"It's ironic, really," Shen muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Decades of training, countless battles, only to start from zero again. I might perform better this time, but with my meager talent, the 'important characters' will inevitably surpass me. The ceiling is always higher for those chosen by fate."
He leaned against the cool tile of the shower wall, water cascading over his shoulders as his mind churned with thoughts. Despite his self-deprecating tone, Shen's eyes gleamed with a cold calculation.
*But this time, I have an advantage they don't.*
He recalled a training regimen created 14 years in the future by Biscuit Krueger and perfected by a renowned nen user. A system designed to cultivate powerful nen users without resorting to sacrificing lifespan to supplement talent. The regimen had been distributed to all pro hunters who passed the Hunter Exam before Netero's death—a revolutionary methodology.
Shen's specific cycle had been grueling but effective. He trained Transmutation every other day, interspersed with a rotation of the other categories: Conjuration, Enhancement, Emission, and Manipulation. His week would also include one day dedicated to each of the four main principles (barring hatsu), one day for the advanced principles, and finally, a day for each of his personal hatsu techniques.
The result? A 34-day training cycle that boosted his improvement rate by over 50%. For most nen users, such a system meant the difference between mediocrity and mastery. In this world, potential was everything. For every 25% increase in improvement rate, rarity multiplied tenfold. By this metric, Gon and Killua—prodigies with roughly 175% faster advancement rates, stood leagues above someone like Shen whose talent wan only one in ten. Shen, with his artificially bolstered 50% rate, had managed to crawl up the ladder of mediocrity in his previous life.
But that was then.
Shen chuckled darkly. "Throw all that out the window. With 30 years of experience as a nen user and the knowledge of a veteran, metrics like 'potential' no longer apply to me. How do you measure someone like me—a man with a master's understanding of nen in a body that hasn't even awakened it yet?"
He smirked, wiping the fogged mirror in front of him. His cold, sharp eyes met their reflection, framed by the disheveled black hair that hung to his shoulder blades.
"It's like judging a fish by its ability to climb. But this fish has wings, and it's flying straight at you to slap you for the insult."
With a slight effort, Shen activated his *Ren*. Crack. The mirror shattered, unable to withstand the violent pressure of his aura. A spiked, white nen flared around him, sharp and menacing, as if reflecting the inner resolve of its wielder.
"How would they grade me?" Shen mused, a flicker of amusement crossing his icy expression. "A new nen user who's already mastered every principle, developed three hatsu, and possesses combat experience from the Dark Continent itself. Genius or monster?"
He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, tying back his unruly hair before slipping into clean clothes. His movements were calm, methodical, betraying none of the tumultuous thoughts swirling beneath the surface.
Shen left his private suite on the 190th floor of Heaven's Arena and made his way to the receptionist desk. His arrival startled the clerk, who recognized him immediately. Shen had spent two years dominating the 190th floor but had never once attempted to advance.
"I'd like to schedule a match on the 200th floor," Shen said flatly. "If possible, I'd like my opponent to be Sadaso."
The receptionist hesitated, her surprise evident. "Sadaso? I… I'll notify him, but if he refuses, we can arrange a match against a different martial artist tomorrow at 9 a.m."
"That will do."
Without another word, Shen turned and descended to the training area on the 150th floor. He needed to recalibrate his body and assess his nen. Thirty years of knowledge in a 15-year-old body—it was a daunting mismatch. The only way forward was through relentless testing and refinement.
In the sparsely populated training room, Shen methodically went through his nen types, one by one. He tested Transmutation, Enhancement, Conjuration, Emission, and Manipulation, taking note of how his young body responded to each. Though not yet fully matured, it showed promising adaptability.
Next, he cycled through the four foundational principles of nen—*Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu*—pushing their limits. Advanced techniques followed: *In, En, Gyo, Ko, Shu, Ken,* and *Ryu*. Each technique came as naturally as breathing, his decades of experience guiding his efforts.
Finally, Shen moved on to his hatsu techniques. He tested two of the three he had developed in his previous life. The first, *Nen Constructs,* manifested easily—blades, shields, and chains forged from his aura materialized with little effort. His second hatsu, *Total Concentration*, a state where he could funnel all his nen into precise, razor-sharp intent, felt just as potent as before.
He refrained from summoning his ultimate construct—his *Susanoo*. Its size and destructive power were far too dangerous for the confines of the training room.
