"Get up!" The gruff command cut through Orin's exhausted haze, jolting him awake. He blinked, finding himself sprawled on the floor of the training room, his body aching from the day's drills. Three months had passed since he'd been sold to the Clemence family, three months of unrelenting training that left him sore to the bone every night.
Orin pushed himself up, feeling the burn in his muscles as he rose. In front of him stood Ezek, his trainer—a towering, bald man with a build like an iron fortress. Muscles rippled under his tanned skin, and his gaze was as hard as the fists he used to drill his students. Orin had overheard the other kids saying that Ezek had once fought on the 70th floor of Heaven's Arena. Now he was employed by the Clemence family, passing on his brutal techniques.
"Quit daydreaming!" Ezek barked, swinging his leg in a sharp arc. Orin barely had time to bring his arms up before he felt the impact against his forearm. The force of the kick sent him sprawling backward onto the mat, his breath knocked out of him.
"Lesson's over for you," Ezek said, already looking away. "Next!" he shouted, and another kid took Orin's place on the mat.
Dragging himself to the side, Orin slumped against the wall, his hand shaky as he reached for a water bottle. Every day was like this: fifteen kilometers of running in the morning, followed by hours of punching, kicking, and sparring. He gulped the water and let out a sigh, catching his breath as he watched the other kids train.
They ranged from as young as five to almost teenagers, each as battered and bruised as he was. Orin had started to notice that there were fewer of the older kids. Those who survived the "filtering" were either trained as enforcers for the Clemence family or sent to life-and-death matches that the family arranged. No one ever spoke about it, but everyone knew—the Clemence family's underground matches were a lucrative business, with fortunes won and lost on the outcomes.
Orin wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned against the wall to stretch, his mind wandering. Being under the family's control was hard, but at least he was being trained to fight, an opportunity to become stronger. In this world, strength was everything, and he needed it to gain control over his life again.
When the last set of drills finished, Orin joined the line of kids filing into the dining hall. The meal was as plain as ever, but after a day like this, he didn't mind. He shoveled down rice and steamed vegetables in silence, the sounds of clinking dishes and quiet chatter filling the room. He'd stopped paying attention to what the other kids said—everyone here had the same wary look, the same unspoken fears.
After dinner, Orin returned to his room, a narrow cell barely large enough to fit a bed and a small chest for his belongings. He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the rough ceiling above him, and let out a long breath. Every day felt like a fight for survival, but he'd started to notice something about himself: he wasn't a natural fighter like some of the other kids. He lacked the raw instinct of someone like Gon or the deadly precision of Killua. But he had something else—a sharper focus, a drive to understand what he lacked and to work past it.
He closed his eyes, settling into the calm of meditation—a habit he'd clung to in the last few weeks. Strength alone wouldn't be enough; he needed an edge, something that reached beyond physical power. Nen. The elusive force from his memories, a key to freedom locked within him. He had no teacher, no guidance, only fragments of knowledge from a life long gone. But even without a path laid before him, he was determined to master it.
As he sat in the quiet, his breathing slowed. Images and memories of his past life flickered through his mind, memories of books, learning, and the curiosity that had once driven him. This time, he would use every scrap of knowledge he could gather, nurturing the strength he'd started to feel growing within him.
One day, he'd walk out of here, free from this cage. And he'd do it on his terms.