Kaito learned to love the quiet moments in Meteor City, because that was when he could truly think.
He found himself perched atop a leaning pile of smashed refrigerators, peering down at the chaos below. Even from a distance, he could see the patterns: how one gang moved in a clump, always circling their leader; how another sent a single fast runner ahead before making a move; how fights were never as random as they appeared. Every scrap of information mattered.
It was mid-morning. The light was gray and thin, barely cutting through the smog. Kaito watched, eyes narrowed, hunger forgotten. He was searching for something new something beyond just luck or chance. He wanted to know: what made a person strong? What made them weak?
He'd heard in his old life that "knowledge is power," and Nen only magnified that truth.
Below, a new fight started. Two rival groups squared off over a box of canned food, already half-crushed. Kaito's gaze moved from face to face, cataloguing posture, tension, the way hands flexed before a strike. He watched one boy, big and broad, but always a second too slow on the backswing. Another, wiry and sharp, bounced on her toes, never committing until someone else made the first move.
Kaito felt for their auras, the way he'd been practicing. He sensed anger in red-hot bursts, fear in cold leaks that fizzled out around the weak. He noted a pattern: those with the biggest aura were not always the most dangerous. One kid's aura surged like a bonfire pure rage, unfocused and wasteful. Another had a threadbare flicker, but it wrapped tightly, steady, efficient. The difference was intent.
I need to know more, Kaito thought. The right knowledge could make my threads cut deeper could make every ounce of Nen matter.
He closed his eyes, pressing aura to his ears, stretching awareness. The world sharpened. He could hear breaths, the tremble in a boy's voice, the stutter in a girl's heartbeat when her enemy lunged.
He waited for the crucial moment.
Down below, the wiry girl darted in, slipped between two boys, and kicked a can loose from the pile. The big boy tried to snatch it, but Kaito saw the opening his balance shifted, his guard dropped. If Kaito were down there, he could have ended the fight in a second.
Instead, he flexed his fingers and sent out a single thread, gentle as a sigh. He didn't want to interfere directly; this was an experiment. The thread brushed the edge of the can as the girl lunged. The can rolled, perfectly into her hand.
She grinned, spun away, and was gone before the others realized what happened.
The big boy stared, confused. The others erupted into shouts and cursing. Kaito pulled his thread back, feeling almost smug.
It had cost him almost nothing a flicker of aura, a moment of intent. But the result was decisive.
The more I know about someone, the sharper my Nen becomes. He felt it as a certainty a law, not a theory.
Kaito spent the afternoon shadowing fighters he'd never met, observing without acting. He paid attention to scars, to habits, to the way older kids favored old injuries or always kept their backs to the wall. He listened to arguments from a distance, learned which words made people hesitate, which threats cut deepest.
He watched one small boy no aura with eyes always darting pick pockets without anyone noticing. He watched a girl, usually ignored, break up fights just by stepping between them, never throwing a punch. Everyone had a weakness, but not all weaknesses looked the same.
When he felt brave, Kaito tried letting his aura seep just enough to brush against them testing how they'd react to a stranger's Nen, seeing who flinched and who stood taller. Some barely noticed. Others glared around, fists clenching, suddenly on edge.
By nightfall, he'd filled his mind with details: limps, tics, old wounds, and tells. His threads tingled at his fingertips, hungry for use.
He returned to his hiding place as the moon bled through the city haze, stomach hollow but spirit alight.
He sat cross-legged, hands in his lap, eyes closed. He replayed the day's encounters, imagining how he'd use each piece of knowledge in a fight: where to nudge a thread, when to time his attack, how to trip someone at just the right instant.
He realized, with a jolt, that his Nen would grow sharper not just with practice, but with information. If he knew what frightened an enemy, or where they'd been wounded before, or how their mind ticked he could focus his threads like scalpels, not hammers.
Weakness isn't just about strength, he thought. It's about knowing where to push.
He resolved to make information his weapon eyes, ears, memory, all a part of his Nen. From now on, every fight would be more than a clash of luck. It would be a game of knowledge.
He stood at the edge of the city's scrap field, wind tugging at his hair, aura humming quietly. Below, Meteor City still writhed always another fight, always another test.
Kaito smiled to himself. He was no longer just a survivor, or even a lucky ghost haunting the alleys. Now, he was a student of weakness his own, and everyone else's.
And he was ready for whatever came next.