(T/N: This is chapter 4 out of 6!)
Suzuka District was poor in resources and plagued by disorder. The people here lacked the spirit and energy found in the higher-ranked districts.
Still, even in a place like this, you could occasionally find a few outstanding beauties.
Amamimon Tomoya strolled leisurely through the streets, twirling an exquisitely crafted fan in his hand.
His gaze was predatory as he scanned every passerby.
If he saw someone to his liking, it meant gaining another concubine.
Back when he had just graduated from the Shin'o Spiritual Arts Academy, Tomoya was deeply resentful at being assigned to such a barren corner of Soul Society.
But after staying here for a while, he changed his mind.
No one could control him in Suzuka.
Suzuka District was remote and unimportant. No high-ranking noble would bother to come here.
Industries in this area were either run by minor nobles or handed off to fringe members of major families like Tomoya.
Even the occasional patrolling Shinigami wouldn't interfere with their business.
In other words, in Suzuka, Amamimon Tomoya was like a petty tyrant. As long as he didn't kill souls without reason, no one from the Gotei would intervene.
In fact, Tomoya hadn't gone out hunting for a while—he'd been recovering from his injuries at home.
"The Wolfman still haven't captured that damn mutt? Looks like they need some pressure," he muttered, remembering that it was here he had been injured by that mutt. His brow furrowed.
Back when Tomoya was enrolled at the Academy, that had been the peak of his strength. Now, after excessive indulgence, not only had he failed to improve, but had regressed to the point of being unable to beat a Wolfman from Rukongai.
Lesson learned.
This time, he brought guards along for his hunt.
If he encountered that mutt again, he'd skin him alive.
His presence on the streets caused many residents to shut their doors, leaving the streets even emptier.
His notorious reputation was well-known in Suzuka. Households with daughters avoided him like the plague.
But there were always exceptions.
A greasy-faced middle-aged man dragged a girl up to Tomoya.
"Lord Amamimon, look at my daughter. Isn't she a beauty?" the man said, grinning obsequiously as he shoved the girl forward for inspection.
Tomoya looked at the man's grotesque face and smirked. "You again, Mr. Kameda."
He closed his fan and pressed it against the girl's chin. The force made her body tremble slightly.
The girl clearly didn't want this, but as a mere soul with no power, she had no choice but to raise her head under the pressure.
"Heh… heh…" Tomoya lifted her chin with his fan, examining her lovely face. "Kameda, you may be ugly, but you do have fine daughters."
"This one's not bad either. I'll take her." He waved his fan toward his guard. "Agui, pay the man."
The guard pulled out a wad of spirit currency and stuffed it into Kameda's hands. "Lord Amamimon rewards you!"
"Thank you, Lord Amamimon! Thank you for your great generosity!" the man knelt in gratitude.
"Now get lost!" Tomoya laughed and kicked him away.
"Thank you, Lord Amamimon! Thank you…!" The man scrambled away without a hint of resentment.
But just ten steps later, he froze.
The money in his hands scattered to the ground. His face twisted in disbelief. He looked down—to see a short blade buried in his chest.
The girl beside him withdrew the blade, and he collapsed, dead without a sound.
Tomoya's expression shifted. He immediately pulled his guard in front of him and barked toward the attackers: "Who the hell are you two?!"
The pair stood calmly at the side of the street.
The girl's features were gentle, though a large violet birthmark marred the right side of her face.
The man beside her had rare brown skin, purple curly hair, and eyes that were clearly blind.
"That girl isn't Kameda's daughter. He kidnapped her from the Huaku District," the birthmarked girl said softly.
Her voice was so gentle, you'd never guess she had just killed a man.
Kameda had done this before—kidnapping girls from other districts. This time, he'd finally been caught.
"Whether she's his daughter or not, I've already paid. That makes her mine!" Tomoya pulled the girl into his arms and sneered. "What? You gonna play heroes?"
"Lord Amamimon isn't someone you can mess with!" the guard stepped forward. "Following him is a great blessing! He'll take care of her!"
Neither Tomoya nor the guard made the first move.
Kameda wasn't their concern.
More importantly—the girl wore a Shin'o Academy trainee uniform.
No one would risk attacking a noble over some street thug.
But if this girl dared to strike first—then she'd brought it on herself.
The birthmarked girl whispered something to her companion, then raised her hand:
"O King who rules! Mask of flesh and bone, all creation, fluttering wings, that which bears the name of man! Scorching heat and chaos, across the sea, swirl southward—
Advance with step unyielding!"
"Hadō #31: Shakkahō!"
A red orb formed in her palm and launched a blazing shot toward Tomoya and his guard.
The guard barely managed to pull Tomoya out of the way in time.
Boom—the Kidō exploded, kicking up smoke and dust.
Cough, cough—
"Worthless mongrel!" Tomoya scrambled up, furious.
