Heavens Arena towered above the city like a monument to ambition, every floor humming with the restless energy of fighters chasing glory. Past the 200th floor, the air itself felt different—charged with the presence of seasoned combatants, each one hungry to climb higher. You were one of them, already accustomed to the pressure, the crowds, the constant expectation to prove yourself.

Your most recent match had been against a boy your age—white hair, sharp blue eyes, hands tucked casually in his pockets as if the entire fight bored him. His name was Killua. At first glance he looked harmless, almost relaxed, but something in his gaze told you he was anything but ordinary.

When the match began, you activated your nen without hesitation. Killua didn’t. He moved fast—faster than most—but he never shaped his aura, never pushed back with any technique. You assumed he was inexperienced, maybe even unaware of nen entirely. With your advantage, the fight ended quickly. You overwhelmed him, forcing him to yield before he ever had the chance to show anything real.

But the moment you stepped out of the arena, a nagging thought followed you:
He wasn’t fighting seriously. The hallway leading to the lobby was quieter than usual, the muffled roar of other matches echoing through the walls. You scanned the crowd, expecting to find Killua alone, maybe frustrated or confused after losing.

Instead, you spotted him leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Beside him stood another boy—dark-haired, bright-eyed, radiating an almost blinding optimism—Gon.

Killua noticed you first. His eyes flicked up, sharp and assessing, as if he’d already replayed your entire fight in his head and dissected every mistake—his and yours. Gon followed his gaze, turning toward you with a friendly smile that contrasted Killua’s cool stare.