They didn't come for him immediately.
Time passed without measure inside the room. The lights never dimmed. The silence never changed. Ethan remained where he was, standing at first, then sitting, conserving energy the way instinct demanded.
Waiting had become natural.
Waiting meant observing.
Waiting meant surviving.
When the door finally opened, it wasn't the same guard as before.
This one was older. His face marked by thin scars that had healed without care. His eyes carried no emotion, only purpose.
"Come," he said.
Ethan stood and followed.
The corridors were quieter than before. Fewer guards. Fewer sounds. The building itself felt like it was narrowing, guiding him somewhere deeper.
They reached a heavy metal door.
It opened slowly.
The room beyond was unlike any he had seen here.
It wasn't empty.
Several children stood inside already. Older than him. Stronger. Or at least, they appeared to be. Their bodies were tense, their eyes uncertain despite their effort to hide it.
At the far end of the room stood the man from before.
The one whose presence carried invisible weight.
He stood with his hands behind his back, watching them.
Waiting.
Ethan stepped inside. The door closed behind him.
No one spoke.
The man stepped forward.
"Today," he said calmly, "you begin learning."
His eyes moved across them.
"Not how to fight."
He paused.
"How to exist."
The words settled into the room.
"You believe strength comes from your body," he continued. "From muscle. From speed. From endurance."
He shook his head once.
"That belief is wrong."
He raised one hand slowly.
"Strength begins here."
He didn't point to his body.
He pointed to the space around him.
At first, nothing happened.
Then Ethan felt it again.
That pressure.
Heavier than before.
Not touching him, but surrounding him. Pressing against his skin. Against his breathing.
The other children reacted immediately.
One stepped back.
Another stiffened.
One fell to his knees without understanding why.
Ethan didn't move.
His body wanted to.
His instincts screamed at him to retreat.
But he didn't.
He endured it.
Observed it.
The man noticed.
"This," the man said quietly, "is the foundation of everything in this world."
He lowered his hand.
The pressure disappeared instantly.
The children gasped, their bodies recovering from something they couldn't see.
Ethan remained standing.
His breathing controlled.
His mind already searching for understanding.
He knew this.
Not from this life.
From before.
Nen.
The word echoed in his thoughts.
The man's eyes settled on him.
"You," he said.
Ethan met his gaze.
"What did you feel?"
It wasn't a test of strength.
It was a test of awareness.
Ethan answered truthfully.
"Pressure."
The man nodded once.
Not impressed.
Not surprised.
"Good," he said.
He turned away from them.
"Most people live their entire lives without ever understanding it."
He paused.
"But you will."
He looked back at them one final time.
"Or you will break."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Final.
And in that moment, Ethan understood.
This was no longer about survival alone.
This was about awakening.