Puff.
A piercing sound like blades tearing through flesh broke the silence sharp, cold, and absolute.
Then Akira lowered his right arm calmly. Behind him, the golden Reiatsu dragononce crashing with overwhelming force began to dissipate into radiant spiritual particles.
In the next instant, an astonishing sight struck everyone like a thunderclap.
There on the shattered wall of the Mao Kendo Hall, pinned like a broken relic of war was the captain of the Gotei 13's Fifth Division:
Hirako Shinji.
His right shoulder had been impaled clean through by a gleaming Zanpakutō. The tip buried deep into the wall behind him, it nailed him there like a crucified specter, blood dripping steadily to the fractured floor.
From a distance, it looked like a surreal hanging scroll.
But the story written in that scroll was anything but serene.
It was violence made art a record of dominance that silenced the noble clans and commoners alike.
Their jaws dropped in unison, pupils dilated. No one could move.
Shock froze them all.
Tick… tock…
No one knew how much time passed.
Only the sound of blood hitting the ground broke the trance, finally pulling the stunned crowd back to reality.
"That… that's the captain of the Gotei 13!"
"Akira… used only three strikes to pin him to the wall!"
"Am I hallucinating? Did I gain some kind of mental ability?"
"Is Akira that powerful… or is the captain just… weak?"
And then, the gasps came.
"He's just a student, right?"
"He's only been in the Academy for a few days…"
"How in the world did he master such terrifying kendo…?!"
Even Hirako Shinji himself couldn't speak for a moment.
In his centuries as a captain and former leader of the Visored he had witnessed countless prodigies in the sword arts.
He had seen the inferno of Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, the founder of the Gotei and the embodiment of destruction.
He had once feared the gentle killing intent of Unohana Retsu, the original Kenpachi whose kendo mastery stood atop a mountain of corpses.
But never not once had he seen a Shinigami this young wield such overwhelming swordsmanship.
Akira wasn't just talented.
He was something else entirely.
Even compared to Yamamoto and Unohana whose kendo had been honed through thousands of years and countless life-and-death battles Akira's sword was sharper, cleaner, almost innate.
An instinctual killing art that seemed to reject time and tradition itself.
He wasn't just bested.
He had been humiliated nailed to the wall like a lesson in failure.
Worse still…
Shinji realized with chilling clarity:
Akira had held back.
The blade hadn't struck any vital point.
If he had gone for the throat or heart, Shinji might already be dead.
"Oi, brother… don't kill Sensei Shinji by accident."
That offhand line from Aizen spoken moments before echoed mockingly in his mind.
He'd laughed it off at the time.
Now?
He was terrified.
If this had been a real kendo duel no titles, no restraint Akira could have killed him in three strikes.
[Your "Way of the Sword" witnessed your feat of painting a captain onto the wall with your Hundred-Step Flying Blade, and cheered with great joy.
It has decided to grant you the technique: "Sword Style Eight Blades in Flight," which you have been contemplating for several days.]
Akira blinked.
Then grinned.
Just as he suspected, all of his powers his skills, his techniques were like rebellious war gods watching from the sidelines, always demanding spectacle and blood.
The stronger his enemy, the more eager "they" became to reward him.
The more intense the fight, the more gifts they threw at him—like war-loving patrons applauding their favorite swordsman.
This time?
He had beaten a captain of the Gotei 13.
Not just any Shinigami, but one with a long-standing post and political weight in the Soul Society.
Of course they'd be excited.
As expected, the moment the Way of the Sword saw the spectacle, it couldn't hold back it pounced forward in glee and slapped the freshly baked "Eight Blades in Flight" right onto his face without warning.
Not for honor.
Not for gratitude.
Just to demand that he wield even more terrifying swordsmanship in the next fight.
On the other hand.
If Akira had relied solely on Zanjutsu, Hakuda, and Reiatsu control, and played it safe…
Sure, the system might still train him but the efficiency would've been laughable.
And even if he gained something new?
It would stay hidden waiting, sulking, and only showing itself when it felt like it.
Pata
With the crisp sound of sandals hitting cracked floorboards, Shiba Isshin landed in the center of the ruined Mao Kendo Gym, the broken wooden tiles scattering beneath his feet as if pushed by a gust of his Reiatsu.
His arrival wasn't just sudden it was as if he had shunpo'd across dimensions.
"Shinji, you bastard!"
