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Chapter 36: Self-Hypnosis Training X Illumi's Moving Goalposts
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 10:40:02 +0000 UTCChapter 36: Self-Hypnosis Training X Illumi's Moving Goalposts
He followed it up with a final, quiet remark. "Nice earring."
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing up the stairs.
An assassin's perception is second to none. A top-tier assassin's senses are a seamless extension of their environment. Silva was like that. Zeno was like that. If he chose to, nothing within a 300-meter radius could escape his notice. After all, the range of his En was far greater than that.
Roy had never intended to hide the earring from him. He simply wore it openly.
"Young Master, your breakfast is served."
At 4:30 AM, Gotoh arrived with the cart. "The kitchen staff has followed your instructions and prepared a new version of the eggplant dish. They hope it meets your satisfaction this time."
"Take it to my great-grandfather," Roy said, not even looking at it. He had no habit of eating stir-fry for breakfast. He sat down and started on his bacon sandwich.
Gotoh returned a few minutes later with an empty plate. "The Old Master says it was an improvement, but still not as good as yours."
The primacy effect, Roy thought. The first time you experience something is always the most memorable. He said nothing, simply listening to Gotoh recite his training schedule, his mind still preoccupied with one question: How do I become a tree?
"Regarding the Master's test," Gotoh began, "I took the liberty of compiling some of my own notes from when I was learning Zetsu. I hope they might be of some assistance." He presented Roy with a small, leather-bound notebook.
Roy took it, sipping his milk. "How long did it take you to learn Zetsu?"
"One year and two months," Gotoh replied, adjusting his glasses. "Tsubone said I have no talent. It took me three months for Ten and nine months for Ren. Of the advanced techniques, I have only managed to learn Shu."
Shu, the art of extending one's aura to an object. For Gotoh, that object was his signature weapon: a set of super-charged coins.
"Don't sell yourself short," Roy said. Nen wasn't some common skill. In the entire world, there were only six or seven hundred officially licensed Nen users. Even a prince of the Kakin Empire hadn't known what Nen was before being taught. Gotoh had talent; it was just dwarfed by the monstrous standards of the Zoldyck family.
He flipped through the notebook. It could be summarized in one word: brute-force. Gotoh had learned through sheer, mind-numbing repetition.
Wait... I forgot about the book my great-grandfather gave me.
Roy finished his sandwich, pulled Zzigg's notes from his desk drawer, and found the section on Zetsu. The instructions were even more abstract.
The entire training method was summed up in two words: "Self-hypnosis."
Use hypnosis to deepen your imagination. Convince yourself that you are one with nature. Your aura will then naturally follow.
Is this what it's like to be a genius? Roy could almost hear Zzigg's dismissive tone as he wrote it. What's so hard about Zetsu? Anyone with hands can learn it.
He silently put the book away.
Five in the morning. Time to head to the training hall. This time, Roy didn't take Snow-Walker. Urokodaki had forbidden him from holding a blade until he'd mastered the first step. He would obey.
The one-million-volt prod was waiting for him. After his recent physique increase, he was curious to see how long he could last.
"One minute and thirty-five seconds." That had been Illumi's time.
When Roy pushed open the door, he saw his brother, his hair a frizzy, electrified mess, just as he was collapsing. Illumi had held on just long enough to see him arrive, a stubborn, defiant look in his eyes before they rolled back in his head.
Roy understood. This time, I'll definitely wake up before you.
He took off his shirt.
"My apologies, Young Master," Luke said, and pressed the prod to his chest.
This time, it was different. More manageable. He didn't cry out, and his body remained steady, not twitching uncontrollably.
"Huh?" Luke looked down at the prod, thinking he'd grabbed the wrong one. But the "1M" was clearly visible on the side. It's only been a day... how can he have improved this much?
"Young Master, don't push yourself," the butler advised. "The Master said that lasting two minutes is considered a pass."
Two minutes? Roy thought. I refuse to be a two-minute man.
He grit his teeth. "Continue."
One minute passed. One and a half. The stopwatch in Luke's hand ticked past the two-minute mark. Finally, at two minutes and thirty-five seconds, a puff of black smoke escaped Roy's lips, and he collapsed into the butler's arms.
The hot afternoon sun woke Illumi. He was back in his hole in the garden. He groggily opened his eyes and saw Roy, methodically shoveling dirt back on top of him. He closed his eyes again in defeat and called for Luke to bring him some water.
It doesn't matter if I woke up later, he thought, his internal goalposts shifting. At least I'll drink more water than he did.
Roy ignored him, using the repetitive motion of shoveling to regain control of his numb limbs. When the feeling had finally returned to his body, he stuck the shovel in the ground, walked over to a nearby cypress tree, and wrapped his arms around it.
Illumi stared, a single, uncomprehending question mark hanging over his buried head.
