Sunlight streamed through the large window of the Floor Master suite at Heavens Arena. It was the same room I had been assigned after reaching the 100th floor, but now, simply by virtue of holding the title of Floor Master, it felt different, imbued with a sense of status. Arena staff were more deferential, the air around this particular room seemed quieter, more respected. Despite the change in status, I found myself methodically packing my few belongings back into the same small, durable backpack I'd arrived with months ago. A glance at a wall display confirmed the date – late October, 1987. My thirteenth birthday was just around the corner. Time to head back to Ryujinshima. Mom would be expecting me, and the quiet, grounding rhythm of home felt profoundly necessary after the constant pressure cooker environment of the Arena's 200th floors.
I paused in my packing, flexing the fingers of my right hand. The faint, involuntary tremor that had plagued me for a full week after the fight with Thorne was completely gone now, thank goodness, but the memory of it remained vivid, a stark, unsettling reminder of the brutal cost exacted by my new Hatsu's potency. Immediately after the adrenaline faded that night, back in the relative privacy of this room, the unsettling thrumming beneath my skin had begun. It started subtly, a slight shake in my hands, a persistent internal vibration that intensified over the following hours. Within a day, it had escalated to full-body trembling, muscles twitching erratically, my teeth chattering faintly despite no external cold. This wasn't just fatigue; it felt like my very nervous system was short-circuiting, firing randomly, ignoring conscious command. Resonance, my vibration-based Transmutation Hatsu, was brutally effective at bypassing physical and Nen defenses, striking directly at the target's internal structure, but the intense, high-frequency feedback into my own system was undeniable, a brutal recoil. It was like trying to wield a weapon that shattered my hand with every strike. My Ken, constantly maintained, had dampened the worst of the vibrations, preventing catastrophic immediate damage, but the energy still resonated deep within my bones and caused slight, cumulative damage to nerve pathways, felt as that persistent, unsettling vibration and erratic nerve firings that disrupted my motor control. It was a nightmare of lost control, a terrifying glimpse into what losing mastery over my own body felt like. The thought, cold and paralyzing, had struck me: What if this is permanent? What if I've crippled myself for life just for one win?
Meditating through the tremors had become an exercise in extreme focus, pushing my control over Inner Peace to its absolute limits. It was a fight for my own physical integrity. Using my self-manipulation, guided by the detailed map of my own physiology that Inner Peace provided, I'd learned to pinpoint the frayed nerve pathways and meticulously channel Nen – sometimes leveraging Retroversion to shift into my Transmuter state and access Enhancement at 80% efficiency for its healing boost – to accelerate the microscopic repairs. Each pulse of healing aura had to be precise, nurturing, not disruptive, repairing the delicate wiring of my body strand by strand. It was painstaking, demanding absolute control, pushing my Nen management skills in a way combat never could. Without that precise, self-healing capability granted solely by Inner Peace, the ability to micro-manage my own internal damage, I knew using Resonance at the intensity required to bypass a master like Thorne's defense would have permanently shattered my nervous system. It was a double-edged sword – too potent against durable opponents to abandon, but requiring refinement and immense caution in its application and rigorous, difficult recovery afterward. It had taken nearly seven full days of dedicated, focused healing, meditation, and micro-management of my internal systems before the last tremor subsided, my nervous system felt fully stable again, and the unsettling internal resonance faded completely. I need to figure this out, I resolved during the worst of the tremors, the fear a sharp spur. I can't experience that again. There has to be a way to fix this.
It was only once I felt truly recovered, my body and aura returned to peak condition, that the polite summons from the Heavens Arena administration had come. They escorted me to an administrative office, the deference from staff now overt. They'd shown me around some of the exclusive Floor Master facilities – glimpses of larger, dedicated training rooms rarely used by lower-level fighters, more luxurious lounges, designed for those who made the upper floors their semi-permanent residence. They presented me with polished documents outlining my new status, the benefits (including a significant monthly income transferred directly to my chosen account), and the responsibilities. An administrator had even mentioned the prestigious Battle Olympia tournament offhandedly, noting I'd just missed the one held in March and the next wouldn't be for two years – information duly filed away in my mental timeline as a potential future goal or point of interest. When I'd informed them of my intention to leave the Arena for an extended period, returning home, they hadn't batted an eye. Floor Masters, they explained, often had lives, training regimens, and duties elsewhere. They explained the procedure for title defense: "If a challenger earns the right to face you by accumulating ten wins on the 200th floor, you will be contacted directly by phone by the Arena."
Phone? I thought, a flicker of surprise. I don't have a phone.
Sensing my lack of response or perhaps reading my expression, the administrator added smoothly, "Heavens Arena will be providing you with a dedicated communication device, a phone, as part of your Floor Master privileges. We will ensure you receive it shortly before your departure." They explained I could decline or postpone a challenge match up to four times within a set period before my title was automatically reviewed and potentially revoked. That gave me the freedom I needed, the freedom I now intended to exercise immediately.
