Author's Note:
Hey everyone, how are you doing?Sorry for the long break—it's been a while since the last update.
I'd really love to hear what you think about the development of Serik's life so far and the direction his character is taking. Don't worry, the real adventures are coming soon.
In this story, I also want to push our understanding of Nen—what it can truly do, how far it can be taken, and how it should be used.
Thanks for sticking with me, and as always, thank you for reading.
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Serik watched it all unfold again and again. Each memory dragged him through the same cycle—joy, grief, anger, despair—until even those emotions began to lose their edge. They dulled, then slowly faded. No tears came. No reaction followed the violence, nor even the memory of his mother's death.
Eventually, there was only exhaustion.
He accepted what could not be changed. The past would not yield. His mother would not return. There was nothing left to fight there.
But there was still one thing that remained within his reach.
Control.
On the outside, Jons was preparing to begin again. Gel stood right behind him, while Tsubone observed them both.
Gel's curiosity had grown stronger with each passing day. Over the course of a month, she had watched a forest once brimming with life shrink to less than half its size. She had seen the blackened border slowly expand, creeping ever closer. More than once, she had wanted to ask what was happening.
Should I ask?
Before she could decide, a great change took place.
Quack.
A soft tremor rippled through the ground. The process of Nen reclamation suddenly accelerated—so rapidly that it became visible to the naked eye. Gel froze, her first instinct to check herself, to ensure that none of her aura was being drawn away. When she felt nothing leaving her body, she steadied herself. The calm expressions on Jons's and Tsubone's faces helped as well.
Tree after tree, plant after plant withered. In less than ten minutes, the forest was gone.
All that remained was the cocoon at the center, every trace of energy drawn inward and concentrated there.
No one moved. All eyes were fixed on it.
Crack.
The cocoon began to fracture. First a small fissure near the top, then another beside it, then more—until cracks spread across its entire surface.
From within, a figure began to form.
At first it was crude, clay-like, barely humanoid. Slowly, it took shape—gaining definition piece by piece—until it resembled a woman.
Sera, was all Jons could think.
The clay figure looked at each person present in turn, holding their gaze for a few seconds. A chill ran down Gel's spine. Even with all her experience, she had never witnessed anything like this.
After surveying her surroundings, the figure turned back to the cocoon. She knelt and gently kissed its surface. Her lips moved, though no sound emerged.
Everyone present could read the words.
Wake up, my little bear.
Drop.
Her form dissolved, flowing back into the cocoon. Pieces began to fall—not outward, but inward. The fragments that struck Serik's body bounced away, fell to the ground, and slowly sank into the earth, vanishing without a trace.
The entire process lasted less than a minute. A faint cloud of dust rose and lingered briefly in the air.
Inside the cocoon, Serik stirred.
His awareness returned in layers. First came warmth against his back—the earth. Then the sensation of his limbs, stiff and heavier than he remembered.
He drew in a slow breath. Each inhale filled his chest completely; each exhale released an unseen burden. When he finally opened his eyes, the sky above him was unchanged—clear and blue.
He did not call out. Not for Jons. Not for his mother.
He simply lay there, letting the moment settle.
Jons was the first to move. The instant he took a step forward, a strange heaviness pressed down on him—not spiritual, but physical. The air felt dense. His body resisted him.
Step.
Step.
By the third step, the pressure was undeniable, as if something unseen were bearing down on him.
The cocoon was gone.
Only Serik remained, lying on the ground.
Suddenly, Serik shifted. He planted one hand firmly against the earth.
The moment his palm made contact, life surged forth. Fresh grass burst from the soil. As he pushed himself up and placed one foot down, another patch of grass bloomed. Then another.
When he finally stood upright, the weight pressing down on Jons vanished as if it had never existed.
Serik ignored everyone. He looked around and saw only darkness—dead soil, barren ground. Instinctively, he knew this was his doing.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled.
A thin green mist flowed from his lips, spreading outward in every direction. It rolled across the garden, sinking into the ground step by step. Wherever it touched, life returned—small patches of grass, then flowers, growing in clusters: one, then three, then five, then ten.
Within moments, the garden was alive once more.
They stared in silence.
What Serik had done should have been impossible. Before their eyes, he had restored life to land that had been utterly dead—where no life could be seen, nor even felt.
Serik's face suddenly drained of color. The warmth that had lingered in his body vanished, replaced by a sharp, hollow ache.
He turned his head toward Jons and smiled faintly.
"I'm hungry."
Jons did not hesitate. His expression remained calm, as it always was.
"Of course, young master. Your meal will be ready shortly."
Gel and Tsubone remained frozen, still trying to process what they had witnessed.
Jons turned to Gel. "Your work here is finished. Payment will arrive shortly. You are free to go."
Tsubone had already recovered. Without a word, she stepped aside and gestured toward the door.
Gel nodded mechanically. Still dazed, she walked toward the entrance. Only after the door closed behind her did she stop. She shook her head, eyes wide.
"I need to report this to the Chairman."
Then she ran.
Serik sat at the table, waiting.
His stomach growled again. And again.
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
As Jons served the food, he quietly observed Serik.
Before, Serik's skin had been a healthy, pale white. Now it carried a faint brownish tint, like sun-warmed sand. His eyes, once bright—curious and constantly alert—had changed as well. The sharp vigilance was gone, replaced by a steady calm. Even the way he moved was different, his motions relaxed and unhurried, as if his body no longer expected resistance.
The physical changes alone were remarkable.
But the change in his Nen was astounding.
What had happened in the garden had already defied expectation—the sudden increase in gravity, the restoration of dead land—but that was not what held Jons's attention now.
It was the flow.
Before, Serik's Nen had been like a torrent. Raw. Exposed. Every emotion, every intention readable, carried openly in its current. Nothing had been hidden.
Now, it was difficult to perceive at all.
The flow was subdued, contained, as though drawn inward and held there by deliberate restraint. What little could be felt carried no emotion beyond calm—and yet, beneath that calm was pressure. A quiet, multiplying weight that intensified the moment one met Serik's gaze.
How much of you changed, young master?