"Is he really that strong?"
Thor's brows furrowed as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The man who had stunned them all with his power now lay in bed like a simple mortal. Zenkichi had deliberately sealed his strength, his aura suppressed so completely that he looked no different from an ordinary man.
No—Thor corrected himself—there was one difference. Even sealed, there was something about Zenkichi that was unlike any normal human.
And yet, the fact remained: he had locked away his overwhelming strength.
"Just for fun…" Thor muttered under his breath. The thought was absurd, yet that was the truth before his eyes. Zenkichi had chosen to handicap himself, reducing his godlike might simply to amuse himself with what was coming.
Thor exhaled. He couldn't deny what he was seeing. Strong men truly lived on a level beyond comprehension. Even now, he doubted he could land a single blow against Zenkichi. Perhaps that was what separated those who reached the top from those who did not.
To make this "game" more interesting, Arakawa Zenkichi had sealed away his strength. He wanted to flip the roles, making himself appear like the hunted rather than the hunter. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, a faint snore rumbling as if he were in a deep sleep.
But it was an illusion of vulnerability.
For while he played the role of prey, the truth was far different. The seal could be shattered in an instant, his full power returning the moment he willed it.
"Target found."
One of the killers froze outside the room, peering through the narrow opening of the door. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Zenkichi's face. Clear features, fully visible in the dim light—there was no mistake. They had located their target.
He signaled his teammates, the words low but urgent.
"You found him already?" another whispered in disbelief as they gathered.
It didn't make sense. Could their target, a man so notorious for his power, really be asleep so carelessly in his own room? It defied everything they had come to expect.
From their past jobs, they knew men of such strength were never caught unprepared. Every other target of this caliber had always been awake, waiting, meeting them head-on with lethal precision.
Yet here, through the crack in the door, they saw Arakawa Zenkichi lying calmly, as if unaware of their presence.
Excitement surged through them. To find him so easily, without resistance, almost seemed like a blessing. This task could be finished quickly. Perhaps tonight, their fortune had finally turned.
"Do it!"
The order came sharp and decisive. All of them readied their weapons, movements tense with anticipation. This was the moment—strike together, overwhelm the target before he could wake, end his life in a single coordinated blow.
The air thickened. Breath slowed. Their eyes met, silent agreement passing between them. Killers needed no more words.
But just as they prepared to strike, the room shifted.
The "sleeping" Zenkichi stirred. Slowly, almost lazily, his head lifted from the pillow. His eyes opened, not groggy or confused, but sharp and calm, cutting through the half-light like blades.
And then, as if by instinct, his gaze turned directly to the crack in the door.
The assassins froze where they stood.
Their prey had woken.
And from the look in those eyes, they realized with a chill—perhaps he had never truly been asleep at all.