stage, not in the hallway.
But first—2007.
Wing's room.
He double-checked the number, then pressed the bell.
"Joey! You're back!" said Chishi, opening the door with a bright grin.
Joey handed him a gift bag—snacks. Instant happiness.
Kids were simple.
Behave? Get treats. Misbehave? Get lectures and cold silence. Worst case? Send a passive-aggressive message to their parents and watch the chaos unfold.
Joey didn't believe in soft parenting. He didn't have time to fix someone else's failure.
Wing nodded when he saw Joey.
"You made it to the 200th floor, I see."
"Just arrived. Filled out the forms.
I figure someone's gonna challenge me soon—rookie bonus and all."
He dropped onto the couch, picked up an apple from the fruit tray.
"Did you suppress your aura?" Wing asked, catching on quick.
"Makes it more fun this way," Joey grinned.
"Then I better start warming up.
Looks like I'll be fighting for real this time."