In Soul Society, hierarchy and honor hold profound weight. Though the third seat ranks just below the vice-captain, the gulf in power between them is rarely insignificant.
As the old Gotei 13 adage goes: "One rank may seem small, but its shadow looms large." And as vice-captain of the Sixth Division, Abarai Renji considers himself unquestionably Akira's immediate superior.
Moreover, in Shinigami tradition—especially within noble-aligned divisions like the Sixth—celebratory gatherings often involve the unspoken custom of junior officers offering a toast to their seniors. It isn't written in any regulation, but it is expected.
Yet as the banquet draws near its close, Akira makes no move to raise his cup.
Renji's irritation simmers—then boils over.
The room senses the shift. Conversations die. All eyes turn to Akira, who finally notices the silence. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up, unfazed.
"What? Got a problem?"
Renji narrows his eyes. "You really don't get it, do you?" He jerks his chin. "Come on. Make your toast. That's how this works."
"Work?" Akira raises an eyebrow. "I don't remember seeing that in the Gotei 13 standing orders."
Renji stiffens. The custom isn't codified—it's tradition, not law. His jaw tightens, cheeks flushing not just from sake, but from the sting of being called out. He forces a dry laugh.
"Tch… So that's how it is. One promotion, and you've forgotten your place." He stands, voice dropping. "Guess I'll have to remind you."
Akira exhales slowly. His voice stays level, but his eyes sharpen. "Before you do—consider this a warning. I haven't provoked you. Don't provoke me."
Renji's hand twitches toward Zabimaru's hilt. "Big words. You really asking for a beating?"
Gasps ripple through the room. "Vice-captain?!"
But Akira doesn't flinch. "The last person who promised to 'teach me a lesson'," he says quietly, "no longer speaks at all."
A hush falls like frost. The words hang, heavy with implication. Even those who hadn't witnessed it firsthand have heard the rumors—about Kuchiki Takuto, the disgraced noble found broken in the Seireitei sewers, throat slit not by blade, but by reiatsu alone.
Renji's bravado cracks. A cold bead of sweat trails down his temple.
(If he goes all-out… I might not walk away from this.)
But backing down now would shame him in front of his own division.
Then—
"Enough."
The voice is calm, yet it cuts through the tension like steel through silk.
Kuchiki Byakuya stands at the edge of the hall, his presence alone enough to still the air. His gaze settles on Renji—not angry, not disappointed. Just… dismissive.
Renji's stomach drops. If his captain intervenes, it won't look like mercy—it'll look like confirmation that Renji needs saving.
He forces a grin. "Ah, Captain! It's nothing serious. Just friendly sparring. We're all Sixth Division—we don't need bloodshed." He turns to Akira, voice dropping to a challenge. "Tell you what. No Zanpakutō. Bare-handed only."
A murmur spreads.
"He's exploiting Akira's weakness."
"Without his sword, he's just another seated officer."
"Renji's got him now."
They're right—on the surface. Akira's reputation rests on his Zanpakutō's terrifying release. Without it, he should be manageable.
Akira studies Renji for a beat. Then, without hesitation:
"Fine."
A slow, dangerous smile touches his lips. "Let's see how long you last."
Even Byakuya, who had expected him to refuse, raised an eyebrow—just slightly.
(Has he let his emotions cloud his judgment?) he wondered silently.
Renji, however, grinned. This was his chance. If he could thoroughly defeat Akira in front of the entire squad, no one would ever question his authority again.
"Good! That's the spirit!" Renji clenched his fists and stepped forward. "Let's see what you've got!"
With that, he lunged—launching a swift hakuda strike.
Of course, "swift" was relative to Renji's usual standards. To Akira, the attack was riddled with openings.
In the blink of an eye, Renji closed the distance—but Akira was already moving.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
A flurry of blows erupted as Renji pressed his assault, but each strike was met with calm, unwavering blocks. Akira's defense was flawless, his movements economical and precise.
Then, with a single, decisive counter—
Crack!
His fist broke cleanly through Renji's guard and landed squarely on his jaw.
"Pfft!"
Blood sprayed from Renji's mouth as he hurtled backward, crashing into the courtyard stones with a heavy thud.
A stunned silence fell—then erupted into chaos.
"What… what just happened?!"
"Impossible!"
"The vice-captain… overpowered in seconds?!"
Gasps of disbelief rippled through the onlookers. Byakuya Kuchika's sharp gaze narrowed as he watched.
He knew Renji's strength well. Though hakuda wasn't his forte, Renji's hand-to-hand skill was still formidable for a lieutenant—yet against Akira, it looked almost clumsy.
Just from those few exchanges… it's clear. Akira's hakuda isn't just superior—it's on another level entirely.
Byakuya assessed the gap silently. Among the Gotei 13's lieutenants, Akira's mastery stood at the pinnacle—perhaps rivaling even some captains.
"Damn it… this can't be happening!"
Renji staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. Disbelief hardened into resolve. He wouldn't accept this humiliation.
Akira stepped forward, calm and composed. Renji gritted his teeth and charged again, unleashing a relentless barrage.
But it was futile.
Akira stood like bedrock. No matter how fast or furious Renji's strikes became, none found their mark. Instead, Akira's counters landed with surgical precision—each blow methodically breaking down Renji's stamina and spirit.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The rhythm of flesh meeting flesh grew more one-sided with every exchange. When the dust settled, Renji lay battered on the ground, breath ragged and uniform torn.
Akira, by contrast, hadn't broken a sweat—not a scratch on him.
Wham!
A final, devastating kick to the gut doubled Renji over. He retched, expelling what little remained in his stomach.
"Damn it—argh!"
Fueled by frustration and pride, Renji howled and reached for his zanpakutō.
"Don't disgrace yourself further."
A voice cut through the chaos—cold, measured, absolute.
Byakuya Kuchika appeared in an instant, Shunpo placing him beside Renji before anyone could blink. His hand clamped firmly on Renji's wrist, halting the draw.
"If you must resort to your blade in a hakuda duel," Byakuya said, voice low but carrying like steel, "the fight is already lost."
He released Renji, stepping back with regal composure.
"Abarai. You have been defeated."