Pain remained after the lesson ended.
Not sharp.
Not overwhelming.
But present.
Ethan stood alone in the empty room, his Ten active, his breathing steady. The ache in his shoulder had faded to something distant, something manageable. His body remembered the impact even after the force itself was gone.
He had seen it clearly.
The difference between control—
And execution.
The door opened again.
The same man entered.
Not the observer.
The fighter.
He did not speak immediately. He walked to the center of the room and stopped, his posture relaxed but complete.
"Again," he said.
Not a request.
Not a suggestion.
Ethan stepped forward.
He activated Ten instinctively. His aura settled against his skin, reinforcing his body—not stronger, but more stable.
He moved first.
Not striking.
Not attacking.
Stepping.
Closing distance.
The man watched him carefully.
Ethan raised his arm.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Precise.
He struck.
The man deflected it easily.
But Ethan had expected that.
Silent Authority activated.
"Slow."
The word left his mouth clearly.
The man's body hesitated.
Not stopped.
Not controlled.
But delayed.
That moment—
Ethan moved again.
He adjusted his position, correcting his balance, stabilizing his footing.
He struck again.
The man blocked it.
But this time—
He had needed to block it.
Not avoid it effortlessly.
Progress.
The man stepped forward.
His strike came fast.
Too fast.
Ethan reacted.
Not by moving faster.
By stabilizing.
Ten reinforced his body.
The strike landed against his guard.
The impact traveled through his arms, into his shoulders, into his stance.
He did not fall.
He did not collapse.
He endured.
The man stepped back.
Silence filled the space.
"You learn," he said.
Not praise.
Recognition.
He stepped forward again.
"This time, defend."
He struck.
Ethan activated Ren—not outward, but inward.
Reinforcing his body.
His stance.
His stability.
The impact landed.
His body held.
Not perfectly.
Not easily.
But it held.
The man stopped.
He observed him for a moment longer.
Then he nodded once.
"Your Nen supports your body," he said.
He paused.
"But your body must support your Nen."
The distinction mattered.
Nen was not a replacement.
It was an extension.
He stepped back.
"Again."
Ethan moved.
Not as a Nen user.
Not as a child.
As both.
His steps became cleaner.
His balance more certain.
His reactions more precise.
Not strong.
Not yet.
But correct.
Silent Authority remained within him.
Not used constantly.
Not wasted.
Waiting.
Because he understood now—
Nen created opportunity.
The body decided whether it could be used.
The man struck again.
Ethan did not fall.
And for the first time—
Impact did not decide the outcome.