Ren spent the walk back to his villa doing the thing he did best under pressure: turning excitement into an actual plan.
'Ten thousand credits,' he thought, weaving through the celebrating crowds streaming out of the amphitheater. 'That's not a shopping trip. That's a power up budget. I need to spend it like one.'
He sat down at his study desk the instant he got home, pulled up his badge's full combat record from the Tower and began, with the same ruthless clarity he'd once applied to failing experimental data, cataloging exactly where he'd fallen short.
Every fight, every floor, every technique he'd used and every moment he'd wished, desperately, that he'd had something else available instead.
The list was longer than his pride wanted to admit.
Floor Seven, against the elf, his entire fighting style had been built around telegraphed, deliberate technique and she'd read every single one before he'd finished committing to it.