By the time Shen finished, he felt a sense of satisfaction. His body had retained the muscle memory of mastery, even if it lacked the raw physicality and nen reserves of his prime.
"It's a start," Shen muttered, rolling his shoulders as he left the training room. His mind was already racing ahead, considering the possibilities of what lay before him.
This time, he wouldn't be a minor character. He wouldn't simply exist in the shadow of others. He would rewrite the story, carving his name into the annals of history as a force to be reckoned with.
Here's the revised scene with Shen starting cordially but transitioning to ruthless efficiency when confronted:
---
After testing his abilities in his younger body, Shen sat cross-legged on the training mat, carefully reapplying restrictions, vows, and activation requirements to his nen techniques. His precision and methodical approach were unyielding. These enhancements were necessary to ensure that his abilities were both combat-ready and optimized for real-world conditions. Risk, of course, couldn't be planned—it was the sharp edge of desperation in the chaos of battle, and Shen intended to wield it like a blade when the moment came.
When he was satisfied, Shen returned to his private room and slept soundly, his mind already focused on the next day's fight.
---
The next morning, Shen rose before dawn. By 9:00 a.m., he had already checked in with the receptionist, who informed him that Sadaso had accepted the challenge. The fight was scheduled for noon on the 200th floor arena.
With time to spare, Shen decided to explore the streets below Heaven's Arena. The bustling markets, filled with food stalls and trinket vendors, stirred a faint nostalgia in him. It had been eight years since his last indulgence in junk food—back before the known world had been overrun by three Rank A threats. Those catastrophic events, triggered by an ill-fated retrieval attempt on the Black Whale 4's cargo, had forced humanity into a survival mode devoid of such simple pleasures.
At a takoyaki stand, Shen placed his order. As the aroma of sizzling octopus and batter wafted through the air, he felt a sudden shift in weight. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, only to find his wallet gone.
Turning his head, Shen spotted a young boy—no older than 12—sprinting toward an alleyway. Shen's expression remained calm. "How quaint," he murmured.
Instead of immediately giving chase, Shen asked the stall owner to pack the takoyaki to go. Once his food was secured, he leisurely made his way after the thief.
He spoke politely to the stall owner. "Would you mind packing my order to go? It seems I've a small matter to attend to."
---
After collecting his food, Shen leisurely pursued the thief. He enhanced his leap with nen to land on a nearby rooftop, activating *Gyo* to scan the area. It didn't take long to spot the boy ducking into another alley. Shen followed, observing quietly from above.
The boy had stopped in front of a group of three men. One, a rotund figure in a Hawaiian shirt, lounged on a dumpster while the other two played cards. The boy bowed deeply, holding up Shen's wallet.
"I got the money, Chang," the boy said, his voice trembling. "This should cover what I owe you."
Chang's greasy smile widened as he thumbed through the cash. "Good, good," he said, his tone condescending. "This'll cover your debt… so far. But let's not forget taxes, interest, and penalties for wasting my time. I'd say you owe me twice this much."
The boy's face twisted in shock. "But—but you said it was a million Jenny! That's what we agreed on!"
Chang's smile turned cruel. "You calling me a liar, boy? Maybe I should head over to that older sister of yours and see if she can settle your debt instead."
The boy's fists clenched, but he lowered his head in silence.
Chang chuckled. "That's what I thought. Now scram. Come back when you've got real money."
Before the boy could leave, Shen stepped into the alley, his demeanor cordial as he raised a hand in greeting. "Ah, excuse me, gentlemen. I believe that wallet belongs to me. Would you be so kind as to return it?"
The boy flinched, his face pale. "Who the hell is this guy?"
Chang glanced at Shen, then sneered. "Listen, punk. Walk away while you still can. This doesn't concern you."
Shen blinked, his expression calm and composed. "I'm afraid that won't do. The wallet is mine, and I'd appreciate its return."
One of the goons slammed his fist into his palm. "Beat it, kid, before I—"
Shen interrupted, his smile fading. "Before you what?" His tone remained polite, but a glint of menace entered his eyes. "Perhaps I should beat your face purple."
The goon growled, charging at Shen.
Shen stepped forward with fluid precision, his demeanor shifting in an instant. His nen flared around him, subtle yet sharp. As the goon swung, Shen's hand darted out, intercepting the blow with an open palm. His grip tightened like a vice before twisting the goon's arm unnaturally, eliciting a howl of pain.
