The sixth floor of Heavens Arena buzzed with energy, more intense than Renzo had felt on the fifth. The platform was wider, the crowd denser, and the air thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. Each fighter waiting for a match radiated tension, some barely hiding their eagerness to test a rookie.
Renzo adjusted the small satchel on his back and inhaled sharply. The coins he had earned on Floor 5 jingled softly. He felt the sting of bruises along his ribs, a lingering reminder of the fight he had barely survived.
Registration number 1706. Floor 6.
The announcer called out, and a tall, wiry fighter stepped onto the platform, cracking his knuckles. His face was sharp, lined with experience, eyes scanning the arena as if searching for weakness.
Renzo froze for a moment, his mind ticking. Height 1.65 meters. Reach moderate. Weight light. Speed above average, strength decent, reaction sharp.
It was subtle, but in his head, numbers floated quietly. Not a literal game interface, not yet. Just perception, analysis, instinct.
"1706, fight!" the announcer boomed.
Renzo tightened his fists, letting Ten flow lightly around him, just enough to brace his muscles. He kept Zetsu active, hiding the faint aura flicker his body gave off. Ren, for now, was a guided push, sharpening reflexes and timing rather than raw power.
The opponent lunged immediately, a quick jab aimed for Renzo's chest. He shifted backward, feeling the floor beneath his feet, estimating timing.
Strength 6, Speed 7. Reaction 7. Reach 8.
I cannot outstrength him. But I can out-think him.
Renzo sidestepped another punch, twisting under a high kick. He noticed a pattern—the fighter favored alternating hands for attacks, leaving a slight lag before the right hand came down again. That was his opening.
A subtle Ren boost sent Renzo sliding slightly forward, just enough to get inside the rhythm and land a light tap on the man's shoulder. Not damaging, but enough to disrupt his balance. The opponent stumbled slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
"You move differently," the man grunted, resetting his stance. "Rookies are usually predictable. Not you."
Renzo didn't respond. He had no words. Observation, patience, and positioning—his mind was fully on the fight.
Another flurry came, faster, more precise. Each attack felt heavier than the last, testing his stamina. His ribs ached, his lungs burned. He allowed Ten to brace him just enough to absorb minor impacts while keeping his posture nimble.
Stamina 5. Defense 6. Perception 9. Tactical IQ 8.
Numbers weren't a display in front of him, but an internal compass. Each strike, each twitch, each movement of the opponent updated his mental profile.
The fighter swung a low kick. Renzo ducked, rolled, and counted the fraction of a second before the next strike. Timing his own small Ren burst, he flipped to the side and used the opponent's momentum to push him toward the platform's edge.
The crowd gasped.
The opponent regained his balance quickly, breathing hard. His eyes gleamed with grudging respect. "You're more than just a clever kid."
Renzo's heart pounded, but he didn't relax. Floor 6 was different. Mistakes could cost him the fight, or worse, the floor.
A pause. Both fighters circled each other, subtle movements, testing reactions. Renzo evaluated everything: stance, breathing, grip tension. He saw micro-tells he had never noticed before, adjustments that signaled which foot would move first, where the first punch would land, and how much force it would carry.
Perception 10. Tactical IQ 9. Reaction 8. Speed 7.
He decided to act. Using a brief Ren burst to sharpen reflexes, Renzo feinted left, dodged right, and swept the opponent's foot at the precise moment he shifted weight forward. The man staggered.
A final push, carefully calculated, guided him off balance without endangering life. The crowd erupted.
"You've earned it," the fighter said, panting, stepping back with a nod. "Most would have fallen by now. You read me well. Remember this."
Renzo exhaled, knees shaking, sweat dripping from his temples. The coins from victory clinked into his pocket, but more than money, he felt growth. Not in strength, not in brute power, but in control, prediction, and survival.
Strength 3. Speed 6. Defense 5. Stamina 4. Perception 10. Tactical IQ 9. Aura Output 3. Hatsu Readiness 1.
The numbers were quiet, mental markers guiding him, updating after each move, each fight. He smiled slightly, realizing how far he had come since entering the arena.
Later, as he descended to the waiting area, Luca approached, smirking. "You look exhausted, but your moves were clean. That wasn't luck."
"I'm not relying on luck," Renzo said, adjusting his satchel. "I read him. I learned him. That's the difference."
Luca nodded, eyes glinting. "Keep that mindset. The floors above get trickier, faster, and deadlier. And soon, the Hunter Exam whispers will get louder. Are you ready?"
Renzo clenched his fists. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced up at the next platform, imagining the numbers of his next opponent in his mind. Speed, strength, perception, tactical IQ. He was learning, adjusting, growing.
The sixth floor faded behind him, but the calculations in his head were only beginning.