Shaking the memories clear, of the challenging fight, the painful recovery, the administrative formalities, Kess focused back on the present task, neatly folding his last shirt into the backpack. Heavens Arena had been a vital, brutal, efficient training ground. It had provided the combat experience against Nen users I desperately needed, pushed me to develop and test my first real Hatsu abilities, confirmed my own high level of competence against awakened users, and even granted me an unexpected title and a significant income stream that would fund my future endeavors. It had served its purpose exceptionally well.
Zipping the backpack closed, I slung it over my shoulder and took one last look around the comfortable, now-empty suite before heading out. I exited the colossal tower quietly, slipping unnoticed into the bustling city streets below, just another face in the crowd, my aura carefully suppressed to blend in. Once I was several blocks away, clear of the Arena's immediate shadow and the subtle tension that always lingered near its base, I paused and looked back at the impossible structure scraping the sky. "A necessary stepping stone," I murmured to myself, acknowledging its role in my journey, then turned away resolutely towards the airship port that would begin my long journey home.
The travel was smooth, blessedly uneventful. Landing back on the familiar island of Ryujinshima as dusk settled on the last day of October felt less like arriving and more like stepping back into reality, a softer, warmer reality. The familiar scent of the sea, the crisp pine needles, and the faint, comforting aroma of Dad's workshop woodsmoke washed over me, a welcome comfort that eased the tension I hadn't realized I was still holding. I walked up the familiar path towards our house, saw the warm, inviting light spilling from the windows, and felt a tightness in my chest ease completely.
Mom burst through the door before I even reached it, her earlier worries, amplified by distance and time, replaced in an instant by pure, tearful joy at the sight of me. "Kess! You're back!" Her hug was fierce, grounding, pulling me into the secure warmth of home. Her voice was thick with emotion. "Oh, Kess, are you alright? I was so worried!"
"I'm okay, Mom," I reassured her, hugging her tightly in return, feeling the familiar comfort of her presence. I pulled back just enough for her to see I was unharmed. "I accomplished what I set out to do. I'm home."
Dad appeared in the doorway then, wiping his hands on his apron, that rare, wide grin of pure relief lighting up his face, softening the usual stern lines. His hand on my shoulder was firm, warm, conveying his deep relief at seeing me safe. "Welcome home, Kess. It's good to see you back."
My thirteenth birthday the next day, November 1st, was perfect in its simplicity. It was a celebration of my return as much as my birthday. Mom's incredible cooking filled the small house with delicious aromas and warmth. Dad demonstrated a complex new wood joint he'd perfected, his passion for his craft evident. It was the easy warmth of family filling the small house, the simple joy of being together again. That evening, sitting with them again, the sounds of the island night around us, I shared more about my time at the Arena. I described the tower's structure, the sheer number of fighters aiming for the top floors. I recounted reaching the 200th floor, the different styles and basic Nen abilities I faced from opponents (carefully editing out the most brutal specifics and complex Nen mechanics for Mom, but giving Dad enough detail to understand the context of their power levels and Hatsu types). I spoke of the final challenge against the Floor Master, explaining simply that I won a tough fight against a very strong, skilled opponent, earning the title myself. I mentioned the powerful technique I used, adding vaguely, "...but it takes a heavy toll afterward, requires careful recovery," to explain the delay in my return without causing undue alarm.
Mom listened intently, her eyes wide with a mix of pride in my accomplishments and a mother's worry for the dangers I'd faced. Dad absorbed the details silently, occasionally nodding or interjecting with a sharp, insightful observation – "Sounds like his defense lacked flexibility, predictable," or "Exploiting predictability is key against specialists who rely on a single trick." As I spoke of overcoming the Floor Master and earning the title, a profound sense of pride settled on Dad's face, clearer than any words. His quiet approval, the understanding in his eyes, was my greatest reward.
Later that night, I stood outside alone, breathing in the cool sea air, watching the familiar constellations wheel overhead in the clear island sky. Thirteen years old. A licensed Hunter. A Floor Master of Heavens Arena. It still felt slightly unreal, the weight of the titles settling onto my young shoulders. Twelve years until 1999, the year that loomed large in my borrowed memories, the year the real storm would begin. A vast expanse of time, seemingly, yet the clock felt like it was ticking faster now. The lack of Dad's imposed daily training schedule felt like a missing anchor, a shift in the structure of my life; my own self-discipline would have to suffice now, guiding my path.
"Floor Master. Achieved." I thought, a quiet confirmation to myself, a marker passed. "Good to be home," I murmured, a genuine smile touching my lips. "But staying still feels... wrong now. Need to keep moving, keep training, keep improving. Need to figure out how to fix Resonance." The Heavens Arena arc was closed, its lessons learned, its resources gained. It was time to plan the next stage of my journey.