Chapter 4 : The Charm of Drunkenness
Faced with the ferocious Black Raider Kazama and the demons closing in from all sides, Rukia's hand trembled slightly as it gripped her Zanpakutō.
She took a cautious half-step back.
If Kazama attacked Kuroba, she knew her only chance to escape would be a high-speed Shunpō. The squad member badge on her chest could summon backup, but…
If she ran, she might survive—but Kuroba, completely drunk, wouldn't stand a chance.
Run? Or stay?
Thoughts collided in her mind.
Boom!
AA heavy footfall shook the ground. Rukia stiffened, memories of Shiba Kaien's sacrifice rushing back. She gave a bitter smile—relieved, yet full of regret. Maybe this was her chance to repay the Shiba clan.
"Brat! You really think you can stop me again?!"
"That last hit barely scratched you! This one… this one will crush you! You want to die? Fine! I'll turn you to pulp in a single blow!"
Kazama roared, his massive arm straining as he swung the seven- to eight-meter-long spiked club. The wind howled around it.
Rukia's smile widened. Death was coming—but oddly, her heart felt calm.
BOOM!
Dust and sand exploded around her, whipping her neatly tied hair. But the pain never came. The shadow of death didn't descend. Instead, a faint scent of wine drifted on the wind—oddly calming, focusing her scattered thoughts.
And then came a slurred voice.
"Hic… what're you doing? You can't just hit a woman for no reason…"
"I have wine… but… I'm not giving it to you…"
"You asked me if I wanted wine... or a woman... Idiot... Of course I wanted wine..."
Kuroba stumbled through his drunken ramblings. Rukia blinked. The fear and tension in her chest dissolved instantly. She just wanted to grab him and sober him up—but that was impossible.
Still, everyone else froze. Kazama, the demons, even some nearby onlookers stared at Kuroba in disbelief.
"He… blocked it… with one hand?!" someone whispered, voice tight. "Boss… did you hold back on purpose?"
Their jaws dropped. An attack that should have crushed her—and now doubled in power—was stopped effortlessly by a drunk noble brat. Their understanding of strength and skill shattered.
"Ha! You think I was holding back?!" Kazama snapped awake, roaring in anger.
Since mutating into a demon, he had never felt uneasy—until now.
Something about the skinny noble kid in front of him, drunk after just one drink, set off his instincts.
But the moment his murderous intent flared, Kazama froze in shock.
He couldn't move the club.
It was all because of the noble kid's pale, delicate hands.
At this moment, the right hand gripping the mace felt like an unmovable iron clamp—completely impossible to budge.
"I… Impossible! What are you?!" Kazama shouted, shaking the club in vain.
Kuroba suddenly raised his head, slightly lifting his drooping eyelids, and stared at him with his hazy, drunken eyes.
"Hic… your yelling's messing with my drinking… and this… this thing looks like a pickled radish…"
Here's a grammatically corrected version with smooth flow:
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Rukia froze. Pickled radish?
She couldn't understand why Kuroba would compare a mace to pickled radish.
Was this the charm of being drunk?
But just as the absurd thought formed in her mind, the next scene made her pupils shrink in shock.
Bang!
Before she could react, Kuroba clenched his hand—and the spiked club shattered like paper. Pieces rained down over both him and Kazama.
The slight stinging sensation from his hand made Kuroba pause mid-drink.
A flash of anger crossed his drunken eyes as he said, "You… you actually attacked me… are you trying to steal my wine?"
"I… need to teach you a lesson!"
Rukia, the group of demons, and especially Kazama were all stunned.
He had wanted to crush Kuroba just moments ago—but his strength hadn't been enough.
And now Kuroba had destroyed the mace like it was a pickled radish… and blamed him for it.
He already knew the noble kid in front of him was no ordinary opponent.
This time… he had probably hit a wall.
"Hurry! Come with me and tear this drunkard apart! There are dozens of us, and he's no match for us!"
Kazama roared in anger.
All he could do now was rely on numbers to bolster his confidence.
Faced with this human-wave tactic, Rukia snapped awake. She tightened her grip on her Zanpakutō, ready to join the fight.
But Kuroba, after a quick sip of wine, staggered forward and appeared in front of a roaring demon charging at him.
This demon stood five meters tall, second only to Kazama, and now had to act to prove its worth as the second-in-command.
It swung its millstone-sized fist at Kuroba, who raised a pale, delicate, alcohol-scented hand in response.
In the demon's eyes, the size difference was so great that one punch should be enough to crush the boy.