Serik didn't breathe.
He didn't dare.
The two men in the square hadn't moved more than a few centimeters, yet the air around them felt tight—like the whole world was holding itself back.
He wasn't close enough to see their faces clearly, but he could see the tension in their shoulders, the subtle shift in their weight, the way their eyes locked like knives pressing into each other.
Then—
One of them exhaled.
Just a breath.
But it felt like a gust of wind slamming into Serik's chest.
His skin prickled. His arms tensed. Something cold slid down his spine.
What… was that?
The man on the right stepped forward—no, glided—his foot touching the ground so silently it shouldn't have made Serik flinch… but it did. The man on the left responded instantly, drawing back his arm with a motion so smooth that Serik almost didn't see it.
Then the world snapped.
The man on the right lunged.
The man on the left blurred.
Serik's eyes widened. He didn't blink—he couldn't—but he still barely saw anything. A flash of movement. A gust of air. A faint crack as their limbs collided.
Then another.
And another.
A ripple of invisible force pulsed through the square, rattling the loose stones at Serik's feet. He stumbled back a step, heart slamming against his ribs.
"What… are they doing…?"
It wasn't like Garron's fights. Garron was strength. Weight. Brutality.
These two were something else.
Faster. Sharper. Wrong.
Serik had to focus with all his effort just to keep track of one arm or one leg at a time. Every time they struck, the air shimmered—not with light, but with pressure, like something unseen was being pulled and pushed around their bodies.
He watched one of them flick his wrist, and the cobblestone behind his opponent cracked.
Cracked.
From nothing but air and force.
Serik's breath caught. His hands curled into fists.
What is this… what IS this?!
His pulse sped up. His skin felt too tight. His lungs wouldn't expand right. He felt something spreading from the center of that square—something heavy, violent, suffocating—
Killing intent.
But this wasn't like Garron's. Garron's killing intent was a cold, sharp blade pointed at one person.
This was different.
This was a flood.
A tidal wave.
Serik didn't even notice he was backing away until his shoulder hit the wall. His legs trembled. Something primal inside him whispered run run RUN—
The man on the left suddenly snapped his head to the side, eyes locking straight onto Serik.
Just a brief impatient glance—
—but it hit Serik like a hammer to the chest.
He choked on his breath.
His entire body froze.
His heart skipped and then slammed back into rhythm so violently he nearly coughed blood. His vision blurred at the edges. His fingers went numb.
What… the hell… WAS THAT?!
The man's eyes locked on him for less than a second.
One second.
Then he turned back to the fight.
But Serik was already moving.
He didn't decide to move.
His body moved on its own.
He turned around and ran—stumbled—half-fell, half-sprinted through the alley back toward the main street. His lungs burned. His pulse hammered in his ears. Every footstep felt too loud.
He didn't stop running until he reached his house.
He burst through the door, panting, slamming it behind him like something monstrous had been chasing him. His chest heaved. His hands shook uncontrollably.
Jons looked up from the table. His eyes narrowed instantly.
"Young master?"
Serik tried to speak, but his voice cracked.
"I—I need to—sit—"
"Come here."
Jons' voice was calm, but the set of his shoulders shifted. Danger-awareness. Butler instinct.
Serik collapsed into the chair across from him.
Jons poured tea without being asked and pushed the cup into Serik's hands.
"Drink," he said.
Serik drank. It steadied nothing… but at least it gave him something to hold on to.
Jons waited. Patient. Still. He didn't push.
When Serik's breathing slowed, he finally said, "Tell me what happened."
Serik swallowed hard. His throat felt tight.
"I saw two people," he said. "Fighting. No—not fighting. Something else. Their movements were… wrong. Too fast. Too strong. Too quiet and too loud at the same time. They cracked the ground just by moving. The air felt like it was crushing me. And one of them looked at me."
His voice thinned.
"And when he did… I thought I was going to die."
Jons said nothing.
Serik's hands tightened around the cup. "What… was that?"
Jons inhaled slowly—deeply—and set his own cup down.
"…Do you remember when I told you about a certain power?" he asked.
Serik nodded. "The one you can unlock for me. The one everyone has."
"Yes," Jons said. "That power has a name."
Serik leaned forward.
"It is called… Nen."
Serik repeated it under his breath. "Nen…"
"It is the force you sensed today," Jons said. "The pressure. The speed. The strength. The killing intent that felt multiplied. Nen is many things. Energy. Will. Life force. A weapon. A shield. A presence."
His eyes lowered slightly.
"And a curse, depending on its wielder."
Serik shivered. He couldn't help it.
"Teach me," he said immediately.
Jons did not answer immediately.
Instead, he reached for the teapot and refilled Serik's cup, letting the silence stretch.
Only after the steam settled did he speak.
"Young master," he said softly, "Nen is not learned in a day. Its basics alone require discipline most adults never achieve. And you… have just come back from death's edge."
Serik's jaw clenched. "I can handle it."
"You can," Jons said calmly. "But you will not. Not yet."
Serik opened his mouth to argue, but Jons raised a finger—not to silence him, but to explain.
"Nen without discipline is a disaster. Nen without physical foundation will destroy your body before it strengthens it. Nen without emotional balance will twist you into something dangerous even to yourself."
Serik swallowed.
"So when?"
"When you complete two conditions," Jons said. "First: you must fully master the basics of the White Emperor Style. Your movements are half-formed. Your foundation incomplete."
Serik nodded slowly.
"And second…" Jons continued, "you must face your final trial."
Serik tensed. "Trial?"
"A group of three assassins," Jons said calmly. "The strongest your former family has left to spare. They are not at Garron's level individually… but together, they are lethal."
Serik felt something cold ignite inside him.
"So when I beat them… you'll teach me Nen?"
"Yes," Jons said. "When you defeat all three. Only then."
Serik exhaled through his teeth.
"Then I'll do it."
Jons watched him carefully. "Serik."
"Yes?"
"What you saw today was Nen. But it was only the surface. Once you awaken it, your life will change forever."
Serik didn't blink.
"Good," he said. "I'm tired of being weak."
Jons' eyes softened—not with pity, but with something like pride and fear woven together.
"Very well," he said quietly. "When your body is healed, your training will resume. And soon after… your final trial."
Serik leaned back in his chair, with clear expectation in his eyes.