"Scorching spiritual pressure…"
The elegance in Sōra Apollo was gone. Sweat poured down his face as a whole new understanding of the Soul Society's terrifying power washed over him. He had thought that Kuruyashiki Kenpachi was already intimidating, but he hadn't realized there were masters beyond that!
Even without confronting the owner of that spiritual pressure directly—and despite being separated by thousands of kilometers—the murderous intent within it could easily crush any Arrancar. Even Vasto Lorde himself!
He dared not take the slightest risk. Abandoning what would have been a perfect test subject within easy reach, Sōra Apollo made a decisive move. He launched a Shunpo to the edge of the Hollow's rift, one foot stepping into the darkness as he turned back to speak:
"You're lucky this time. I hope every encounter goes this smoothly for you."
"I'll remember your name."
Sōra Apollo's gaze locked onto the bloodied, ferocious youth before him, each word heavy with seriousness:
"Aizawa Sōsuke…"
Sōra Apollo froze. His words had barely left his lips when, without hesitation, the youth—Kisaragi Akira—dove straight into the Hollow's rift before the scorching spiritual pressure could reach him.
Science is precious, but life is priceless.
To Sōra Apollo, science was merely a tool for pursuing perfection. Even if he lost this particular test subject, there were always other Shinigami or Hollows to study. But remaining in the Soul Society any longer would ensure he'd be torn apart by that overwhelming spiritual pressure. And from the signs he'd observed, he had already guessed the owner's identity:
The strongest Shinigami in the Soul Society—Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni!
Sōra Apollo didn't understand how, by mere coincidence, capturing a young Shinigami far below captain rank had summoned such a monster. Was the Soul Society mad? Or was he?
He couldn't afford to find out.
Pushing Shunpo to its limits, Sōra Apollo raced through the Hollow's rift, leaving the danger behind.
"I'm leaving too."
Seeing the threat dissipate, Aizawa didn't bother with explanations. With a single phrase, he erased all traces of his spiritual pressure with a Binding Spell, then vanished in an instant.
That spiritual pressure—undeniably Yamamoto's.
There was no doubt about it. Even if some of his abilities had been revealed during the graduation exam, it was only a temporary measure. After all, geniuses are drawn to one another.
The fact that Kisaragi Akira and he were close friends was apparent to many. If Aizawa acted too obviously strong, it would raise suspicion. Maintaining a reasonable display of power made everything seem natural.
Kisaragi Akira was strong, and his friend was a genius in his own right. Genius spoke its own language.
But if a genius's power exceeded what others could accept, their very existence would be questioned—or worse, rejected. Aizawa wasn't ready to reveal himself to the Soul Society, especially not under Captain Yamamoto's watchful eye.
He hoped that Kisaragi Akira, that simple-minded fool, would understand this and not recklessly put him at risk.
Aizawa felt drained at the thought. Despite Kisaragi Akira already far surpassing ordinary limits, he hadn't faced suspicion or scrutiny and was even well-liked within the 13th Division. Not only Yamamoto, but even Unohana Retsu had shown him favor.
Was this the privilege of fools?
Watching Akira's retreating, hazy silhouette, Aizawa glanced at the remaining Arrancar corpse and reflected.
Soon, a towering elder engulfed in terrifying flames descended from the sky. The ground scorched instantly beneath him, and the air twisted from the oppressive heat, like a star crashing into the earth.
"Where are they?"
Yamamoto held his blade, his usual warmth gone, replaced by a killer's intent—the aura of a gang leader about to strike.
"They've left."
Kisaragi Akira pointed toward the slowly closing Hollow's rift. "They saw your divine presence descend, got scared out of their wits, and ran from the Soul Society using every limb available."
Yamamoto squinted, his gaze locking onto the sweating boy. His instincts told him this youth was hiding something.
"An Arrancar?"
Akira wiped his brow. "Vasto Lorde… goes by some ridiculous name, Pineapple or something."
Yamamoto was silent. Despite his anger at an Arrancar invading the Soul Society, hearing the name elicited an odd, fleeting pity. What kind of ridiculous name was that?
"Borrowed power from a ritual again?" Yamamoto asked, reading Akira's pattern—always the same few moves in battle.
"Nope," Akira scratched his head. "Pineapple wanted to take me back as a test subject, so they didn't try to kill me. Two attacks, something like a Hollow flash, and then they got scared off by your spiritual pressure."
Yamamoto nodded silently. If Akira had delayed even slightly, he would have borrowed ritual power from Mimihagi to hold out, even against Sōra Apollo. For now, he accepted Akira's explanation.
He didn't press further. Aside from being reckless and irritating, this disciple had no glaring faults—stronger in talent than Futaba and Kyōraku, sincere with others, and possessed keen judgment.
A shame humans weren't perfect.
"I understand," Yamamoto said after a pause. "The 5th Division was out on a mission, which is why assistance couldn't arrive sooner." He patiently explained, perhaps to prevent Akira from overthinking.
