The rising prodigies

After his latest match, Ikke slowly trudged down the hall leading to his room. His steps were unsteady, his body leaning against the cold concrete wall for support. His knees felt like jelly, threatening to buckle at any moment. His muscles screamed in protest with every movement, a brutal reminder of the punishing battle he'd just been through.

With a soft grunt, Ikke pushed open the door to his room, the rough wood scraping against the floor. He managed to take a couple of steps inside before his legs gave out, his body falling to the carpeted floor with a soft thud. His entire body was littered with bruises, the painful welts painting a picture of his latest encounter. His left fist was particularly battered, caked with dried blood.

Breathing heavily, Ikke glanced at his aching hand, a sigh escaping his lips. This was the harsh reality of being a fighter in the Heavens Arena. Every match, every victory, came with its own set of wounds. But, even in pain, there were lessons to be learned.

Slowly, he dragged himself towards his desk, pulling out the worn diary from a drawer. He opened to a new page, pen in hand, ready to document the day's events.

"Alright, Ikke. Let's break it down," he murmured to himself. He began writing, the gentle scratching of the pen on paper the only sound filling the quiet room. Every aching bruise, every throbbing pain, every drop of blood was a story, a lesson, an experience to be learned from. And so, he wrote, immortalizing his experiences, his victories, and his pain in the pages of his diary.

Laying his pen down for a moment, Ikke closed his eyes, focusing his attention inward. He could feel the energy coursing through him, his aura, the very life force that pulsed within his veins. He was learning to control it, to guide it where it was needed, to accelerate the healing of his battered body.

Gently, with precision, he directed his aura to the parts of his body that had taken the most damage - his bruised ribs, his bloody fist. It was a strange sensation, feeling the energy coursing through him, seeping into his wounds, working to mend the damage.

While he could not erase the pain entirely, he could lessen it, accelerate the healing process. It was an art, a delicate dance of energy and concentration. One that took focus, patience, and will.

As the aura did its work, Ikke reopened his eyes, turning his attention back to his diary. His body would recover, wounds would heal, and pain would fade, but the lessons he'd learned and the experiences he'd had would remain, forever etched in the pages of his diary.

After making a note of his last thought, Ikke flipped to the section of his diary reserved for a special topic: The Phantom Troupe. Pages filled with observations, sketches, and notes on their abilities unfolded before him. He'd been gathering information on the notorious group.

As he turned the pages, Ikke began commenting on each member he had observed.

"Uvogin," he muttered, his gaze settling on the sketch of the burly man. "Muscle and raw power. Breaks through obstacles with sheer brute force. He's formidable, but there's a chance he relies too much on his strength and overlooks subtler, strategic maneuvers."

He traced his fingers over to the next page, a sketch of a lean samurai. "Nobunaga... he seems to be a swordsman. His technique is fluid, precise. He's a dangerous opponent in close-quarters combat. He holds an intense aura around him; He killed Pairo, He will be my first target."

Ikke ran his fingers over the pages, filled with various sketches and notes of others he had seen with them but didn't know by name. Each held a distinct aura, a unique force that made them stand out.

"But the rest," Ikke murmured, flipping through the pages filled with sketches of unknown faces, "they're a mystery. They were there, but I couldn't observe their techniques or discern their abilities. But one thing is certain - they all held a similar aura, a kind of force that is unknown to me. They must have been hiding something. They probably possess some special abilities, similar to aura but different in some way."

Closing his diary, Ikke took a deep breath, his determination steeling. He knew he was taking on a dangerous task, a task many would deem suicidal. But he was prepared. After all, he didn't come this far just to back down now.

As Ikke closed his diary, he leaned back in his chair, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Well, if all else fails, I can always start a career as a private investigator," he said aloud to himself, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "After all, I'm already doing half the work anyway, without even charging."

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Meanwhile, in the cold and dank confines of an abandoned complex, Yuto and Yui were engrossed in their own grisly task. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly as it cast erratic shadows on the cracked walls.

Barely alive, a man tied to a chair sat in the middle of the room, sweat and blood mixing freely down his face. His eyes were wild with terror as they flicked between his two captors, pleading silently for mercy that he knew wouldn't come. He was their source of information and his usefulness was rapidly reaching its end.

Yuto, the red-haired boy, stood at a distance, his gaze focused and calculating. "Talk," he demanded, his voice calm yet chilling, echoing off the cold, damp walls. "Tell us everything about the target."

The man whimpered in response, his swollen lips barely able to form coherent words. In a weak voice, he stuttered, "I-I...I've told you...everything..."

Meanwhile, Yui, a cheerful, vibrant girl usually, was a stark contrast in this setting. Her clothes splattered with blood, a wicked grin spread across her face, a clear indication of her unsettling enjoyment of the situation. Yuto glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, before turning his attention back to the captive.

"I hope for your sake you aren't lying," Yuto warned, his icy gaze piercing into the man's soul.

Amidst the chilling silence that followed, Yui's laughter rang out, shattering the tense atmosphere. "Well, Yuto, I do hope he isn't either. This has been rather...fun," she said, her eyes glinting with a morbid delight.

