In the world of Bleach, the concept of Reiatsu (spiritual pressure) or Reiryoku (spiritual power) can be simply understood as the density of the soul.
Generally, the higher a person's Reiatsu, the more spiritual energy they can use; their control over that energy depends on their ability.
This applies to both Shinigami and Hollows. For example, Ichigo Kurosaki, the protagonist, has extremely high Reiatsu, but poor control, so early on he's unable to freely manipulate his spiritual power (as seen when he struggles to form a stable path to Hueco Mundo).
Quincy are somewhat special: they might not have extremely high Reiatsu, but their method of fighting by manipulating spirit particles means the amount of energy they can use isn't necessarily less.
By Gusion's understanding, Shinigami gather spirit particles within themselves and relies on their power in battle, while Quincy can draw on the power of nature.
So, the level of Reiatsu is definitely not the same as "mana" in games, nor does it completely correspond to his current Spirit stat—it's a more comprehensive evaluation standard.
For example, his current physical body is very strong; if he was a soul in the Bleach world, then his soul density would be quite high, so his Reiatsu wouldn't be low.
Of course, since many Shinigami battle techniques rely on projecting Reiatsu outward, he reasoned that the Spirit stat should play a very important role in the Reiatsu number.
"Unbelievable..."
At this moment, the teacher in charge of the test, Mr. Fujimoto, looked at the screen in surprise, and the surrounding students began to chatter.
As purple-black light flickered, the slider on the screen shot up. The moment Gusion placed his hand on it, it almost instantly broke through all ten marked levels.
"Level 20 spiritual pressure!" someone cried out.
But quite a few students remained calm since plenty of geniuses had appeared since the founding of Shin'ō Academy. There were even monsters who enrolled with level-7 spiritual pressure.
However, as the number on the screen continued to change, some people's expressions grew serious.
Twenty... nineteen... eighteen... seventeen!
"Is that enough?" Gusion asked, seeing the number stop moving, and turned to Mr. Fujimoto.
Unlike the surprised students, he didn't think his spiritual pressure was particularly high, because he knew that in the original story, the truly gifted enrolled with single-digit levels.
For example, Shiba Kaien who would appear two hundred years later, and later Gin and Hitsugaya; their spiritual pressure at enrollment would blow his away.
But Gusion wasn't disappointed. After all, he wasn't from this world, and not a true aggregation of spirit particles. His real strengths were his high growth potential and excellent combat skills and instinct.
"No wonder Captain Unohana brought you here. You are an outstanding talent. Let's move on to the next test," Mr. Fujimoto said, putting away his surprise and picking up two bamboo practice swords.
Gusion's level-17 spiritual pressure wasn't top-tier among this year's new students, not even in the top ten. What surprised Mr. Fujimoto was that Gusion had been a mere Rukongai vagrant.
Those geniuses with single-digit spiritual pressure at enrollment weren't necessarily more talented; most were nobles or heirs of major families in Soul Society, trained from childhood.
They'd practiced for years before entering the academy, so naturally, their spiritual pressure was impressive.
But Mr. Fujimoto knew Gusion had received no such training. This guy didn't even know how to condense spirit particles. His level-17 spiritual pressure was pure natural talent!
If he studied well in the academy for six years, Gusion's spiritual pressure could easily reach level 8, maybe even level 6—the level of an officer.
To Mr. Fujimoto, Gusion was a raw gem. The only question was his combat aptitude.
Thinking this, he tossed one of the bamboo swords to Gusion. "Try attacking me."
Gusion caught the sword and weighed it in his hand, quickly understanding that this so-called second test wasn't part of the formal entrance exam. Mr. Fujimoto just wanted to see his swordsmanship.
That's why he said that passing the first test made you an official student; this was just the Kendo instructor giving him a personal evaluation.
Seeing Gusion standing still after taking the sword, Mr. Fujimoto thought he was hesitating, and said, "Don't worry, I'll suppress my spiritual pressure to match yours, and I'll hold back. Just give it your all and attack me."
Hearing this, Gusion couldn't help but curl his lips into a smile. He looked at Mr. Fujimoto. "Are you sure, sensei?"
Mr. Fujimoto frowned, feeling like this man was underestimating him.
"Don't think about anything else, just attack with the intention to kill me. Show me your level so I can make the right training plan for you and help you keep up with your classmates."
Before becoming a kendo instructor at Shin'ō Academy, Mr. Fujimoto had been an officer himself and considered his swordsmanship quite accomplished.
He thought Gusion was a bit talented, probably having survived many street brawls in Rukongai and, thanks to his talent, had never lost—thus becoming arrogant.
Today, he would teach this arrogant youth a lesson: street fighting techniques were nothing compared to true swordsmanship!
"Attack with the intention to kill you, huh..." Gusion repeated, shifting the bamboo sword to his side and lowering his stance.
In that instant, Mr. Fujimoto suddenly felt the man, who had been lazily standing there, change. His eyes, his aura—everything shifted.
Like a tiger crouched before the hunt, like a master's sword sheathed but ready to strike.
Beneath those drooping brows, a hidden excitement—like a volcano about to erupt, the madness of a warrior, the frenzy of a berserker!
In the next moment, the wooden floor beneath Gusion's feet bent backward as he shot out like a cannonball—yet, even so, he seemed light as a feather.
The ten or so meters between them disappeared in a flash. The bamboo sword traced a graceful arc through the air, like a master's brush on rice paper. Though it was just a bamboo sword, it seemed to carry the bloody flash of a real blade.
Bang—!
At the last possible moment, Mr. Fujimoto blocked the strike with his bamboo sword, the shockwave whipping both his and Gusion's hair.
As their eyes met, Mr. Fujimoto saw in those eyes a burning hunger... and excitement.
"Oh no!"
He realized with a jolt—he was already three beats too slow, and this man's assault wouldn't stop.
It felt as if he was facing a kendo master who had survived countless deadly battles or someone with an innate battle instinct who never missed a single opening.
Sure enough, as his blade circled back, Gusion's next strike darted in like a snake, breaking through his defense—thrusting straight at his throat!