Renzo adjusted the strap of his small satchel, feeling the weight of yesterday's coins against his back. The fifth floor of Heavens Arena loomed ahead, an open platform crowded with spectators and fighters. The air buzzed with energy, a mix of nervous anticipation and the metallic tang of sweat.
"Registration number 1706, come forward," a booming voice announced over the arena loudspeakers.
I swallowed, letting the number roll in my mind. 1706. That is me. Keep calm, observe, and think.
He stepped onto the platform, scanning the crowd. Faces blurred past, but one figure caught his attention immediately. A man in his late twenties, muscular but lean, with a calm, calculating expression. His presence radiated confidence and danger.
Renzo's stomach tightened. This was no rookie. This was someone who had survived this floor multiple times, someone who could smell weakness like a predator tracks prey.
The referee nodded at them both. "Fight begins on my count. Ready?"
Renzo tensed, his small fists clenching at his sides. Ten, Zetsu, Ren. Keep my aura steady, keep my presence low. Breathe. Observe.
"Go."
The experienced fighter moved first, a sudden dash that seemed to split the air. Renzo jumped back instinctively, narrowly avoiding a swift, arcing punch. His eyes tracked every movement, analyzing angles, momentum, and timing.
I can do this. I just have to read him, not outfight him.
The man lunged again, faster this time, testing Renzo's reflexes. Renzo ducked and sidestepped, feeling his heartbeat synchronize with the rhythm of the fight. Each motion, each micro-shift in balance, each flick of a wrist told him something about the opponent's intent.
A sharp kick came at Renzo's ribs. He rolled aside, scraping the edge of the platform with his elbow. Pain shot through him, but he ignored it, focusing on the man's pattern. The fighter grinned, clearly amused by the boy's agility.
"You're fast for a rookie," the man said, voice low but cutting through the noise. "But fast isn't enough."
Renzo felt the weight of the floor beneath him, the cheering crowd fading into a blur. All that remained was the rhythm, the flow of battle. He concentrated, letting Ten keep his aura protective, Zetsu hide his faint fluctuations, and Ren sharpen his awareness.
The man feinted left, then struck right. Renzo countered, barely dodging a punch that could have broken his jaw.
He's strong. I cannot beat him head-on.
Renzo scanned the platform for openings. There. A slight shift in his opponent's weight when preparing the next attack. That was enough. Using a subtle burst of Ren, he enhanced his reflexes, moving just a fraction faster than normal. He rolled, sliding under the strike, and shoved the man off balance with a quick pivot.
The crowd gasped.
"You're lucky," the man said, regaining footing and wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Luck won't save you twice."
Renzo's chest heaved, sweat dripping into his eyes. Pain bit at his shoulder and side, but he forced himself to focus. Each hit, each near-miss, each flicker of movement fed into his observation.
Another flurry of strikes came, this time faster, more precise. Renzo felt his aura tingle, but he did not unleash any Hatsu. Instead, he let Ten protect him, Zetsu conceal subtle energy spikes, and Ren guide his instincts.
I cannot let him corner me. Predict, react, adapt.
He danced around the platform, dodging punches and kicks that would have flattened anyone else. Using the opponent's momentum against him, Renzo caught an exposed wrist and twisted, tripping him briefly. Not enough to win, but enough to gain breathing room.
The man grunted and recovered, glaring at Renzo. "Interesting. You fight like you've seen it all before, but I know rookies don't have this much control."
Renzo forced a breath, keeping eyes locked. Observation, not action. Patience, not rashness.
Minutes passed, the fight stretching longer than most on this floor. Renzo felt exhaustion pressing against his small frame, each movement costing more than the last. The man's strikes were relentless, testing stamina, endurance, and focus.
Then, a small opening. The opponent overextended his right arm in a punch. Renzo's heart pounded. He used a short burst of Ren to sharpen speed and reflex, dodged under the fist, and with a careful push, sent the man stumbling into the corner of the platform.
The crowd roared, the energy of the fight spiraling. The referee moved closer. "Do you yield?"
The man shook his head, breathing hard, eyes sharp but smiling faintly. "Not yet."
Renzo wiped sweat from his brow. He had survived the exchange. Not by brute force, not by Hatsu. By observation, timing, and instinct. By reading patterns, using aura to guide reflexes, and knowing when to act.
Another strike came, slower this time, deliberate. Renzo met it with a counterbalance, sidestepping and guiding the man's momentum into the ropes. He seized the chance, pushing forward with controlled energy, forcing the opponent to the edge.
The man faltered. A final push, careful not to harm seriously, sent him stepping back and yielding with a nod.
"You've earned it, rookie," he said, breathing heavily. "Remember this fight. Survive, and you'll learn more than you could imagine."
Renzo exhaled, knees shaking, fists still clenched. Registration number 1706, Floor 5, first real hard win. His chest burned, sweat slicked his skin, and his aura trembled with effort. Yet beneath it all, a spark of satisfaction burned.
I did it. Not because I am strong, but because I learned. Observation, patience, control. That is what matters.
As he stepped off the platform, coins jingled in his pocket, a small reward for the fight. Luca was waiting, smirking. "You look like you just fought a storm."
Renzo shook his head, a grin forming. "I didn't fight him. I read him. That's the difference."
The fifth floor faded behind him, the next steps already forming in his mind. Information, money, survival, training. The city had taught him lessons in blood, sweat, and subtlety. And this was only the beginning.