Serik woke before sunrise.
His body simply refused to sleep any longer.
After waking, he realized he no longer needed the same time to recover as before. His sleep had shortened by nearly an hour, yet he felt clearer, sharper.
"…this can't be a coincidence," he muttered.
He dressed, tied his hair back, and went downstairs.
Breakfast was already waiting in the dining room.
Warm bread. A steaming bowl of soup. Fruit, neatly sliced.
Jons stood by the window.
"Good morning, young master."
"Good morning," Serik replied automatically.
They sat down. No one mentioned yesterday. No words about Hatsu. No tension. They simply ate. Serik spoke half-heartedly about the taste of wild rabbit and how he'd nearly slipped into the stream's mud. Jons listened quietly, nodding now and then, correcting him only when Serik folded his napkin the wrong way.
When Serik set down his spoon, he looked up.
"I want to train Hatsu."
Jons said nothing.
He gathered the empty bowls. For just a moment, something passed the corner of his mouth—something very close to a smile.
Just like me, he thought while clearing the table. Who could resist the temptation of creating their own ability?
He put the dishes away, turned back, and bowed slightly.
"As you wish, young master."
Outside, the air was cool. The garden lay peacefully, as if nothing dangerous could possibly happen on such a morning.
Jons walked to the center of the lawn and stopped.
"Hatsu," he said, "is not merely a technique. It is the manifestation of who a person wants to be—and what they are willing to pay to become that."
Serik rested his chin on his hand.
"When Nen stops simply flowing and is given direction, it becomes Hatsu," Jons continued. "Think of it as a promise your body makes to your mind. The more specific the promise, the greater the result."
Serik nodded slowly.
"But specificity carries danger," Jons went on. "The narrower the promise, the smaller the margin for error. Many Nen users ruin themselves by believing power is free."
He fixed Serik with a sharp look.
"You're likely wondering how one strengthens a Hatsu and develops one. The answer is vows, limitations and imagination."
Serik straightened slightly.
"Vows are promises you make to yourself—rules you must follow," Jons explained. "For example, if you vow to fight anyone who challenges you, you must obey that rule. If you break it, a penalty activates—one you set beforehand. If you honor it, your power increases."
He paused.
"Limitations are handicaps. Conditions placed on an ability to make it stronger or even usable. The harsher the conditions, the faster the activation and the greater the effect."
If you want to develop your ability you have to be familiar with either the substance the object or concept, the deeper your understanding the higher the ceiling of your ability.
Serik listened, though confusion flickered in his eyes.
"In short," Jons concluded, "vows and limitations strengthen Hatsu by increasing risk. You bind yourself to rules, penalties—sometimes permanent ones and imagination allows your ideas to take shape and be possible."
"…sounds cozy," Serik muttered.
"It is not," Jons said dryly. "It is effective."
Serik leaned back, thinking.
What should I make?Invisibility would be useful… but it'd probably cost something terrible.Super strength sounds nice. Or an unbreakable defense.Breathing underwater—that's amazing.Or walking through walls… no, that would probably kill me.
He chuckled softly.
Jons moved to a small table prepared nearby. He took a clear wine glass, filled it with water, and plucked a leaf from the garden, placing it carefully inside.
"Young master."
Serik snapped out of his thoughts and stood.
Jons gestured. "Sit."
He did. Jons sat across from him.
"Before we continue," Jons said, "we must determine who you are within Nen. Water Divination."
Serik hesitated.
"Jons… does this show my category accurately?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Jons' eyes.
"No," he answered. "It shows your dominant type."
Serik frowned. "What's the difference?"
Jons grabbed a stick, and started drawing the category circle.
"Some people are born with a single affinity," he made a dot above the enhancer category, but that is not absolute. he redrew the line between enhancer and transmuter and said some fall on the line, depending on their training or experiences.
"Your grandfather researched extensively," he said. "He concluded that Nen categories shift based on environment, experience, and mentality."
Serik listened intently.
"Most Nen users he encountered were Enhancers and Transmuters. That raised a question in him: are humans naturally inclined toward these categories, or are they shaped into them?"
Jons continued evenly.
"He searched ancient records, but few documented Nen types. So he changed methods. He gathered orphans—large groups—and divided them into controlled environments. Each environment was designed to shape a specific category."
Serik's brow furrowed.
"For Enhancers," Jons said, "they endured constant physical training, labor, combat. Their thinking was simplified—focused on strength and endurance."
"For Transmuters," he continued, "stability was denied. Their environment changed constantly—routines were broken, rules revised, rewards made unpredictable. Games replaced drills. Improvisation was mandatory. They were encouraged to react before thinking, to follow instinct over logic. Emotional expression was not corrected, only observed. The goal was not control, but transformation—teaching them that adaptation was survival."
"For Emitters, separation was introduced early. Distance was emphasized—between people, between cause and effect. They trained with thrown objects, signals, delayed responses. Cooperation was limited and temporary. Success depended on acting independently, often without seeing the immediate result of their actions. They learned to commit without reassurance, to release without attachment."
"For Conjurers, creativity was enforced. They designed tools, weapons, and objects. First in the mind, then on paper. Understanding their creation was mandatory; they had to know how it was made, with what materials, and its potential uses."
"For Manipulators, animals were provided. Each child chose a pet like cats, dogs, birds, and more. They were tasked with training it—learning behavior, instinct, control. Their final test was completing a parkour course together."
Serik swallowed.
"And Specialists," Jons continued quietly, "were the most difficult."
He paused.
"Your grandfather tried obsession. Total focus on one subject. It failed. He tried making them excel at everything. That failed as well."
Jons' voice lowered.
"His final attempt was searching for anomalies—children fundamentally different from the others. Among fifty… only one succeeded."
Silence fell over the garden.
Serik felt dazed.
How obsessed do you have to be to do this?Would I become like him?
He stared at his hands.
Jons noticed but did not interrupt.
After a moment, Serik looked up.
"What happened to the children?"
Jons exhaled softly.
"Most became Hunters. Others were sold to organizations he trusted or believed would treat them decently. Some were released—already determined."
Serik's eyes widened.
"Sold?! You can't sell people! That's—wrong!"
Anger flared across his face.
"I thought Grandpa was a great man," Serik snapped. "He's no different from a villain—"
Jons raised a hand.
Serik stopped, trembling with frustration.
"Listen, young master," Jons said calmly. "They were orphans gathered from an entire continent. Each batch produced two hundred and fifty Nen users. In total—seven hundred and fifty."
He met Serik's gaze.
"That is not a group you can simply keep. Your grandfather ensured they went to places where their value guaranteed their survival. In this world, human life is cheap. Investment forces care."
His voice softened.
"You weren't there when he sent them away. It was one of the few times I saw him cry. He knew he'd manipulated their lives. This was the only repayment he could offer."
Serik clenched his fists.
"He wasn't a man who could lead others," Jons continued. "He disliked adults. Cities disgusted him. Children were easier… purer."
Serik exhaled slowly, conflicted.
After a pause, he asked quietly,
"Did he achieve what he wanted?"
Jons nodded once in yes.
"And no."
Serik looked up.
"He came to a terrifying conclusion," Jons said.
Silence stretched.
"Everyone," Jons finished, "begins as a Specialist."
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ps?