Aotairo stepped into his designated cell, carrying a basin, toothbrush, towel, and bowl.
The guard barked the order, prompting the five prisoners inside to line up in two rows obediently.
"006040, starting today, you’re part of Cell 2327. Your bed is this one."
The guard pointed to an empty lower bunk.
Aotairo replied firmly.
The guard scanned the room, then warned,
"Behave yourselves, and don’t cause trouble."
As Aotairo walked into the cell, the iron door slammed shut behind him with a loud "clang." The dim light inside revealed the five prisoners who had been standing earlier, now staring at him intently. Their expressions were far from friendly.
Aotairo nodded at them before silently placing his basin under the bed and sitting down. The others shifted their gaze toward a menacing man with a dark, scarred face. The man lounged on the bed, propped up by two neatly folded blankets beneath him and another two behind his back, creating a makeshift "sofa." Beside him, another prisoner was massaging his shoulders and legs.
"Do you know who I am?"
The dark-faced man asked.
Aotairo shook his head.
The man signaled to his lackey, and suddenly, a blanket was thrown over Aotairo’s head, plunging him into darkness. Then came a barrage of punches and kicks.
After what felt like an eternity, the beating stopped, seemingly because the attackers grew tired.
"Alright, pull the blanket off," the dark-faced man ordered.
Aotairo struggled to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He thought to himself,
"Quite professional—they avoided hitting my face to keep the evidence hidden. Even if I wanted to complain, there’d be nowhere to turn."
The dark-faced man pointed to himself and declared,
"I’m Heizechi. This beating was to show you that I run Cell 2327. Got it?"
Heizechi, a minor boss from the Yamada Clan, served as Yamada Akihaya’s henchman. As Aotairo recalled the prisoner profiles he had studied, he rotated his neck and replied,
"Well, the beating’s done, so there’s no point in asking again. I know a bit about prison rules—it’s all about putting newcomers in their place, right?"
"Heh, as long as you understand the rules. Don’t take it personally; it’s the same for everyone who comes in. Rules can’t be broken. You seem like a tough guy, though. Alright, we’re done for today."
Aotairo nodded and asked,
"By the way, did you get the same treatment when you first arrived?"
Heizechi erupted in laughter, as if he had just heard the funniest joke.
"I’m the one who sets the rules. Who’d dare lay a finger on me?"
Aotairo replied with an expression of understanding.
A shout came from outside the iron door.
The five prisoners immediately grabbed their bowls and utensils, lining up in order. Heizechi stood at the front, and Aotairo joined the line at the back.
At Abyss Prison, breakfast was eaten in the cells, while lunch and dinner were served collectively in the dining hall.
When it was finally Aotairo’s turn to get his meal, he saw that his bowl contained only five or six rice balls the size of a baby’s fist, a small piece of pickled radish, and half a bowl of watery porridge so clear he could see his reflection.
Aotairo sighed and was about to eat when a large, dark hand reached out and snatched the rice balls and pickled radish from his bowl.
Looking up, he saw it was none other than Heizechi.
"Boss, what’s the meaning of this?"
Heizechi stuffed the food into his mouth, chewing as he spoke,
"You’re new here. You’ve got too much oil in your stomach. I’m just looking out for you—drink some porridge to cleanse yourself."
Aotairo almost laughed in frustration.
"Boss, we’ve got work later. How can half a bowl of porridge keep me going? Unless you’re volunteering to do my share of the work?"
"Didn’t expect you to talk back. Looks like the earlier beating didn’t teach you a lesson. I told you—I run Cell 2327."
"Heh, and why do you get to call the shots?"
Aotairo said, his anger rising.
Heizechi impatiently waved his fist.
Observing his arrogant opponent, Aotairo noted Heizechi’s disproportionately muscular upper body, thin legs, rough skin, and deformed finger joints. His body was covered in scars, likely from years of upper-body-intensive fighting during his youth. From a taijutsu perspective, Heizechi’s weak "lower base" made him an easy target.
Even with the limited chakra he could muster due to medication, Aotairo knew his "Swallow Kick" technique could easily shatter Heizechi’s leg bones.
"Got it. So you’re saying whoever has the strongest fists gets to take other people’s food?"
"Then hold off on eating. Let’s settle this with our fists. Loser goes hungry."
"You’re asking for death!"
Heizechi roared, enraged that someone dared challenge his authority. He tossed his bowl aside and charged at Aotairo like a black bear.
In a flash, Aotairo pushed off the bed frame and executed a graceful sidestep, dodging the attack. His movements were as agile as a swallow, his legs like soaring wings. With a few quick steps, he maneuvered behind Heizechi and delivered a precise kick to his lower back, sending him sprawling onto the bed.
Aotairo taunted, as the other prisoners watched in stunned silence, none daring to intervene.
Heizechi struggled to his feet and swung his fists at Aotairo again. But Aotairo’s right leg shot out like lightning, its tip striking Heizechi’s jaw with force. The blow sent Heizechi flying over three meters, his body slamming into the concrete wall before bouncing back.
Aotairo stood calmly, waiting for Heizechi to rise.
What followed was a humiliating display: Aotairo toyed with Heizechi like a cat with a mouse, constantly changing his footwork and delivering relentless kicks to Heizechi’s face. Yes, he used the tops of his feet to slap Heizechi’s cheeks! No matter how Heizechi dodged or defended, Aotairo’s strikes landed with precision.
Eventually, Heizechi lay on the ground, his face swollen beyond recognition, unable to move.
He tried to struggle, but his efforts were futile. All he could do was lie there, gasping for air.
"With skills like yours, you dare set rules for me? I don’t know where you get your confidence."
"You... you... you’re a ninja!"
Heizechi muttered weakly.
"Hmph! At least you’re perceptive. Anyone else want to set rules for me? Step forward!"
Aotairo glared at the other lackeys.
Seeing his empty bowl, Aotairo watched as the others scrambled to offer their remaining rice balls and pickled radish, piling them high in his bowl.
Satisfied, Aotairo finally let them off the hook, picking up his bowl and eating while saying,
"Heizechi, you like making rules, huh? Well, here’s one for you: for the next three days, no food, no talking. If I catch you eating even a grain of rice or uttering a single word, I’ll break your legs! Don’t believe me? Try it!"
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