The courtyard was unusually quiet that morning. No wind. No training dummies laid out. No Stomp, Pan or Spikes anywhere in sight. Only a single wooden chair placed beneath the shade of a tall tree, and next to it, Jons was standing with his hands behind his back.
"I guess they must have left too, since I did not kill them" Thought Serik with a smile on his face.
Serik had barely stepped out the door when Jons gestured for him to approach.
"Sit," he said.
Serik sat. Jons remained standing.
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn't tense—it was expectant, like the pause before a curtain lifted.
Then Jons said, "Today, young master, you begin your nen Training."
Serik straightened in his seat. "Finally"
Jons nodded once. "This is the reward of your training and spirit."
He moved his hand slightly, and the air around his fingers seemed to shimmer—just barely, just enough for Serik to feel the subtle shift in pressure. His skin prickled. His breath caught.
Nen. So this was it.
Jons lowered his hand and began.
"Nen," he said, "is the art of life energy. Every living being possesses aura—what we call nen. But only a very small percentage ever learn to control it. To feel it. To shape it."
Serik leaned forward, hanging on every word.
"Aura is more than strength," Jons continued. "It is intention. Will. Identity. When used properly, Nen elevates a person beyond the natural limits of the body."
Serik nodded slowly. He remembered the fight between the two nen users, but hearing it from Jons made the words feel heavy—real.
Jons moved closer to the chair, hands still clasped neatly behind him.
"The foundation of all Nen," he said, "lies in four principles. Without them, Hatsu is impossible. With them, your potential becomes nearly limitless."
'Hatsu?' Serik thought
Serik turned fully toward him."I'm ready. Tell me."
Jons studied his face for a moment, then began.
"First," he said, "Ten."
A faint aura spread from his skin, soft like heat rising from stone. Serik felt it even without seeing it—like invisible air pushing against him.
"Ten is the art of retaining your aura. Normally, aura leaks from the body without control. Ten seals it, contains it, and forms a protective veil. A skilled Ten-user can endure cold, heat, blows, even poison, to a degree. It prolongs life and strengthens the body naturally."
Serik imagined the assassins trying to strike Jons through that veil and failing. 'That must have been despair inducing' Thought Serik, hiding a evil smirk.
"Second," Jons said, voice lowering slightly, "Zetsu."
The aura around him vanished.
Completely.
Even the sensation of him standing there seemed… fainter. Emptier. Serik blinked—his instincts couldn't feel him at all.
"Zetsu closes your aura nodes. It erases your presence, allows you to hide from opponents who sense energy. It can also accelerate recovery… but it leaves you vulnerable. Utterly."
"If you get hit by a nen attack in this state you will either die or be heavily injured" Said Jons
The aura returned gently.
Serik released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Third," Jons said, "Ren."
His aura expanded—broad, heavy, pressing.
Not hostile. But powerful.
"This is the act of releasing aura. Manifesting vitality. Increasing one's physical power, perception, and presence. Ren expresses emotion, personality, even instinct."
Serik felt a chill down his spine. 'I stand no chance, can I even run if somebody else, then Jons stood before me like that?'
But it was enough to make him understand something important:
Whitout nen you are just cattle, only fit for slaughter.
"And finally," Jons said, letting his aura settle, "Hatsu."
Serik leaned in.
"Hatsu," Jons said, "is where Nen becomes yours. Your aura develops a purpose. A shape. A method unique to who you are—your mind, your emotions, your experiences."
He looked straight at Serik as he spoke.
"A Hatsu is not learned. It is realized."
Serik absorbed the words, but felt them slipping through him as fast as he tried to hold onto them. His thoughts began spinning in circles—imagining powers, possibilities, techniques—
A cough snapped him back.
Jons raised an eyebrow."You lost focus."
Serik stiffened. "S-sorry. I'm listening."
"Good," Jons said calmly. "You must understand the basics fully before you even think of Hatsu. A premature concept leads to a weak ability. A confused concept leads to a self-destructive one."
Serik nodded hard, forcing himself not to drift again.
Jons continued with examples:
A Conjurer who once created a perfect copy of his own arm to use as a weapon. A Transmuter who changed their aura into sharp vibrations capable of cutting steel.
There were others as well.
An Enhancer who strengthened his body until his skin hardened like iron, each heartbeat sending power surging through his limbs. Another Enhancer who could momentarily push his strength far beyond its limits by aligning his aura with his pulse, trading power for exhaustion.
A Transmuter who altered his aura to imitate magnetism, able to pull small metal objects toward his hands. Another who changed his aura into a sticky, fluid substance that clung to anything it touched, slowing enemies as if they were moving through glue.
An Emitter who launched invisible bursts of concussive force, each one striking like a compressed shockwave. Another who created floating spheres of aura that drifted like tiny lights, flaring into sudden flashes or small explosions when triggered.
A Conjurer who summoned a notebook that recorded any promise written within its pages, punishing whoever broke the terms. Another who manifested a chain that tightened whenever the person bound by it tried to lie.
A Manipulator who controlled an opponent's balance with thin threads of aura, tugging at their movements like a puppeteer. Another who amplified emotions—fear, anger, courage—by sending subtle pulses of aura into anyone standing nearby.
And there was even a Specialist who could replicate a single Nen ability after witnessing it, though only one at a time, the last copied skill replacing the previous. Another Specialist who forged binding oaths between people, contracts woven from aura that carried consequences no one could escape.
Serik couldn't stop imagining himself doing these things—running with Ren blazing, cutting stone, resisting heat, creating something with his own will.
His mind drifted again. Jons cleared his throat once more.
Serik jerked upright. "I'm focused. I swear."
Jons allowed the faintest hint of a sigh.
After a pause, Serik raised a hand."Can I ask something?"
"You may."
"What's your Hatsu? Your ability?"
For the first time all morning, Jons hesitated.
Only a fraction of a second—but Serik noticed.
"That," Jons said finally, "is something you will learn only after you have formed your own."
"Why?" Serik pressed. "Why can't you just show me?"
"Because," Jons said calmly, "if I showed you my ability now, you would unconsciously try to replicate it."
Serik blinked. "Replicate it? I wouldn't—"
"You would," Jons cut in. "Not because you intend to, but because that is how aura behaves in its early stages. When a beginner sees a fully developed Hatsu, their mind automatically tries to imitate the structure of it. Even a partial imitation can twist your natural talent out of shape."
He stepped closer, voice firm.
"If I revealed my Hatsu, you would start molding your aura toward something that is mine, not yours. That would be detrimental to your development, young master. It would stunt your creativity before it even has the chance to take form."
Serik lowered his gaze, absorbing the weight of the words.
Jons finished quietly, "Your Hatsu must grow in its own direction. Not in the shadow of mine."
He looked away briefly, as if remembering something distant.
"That is what your grandfather told me."
Serik straightened. "Grandpa Ardan said that?"
"Yes."Jons closed his eyes, reciting the words perfectly.
"Hatsu must be born from the conscious and the unconscious together. It must be seeded by your experience, shaped by your nature. Anything copied will eventually crumble."
The courtyard felt suddenly heavier.
Serik swallowed."…Then how did you learn Nen, Jons?"
That question made Jons pause completely.
No sigh. No nod. Just stillness.
His expression did not change, but there was something in the shift of his shoulders—something like reluctance.
He looked at Serik with a calmness that felt deeper than normal.
"You," he said quietly, "would not even be able to imagine the—"
The wind stirred.A leaf skittered across the ground.
Jons stopped.
Serik leaned forward.
"—the torment I went throught."
"Huh"