Timeline: October 29, 1987 Location: Republic of Padokea — Heaven's Arena Age: 11 (Weeks until 12)

  The 100th floor had a different rhythm than the lower arenas. Down in the single digits, people threw wild, adrenaline-fueled punches, hoping to get lucky. Up here, the fighters had settled into a routine.

  The man standing across from me in Ring 8 was a perfect example. He was heavy, his knuckles meticulously wrapped in thick athletic tape, and he carried his weight with the practiced efficiency of someone who fought every day just to pay for his room upstairs.

  "Three-minute match!" the referee shouted, his arm dropping. "Begin!"

  The man stepped forward, planting his lead foot heavily, and threw a looping overhand right. He used his entire body weight to turn the strike into a sweeping, momentum-heavy wrecking ball aimed directly at my head.

  I kept my aura suppressed. Underneath my clothes, the five hundred kilograms of lead weights pressed down on my joints, lowering my center of gravity. I stayed perfectly still and just watched him move.

  I tracked the kinetic chain pulling taut across his back muscles, the torque of his hips, and the slight drag of his back foot as he committed his mass to the motion. It wasn't about calculating numbers; it was about reading the physical story his biomechanics were telling.

  Because he put all of his weight into the outer edge of the swing, there was a massive, glaring dead zone right inside his guard.

  As his taped fist whipped through the air, I stepped forward, sliding right past the arc. Before he could pull his arm back to defend himself, I reached out. I didn't throw a punch. I just placed my open palm against the exact center of his chest and pushed, using the firm anchor of my heavy lead plates to transfer a sharp burst of force.

  Caught mid-swing, his center of gravity was already compromised. The push snapped his balance entirely. He stumbled backward, the unspent momentum of his own heavy swing dragging him down, and he collapsed hard onto his back. The wind rushed out of his lungs in a sharp hiss.

  "Knockdown! Match over! Winner, Kaelo! Advance to Floor 110!"

  I offered the gasping man a slight nod and walked out of the ring. It was an effortless win, but as I headed down the hall, my mind was already replaying the physics of the exchange.

  The half-ton of lead I was wearing hadn't put me in any danger, but it was creating a microscopic lag in my kinetic chain. My brain processed his opening instantly, but overcoming the static friction of the weights to execute the step added a millimeter of drag to my footwork. It didn't matter against regular fighters, but against a true master, that millimeter would be a vulnerability. I needed to find a way to optimize my neural-to-muscular response time.

  I collected my ticket for Floor 110 and headed toward the main concourse. Elian was waiting by a vending machine, tossing a water bottle from hand to hand.

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  "Saw the board update," Elian grinned, tossing me the bottle. "Floor 110 already. You're a machine, Kaelo. Come on, let's grab some food to celebrate."

  "Not yet," I said, catching the bottle. "Come with me. We're going to the upper lounges."

  Elian blinked, jogging a little to keep up with my pace. "The upper lounges? Why? The only thing up there are the broadcast screens for the 200s class. We just got to the 100s, man. We don't need to worry about the top floors for months."

  "I want to see what the mechanics look like at the top," I said casually, keeping my tone light. I wasn't quite ready to drop the reality of Nen on him yet. "There's a massive dropout rate between the 100s and the 200s. I want to observe exactly how the physics of the fights change up there."

  We took the elevator up to a quiet, dimly lit viewing lounge. A few veteran fighters were scattered around the plush seating, their eyes glued to the massive, wall-mounted screens broadcasting a live match from the 200th floor.

  I stood in the back, arms crossed, watching intently.

  On the screen, a man in a martial arts gi was fighting a woman with long, braided hair. They weren't moving exceptionally fast, but the impacts were devastating. The man threw a punch from ten feet away, hitting nothing but empty air—and the woman was violently thrown backward, crashing into the arena wall with bone-shattering force. A crater spider-webbed through the concrete.

  "What the hell was that?" Elian whispered, leaning forward, his eyes wide. "Some kind of trick wire? Telekinesis? How did he hit her from all the way over there?"

  "It wasn't a trick," I murmured.

  I knew exactly what it was. The fragmented memories of my past life provided the answer that Elian couldn't see. The man on the screen was a Nen user. He was likely using Emission to project his aura, and he was hiding it using In.

  To the normal eye, it looked like magic. But I knew the truth.

  If I wanted to survive the 200s class, and more importantly, if I wanted to observe the intricate, structural details of how these masters constructed their specific abilities, I couldn't just rely on my physical eyes. The absolute prerequisite for studying advanced Nen was the ability to see it clearly. I needed Gyo.

  An hour later, I was sitting cross-legged in the absolute silence of Room 1014.

  I knew the theory behind the technique flawlessly. Gyo was the advanced application of Ren, where a Nen user focused a disproportionately large amount of their aura into a single body part—in this case, the eyes.

  But a comic book from a past life didn't explain the agonizing biological reality of forcing highly pressurized life energy through the delicate, microscopic blood vessels of the human optic nerve.

  I closed my eyes, letting my Ten settle into a calm rhythm. Slowly, carefully, I began drawing the aura from my limbs, pushing it upward through my neck and concentrating it around my ocular cavities.

  The pressure was immediate and terrifying. It felt like someone was pressing their thumbs directly into my eyes. My pulse pounded loudly in my ears.

  I forced my eyes open.

  For a single, breathtaking second, the world flared with a brilliant, blinding intensity. The faint, residual traces of energy left behind by the previous occupant of the hotel room glowed like faintly glowing smoke on the carpet.

  But the physical strain was too much. A sharp, needle-like pain spiked behind my retinas, and my vision began to blur.

  I instantly released the concentration, letting my aura disperse back into a safe, even layer of Ten across my skin. I gasped, rubbing my watering eyes. My heart was racing. If I had held it for even three seconds longer, I would have burst a blood vessel and permanently damaged my vision.

  The knowledge from my past life was a perfect map, but I still had to walk the grueling road myself. My physical body had to adapt.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes, staring at the dimly lit room. It was a crude, painful start, but my training had officially begun.