[Six Months Into the Academy Year
Training had been going normally
Progress has hit a plateu]
---
The word midterms hit harder than I expected.
For all the spiritual pressure, sword drills, and raw force training, I'd forgotten something obvious:
The Academy was still a school.
I wasn't some lone cultivator anymore, grinding stats in a vacuum. I was being evaluated, measured by instructors who'd spent centuries shaping generations of Shinigami.
No matter how much I trained at night, that wouldn't save me from flunking a written exam on Kido theory or historical Soul Society politics.
And if I failed out of the Academy, there'd be no backup plan.
No respawn. No second transmigration.
Just failure.
---
Written Exams: Kido, History, Reiatsu Theory
I locked myself in the student dormitory's study room for three nights before the test. Books scattered. Ink smudged. Paper torn. My brain felt like it was leaking spirit particles by the end of each session.
---
System Alert
[Daily Quest Complete: Study like Hell]
+1 Perception
---
The morning of the test, I walked in barely rested but memorized every Kido incantation under Bakudō 20 and Hadō 10. My kanji handwriting was still awful, but at least I wouldn't confuse Sokatsui with Byakurai anymore.
By the time it was over, I wasn't confident. But I didn't need to be a genius — I just needed to pass.
And I did.
Written Exam Score: 68/100 — Pass
Rank: 27th out of 68 in Class C
Not flashy.
But just enough to blend in.
But hey, for 3 days of studying these results were extraordinary. Perception really is like a cheat code!
---
Practical Exam: Class C Asauchi Tournament
That's where things shifted.
No more ink. No more books.
Finally, combat.
---
The courtyard had been converted into a formal dueling ring. The entire teaching staff of the first-year class was seated along the edge, including the instructors for Zanjutsu, Hakuda, and Hohō.
Most students had no idea how to really use an Asauchi. They swung it like a dull katana — wild, unbalanced, emotional.
I didn't.
I'd already trained with Kage.
Even if I didn't release him, the blade in my hand still responded to me — faster, sharper, truer.
---
My first opponent didn't last ten seconds.
My second got a lucky guard up, but I swept his leg before he could blink.
By the quarterfinals, the crowd was silent whenever I stepped up.
They didn't know how to cheer.
I wasn't flashy. I didn't grandstand. I didn't roar or posture like Daigo or the upperclassmen.
I just moved.
And the fight was over.
---
The semifinals were supposed to be close.
It wasn't.
I closed the distance before my opponent could raise her Asauchi. A clean tap to her shoulder — match over.
By the time I stepped into the ring for the final match, the instructors were murmuring.
I heard my name in one of their mouths.
The one standing up was tall, broad-shouldered, grizzled. Not someone from Class C. His uniform bore the insignia of the Zanjutsu Department Head for first-year recruits.
I recognized him from orientation.
Instructor Genda.
He walked to the center of the ring and raised a hand.
"Joro Katsu."
I bowed lightly. "Yes, Instructor."
"You've made a mockery of every opponent in this bracket. Calm, measured, no wasted movement."
I didn't respond.
He nodded slightly. "I teach B-Class. We've had no first-year transfers since last cycle. But with results like these, you'll be moved up immediately."
The other students murmured.
"But," he said louder, "I have a proposition."
The courtyard stilled.
"If you can defeat me—" he pointed at his chest, "—I'll send the paperwork to the Headmaster tonight. You'll skip B-Class and move straight to A-Class."
My heart rate stayed flat.
But my grip on the hilt tightened slightly.
He wasn't posturing.
He meant it.
---
I bowed again, slightly deeper this time.
"Understood, sir."
"Then prepare," he said. "Tomorrow at sunrise. One-on-one. Blade to blade."
He turned to leave, but paused just long enough to say something over his shoulder.
"And don't think I haven't noticed the feel of your weapon. You may be hiding something — but so am I."