"You actually let your freaking vice-captain trick me?!"
"If something had happened to Brother Akira, I swear I would've drawn my Zanpakutō and chopped you into sashimi!"
Isshin's furious thoughts thundered in his heart as his sharp gaze swept the gym. His shoulders remained tense—ready to fight at the first sign of danger.
But then he saw them.
Akira, Aizen Sōsuke, and Aizen Yūichi all standing in place, clothes intact, breathing steady, completely unharmed.
Only then did Isshin finally exhale, relief washing over him like a crashing wave.
Then his gaze shifted.
And locked onto—Hirako Shinji.
It would've been better if he hadn't looked.
Because the moment he did, Isshin's expression froze—as though someone had cast a Bakudō on his soul.
Just like Shihōin Yoruichi, Sarugaki Hiyori, and the stunned onlookers from earlier, he stared in disbelief at the absurd sight before him:
Captain Hirako Shinji
Impaled through the shoulder, pinned like a butterfly specimen to the kendo hall wall by a Zanpakutō still humming faintly with spiritual energy.
"Ah… this…?"
"Shinji?! What the hell are you doing nailed to the wall like that?!"
"You trying out some new meditation pose?!"
Isshin shouted with genuine confusion, part horror, part gallows humor.
"Oh, that," Akira replied nonchalantly, tilting his head slightly.
"Captain Shinji said he'd substitute for you today… and then invited me to have a proper spar with him."
He casually extended his hand.
"Thought it would be a good chance to show the students what real kendo looks like."
As if in response, the Zanpakutō embedded in Shinji's shoulder vibrated then flew back into Akira's hand in a single clean arc, like a loyal hawk returning to its master.
"Mm. That's about it."
"If there's nothing else, I'll be heading out now."
"Anyway, Captain Isshin, since you've fully recovered, you probably don't need a substitute instructor anymore."
Shinji, now finally free from the wall, landed on one knee and wiped the blood from his mouth.
He didn't argue.
He couldn't.
His pride had taken enough hits for the day first from Akira's sword, and now from the arrival of Isshin, the very man he had tried to trick.
His shoulder throbbed, but his ego hurt far worse.
Even with his usual laid-back personality, he wasn't shameless enough to stick around after being turned into a wall decoration in front of a group of Academy students.
He wanted nothing more than to disappear, return to his barracks, and process everything that had just happened.
"Since no one got seriously hurt today…"
"I'll let it go."
Isshin's voice suddenly sharpened, stepping into Shinji's path with an expression far more serious than his usual goofball demeanor.
"But just this once."
"If I catch you scheming like this again, trying to manipulate or endanger my students using some half-baked excuse…"
"Then don't blame me for forgetting we're fellow captains."
Isshin's warning landed with the weight of command. His spiritual pressure crackled subtly in the air—controlled, but unmistakably real.
He was angry. Genuinely so.
And for someone like Shiba Isshin who normally joked, laughed, and never seemed to take anything seriously that was a rare and dangerous thing.
But it made sense.
After all, on his way to the class, Sarugaki Hiyori had suddenly rushed up to him with panic in her voice, saying the Fifth Division had been attacked and Captain Hirako Shinji had gone missing.
Naturally, as a fellow member of the Gotei 13, Isshin rushed to help.
Even though it wasn't his division, a true captain wouldn't ignore such an emergency.
Only now did he realize…
He had been set up.
A distraction. A ploy.
Hiyori's sudden plea, combined with Hirako Shinji's suspicious visit last night warning Isshin about "Aizen being dangerous" all clicked into place.
It was obvious.
Shinji had orchestrated it.
He had sent Hiyori to mislead Isshin, creating an opening to test or perhaps confront Aizen in his absence.
"Thanks for your understanding, Captain Isshin."
Shinji's voice remained calm, but his eyes were dark, filled with unsaid frustration.
He didn't hate Isshin.
In fact, deep down, he still respected him.
And he even felt a flicker of guilt that Hiyori had deceived someone as open-hearted and fiercely loyal as Isshin Shiba.
But what troubled Shinji more…
Was how much Isshin trusted Akira.
A first-year student, and yet the moment Isshin returned, his first reaction wasn't to ask what happened, but to defend Akira immediately.
That kind of faith was unsettling.
That kind of bond was dangerous.
For it meant that Akira wasn't just talented.
He was loved.
And that was something far more threatening than raw power alone.