In the warehouse, tiny particles of dust danced in the sunlight.
Ono Taro continued to lie on the ground, daydreaming, unable to shake the dreamlike feeling from his mind.
Why am I here? What am I doing?
These two questions buzzed in his brain like flies. The underlings standing around dared not utter a word.
RING! RING! The simple ringtone of a cell phone shattered the silence, jerking Ono Taro's thoughts back from dreamland. His right hand reached into his pocket, pulled out the phone, and with a slide of his index finger, he answered the call.
He rolled over and sat up, unable to help sucking in a sharp breath as a pain like fire blazed across his cheek. "HISS… what do you want?"
"Ono, are you so high you've lost your mind? Still asking me what I want?" a deep, middle-aged man's voice came from the other end of the phone.
Ono slapped his forehead with his left hand, his face breaking into his usual frivolous smile. "Oh, it's Mr. Kojiro. Good afternoon."
"Cut the crap. Didn't you say you kidnapped Kochou's daughter? I haven't heard a peep from that woman yet."
"I lost a bet, so I let her go home."
"What? You bastard! Have you forgotten what we agreed on?" The man on the other end of the phone was clearly shocked.
Ono Taro's face showed indifference. "That kind of thing can be done another time. Don't worry."
"There is no next time! Once Maggie goes back and tells Kochou what happened, both you and I are done for!" A despairing shout came from the other end. If Kojiro had known Ono was this unreliable, he would never have considered teaming up with him to set Kochou up.
Without Maggie as a hostage, the Misawa group would inevitably fall before the immense financial might of the Phoenix Academy. Ono would be caught and then rat him out. By then, forget about pushing out his sister-in-law and taking control of the Phoenix Academy; he'd likely be buried in the backyard as fertilizer.
"You bastard, you got me killed!"
"It's okay, it hasn't come to that yet," Ono Taro replied, his sense of dissonance growing stronger.
Kojiro, on the other end, had already hung up.
Ono Taro tapped his chin, puzzled. Why would I keep my word? He, who usually treated promises like farts, sensed a strange inconsistency—a blind spot. He rubbed his chin, wanting to delve deeper.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
Ono Taro looked up. "Who is it?"
"It's me. Open the door."
A young man's voice came through the door. An underling standing nearby subconsciously opened it.
Sunlight fell on the shoulders of the young man in the courtyard. He had short black hair, and his face lit up with a bright smile. "From now on, you are all my slaves and must obey my words unconditionally."
Despite his warm smile, his words were filled with coldness.
Unbelievably, Ono Taro felt no aversion in his heart; it was like a moth in the darkness drawn to a flame. Knowing full well it would mean utter annihilation, the desire to fly toward that flame was still irresistible.
"Yes."
All those inside responded in unison.
Aozawa stepped into the warehouse and closed the door behind him with a smile. "Put all your weapons on the table."
It was his first time hypnotizing so many people. Aozawa couldn't guarantee how long the effects of Hypnosis would last, so for safety's sake, it was best to confiscate their lethal weapons.
Ono's underlings each had a gun. According to the rules, they couldn't use them recklessly, but Ono Taro's awareness of the law was extremely lax. Having his underlings fit silencers onto their guns was his idea of respecting the law.
Aozawa sat on the tabletop and had them line up three meters away.
Hypnosis was a truly great superpower, allowing Aozawa to experience the authority of a monarch—his word was law.
He suppressed the joy in his heart and casually pointed to the man who had driven earlier. "You, jump up to the third level of the shelving without using any tools."
"Yes," the man said, stepping out of line without any questions.
The world high jump record is 2.45 meters, set in 1993 by Cuban high jumper Javier Sotomayor, a record no one has broken to this day.
Aozawa looked at the third level of the shelving, about three meters off the ground.
The driver bent his legs. Without any run-up, he leaped directly from the spot towards the third level.
He could do it. He *must* do it! Hypnosis had convinced his brain. This emotion disregarded the body's self-protection mechanism, sending the command to his muscles and nerves. Under the king-like compulsive command, he unleashed an unimaginable jumping force, leaping to the third level of the shelving in one bound.
But as soon as he landed on the shelf, the man immediately let out a howl. "AH!"
He fell straight to the ground.
THUD. His head struck the ground, drawing blood, but he didn't seem to care. He just curled up, clutching his legs, and let out a piercing howl.
The underlings present, including Ono Taro, displayed no emotion at all, like puppets devoid of feeling.
Aozawa, who couldn't stand the sound of wailing, said, "Shut up!"
The howling ceased instantly. Tears and snot streamed down the man's face as he continued to hold his legs, curled up like a stray dog in the rain in the corner by the shelving.
So, Hypnosis can break through the body's protective mechanisms and unleash great power, Aozawa concluded, but it can't grant immunity to the consequences. This was something he had speculated on before, but he'd lacked concrete evidence. Aozawa had not witnessed with his own eyes how Iwaai Takehiro had unleashed his full power.
He proceeded to the next step. "Stand up."
The driver, still clutching his legs, tried to stand. Ignoring the pain, he made several attempts, each time collapsing to the ground, sweating profusely.
Aozawa showed not the slightest bit of sympathy for his pitiful state. He detested Yakuza, detested thugs. Especially the ones in front of him; following scum like Ono Taro, they must have committed many heinous deeds in private.
Since they're scum, Aozawa thought, rather than letting them live, they might as well contribute to my Hypnosis experiments.
Aozawa pointed to a tall man in a suit. "You, come here and use all your strength to smash his head in with one punch!"
The man in the suit stepped forward, lifted his fist, as large as a sandbag, and smashed it viciously onto the man on the floor.
BANG! A dull thud exploded, accompanied by the sickening crunch of breaking bones, and blood splattered out.
The man on the floor was horrifically injured: his jaw was split open, his larynx crushed, and blood gushed out uncontrollably. He was clearly dead.
The man who threw the punch didn't fare any better; the skin on his fist had burst open, revealing the broken bones inside.
Disabling the body's protective mechanisms makes a punch incredibly powerful, Aozawa noted. Enough to kill someone instantly.
Aozawa didn't know what the Guinness World Record for punching power was, but he was certain it couldn't shatter a man's jaw like that, he thought, silently taking note.
If I'm going to use Hypnosis to aid my physical training, Aozawa mused, I need to understand its upper limits. Then I can gradually reduce the effect to find a method of advancement that won't harm my body.
"Alright, let's continue," he said.