With a measured kick, Shen sent the man flying backward. He crashed into Chang, knocking them both into the alley wall. The dumpster rattled violently as they slumped to the ground, groaning in pain.
The last goon rushed at Shen, rage and desperation etched on his face. Blood dripped from the first man Shen had dispatched, painting the alley with a grim trail. As the charging goon closed the distance, he spat curses, clutching a knife with trembling hands.
Shen tilted his head, his smirk curling with bemusement. The man's fear was palpable, yet he came forward anyway. "Come on," Shen murmured softly, his voice cold yet inviting. "Show me your fighting spirit."
The goon screamed, his voice breaking as he plunged the blade toward Shen's ribs. Time seemed to slow for an instant as the knife struck its target—and bent like cheap tin against Shen's reinforced body.
"..."
"..."
The silence hung heavy in the air. Shen looked down at the warped knife, then up at the goon's wide-eyed expression. Without a word, Shen raised his hand and slapped the man across the face with effortless precision. The force sent the goon sprawling to the ground, his jaw dislocated from the blow. He didn't get back up.
Shen exhaled slowly and walked toward the unconscious body of Chang. Reaching down, he retrieved his wallet and the stolen cash, slipping them into his pocket. Then he turned to the boy, who stood frozen in place.
The boy's face was pale, his hands shaking as he bowed low. "T-thank you, sir! You saved me from those ruffians!" he stammered, his words rushed and uncertain.
Shen's response was neither harsh nor warm. He simply extended his hand, waiting.
The boy hesitated, confused, and started to ask, "What—"
Slap.
The boy flinched as Shen's open palm struck his cheek—not enough to stagger him, but enough to make his skin sting and his pride crack.
"The money you hid in your shoe," Shen said, his voice flat.
The boy froze, his mind racing. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he hurriedly removed his shoe and handed over the stolen bills. Shen pocketed the money without a word and turned to leave.
As he walked away, the boy's expression shifted. He glared daggers into Shen's back, his suppressed anger bubbling to the surface. Shen stopped abruptly, his back still to the boy.
"Are you angry at me?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
The boy stiffened, hurriedly bowing again. "N-no, sir! I—I promise, I'm not angry at all!"
"Don't lie," Shen said, turning his head just enough to glance back. "You're angry because I embarrassed you. After laying out these thugs, you're the one who's going to pay the price. When they wake up, they'll come for you—and maybe even your sister. And you blame me for that."
The boy froze, unable to respond.
Shen turned fully to face him, his sharp gaze cutting through the boy's feigned composure. "You're weak. You're nothing. You can't protect yourself, so what makes you think you have the right to look at me with malice in your eyes?"
The boy's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.
"If I were you," Shen continued, his tone icy, "I'd pick up that bent knife over there and finish them off before they cause you more trouble. Or don't. I'm not your father."
With that, Shen turned and walked away, his steps calm and deliberate. The boy stared after him, his eyes flicking to the warped knife gleaming faintly on the ground.
---
**POV Change**
Jamey pushed open the door to a small, cozy house in one of the city's better neighborhoods. The air smelled faintly of fresh herbs, and the warmth of home was a sharp contrast to the chill of the streets.
"Jamey! Welcome back!" his sister called from the kitchen. "How was school?"
Jamey's sister was a beautiful young woman with a kind smile and a gentle demeanor. She worked as a nurse and was beloved by the community. For as long as Jamey could remember, she had been his entire world. Their parents were gone, leaving only the two of them to rely on each other.
"It was fine," Jamey replied quickly, avoiding her gaze as he tried to slip past her.
She stepped in front of him, her sharp eyes catching the faint red mark on his cheek. "Your cheek… What happened? Did someone hit you?"
Jamey panicked, shaking his head. "It's nothing! I just fell on my way to school!"
Before she could respond, Jamey rushed past her and disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him.
His sister stood there for a moment, her expression softening with concern. She sighed quietly and turned back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. "Oh, Jamey…"
---
**POV Change**
Shen walked down the bustling streets, Heaven's Arena looming in the distance like a monolith. In his hand, he carried the takoyaki he had retrieved before the encounter.
One thought crossed his mind as he made his way back.
"I'm going to have to reheat this," Shen muttered to himself, annoyed.