The streets had grown quieter by the time Renzo reached the foot of the tall, imposing building. Its shadow stretched across the market square, cutting through the late afternoon light. The sign above the entrance read simply Heavens Arena, the letters faded and chipped, but to Renzo it was a beacon. It promised coins, challenge, and the faintest hint of the unknown.
I need to get in. I need to see it. Not fight yet. Just watch, just understand.
Luca stayed behind, leaning against a nearby post. "You sure about this?" he asked. His tone was casual, but his eyes scanned the crowds nervously. "This place is full of people looking to hurt anyone who looks weaker than them."
Renzo tightened the strap on his bag and looked up at the soaring building. "I am small, but I am clever. I can survive."
The entrance guard was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with arms like iron. He scanned each entrant carefully. Renzo's pulse quickened. One wrong move, one falter, and it would be over before it began.
Zetsu. Hide. Ten. Keep calm. Ren. Watch everything.
The lobby smelled of polished wood, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of the floor. The crowd pushed forward, some eager, others nervous. Fighters of all ages waited for their matches. Renzo ducked along the edge, slipping behind pillars, using Zetsu to conceal the smallest presence. His eyes darted from opponent to opponent, noting size, stance, and movement.
I can see it. Their weight, their timing, the rhythm of their steps. It all tells me how strong they think they are and how they move under pressure.
A boy slightly older than Renzo bumped into him, grinning. "First time?" he asked.
Renzo froze, heart hammering. Do not panic. Keep presence minimal. "Just… watching," he muttered.
The boy chuckled, shrugging. "Good luck then," and disappeared into the crowd.
The announcer's voice boomed overhead. Matches were called for the lower floors first. Renzo's stomach twisted. He was not ready for full combat, not really, but he could survive, maybe even gain something. Coins. Knowledge. Observation.
The first floor fight began. Renzo slipped through a side door and entered a small arena room. The space was simple: sand on the floor, wooden beams marking boundaries. Across from him, a boy larger than him flexed his fists, cracking his knuckles.
I am smaller, weaker, younger. But I can see more. That is my weapon for now.
Renzo took a deep breath, centering himself. Ten activated. His aura pulsed lightly around his body, a faint shield of calm. Zetsu whispered for him to vanish into the background, and he obeyed, blending against a shadowed wall. Ren let him heighten awareness, feeling the boy's subtle weight shifts, the flick of eyes, the twitch of muscles.
The match began, and the larger boy charged. Renzo ducked instinctively, letting Ren guide his movements. A swing too wide. A step too slow. Each tiny error was recorded in his mind. Coins were at stake, yes, but information was far more valuable.
A well-placed dodge, a tiny shove against the edge of the wall, and the boy tripped. Renzo seized the moment, barely touching him, using momentum to knock him into the sand. The bell rang. Victory.
The small prize of coins felt heavier in his hand than it should have. He had not truly fought, not yet. He had survived and learned. That was enough for now.
From the stands, Renzo overheard murmurs about the Hunter Exam. A few fighters spoke excitedly of the upcoming 287th examination, rumors of dangerous tests on Zevil Island, and the difficulty of even entering the exam hall.
January 1999, Renzo thought. That was when Gon would begin, if the rumors were accurate. And I am here first. I can prepare.
For the next few weeks, Renzo's days blurred together in a rhythm of observation, minimal fights, and slow floor ascension. He faced boys and girls his age, older teens, and small-time adults who relied on strength over strategy. Each match, each movement, each misstep was a lesson.
Timeskips helped him consolidate learning: weeks of silent observation, practicing Ten and Zetsu, and Ren to sense opponents' intent. He did not rush; he did not overextend.
One afternoon, after a match on floor five, he sat alone in the hallway. His small frame pressed against the wall, coins clutched loosely in one hand. He watched fighters leave the arena for breaks, listening to their comments, noting patterns.
A boy with messy hair muttered, "Did you hear? The Hunter Exam is around the corner. Some say it's only for adults."
Renzo's ears pricked. He scribbled a mental note. The exam was forbidden to the unprepared, dangerous, and prestigious. Every detail he could gather was a thread, a clue.
I will be ready before January 1999. I have to.
By the end of the first month, Renzo had reached floor eight. He still avoided any fight he could not handle, relying on stealth, perception, and timing. His aura control had improved; Ren allowed him to sense opponents' subtle shifts in posture. Ten kept him steady; Zetsu concealed him from casual notice.
He had earned enough coins to rent a small, hidden space near the arena. For the first time in months, he could sleep without fearing immediate theft or harassment.
Luca watched him from the shadows. "You are learning fast, but do not let it make you reckless," he warned. "Heavens Arena will punish overconfidence."
Renzo nodded. "I know. But I can feel it now. I understand the flow. The streets taught me one thing. The Arena will teach me another."
And in the corner of his mind, the threads of The Game of Life began to form. Not yet fully tangible, not yet Hatsu, but a system was taking shape. Observations, victories, failures, and careful planning were becoming more than memory. They were preparation.
The city outside continued, unaware of the small boy carving a place for himself in its shadows. Yorknew had many secrets. Renzo intended to uncover them all.