The word stayed with him.
Manipulator.
It did not feel like a limitation.
It felt like direction.
Ethan sat alone in his room, the glass of water still resting on the desk where the man had left it. The leaf floated on its surface, unmoving now, as if the moment of truth had never happened.
But Ethan knew it had.
He could still feel his aura.
Contained.
Obedient.
Waiting.
He raised his hand slowly, activating Ren.
His aura expanded beyond his skin, thin but controlled. He focused on the glass, on the leaf resting atop the water.
He didn't move.
He didn't touch it.
He simply willed it.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
The leaf trembled.
Slightly.
Not enough to move across the surface. Not enough to obey completely.
But enough.
Ethan stopped.
He understood.
Control wasn't automatic.
It wasn't instant.
It was learned.
Refined.
Mastered.
The door opened.
Ethan lowered his aura immediately, returning to Ten without thinking.
The man entered, his gaze moving briefly to the glass, then back to Ethan.
"You've begun," he said.
Not a question.
He stepped closer.
"Hatsu is the expression of your Nen."
He stopped in front of him.
"Ten protects you. Zetsu hides you. Ren releases you."
He paused.
"Hatsu defines you."
Ethan listened without speaking.
"It is not taught," the man continued. "It is discovered."
He reached toward the desk and touched the glass, stilling the water completely.
"Your affinity determines its nature," he said. "But your mind determines its form."
He stepped back.
"A Manipulator does not rely on strength."
His eyes met Ethan's.
"He relies on control."
Silence followed.
Expectation filled the space.
"Use Ren," the man said.
Ethan obeyed.
His aura expanded outward once more.
"Now," the man continued, "do not simply release it."
He paused.
"Command it."
The word carried weight.
Ethan focused.
He felt his aura as something separate from his body. Not detached. But responsive.
Listening.
He directed it toward the leaf.
Not pushing.
Not forcing.
Commanding.
The leaf moved.
Slowly.
Unnaturally.
It slid across the water's surface, obeying something that did not exist.
Ethan did not move.
His body remained still.
Only his will acted.
The man watched carefully.
"You see," he said quietly.
Not praise.
Recognition.
"This is Hatsu."
Not complete.
Not mastered.
But begun.
Ethan held the control for as long as he could.
Then he released it.
The leaf drifted to a stop.
His aura returned to Ten.
Contained.
Stable.
The man turned toward the door.
"This is only the beginning," he said.
He paused briefly.
"Hatsu is not a single act."
He looked back once.
"It is what you become."
Then he left.
The door closed.
Ethan remained alone.
He looked at the glass.
At the leaf.
At the invisible space between himself and the world.
Manipulator.
Control was not forced.
Control was certainty.
And Ethan Crowe was beginning to understand both.