Chapter 214: Destruction of Will

“Thank you all for gracing me with your attention. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Feng Na, from China.”

Dressed as a waitress, Feng Na curtsied to the crowd with an impeccably perfect motion that was almost unsettling. Her innocent expression made her look as if she were gazing upon a collection of toys she could freely break.

The Yakuza members exchanged sly grins. A waitress who was this tactless—surely no one would hold them accountable if they punished her just a little.

Unlike the underlings, however, the three Yakuza group leaders wore solemn expressions, their gazes wholly fixed on Feng Na. They had climbed to high positions partly because they were far more ruthless than ordinary men, but also because they possessed an instinctive perception of danger, like animals growing restless before an earthquake. They could sense that a quake was about to strike.

Feng Na was far too strange.

Standing alone before so many vicious Yakuza members, she remained utterly calm, even faintly amused.

Could she be an assassin sent to wipe out the entire Tokyo underworld?

The more Masaki Toshihisa thought about it, the more dreadful it became. He barked coldly, “Get her out of here at once!”

“Yes, right away.”

The men in front licked their lips. A delicious beauty like this—how could they not give her some proper affection?

Feng Na did not budge. A delighted smile traced the corners of her mouth. She never minded bloodshed; to Feng Na, the wails of others were like heavenly music.

A mountainous man, buried in rolls of fat, reached out with a fleshy hand as if to seize Feng Na’s slender neck. It was easy to imagine what would happen if those huge hands clamped down. To a fragile woman like Feng Na in most people’s eyes, she would be strangled, dangling as she frantically kicked her legs, her eyes bloodshot, suffocating to death.

But what no one expected was that the fat man’s fingers were severed.

Three fingers on his left hand were chopped off by a cleaver. The fingers slid onto the tatami like pale caterpillars.

“Wha… what happened?”

The fat man had not even seen Feng Na swing the blade before three fingers on his left hand were gone.

A crisp whistling sound rang out again.

Swoosh—

Three fingers on his right hand were also cut off.

Feng Na was satisfied. Now it was perfectly symmetrical, exactly matching her aesthetic.

“Guards!”

Masaki Toshihisa shot to his feet and shouted.

The gang members standing behind Ishida Ryuichi and Takayama Kirisuke drew their pistols in unison, black muzzles aimed at Feng Na. Yet she acted as if she didn’t see them. When they pulled the triggers, every bullet turned into a dud—like a magic trick.

“It’s useless.”

Another man lunged at her and was slashed across the arm. A heart-wrenching scream seemed to pierce deep into the soul of everyone present.

Feng Na had chosen her position well; she hardly needed to worry about an attack from behind. But even if someone had tried to ambush her, she had full confidence in defending herself. She picked up a vase and smashed it hard against the skull of a burly fighter. His head burst open, blood and brain matter mingling with the fat man’s severed fingers on the floor in a revolting mess.

A bloodstained tooth skittered onto Masaki Toshihisa’s face.

Normally, a disturbance this loud would have brought outsiders rushing into the Japanese-style room. But it was as if the inside was completely cut off from the outside. Either Feng Na had special methods, or she had already colluded with this hotel.

The man known as the strongest fighter within the gangs roared as he charged at Feng Na. But a single elbow strike from her bent his arm at an unnatural angle. Inside the cramped room, their numerical advantage was nearly meaningless. Feng Na knocked them down as effortlessly as crushing ants and cockroaches with a slipper.

“Miss Feng, I was blind to have failed to recognize your greatness.” Masaki Toshihisa stood up, cupped his hands in a respectful salute, and said, “May I ask what you want? Are you here to kill us?”

He had intended to distract her so the remaining fighters could overpower her in one go. But Feng Na answered while simultaneously kicking two more men, each around six feet tall, across the room.

“I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to propose a partnership.”

“A partnership?”

The two burly men she had kicked were beaten nearly to death, and yet she said she was here to cooperate?

“Don’t misunderstand. I prefer to use force as a negotiation tactic.”

“Let’s hear it. Perhaps we can avoid further unpleasantness, don’t you agree?”

“I doubt you’ll agree to my request.” Feng Na struck down the last few men who had raised their fists against her. “I want to become the Tokyo Godmother. May I hear your thoughts?”

“Are you joking?”

Ishida Ryuichi, group leader of the Taoka Group, was the first to leap up in fierce objection. But the moment he opened his mouth, Feng Na’s right hook crashed into his face.

Ishida Ryuichi was in his forties. Although he looked like an ordinary office worker like Masaki Toshihisa, in his youth he had genuinely risen through the ranks by fighting in underground rings. Even at over forty, he should not be an easy opponent to take down.

Yet reality was sometimes absurd. He lost three teeth in that blow, and his mind went hazy for a moment.

Feng Na took out her phone and casually swiped her finger. When a person is subjected to torture, their willpower drops, making them easier to manipulate. But because Ishida Ryuichi had been a trained fighter in the past, his willpower was much stronger than that of an ordinary person.

“Oh? You won’t submit?”

“Who would submit to a little girl like you?”

Ishida Ryuichi roared.

But the moment he shouted, a storm of punches and kicks rained down on him. He had to curl up like a dead dog, protecting his vital parts.

“That won’t do, Mr. Ishida.”

Feng Na deliberately struck his wounds. Pain wracked his body, making Ishida Ryuichi grit his teeth in agony. At the same time, she increased the signal power of the app on her phone. To make someone submit, they had to first experience bone-deep pain.

Having come from the Time Management Bureau, Feng Na used to employ the same private torture techniques as the FBI to pry information from tight-lipped crossover criminals. After all, a significant portion of the Time Management Bureau’s early members were former FBI core agents—so when it came to breaking someone’s will, they were experts who could do it effortlessly.

“Mr. Ishida, do you really refuse to obey me?”

Feng Na shoved Ishida Ryuichi’s head into the decorative water tank nearby, nearly drowning him. While Feng Na subjected Ishida to this personal punishment, Takayama Kirisuke of the Kira Group and Masaki Toshihisa of the Shokaku Society tried to seize the chance to slide the door open and flee. But no matter how much strength they used, the door would not budge.

“It’s no use. This door will not open for you until you submit to me.” With her back to the two men attempting to escape, Feng Na continued pressing Ishida Ryuichi’s head deeper into the water tank.

On the mind-control app interface on her phone, the display showed that Ishida Ryuichi’s willpower was growing weaker and weaker. Signs of weakening also began to appear in the willpower readings of Takayama Kirisuke and Masaki Toshihisa.