Their grim task complete, Yuto pulled out a small communication device and dialed a number. It was time to pass the information they had just obtained. As he did so, the terrified whimper of their captive echoed through the complex, a haunting reminder of the world they were entangled in.

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His concentration was interrupted by the sharp ring of a telephone. A sense of anticipation prickled at him as he reached over to answer it, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey, boss," the familiar voice of Yuto, greeted him from the other end. "Got some new intel for you. Also, Yui and I are getting a bit restless here. When are we going for the Hunter Exam?"

Before Ikke could respond, a loud scream echoed through the phone, followed by the chaotic sound of shuffling. After a moment, Yui's cheerful voice popped up, completely at odds with the previous commotion. "Hey, boss!" she chirped. "Just checking, there's a reward for my job, right?"

Yuto's voice cut through again, sounding exasperated. "Yui, go away! Don't come here covered in blood. Go wash yourself first! I know you like being with boss, but at least have a bit of decency."

The call ended with Ikke chuckling at the antics of his two compatriots. Yes, life was unpredictable and full of challenges, but with companions like these, it was certainly never dull.

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The booming voice of the announcer echoed through the walls of Heaven's Arena, resonating with the excitement and tension in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special match scheduled today on Level 196! Our own prodigy, the seven and a half year old wonder, Ikke, will be taking on another child prodigy, a mysterious and deadly youngster by the name of Killua!"

The crowd buzzed in anticipation, eyes wide and hearts pounding. Many were excited, eager to see two child prodigies pitted against each other in a battle of wits and strength. But a palpable undercurrent of unease ran through the spectators as well.

Scoffs and murmurs of disapproval rippled through the crowd. "Kids fighting in the arena... It's a disgrace," one man grumbled, his brow furrowed in concern.

"I thought Heaven's Arena was a place for warriors, not a playground for children," a woman huffed, crossing her arms in disdain. Yet, their eyes remained glued to the arena, their curiosity piqued despite their words of disapproval.

But for the most part, the audience was swept up in the exhilaration. Regardless of their age, these were no ordinary children. They were fighters, warriors in their own right, and the spectators couldn't deny the pull of their potential.

There was a heavy silence, a moment of quiet before the storm. Then, the gates of the arena opened, and the two young fighters emerged. The crowd's breath hitched collectively. Here, under the glaring lights of Heaven's Arena, the prodigies would clash. And the world was watching with bated breath.

"The White Death versus the Monster... This is gonna be a fight to remember!" enthused a lanky man named Kenji, clenching his fist as his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

A woman named Yumiko, with her silver hair neatly tied in a bun, shook her head and tsked in disapproval, "It's a shame. Children should be nurtured, not turned into weapons for spectacle."

Murmurs of agreement followed her sentiment, but it was the hushed whisper from an old man, his eyes dull with years but still sharp, that made heads turn. "We underestimate them at our own peril. They may be children, but their eyes... their eyes hold the gaze of seasoned warriors. Children they may be, but ordinary they are not." This was Toshiro, a veteran of countless fights, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

Further down, a boy named Hideki, not much older than the fighters, leaned over the railing, eyes wide with excitement. "They're just like me. I can be strong too." He whispered to himself, determination coloring his words.

"Two kids battling it out? Man, times sure have changed." Said a burly man named Takashi, a regular at the Arena. His expression was one of disbelief mixed with curiosity. He had seen many fighters come and go, but children this young and this formidable? It was a first.

The range of reactions reflected the diverse crowd that frequented the Heavens Arena. Each had their own opinion, their own emotion, but they all shared one thing: they were captivated by the promise of what was to come. Their eyes were fixed on the center of the Arena, waiting for the clash of the prodigies.

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The next match in the Heavens Arena was in full swing, the crowd watching with bated breath as a small silver-haired boy danced around the ring with an unnerving grace.

Killua's first move was swift and sharp, a quick jab aimed towards his opponent's gut. The man, caught off guard, hunched over in surprise, only for Killua to leap over him, landing gracefully on his feet. He turned to face his adversary, his lips curled into a teasing smirk.

"Hey, Mister! You're supposed to dodge that!" Killua shouted, mock disappointment dripping from his voice.

The crowd roared, a mix of laughter and surprise resonating through the stadium. The man, now infuriated, charged towards Killua, his face a mask of anger. But Killua was calm and collected. He sidestepped the charging bull of a man, giving him a light tap on the back as he passed by.

"Whoops! Too slow!" He called out, laughing. The crowd was in hysterics, their cheers and laughter echoing throughout the arena. The man, now completely humiliated, stood there, panting and red-faced. Killua, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

"You know, you're quite the entertainer!" Killua called out to his opponent, laughter bubbling from his lips. "Have you ever considered a career in comedy?" The crowd erupted in laughter, Killua's playful barbs only adding fuel to the fire.

With a final, swift movement, Killua darted forward, his small fist connecting with his opponent's jaw, sending the man sprawling on the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, chanting Killua's name.

"Well, this is disappointing!" Killua chuckled, his tone light, almost playful. "Here I thought this was going to be a fun match!"

Killua dusted off his hands, his cheerfully mocking smile never leaving his face as he turned to the crowd. "Well, that was easy!" he declared, striding off the stage as the stunned audience erupted into a mixture of cheers and gasps.