He was shocked—this student could already cast Shakkahō. Her talent wasn't low.
Someone this gifted… couldn't be allowed to grow.
"She dared attack a noble! Agui, kill them all!" Tomoya barked.
But as the dust settled—they were gone.
So was the girl he had just bought.
They'd used the chaos to escape with her.
"They won't get far with a burden like that!" Tomoya spat. "Agui, chase them down and kill them!"
"Yes, sir!"
The guard gave chase.
"Damn it! Another meddling brat!" Tomoya cursed. "That damned mutt from last time hasn't been caught either. When I do catch him, I'll flay him alive!"
Just then, Tomoya heard a cough from inside a nearby house.
He turned—its window had shattered.
"Huh? That was intact earlier. Must've broken from the explosion," he muttered. "Hiding girls from me right in front of my face?"
He approached slowly.
The cough belonged to a young girl.
Had she not made a sound, he might've left. But now that he'd heard—he wouldn't let it go.
A girl hidden from sight was probably worth looking at.
What he didn't know was—the birthmarked girl was inside that house.
She crouched by the wall, covering the girl's mouth while suppressing her Reiatsu.
With a burden to protect, escaping had been nearly impossible.
From the start, they had planned for one to distract while the other hid the girl.
She had used the blast to slip into this house.
The purple-haired man had drawn away the pursuers.
But Tomoya hadn't gone himself—he'd only sent the guard.
Worse still, the dust from the explosion drifted inside through the broken window, and the girl's resulting cough had given them away.
The birthmarked girl listened to Tomoya's footsteps grow closer, sweat soaking through her back.
Elsewhere, Kaname Tōsen was sprinting at full speed.
His lungs felt like they would burst.
But he didn't dare slow down, pushing his spiritual body to its limits as he raced down the road.
If he was caught, he'd die.
He was just a spiritually sensitive soul, no match for any real Shinigami.
Soon, he "saw" two pedestrians up ahead.
Though blind, his spiritual senses were sharp.
He sensed the people in his path.
"Stop!" the guard chased closely behind.
Tōsen adjusted his direction and dashed past the two figures.
The guard followed without hesitation.
"Sensei, that guy chasing him is one of Amamimon Tomoya's men. He was part of the group who came after me before," Komamura said, adjusting his bamboo helm.
Because of the helmet, the guard didn't recognize him as the one who had injured Tomoya.
"Really? Then maybe that guy did the same and beat Tomoya too," Nanatsuki joked.
Tōsen's distinctive appearance had already caught Nanatsuki's eye.
He quickly pulled up his status interface:
[Tōsen Kaname]
Talent: S
Reiatsu: Lv8
Reputation: Stranger
Status: Exhausted
Just as Nanatsuki expected.
This brown-skinned, purple-haired man was the future 9th Division Captain—Tōsen Kaname—and Komamura's future closest friend. The kind of friend who'd go through life and death with him.
"He looks like he really needs help," Komamura said, worried—but still waited for his teacher's permission.
"Let's go help," Nanatsuki nodded.
They quickly caught up.
Tōsen had already been caught. He was near collapse and hadn't gotten far.
"Thought you could run?! Keep running!" the guard sneered, kicking him to the ground. "You'll repent before Lord Amamimon! If he's in a good mood, he might go easy on you!"
A savage kick landed in Tōsen's stomach, draining the last of his strength. He collapsed, groaning in pain.
Another kick to the head slammed him face-first into the dirt.
Even though he was already down, the guard didn't stop—kicking his head again and again.
Tōsen's mind buzzed—he couldn't even think.
"Stop!"
A shout tore through his dazed consciousness.
Tōsen opened his eyes.
Though blind, he lifted his head using every ounce of strength he had.
He saw—through spiritual sense—a tall figure standing over him.
'A Shinigami?' he wondered.
This man's Reiatsu was far beyond his own—and even stronger than the guard's.
Komamura blocked the guard's incoming kick.
The guard had been focused on Tōsen and hadn't paid attention to the two passersby earlier.
Now, he looked at Komamura closely—and his eyes widened.
In Soul Society, someone nearly three meters tall was rare.
And he suddenly remembered: the Wolfman who had injured Amamimon Tomoya.
"A Wolfman?!" he barked.
"What did Amamimon Tomoya do this time?" Komamura said coldly.
His words were a confession—confirming his identity.
"You showed up yourself, huh?!" the guard drew his Zanpakutō and slashed.
But Komamura was no longer the same. After his training, the guard's attacks were full of openings in his eyes.
Komamura grabbed the guard's wrist mid-swing and swept his leg.
The guard fell hard.
Komamura let go, and the man's face smacked the ground with a thud.
Dizzy and bruised, the guard scrambled to his feet—but realizing he was no match, he fled without even retrieving his blade.
"You okay?" Komamura crouched beside Tōsen to check on him—only to find he had already lost consciousness.