Vikram’s foot slid forward. In the next instant, his fist shot toward Rohan’s stomach with terrifying precision. The punch wasn't flashy, completely devoid of any wasted movement. It was just fast, clean, and devastatingly efficient.
Without Perfect Control active, Rohan could barely track the blur of the incoming strike. His pupils shrank to pinpricks as his instincts screamed in alarm. *Too fast!* His body reacted on pure reflex. He twisted his torso, trying to slip past the trajectory of the blow. But something felt horribly wrong.
Every movement felt weighted down, trapped in thick sludge. His muscles responded a fraction of a second too late, as though invisible chains wrapped around his limbs. The very air around him felt dense, forcing him to fight just to shift his weight.
*Move!* his mind screamed. His sluggish body refused to cooperate.
The fist buried itself directly into his stomach with a heavy thud. For an agonizing instant, Rohan felt as though the impact flattened his lungs, driving out every single pocket of air. The sheer force shattered his stance completely.
Both of his feet left the ground. His body flew backward across the training room before crashing heavily against the polished wooden floor.
He skidded several feet along the planks before finally grinding to a halt. His body instinctively curled inward, his hands clutching his midsection. A harsh, ragged cough tore from his throat as his lungs burned for oxygen.
No matter how desperately he tried to expand his chest, his throat seemed locked. For several agonizing seconds, he could only gasp helplessly at the ceiling. Finally, a shaky, uneven breath managed to break through the tightness.
He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, forcing his trembling arms to push his upper body upright. Even standing up felt incredibly difficult without Perfect Control instantly correcting his microscopic imbalances.
He frowned at his father, his voice raw and wheezing. "What was that for? Why are you attacking me like that?" His stomach still throbbed violently from the impact.
Vikram simply crossed his arms, his expression completely unbothered. "I already told you. I'm going to help you awaken your prana using your willpower alone."
His calm voice echoed off the barren walls of the training room. "But do you know when a person's willpower reaches its absolute peak?"
Rohan remained silent, quietly massaging his aching midsection while trying to steady his ragged breathing.
"When they're standing right on the border between life and death," Vikram answered, his sharp gaze locking onto his son. "In those moments, every single unnecessary thought completely disappears."
He took a slow step forward. "Fear, hesitation, doubt—they all become meaningless. The only thing left inside a person's soul is the overwhelming desire to survive."
The heavy words hung in the air, causing Rohan to unconsciously straighten his posture.
"The majority of martial artists who awaken their prana through willpower don't do it inside comfortable training halls," Vikram explained, his footsteps echoing softly. "They awaken it while fighting for their lives against beasts, monsters, or enemies determined to kill them."
He stopped a few paces away, looking down at Rohan. "There are even ancient martial families that deliberately throw their descendants into life-and-death situations with vicious monsters. They either awaken their prana, or they die."
The room fell into a tense silence. Compared to those brutal methods, Vikram’s expression almost looked gentle. "What I'm doing to you is already merciful."
Rohan couldn't find a single word to argue against the logic. Everything his father mentioned perfectly matched the accounts he had read in old history books. Countless legendary figures had only unlocked their potential after being backed into a corner by death itself.
Yet, an enormous hurdle blocked his progress. He looked helplessly at the familiar, imposing man standing before him. No matter how serious Vikram appeared, or how hard his punches landed, Rohan's subconscious knew the ultimate truth.
*Papa would never actually kill me.* That single realization completely destroyed any real sense of danger.
Rohan scratched his cheek awkwardly, breaking the tense atmosphere. "Papa, how am I supposed to treat this as a life-and-death battle? My brain already knows you won't kill me."
Vikram nodded slowly. "Normally, that would indeed be a difficult problem. But now, you possess Perfect Control."
A faint, knowing smile appeared on his father's face. "You can use your superpower to deceive your own brain. Create a flawless illusion."
Vikram folded his arms behind his back. "Forget who I am. Forget that this is just a training session. Pretend I am nothing more than a humanoid beast trying to tear you apart."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "If your subconscious genuinely accepts that illusion, your survival instincts will respond exactly as if your life were on the line."
Rohan carefully weighed the suggestion. It sounded surprisingly possible given the nature of his abilities. Perfect Control allowed him to manipulate his own nervous system, so hypnotizing his brain wasn't out of the question.
He nodded slowly. "I can probably do that." Then, a sudden contradiction crossed his mind. He looked up at his father. "Wait, aren't you the one who told me not to use Perfect Control?"
"Correct," Vikram answered without a second of hesitation. "Don't use it to move your body, don't use it to control your prana, and don't use it to fight."
His gaze remained steady and unyielding. "But using it once to deceive your own brain is different. It's merely creating the proper training environment."
Rohan nodded, accepting the reasoning.
"And one more thing," Vikram added, his expression turning solemn again. "Make sure you completely seal away both your laser eyes and your Perfect Control. Otherwise, the moment your subconscious senses true danger, it will instinctively deploy both abilities to survive."
Rohan let out a quiet sigh. "Alright."
He closed his eyes, allowing his consciousness to drift inward. Without the active mechanical precision of Perfect Control to carry out the task instantly, he had to manually guide his intent. He focused entirely on the neural pathways of his brain.
Deep within his mind, his memories drifted like scattered, floating pages. He located the specific mental anchors tied to his radiant heat vision. Slowly and deliberately, he wrapped those memories inside thick layers of psychological suggestion.
