Jeffrey Castillo
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FG Chapter 36: Self-Hypnosis Training
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 10:23:48 +0000 UTCThen Silva tossed off, “Nice earrings.”
He left the gallery and headed straight upstairs.
An assassin’s perception is razor-sharp; a top assassin sees every ripple in his surroundings. Silva is like that; so is Zeno. If Silva cares to, nothing within three hundred meters slips his senses.
His En radius is farther than that, besides.
So Roy had never imagined he could hide the earrings from Silva. He might as well wear them openly and not take them off.
“Young master, breakfast.”
At 4:30 a.m., Gotoh arrived with the cart.
“The kitchen followed your notes and redid the minced-meat eggplant—hoping this one pleases you.”
Lesson learned, the kitchen had improved the dish.
“Send it to Great-Grandfather.”
He was old; Roy shouldn’t keep making the elder come to him. Besides, in both of his lives, he’d never had a habit of eating stir-fry at dawn. He sat and ate a bacon sandwich instead.
Gotoh returned a moment later with an empty plate.
“The old master said it’s better than last time, but still not up to you.”
Thanks for the flattery—but Roy knew it was the “first-time effect” at work. Life has many firsts—first exam, first love, first marriage, first loss—and they tend to etch deepest.
He ate without comment, listening to Gotoh outline the day’s training plan, while his mind kept turning over—how to become a tree.
“Merging with nature”—he understood why Urokodaki told him to hug trees. It overlapped with Zetsu in spirit.
“After the master mentioned testing you, I compiled my notes from when I learned Zetsu,” Gotoh said, handing over a prepared notebook. “I hope they’ll help.”
Roy sipped milk, skimmed the pages, and asked, “How long did Zetsu take you?”
“A year and two months.” Gotoh pushed up his gold rims. “Tsubone called me untalented—three months to learn Ten, nine for Ren. Of the advanced applications—En, Ken, Ko, Ryu—I only have Shu so far…”
Shu—wrapping aura around an object. In Gotoh’s case, the “weapon” was a coin.
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
Nen isn’t a dime-a-dozen trick. Across the Hunter world, there are only six or seven hundred Association-recognized Nen users. Even a Kakin prince like Tserriednich didn’t know Nen until he met Theta.
Gotoh had talent; it had just been “averaged out” by the Zoldyck monster room.
Roy leafed through the notes. In sum—two words: push through. No secret methods; just time. The only spark was “enlightenment” now and then in meditation—but Roy suspected it was just dozing on the edge of sleep.
Right—the book Great-Grandfather gave me.
He finished the sandwich with a swig of milk, pulled Zigg’s notebook from the drawer, and looked up Zetsu.
Even more abstract: the whole page offered a single term—“self-hypnosis.”
Deepen imagination through hypnosis; slip yourself swiftly into a “natural” state; then you merge with nature.
Genius logic, huh? Roy could almost hear Zigg’s voice as he wrote: Zetsu? Isn’t that just something you do with your hands?
Hard to even be jealous.
He slid the notebook back.
Dong~ Five o’clock. Time to head to the training hall.
This time, Roy left Yubashiri behind. He followed instructions; Urokodaki said not to touch a blade—so he’d hug trees.
“You forgot Yubashiri,” Gotoh reminded him gently.
Roy waved it off and headed out.
The million-volt shock was still on schedule. With higher Physique, he wanted to see how long he could last.
“One minute thirty-five seconds…” That was Illumi’s mark.
He had to beat his big brother at everything—clinging to endurance as his only bragging right.
When Roy opened the training hall door and saw that ridiculous afro over Illumi’s pallid face, Illumi was mid-spasm, burned through, sparing Roy one defiant look before—
toppling.
Roy got it: This time I’ll wake up before you…
He peeled off his tank. “Forgive me, young master,” Luke said, bowing—then, without switching tools, planted the baton to Roy’s chest.
Bzzzt— Arcs crawled; you could almost see the current thread under the skin.
This time was better. Roy didn’t grunt or whip back and forth. He stood it down.
“Huh?” Luke blinked. He glanced at the baton—big 100 on the hilt. So it wasn’t a mistake. It was—
the young master himself lasting longer.
Still… that fast? One day, that much stronger?
“Don’t push it, young master,” Luke urged. “The master said two minutes is passing.”
Two minutes?
Roy refused to be a “fast boy.”
Jaw tight, voice steady: “Keep going.”
A minute—ninety seconds—two minutes—finally, at 2:35 on Luke’s stopwatch, Roy blew out a wisp of black smoke and Luke caught him as he fell.
…
Sunlight burned through cloud and sweat out of skin.
The pit in the garden was dug yesterday; Illumi was woken by heat today.
He pried open those hollow eyes to see Roy shoveling dirt over him, and—unwilling to concede—shut them again and signaled Luke for water.
So what if I woke later? I’ll drink one more mouthful than you.
Illumi’s bottom lines were always flexible. Roy noticed he was awake but kept shoveling—using the motion to get his body back under control.
Only when the numbness fully drained did he spike the shovel in the earth, step to a nearby cypress, and—
spread his arms and hug it.
Illumi: “?”
