Kisaragi Akira slowly opened his eyes, turning his head toward the clean white wall beside him and the familiar, understated artwork hanging on it.
A faint aroma—somewhere between gentle fragrance and the sharp bite of disinfectant—hung in the air, forming a strangely complex scent.
One glance was all it took for him to know exactly where he was.
The Comprehensive Medical Wing, Ward Two.
Every part of his body was screaming in pain, nerves throbbing like alarm signals going off all at once—but Akira didn't panic.Even if old man Yamamoto had been furious, he wasn't the type to lose all rationality.
Even a heavy strike from him wouldn't leave truly fatal injuries.
Staring up at the ceiling, Akira silently reflected.Same stance, same punch, same force—yet the destruction caused had been completely different.They weren't even on the same level.
If Yamamoto hadn't deliberately held back during that second fight…
He would've popped like a balloon—no, evenly vaporized—reduced to a smear of sticky blood on the dojo floor, not even leaving behind a pinky-sized fragment.
Can't win.Absolutely can't win.
Akira shook his head, temporarily abandoning any grand fantasies of "defying the heavens" or "reversing the path of fate."
He tested his battered body, trying to move piece by piece—left leg, right foot, the middle section, then his right hand—
…Wait.Why was his right arm pinned down again?
Akira froze.
A memory flashed—the last time he woke up in this very ward.Cold sweat poured down his back.
He stiffly turned his head, only relaxing after confirming who stood beside the bed.
Thank goodness it wasn't that big, hulking monster Kagiri Tessai.
"Long time no see, Kisaragi-kun."
A gentle smile—so warm it felt like it could heal injuries by itself—rested on the face of Unohana Retsu. Her hands pressed lightly over his right arm, brushing over it with soft, practiced movements.
A soft green glow seeped from her palms into his skin, stirring the spiritual energy within his cells, activating his spiritual pressure and pushing his body's natural regeneration to the limit.
"I didn't expect you would choose to join the Genryu," she said gently, lowering her black-eyed gaze to observe his healing wounds."And you even went to the Commander yourself seeking instruction."
"Someone like me…?" Akira ventured.
Her smile froze. She paused, then continued softly:
"A child so ready to face death… they're becoming rarer these days."
Akira's face darkened instantly.
What kind of line was that supposed to be…?
It wasn't like he wanted any of this.It was that old madman Yamamoto who nearly turned him into scrap metal with a single punch.
If only that explosive-tempered fossil had even half of Unohana's gentleness, would he be lying here like this?
Of course, some thoughts were safer kept deep inside.Kisaragi Akira wasn't afraid of death—but that didn't mean he liked courting it.
Recklessness and suicidal tendencies were two very different things, after all.
And besides… compared to "vicious," the woman in front of him might not be any less terrifying than Yamamoto.In some ways, she might be even scarier.
"But since you've begun training in Hakuda…"Unohana's tone shifted sharply, that warm smile of hers suddenly carrying a hint—just a hint—of danger."Your Shiken Style must have improved as well… yes?"
Akira sucked in a breath.The beautiful woman beside his bed suddenly seemed far more frightening.This… this felt like stepping out of a wolf's den only to walk straight into a tiger's jaws.
"Your injuries aren't severe," Unohana said, releasing his hand and ending the healing. She leaned forward slightly to pull his blanket up, and whispered by his ear:
"Remember to come to the dojo tonight."
"I want to personally assess your progress."
With that, she left the ward as gracefully as she'd come, returning to her other duties.
Akira stared blankly at the ceiling, mind blank.
He needed to think of a reasonable excuse—any excuse—to get through tonight's "assessment."
Life was hard.The young man sighed.
Let's just hope Captain Unohana doesn't go too far…
Night fell.
And battle followed.
Just like Yamamoto—no reasoning, no mercy, no warm-up.Unohana's approach was even more extreme.
The instant he stepped into the dojo, a razor-sharp strike sliced straight toward him.
The bamboo blade, though light, carried a momentum that chilled the night air itself.A thick, suffocating killing intent washed over him, turning that simple training weapon into a mountain of corpses and blood in his mind.
Instinct roared.Akira emptied his thoughts, raised his bamboo sword, and moved to meet it head-on at a speed almost invisible to the naked eye.
The essence of the Shiken Style—perfectly unleashed.
Under the moonlight, their silhouettes danced in and out of each other's space—close, overlapping, complementing each movement as if they were partners in a deadly waltz.
The rhythm built like a rising symphony…Clashing bamboo strokes layered atop one another…The tempo tightening…Growing…Reaching its violent peak—
By the time Akira dragged himself back to the Spiritual Arts Academy, his waist, back, and legs were numb with pain.Every muscle felt squeezed dry.
Even Aoyama Sosuke stared at him in shock.
Did this guy go train… or go spend the night drinking in some back-alley district?
"How are you this drained…?"
"Don't ask."Akira groaned, tapping his calves repeatedly in a desperate attempt to ease the cramps.Two consecutive battles of that intensity—he wasn't a machine!
And Unohana Retsu—That insane woman—Had even forced her newly developed stimulant down his throat just so he could keep fighting all night.
She didn't treat him like a person—she treated him like a test subject.
Aoyama fell silent after hearing the whole story.
The fact Akira was still alive was, frankly, astonishing.
He realized he'd judged Akira too harshly earlier.
Sure, compared to the average student, Akira was absurdly strong—he could take on a hundred of them at once without breaking a sweat.
But compared to top-tier captains like Yamamoto Shigekuni or Unohana Retsu…He wasn't even in the same league.
Surviving their "training" was already a miracle.
Anyone else would've been in intensive care right now.
A faint sense of pity filled Aoyama's gaze as he looked at his friend.
"Right… about those assassins who attacked us earlier," he said. "Their identities were confirmed. Teacher Kaede came by this afternoon to warn you to be careful for a while."
"Assassins?"Akira blinked."What assassins?"
Aoyama stared.
Then realized—
Ah.His friend's brain really was damaged.
He sighed and spoke slowly, voice filled with pity.
"You were stabbed in the back."
"That group who tried to assassinate you—they were from the branch family of the Shirogane Clan. They've betrayed the Soul Realm and joined the rebel faction…"
And so began another headache for Kisaragi Akira.
...
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