The only notable thing in the days after leaving was the rapid growth of my body. The only explanation I could think of was that post-partum nen tried to get me closer to the age of the original body. So, at five years old, I looked more like I was ten. It was a good thing overall, but it was awkward having maids mistake me for someone else for a while.
After a week of practice, I finally felt ready to learn a new skill. I chose inscription because it seemed the most interesting. It turned out to be weaker than I expected, but it still had many uses—mainly traps and rules. I could make something explode if certain conditions were met, or even seal someone's nen if I inscribed it directly on them. But inscribing on weapons was hit-or-miss. It only worked if I wrote with ink or a similar medium that could store nen for that action. Still, it was fascinating. It also led me to discover that while I couldn't create my own techniques, I could use all archetypes of hatsu within the limits of my abilities. For example, I could set up a rule to shock someone every time they did something wrong or manipulate a rock in a rudimentary way. It made me really happy—my limitations weren't as bad as I feared.
As the months passed, my training continued. Having Artoria as a sparring partner made it less stale. She could fight me without issue thanks to her years of experience and immense nen reserves. Speaking of her, she struggled with nen training. Turns out, too much nen can be a detriment—she couldn't control it without an insane amount of practice. Zetsu was nearly impossible for her; physically, she couldn't do it. So she focused on control instead and decided stealth wasn't her thing anyway. After several months, she managed to get it under control—at least enough to begin practicing finer techniques. Not to mention, Albert worked her like a dog, clearly molding her into a proper attendant. Eventually, she replaced Albert in almost every way, and I truly appreciated her devotion.
As years passed, I started amassing items from the Midnight Market. I stocked books in my personal library for future study, stored weapons of varying quality, and acquired more "personnel" under my command. They were selected based on recommendations, with varied abilities—none of them were my personal pick yet. I was waiting for one to really stand out. Albert trained them all, as I wanted operations to remain behind closed doors. Hopefully, at least one of them had a knack for teaching so they could take some of the load off Albert.
As for me, my progress came at a different pace than most. With Albert's guidance, my nen control had grown strong in all areas. While the number of techniques in my arsenal didn't grow much—I was holding out for something exceptional—I still gained some. Alongside my original three, I aquired the Ope Ope no Mi, the book was named the "Surgical Room." I took a gamble based on the potential. It consumed a massive amount of nen, but the trade-off was that inside the "room," nen wasn't a concern. It was like a down payment for overwhelming power—the more nen I invested, the longer the time limit and the more I could do. I didn't want to use it often, as it made fights unfair and boring , but it was a good safety net. With most of my ambitions being easier if I were older, I focused on training and enjoying life.
By the age of ten, I looked like a mature fifteen-year-old. At that point, I wanted to do what any hunter-born would dream of: fight at Heavens Arena. I lived on the same continent, but on the opposite side, so the journey would take some time—especially since I wanted to travel on foot. I decided to bring Artoria with me, as she was essentially my direct attendant. We spent days planning our route, choosing to stay within Padokea rather than complicate things with borders. Before leaving, I made sure to leave orders for continued training and to follow Albert's guidance.
So our adventure began. We had supplies packed in bags, avoiding any "cheats" while camping. We trekked—well, sprinted—across the Republic of Padokea, making no major stops since our only goal was reaching the arena. The most notable part of the trip was how my relationship with Artoria deepened. Our sleeping arrangements were more personal than either of us was used to. It was awkward at first, but she gradually warmed up to it. Once she gave me an inch, I took a mile. I started initiating contact—at first, small things like wrapping my arm around her or giving her a quick peck on the face as affection. But over the days, I grew bolder, even groping her. She responded to everything. She had clearly been trained by the maids to expect this, but it went beyond that. I could tell I was ingrained into her body and mind. Even before the trip, I noticed signs—how her ten would shift when I was near, loosening and becoming wavy. Still, even my smell seemed to be enjoyable to her, but I didn't push beyond that. I might've been spiritually mature, but it didn't feel right—not to mention, my dick didn't work yet.
The trip itself was straightforward, aside from a few bandits who tried to rob us. They ended up dead. No one would miss them. Eventually, we made it to Heaven's City. (Still couldn't find the official name—if you know it, let me know.) Even before entering the city, we could see the arena in all its glory. We didn't stop anywhere; we just headed straight toward it.
The arena was surrounded by crowds, all waiting for their ticketed time slots. We slipped past them and entered the building. Inside, it was cramped—full of both spectators and fighters waiting for their turn. We made our way to the relatively quiet fighter registration booth and signed up for the earliest fight possible. While waiting, we watched past fights on loop—early-floor matches were chaotic. Some fighters had zero training, flailing wildly, while others were clearly seasoned and rising through the ranks. The first ten floors were a mix of trash and potential.
Eventually, the intercom came to life, calling out several numbers—including ours. We stood and headed toward the arena. It resembled a low-budget martial arts tournament: concrete slabs for arenas, each spaced far enough to avoid crossover. We were placed far apart, so we didn't need to worry about being matched against each other.
A few seconds after I put my stuff to the side, my opponent arrived—just some average Joe. He wasn't trained; I could tell by the way he smirked when he saw me.
As we waited for a referee, he tried to make conversation.
"Don't you think you're a bit young for this? Clearly, you signed up on a whim to get your parents' attention."
He didn't take me seriously. I said nothing and waited for the match to start. There weren't many referees on the first floor—budget constraints—so we had to wait for a while. During that time, I saw someone get launched across the room and land between me and Joe.
"Thank god I didn't fight whoever did that," he joked, pretending to wipe sweat from his forehead.
He was about to learn that gut instincts can be unreliable.
After another half dozen fights, it was finally our turn.
"This is a match between Brent on the left and Leon on the right. Every hit is one point, two for critical hits. First to ten wins. Knockouts and ring-outs are automatic KOs. Now that the rules are out of the way, let's begin."
The ref dropped his hand, signaling the start. Brent rushed in—not particularly fast—and threw a wide punch. I sidestepped and kicked him hard, sending him crashing into the wall. The ref immediately called the fight, handed me a ticket, and told me to proceed to the 50th floor.
When the elevator doors opened, I saw Artoria (also realized I kept putting an "s" on her name for no reason) waiting nearby. I signed up for my next match and sat down. On the TV, we saw a fight on floor 150—a man named Clint versus a kid named Killua.
That single glimpse let me know exactly what time it was in the story. I couldn't help but smile. I was just in time to witness one of the best spectacles in the Hunter world.