The rain had stopped, leaving the cobblestones slick and shining. Lanterns reflected on puddles like scattered stars, and the streets hummed with distant voices and clanging metal. Renzo crouched near a stack of crates at the docks, the damp air pressing against his skin.
I have to test it, I thought. My senses, the patterns I notice, the timing I've been practicing—they aren't just tricks. They are my tools now.
Across the alley, a small group of street children argued over a coin. Renzo watched their movements carefully: who reached first, how their eyes darted, how their weight shifted. A small battlefield, perfect for practice.
"Hey!" he called, stepping onto a crate to make himself taller.
The tallest boy turned, a grin splitting his face. "You? What do you want, runt?"
"Just making sure no one gets hurt," Renzo said, voice calm but firm. "And maybe helping someone get that coin back."
The boy laughed, but hesitation flickered across his eyes. That hesitation was enough.
Renzo shifted his weight, muscles remembering movement patterns from countless alleyway skirmishes. He reached out as the squabble broke apart, snatching the coin and tossing it to the smallest child.
"Here. Take it. Quick, before they grab it again."
The child blinked, then snatched the coin and bolted. The older boys muttered curses but didn't follow. Renzo exhaled, heart pounding. Victory came from observation and timing, not strength.
Later, he moved deeper into the docks. Two men argued near a cargo ship, one clutching a bag that rattled with coins. Renzo crouched behind a barrel, senses sharpening.
They were tense, alert. Their movements precise. Every pause, every glance, told him more than words could.
A rustle behind a crate made him tense, but it was only a stray cat, its fur slick from the rain. He let the breath he didn't know he had held escape and focused.
"Give it here!" one man snapped. The other resisted, and a scuffle broke out. Renzo watched the timing, how they leaned, shifted, how their weight betrayed hesitation. Every detail mattered.
He did not intervene directly. Instead, he shifted slightly, letting the faint scrape of a bottle on stone catch their attention. The smaller man froze, and that split second allowed the first to wrestle the bag free and dash into the fog. Coins spilled across the wet dock, clinking against crates.
Renzo crouched, picking up a few, letting the cold metal rest in his palm. Not much, but enough. Observation and patience had worked again.
Night fell, and the city shifted. Lanterns flickered, casting long shadows. Small gangs patrolled the streets. Merchants locked their shops, muttering curses. Hunters passed silently, unnoticed by most, but not by him. Every step, every sound, every shadow carried meaning.
Renzo crouched behind a shuttered shop, inspecting the coins from the day. Hunger pressed against him, but he ignored it. Learning mattered more. Survival required skill, patience, and awareness.
From the corner of his eye, a boy his age approached. Thin, patched jacket, faint smirk.
"You're the kid who helped the little one earlier," he said.
"Maybe. Who wants to know?" Renzo asked.
"I'm Luca," the boy said. "I know the streets. Minor gangs, little jobs, rumors. Nothing dangerous. Not yet. I thought you might want someone to guide you."
Renzo considered him carefully. Aligning with someone carried risk. But information was power. "Alright. I'm listening."
Luca led him through narrow streets, pointing out gang territories, pickpocket zones, and merchants willing to trade favors. Each location came with a warning, each name with context.
"See that alley?" Luca whispered. "Black Talons. Small gang, fast and unpredictable. Stay away unless you have a plan."
Renzo nodded, storing every detail. Timing, observation, anticipation—his instincts sharpened.
"And that man?" he asked, pointing at a tall figure in a dark coat, watching the crowd quietly.
Luca's eyes widened slightly. "That's a Hunter. Quiet, efficient, dangerous if you cross him. Avoid him for now."
Renzo didn't blink. Hunters, small gangs, shadowy figures. Patterns emerged. Yorknew was complex, but the pieces were becoming clear.
The fog thickened as night deepened. Renzo and Luca crouched near a crate, watching a small gang exchange coins with a middleman. Movements were practiced, fluid, and precise.
"Notice their pauses," Luca whispered. "Even the smallest hesitation shows weakness."
Renzo's mind sharpened. Timing, observation, influence. His instincts felt more alive than ever. Something flickered deep inside, a hint of awareness beyond ordinary senses. Not Nen, yet. Something else.
The handoff finished. The gang melted into the mist. Renzo stayed crouched, letting the lessons sink in.
"I will not be a stray pawn," he whispered to himself. "I will survive, I will adapt."
A sudden clatter behind them made both boys freeze. A figure stepped into the alley, hooded, moving silently. Renzo's pulse quickened, but he stayed crouched, calm.
The figure paused, scanning the alley, then vanished into the fog. The streets had eyes, he realized, and not all were friendly. Yorknew City was a puzzle, and he was only beginning to see the corners.
Renzo leaned back against the crate, wrapping his blanket tighter. Tomorrow would bring more. More lessons, more tests, more challenges.
And he was ready.