------
------
"What the hell is going on with me?"
Morin was completely baffled.
From what he knew, materialization abilities never looked this outrageous.
When Kurapika did the Water Divination, the tiny crystals that appeared were barely noticeable—nothing like the massive shards Morin had produced, and certainly not in such ridiculous numbers.
"So, at first, the crystals forming—that's clearly Conjuration. But then the way they kept growing, multiplying, and eventually bursting the cup apart… that's not something that fits into the other five categories at all."
"You could chalk it up to being Specialist, but…"
Morin scratched his head. "So what does it mean if I've got traits from both Conjuration and Specialist? Which one am I supposed to be?"
He was caught in circles over his classification, while Machi, standing beside him, was experiencing the biggest mental upheaval of her life.
Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing right now?!
How could simply placing his hand near a glass suddenly cause it to sprout so many giant crystals?
Well… truthfully, her worldview had already cracked back when Morin first pulled out that Gourmet Tablecloth. This was just hammering the point in deeper.
Machi studied him with a complicated expression.
He looked like an ordinary boy she'd dragged home on a whim, trusting her instincts. But why did he feel like he belonged to an entirely different world?
"What's wrong?"
Morin noticed the conflicted look on her face. He chuckled lightly.
"Were you spooked by all the noise I made?"
As he cleaned up the mess on the table, he suddenly grinned and asked:
"Want to know why that happened?"
He lifted the folded Gourmet Tablecloth in his hand and twirled it teasingly.
"…"
Machi stayed silent, but the faint spark in her eyes gave her away. She was curious.
"It's simple, really."
Morin flicked his wrist, and the Gourmet Tablecloth vanished again, like a magician finishing a trick.
Machi—well, she was already close to developing immunity to his constant surprises.
"It's because of Nen," he said with a smile.
"Nen?"
She repeated the word slowly, tasting it on her tongue.
"That's right."
Morin nodded.
Technically, knowledge about Nen wasn't supposed to be spread around lightly. It was a rule, for the sake of "world peace" and "social stability."
But Machi would eventually learn about it anyway. In the future, she'd open her aura nodes, train in Nen, and develop her own ability—Nen Stitches, a supportive yet formidable technique.
Morin figured there was no point hiding it. She would know sooner or later.
Besides, he had no plans of leaving anytime soon. Until he became strong enough to fend for himself—or until he got his hands on some incredible tool—his best bet was to stay here, in Machi's house.
A kid alone in Meteor City? Way too dangerous.
Not only was he unfamiliar with the unwritten rules and the elders' decrees that dictated life here, but without someone like Machi helping him navigate, he'd be tripping into trouble every other day.
And honestly—why bother finding a place of his own when he already had a roof over his head?
The less attention he drew as the new guy in town, the better.
And the most important reason of all?
Morin had recognized Machi for who she was. There was no way he'd just walk away from her. Not happening.
So, since he was staying under her roof, it was only natural she'd see him pulling out new tools every day. With his system giving him a random item daily, sooner or later, Machi would catch on anyway.
Better to explain things up front than let her invent her own crazy theories.
Being honest now could not only save him from misunderstandings, it might also earn him points with her. If Machi accepted him, maybe she'd even shield him a little in Meteor City, making life much easier.
That was why he'd never bothered hiding the Gourmet Tablecloth in the first place.
"Listen up. Nen is…"
Morin was just about to explain, and Machi leaned in slightly, ears pricked—
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The old wooden door shook under the heavy pounding, rattling with each blow.
Shhhk!
Machi's expression iced over instantly. With a flick of her wrists, a thin thread unspooled between her fingers, shimmering faintly in the daylight with a cold, sharp gleam.
Thread—that was her weapon. And she'd mastered it well.
Morin quietly focused his aura, ready to act at the slightest threat.
If whoever was outside turned out to be too much to handle, he was prepared to whip out the Gourmet Tablecloth and summon a hundred cans of pickled herring to use as… well, unconventional weapons.
Both of them stood tense, every sense on alert—
Until a booming voice came from outside.
"Hey! Machi! You in there?!"
The moment Machi heard it, her frosty expression melted away.
"....."