Emerald light poured from Haruto's palms.
The fish—shredded nearly to the bone—regrew muscle in seconds. Nerves and vessels rewove themselves; even the fatal stab to the brain reversed.
Thirty seconds later, it was as if nothing had happened.
Kirinji Tenjirō just stood there, hollow-eyed.
Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.
It had taken him twenty years to invent top-tier Kaidō, and another twenty to perfect it. The brat in front of him had mastered it in under a minute.
Fish: I live again? I am the Chosen! I am Heaven! I am God! I will destroy the Three Realms!
"Let's stew the fish," Haruto said.
"Hmph. Don't think I'll forgive you just for sharing a meal. More vinegar," Kirinji replied coldly.
"Got it. Hanazuki, give me a hand."
Fish: ???
The two men ate fresh fish while discussing medical theory.
"Don't think learning Kaidō makes you a doctor," Kirinji said. "If you want to be truly great, you'll learn medical principles and pharmacology. Many conditions can't be treated with Kaidō alone—they need herbs. Tomorrow, we start with plant identification."
"Understood." Haruto crunched down on the fish head with obvious relish.
This fish's sacrifice will be remembered in the annals of the Soul Society.
"This is good. I'll treat you to hotpot next time," Haruto said.
"Hot… pot?" Kirinji frowned.
"Oh, right. It hasn't been invented yet. No chili either…" Haruto's eyes gleamed. I have a millennium of knowledge. Why not use it to make money?
Still, now wasn't the time. Not with Yhwach somewhere in the future.
He set a generous piece of meat in Hanazuki's bowl. "You're too thin. Eat."
After dinner, Haruto went to see Yamamoto Shigekuni, who was practicing calligraphy in the barracks.
"Captain, I'm here."
"I thought you were studying medicine?"
"Already back."
"How's it going?"
"As long as they're not dead, I can save them," Haruto said truthfully.
Yamamoto chuckled. "Youthful boasting."
"Change into your training uniform. I'll teach you hakuda—and refine your swordsmanship while we're at it."
They stepped into the monastery courtyard.
"Come," Yamamoto beckoned.
Underestimating me, old man?
Haruto blurred forward, stomping hard to launch himself into range, and threw a punch straight at the Captain-Commander's face.
Yamamoto raised his arms. Haruto's fist met something like an iron wall—immovable.
"That all you've got? You've never trained hakuda. Rule one: before you learn to strike, you learn to take a hit. This guard covers head and chest. Keep a gap so you can see, and always be ready to counter."
Haruto's grin sharpened. Time to vent all my overtime rage.
"Ora ora ora ora ora!"
Fists and feet blurred, but Yamamoto didn't budge.
"Useless flailing wastes energy," the Captain said, and suddenly roared: "Single Bone!"
The punch smashed through Haruto's barrage and slammed into his chest.
For an instant, Haruto saw a cosmic parade—Jesus, Satan, the Ten Kings of Hell, Kṣitigarbha, Houtu, Anubis, Izanami—each smiling and waving him onward.
"Bang!"
He hit the ground, ribs protesting.
"Oops. Forgot to pull that one. You alright?"
"No… problem. Just a fracture." Haruto casually knit the bone back together with Kaidō.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed. "Your mastery's advanced. Good—then I won't need to hold back."
Haruto froze. Oh no.
The Captain came down on him like a tiger, fist hammering toward his head. Haruto mirrored Yamamoto's earlier guard—
—and nearly crumpled as the blow landed. This isn't a fist—it's a warhammer!
He staggered back, only for the old man's other fist to drive into his gut.
"Ghh—!" He doubled over, coughing hard.
"Don't focus on one spot," Yamamoto said. "Read the whole body—footwork, stance, intent. Now heal, and again."
Can I… stop playing now?