The next morning, Serik woke with a sore body but a full stomach—finally. The memory of last night's hunt made him grin as he stretched. Three rabbits, one boar, and a rare approving nod from Jons. A victory by every definition.
He rolled out of bed and hurried outside, eager for whatever came next.
Jons was already waiting in the courtyard, perfectly composed, hands behind his back, looking like time itself refused to touch him.
"Today," Jons said, "you will learn Ren."
Serik's smile exploded. "Yes! Finally!"
Jons gave a small nod toward him. "Ren is the primary expression of battle aura. Without it, you will lose every fight before it begins. With it," he paused, "you at least stand a chance."
Serik swallowed. Somehow that sounded both encouraging and terrifying.
"Release your aura," Jons instructed. "All of it at once."
Serik braced himself, inhaled, and pushed outward.
The explosion hit immediately. His aura burst into the open like a thunderclap—wild, uneven, too thick in some places and barely present in others. His muscles clenched instinctively, his breath jumped, and for a moment he felt huge, inflated with something too powerful for his frame.
Then the drain hit.
Seven seconds in, his legs trembled. Five more, and his vision swam. His aura felt like it was leaking out of him in buckets rather than flowing with intention.
He dropped to one knee, panting hard.
Jons did not move. "You held it longer than expected."
Serik spat a breathless laugh. "Longer than expected?! I nearly died. How am I supposed to fight like—like this?!"
"What you just did was not Ren," Jons said calmly. "That was pure release. Reckless, inefficient, and useful only for training."
Serik blinked at him. "Then why do it?!"
"To increase your Nen capacity," Jons answered. "Your body is a vessel. Aura is water. Naturally, the vessel grows slowly over time. But if you empty it completely, repeatedly, the channels strain and widen faster. A larger vessel can hold more water."
Serik nodded, though his brain felt like mush. "And how long should I be able to hold Ren?"
"Thirty minutes."
Serik's soul briefly left his body. "T-thirty—?!"
"Yes." Jons stepped back. "Stand."
Serik stood. Barely.
And so the training began.
The schedule Jons imposed was the same strict structure as before: Ten in the morning, Ren in the afternoon, Zetsu at night. But everything felt sharper now—more intense. Ten came easily after last month's progress. His aura wrapped smoothly around his body, a steady second skin he no longer needed to think about. Jons tested him with drills, meditation, sudden distractions, even physical strikes meant to disrupt his aura. Ten didn't break. Not anymore.
Ren was another matter entirely.
The first attempts lasted barely twenty seconds before his aura collapsed. Jons corrected everything: his stance, his breathing, his focus, even the angle of his shoulders.
"Ren is not simply output," he explained during one session. "It is controlled aggression. Expansion and reinforcement. Applied correctly, it increases your strength, resilience, speed, intimidation, and destructive potential."
Serik's eyebrows rose. "All from just… more aura?"
"More aura in the right shape," Jons corrected. "A sloppy Ren alerts enemies, wastes energy, and exposes openings. A refined Ren forces opponents to defend, retreat, or submit. Killing intent is shaped by aura. Fear is influenced by aura. Even deception begins with aura."
Serik stared at him, mind racing. "So Ren is… everything."
"In battle, yes." Jons crossed his arms. "But your Ren lacks composure. Too explosive. Too fast. You must learn to treat it like breath—constant, controlled, deliberate."
It took time, hours of sweating through drills that left his limbs shaking, but by the end of the second week, Serik could hold Ren for nearly a full minute. By the third week, he lasted several minutes while moving, striking, dodging. And by the fourth, he could feel his aura pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, no longer uncontrolled waves but steady, pressurized force.
Jons didn't praise him, but he also didn't criticize. That alone felt like a medal.
Zetsu, on the other hand, had become Serik's quiet pride. After mastering the art of suppressing his presence enough to hunt in the forest, maintaining Zetsu at night felt less like torture and more like meditation. He could shut off his aura without panic, silence his presence while walking, and even approach animals unnoticed if he controlled his breathing properly. Jons no longer needed to vanish dramatically to test him; Serik could sense the faint disturbances of movement without aura, relying only on instinct sharpened by survival.
One night, Jons appeared beside him without warning. Serik didn't flinch—he had sensed the shift in air pressure, however subtle.
Jons gave a rare nod. "Good."
Serik nearly burst with pride.
The month crawled yet flew by. Training consumed every hour, every breath, every thought. And finally, on the last day, as golden light spilled across the courtyard, Serik stood before Jons with Ten perfectly stable, Zetsu effortless, and Ren developing into something strong and precise.
Jons studied him quietly.
"Your Ten is solid," he said. "Your Zetsu is ahead of schedule. Your Ren… still raw, but promising."
"Thank you," Serik said, trying not to grin too arrogantly.
"You are ready for the next stage."
Serik leaned forward. "The next stage?"
"I will not teach them yet," Jons said, lifting a finger. "But you must know what lies ahead."
Serik straightened immediately.
"There is Gyo," Jons began, "focusing aura into specific areas such as the eyes to see through concealment. Shu envelops objects with aura to extend the body's durability and force. Ken, the reinforcement of Ten into a strong defensive state. Ryu, the art of shifting aura output between body parts during combat to optimize offense and defense. En, expanding your aura to sense what enters your domain. And In, concealing your aura's shape and behavior."
Serik's mind spun. "That's… a lot."
"That is Nen," Jons said simply. "Learn its foundations, and the techniques will follow. For now, you observe. You understand. You do not attempt."
Serik nodded earnestly.
"One last thing, young master."
"Yes?"
"The next part of your training is up to you. You have two choices."
Jons raised two fingers in a peace sign.
"Your first option is to continue training only your Nen fundamentals—Ten, Zetsu, Ren—and afterward the advanced techniques. The advanced techniques will be trained only until you become familiar with them."
Jons lowered one finger, leaving only his middle finger raised.
What is that supposed to mean…? Serik wondered.
"Your second option," Jons continued calmly, "is that we begin training your Hatsu. You will start creating your own ability."
Serik's eyes widened in shock. His voice trembled with excitement as he spoke.
"Does that mean I'll become a real Nen user? With powers to shoot lasers or fly?"
Jons shook his head and lowered his hand. He clasped both hands behind his back and stood straight.
"Yes… and no. First, we must determine your Nen category. Only then can you decide on an ability."
"Ah—right. I forgot about that."
Serik laughed awkwardly, rubbing his hands together.
"Hehehe…"
"You must give me your answer tomorrow," Jons said. "So make sure you rest well, young master."
"You're right," Serik replied. "I do need some proper rest."
That night, after dinner and a long bath, Serik sat cross-legged in his room, holding a small wooden spoon in his hands.
Shu.
He breathed slowly, guiding his aura toward his fingertips. The aura flickered—wrapping faintly around the spoon—before disappearing entirely.
He groaned.
"Come on… I can hunt a boar, but I can't even wrap a spoon?"
He tried again.
And again.
The spoon didn't change, but this time he felt it—subtle resistance. A faint acknowledgment.
Like a door opening no wider than a hair.
Serik closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and focused once more. Determination settled deep into his bones.
Tomorrow, he would have to choose.
"Hmm… I guess my best option would be…"
-------------------------------------------
ps?