"The debris can be cleared by other squad members. The 4th and 12th Divisions might need it. As for you…" Yamamoto sized up Akira. His injuries were minor—skin scrapes and pulled muscles, signs of overexertion. With his healing ability and Kido mastery, recovery would be easy.
But then Akira bounded across the chaotic battlefield, lifting massive heaps of black hair-like remnants as though they were nothing. His giant frame, hundreds of meters tall, made the scene absurdly dramatic.
"Idiot! What are you doing now?!" Yamamoto felt his blood pressure spike.
"Selecting trophies," Akira said matter-of-factly. "Bringing them back for the 11th Division to know of my great deeds! Otherwise, how can I become a captain someday?"
Yamamoto shook his head. Such a major incident would naturally be reported to the 13th Division—they'd know of his achievements. This foolish boy…
He didn't stop him. As a proper teacher, he knew imposing constant restrictions was controlling, not nurturing. Freedom, at times, was necessary.
Night fell. The moon hung like liquid silver.
A shadow slipped into the 12th Division barracks, moving cautiously along the corridor until a window presented itself. Stealthily, the figure climbed in.
Aizawa watched the familiar intruder with a headache forming. What was Akira up to this time? Sneaking into the barracks in the dead of night? Wasn't he worried about being caught by Senjumaru?
"Follow me." Akira, noticing Aizawa was awake, waved and beckoned him forward.
Nearby, a sleeping squad member stirred, noticing the intruder at the window. Just as he opened his mouth to shout, a fist expanded before him—and he lost consciousness.
Breaking into the barracks, assaulting a comrade—just a few of Akira's charges could easily see him dragged off to the Worm Nest for a lecture.
Aizawa sighed and moved quietly to the window.
North Flow Soul Street, District 1. Outskirts, secluded mountain cave.
Aizawa scanned the environment, puzzled as to why Akira had brought him here. Questions went unanswered; the boy stayed mysterious.
"Almost there," Akira said, picking up the pace.
Rounding a corner, the cave opened to reveal a monstrous, mountain-like black form. Broken white bone masks made the scene all the more terrifying. A lower-class Vasto Lorde, Arrancar-class.
Aizawa froze. Akira had claimed the battlefield's Arrancar corpse and hidden it here.
"Preserving this Arrancar corpse took a lot of work," Akira huffed. "The Reishi concentration in Flow Street is too low; it decays fast. Thankfully, Sensei taught me how to preserve it with a Binding Spell. Otherwise, it would've turned into Reishi and returned to the Soul Society by now."
Aizawa remained silent, then looked up at the boy, confused.
"How did you know—"
Before he could finish, Akira interrupted with a wave:
"No need to thank me. If you really want to, call me your godfather. When I become Captain-General, I'll make you 11th Division Captain."
Aizawa: …
This boy's face, as always, remained insufferably smug. Yet despite his reluctance to admit it, Akira had been a huge help. Ordinary Hollows were too weak; only Arrancar-level corpses could support further research. He had thought the mission a total failure—but Akira had returned with the Arrancar body.
"Since this helps you, I'm satisfied." Akira left without asking what Aizawa intended, offering only a few words before turning to leave the cave.
Watching him go, Aizawa's gaze turned complex. Someone like him was meant to walk alone in the darkness; friendships were a luxury.
Exiting the cave, Akira retraced their route.
"Honesty begets loyalty, and loyalty begets honesty," Aizawa thought. Yamamoto had been the same.
Just as Sōra Apollo had invaded the Soul Society, ready to strike, Aizawa had appeared to save his friend. He could have remained hidden, waiting silently as Sōra Apollo captured Akira for experiments—but he hadn't. Perhaps for personal reasons, but Akira wouldn't think ill of his friend. If someone is a friend, helping is natural.
Kisaragi Akira smiled faintly at the crescent moon above. From some point on, this Aizawa no longer matched the image in his memory. Some arrogance remained, of course, but he was unmistakably changed.
Back at the 11th Division barracks, Akira climbed back over the wall to his room. At the doorway, two unfamiliar figures stood.
Their ornate attire marked them as nobles from District 6—rare in the Soul Society. They waited quietly under the hallway light.
Akira was surprised. He had assumed all nobles were arrogant, but some were normal people.
Noticing him, the two turned, smiling at their intended audience.
"Pleased to meet you, Lord Akira," one said. "We are the lower-rank nobles of the Sakigawa family, here to discuss a matter with you."
Akira frowned, trying to recall any information about the Sakigawa family. After a while, he gave up—no memory surfaced.
"Come inside. It's cold out here."
Within the quiet tea-scented room, the three sat across from each other.
"Do you have thoughts about the nobles?"
Akira blinked, unsure what the opening question implied.
"Let's be straightforward," the slightly older Sakigawa Kusakusa said with a gentle smile.
"The nobles are at the top of the Soul Society hierarchy. The 13th Division exists to serve them and protect their interests. As a member, you should understand this. Their authority surpasses the laws themselves."
Akira waited for the next words.
Lowering his voice, Kusakusa continued seriously:
"There is a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. A certain noble wishes to recommend you as one of their own. All you have to do is pledge your loyalty."