*You never possessed another superpower. Laser eyes never existed. You only have one ability.*
Minutes slipped by in total silence. A strange, heavy emptiness gradually settled inside his mind. It felt deeply unsettling, as though someone had quietly torn a page right out of his life's history.
He instinctively knew a piece of himself was missing. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to look back or search his own thoughts, the answer completely refused to surface. The memory block held firm.
He opened his eyes slightly, a deep frown carving into his brow. “Strange. I know something disappeared, but I can't remember what it is.”
A faint, satisfied smile touched Vikram's lips. “Good. It worked.”
Rohan exhaled slowly, bracing himself. Now came the genuinely difficult part: handling Perfect Control itself. He reached his awareness toward the familiar, omnipresent sensation surrounding his consciousness, but he froze almost instantly.
His eyebrows knitted together. He tried to wrap a similar memory block around the ability, but his mind immediately locked up. It was impossible.
After another minute of struggling against a rising headache, he abandoned the attempt and opened his eyes. “Papa, it won't work. If I completely force myself to forget Perfect Control, I lose the very anchor maintaining the hypnosis. It's a paradox.”
He rubbed his temples to ease the mental strain. “If I erase the power entirely, the whole illusion collapses. But if I keep using it to hold the block, my subconscious will always remain aware that I still have a safety net.”
Silence filled the training room. Vikram remained perfectly still, processing the problem as he rubbed his chin. Seconds dragged into a full minute before he finally spoke.
“I have an idea,” Vikram suggested, his eyes locking onto his son. “Instead of trying to trick yourself into believing Perfect Control doesn't exist, make your brain believe that I have sealed it away.”
Rohan blinked, listening intently.
“Create a subconscious trigger,” Vikram explained. “The exact moment my prana strike connects with your body, your brain must conclude that my energy has entirely suppressed your superpower. That way, you maintain the hypnosis while genuinely believing your strongest asset has been ripped away.”
A spark of realization lit up Rohan’s eyes. “That actually solves everything.”
He closed his eyes once more, wasting no time. With the proper framework established, the neural adaptation went astonishingly smooth. His subconscious accepted the new logic almost instantly, weaving the phantom seal tightly into his nervous system.
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was clear. “Done.”
“Good,” Vikram nodded, his posture shifting as he prepared his stance. “Now for the final step.”
Rohan took a deep, grounding breath. This was going to be the hardest hurdle to clear. He forced every ounce of his internal concentration toward convincing his brain of a singular, terrifying truth.
*The figure standing before me is not my father. It is a monster. A apex predator. A vicious creature that wants nothing more than to rip me to pieces.*
A cold, primal dread bloomed in his chest. His heart rate spiked violently, hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His breathing grew shallow and rapid, and his pupils contracted to tiny pinpricks.
He snapped his eyes open. For one fleeting, terrifying second, the illusion locked into place perfectly. His survival instincts exploded into overdrive, tensing his muscles to bolt as his eyes frantically scanned the training room for a blind spot to escape the predator's reach.
Then, his gaze landed squarely on Vikram’s face.
The entire illusion crumbled to pieces in a single heartbeat. The suffocating terror vanished, his thundering pulse rapidly dropped back to normal, and his stiff shoulders sagged in absolute defeat.
“It failed,” Rohan muttered, sighing heavily.
Vikram’s brow furrowed in frustration. “What went wrong?”
“The moment I look directly at you, my brain instantly recognizes you,” Rohan explained helplessly. “No matter how deeply I hypnotize myself, I still know you're my father. I know you'd never actually kill me, and that thought instantly breaks the danger mode.”
Vikram scratched the back of his head, pacing a few steps across the wooden floor. “I didn't expect your mental recognition to be that stubborn.”
The training room fell into a long, quiet lull as both of them searched for an alternative.
“What if I wear some kind of mask?” Vikram offered eventually.
Rohan immediately shook his head. “I don't think that will help, Papa. When my brain enters that fight-or-flight survival mode, my visual perception sharpens to a ridiculous degree.”
He leaned back against the cool wall, crossing his arms. “I'll notice every tiny detail without even realizing it—your body shape, your specific posture, the exact way you carry your weight when you stand, even the rhythm of your breathing. My subconscious will still flag you as my father.”
The room went quiet again until a sudden light bulb went off in Rohan's mind. He straightened up, looking directly at his father. “Wait. Why don't we ask Mom for help?”
Vikram raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.
“Mom specializes in Illusion Magic,” Rohan said, his voice gaining excitement. Unlike ordinary illusionists who merely deceived the eyes, his mother’s advanced spells could manipulate all five senses simultaneously. Her illusions altered sight, sound, scent, and touch so flawlessly that even experienced high-tier magicians found it nearly impossible to separate the falsehood from reality.
“If she casts the spell on me, she can completely mask your presence and make you appear as a terrifying humanoid beast,” Rohan urged. “My brain won't be able to recognize a single detail about you anymore.”
Vikram stood completely still for a moment, letting the suggestion sink in. Then, a look of complete realization struck his face. “You're entirely right.”
Without wasting another word, Vikram turned on his heel. His heavy footsteps echoed sharply through the room as he strode toward the exit and threw the training room door wide open.
“I’ll go get your mother,” he called back over his shoulder, disappearing down the corridor.