The sun hung low, shadows stretching across Yorknew City's crooked alleys. The air smelled of damp stone and old garbage, and a thin mist lingered over the cobblestones. Renzo crouched on a crate near a narrow alleyway, blanket drawn around his shoulders. His hands felt clammy, but his mind was alert, humming with anticipation.
I have to see it. Every detail matters. Every step, every glance, every hesitation can tell me more about how this city moves.
Luca leaned against the wall beside him, arms folded. "You really think you can sneak past them?" he asked, nodding toward a cluster of men across the alley. Their posture was casual, but Renzo could sense the undercurrent of tension, the readiness in their limbs.
Renzo's eyes narrowed. "I don't need to fight them. Not yet. I just need to observe, to understand."
The men moved in patterns that seemed random to anyone else. But to Renzo, each motion carried weight. One shifted his weight slightly to the left, a hand brushing a pocket. Another's foot tapped a beat against the stone. Breathing became a rhythm he could almost read, a pulse in the quiet.
He focused on Ten first, feeling his aura expand slightly around him. The sensation was faint, almost like a whisper brushing his skin. Then he practiced Zetsu, trying to withdraw, blend into the shadows of the alley. He could not make himself invisible. No one could. But he could minimize himself, make his presence a lighter weight, less likely to draw attention.
A loose stone rolled underfoot. Renzo flinched, but the men's heads did not turn. They were absorbed in their own movements, unaware of his proximity. His pulse quickened.
I can sense it. I can feel their hesitation, just beneath the surface. Not control. Not Hatsu. Not yet. Only awareness.
He took a careful step forward, watching how the rhythm of their movements responded to the faint shift of wind through the alley. One of the men glanced toward a flicker of light, almost imperceptibly. That was enough. Renzo advanced another step, crouching low, careful not to shift his weight too heavily.
"Keep your eyes on him," Luca whispered. "If he moves wrong, it could end badly."
Renzo exhaled slowly. "I know. I'm not moving wrong. I'm learning."
The men split, one going to check a nearby doorway, the others lingering. Renzo felt the faint tingle of Ren in his chest, the subtle expansion of aura that came from anticipation and concentration. This was not Hatsu, not even close. But it was the foundation. He could feel the edges of his potential.
I am not invisible. I am not invincible. But I can see more than they can. That is my advantage.
A sudden shout echoed from the far end of the alley. A cart had tipped over, spilling fruits into the street. One of the men cursed and moved to straighten it, stepping slightly off the pattern Renzo had been tracking. That tiny disruption was a doorway.
He shifted carefully, moving from shadow to shadow. Luca followed silently, muscles coiled, watching.
Renzo focused his breathing, counted the beats in his chest and the subtle pressure of air around the men. Ten, Zetsu, Ren. Observation first.
A pebble near his foot caught the light. He flicked it with his finger, just enough to roll across the stones. The clatter was soft but distinct. One of the men's heads jerked toward the sound. The other followed instinctively. Their rhythm was broken.
That was all he needed. Renzo darted forward, snatched a coin that had fallen near the cart, and disappeared behind a shadowed doorway. The men barked curses but did not see him.
Luca exhaled quietly. "You're pushing yourself, Renzo. This could have gone wrong."
Renzo pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse. "I know. But it worked. That's what matters."
By nightfall, the alleys became a tangle of shadows. Lanterns flickered weakly, casting elongated silhouettes against the stone walls. Renzo crouched near a stack of crates, coins from the day resting beside him. His stomach growled, but he felt a strange satisfaction. Observation, subtle influence, patience. These were the lessons he could carry forward.
He closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the rhythm of the city. Steps, whispers, laughter, shouts—they were all part of a pattern. Somewhere, someone was moving pieces, plotting, scheming. He could feel it in the pulse of the streets.
Tomorrow, he would test more. Slightly further, slightly riskier. Every flicker, every misstep, every small success mattered.
I am not ready for Hatsu. Not yet. But the first spark is there. And when it grows, it will be mine.