"Old Man Yama, are you busy?"
"Busy!"
"Oh, good. Since you're not busy, help me evaluate my new technique."
The hand holding Yamamoto's brush clenched, causing a large ink blot to spread across the fine rice paper. Nowadays, just hearing Kensei's voice made Yamamoto wish he could deafen his own ears.
For a fleeting moment, Yamamoto once again regretted taking Kensei as his disciple. Other people's disciples eased their masters' burdens, but this guy seemed specifically designed to add to his.
Since accepting this brat as a student, the Seireitei had known no peace.
First, two Captains rebelled, and the kid dragged them back and threw them into the Maggot's Nest. Then, the Maggot's Nest—untroubled for centuries—was invaded, releasing the freshly imprisoned Captains, whom he promptly killed. Killing them was one thing; Yamamoto could have just gone to the Central 46 to vouch for him. But then the kid's arms were crippled, forcing Yamamoto to run around arranging his treatment. Not long after his arms healed, he killed another rebellious Captain...
Yamamoto thought back carefully. It seemed the only time this kid was well-behaved was during his convalescence in the Fourth Division. The rest of the time, he was either causing trouble or on his way to cause more, showing no consideration for his old teacher's bones.
He thought assigning him a few difficult tasks would buy a few quiet days, but... Sigh!
"Speak."
Yamamoto squeezed the word out from between his teeth, forcefully suppressing the urge to kick this disgraceful disciple out of the First Division barracks.
"After you left yesterday, I had an enlightenment of sorts and tinkered around to come up with a new technique. But I'm not sure if it's effective against people."
As Yamamoto listened to the described effect of the technique, his hand, which had been stroking his beard, jerked in surprise, pulling out several hairs.
It was as shocking as a teacher teaching you how to make a bomb, only for the student to grin the next day and say he'd invented a nuke.
Yamamoto widened his eyes, scrutinizing Kensei, trying to see through what kind of freak he really was. While Soul Reapers could utilize ambient reishi, they typically only condensed it under their feet for aerial movement. Their main offensive methods relied on spiritual pressure. Who had ever heard of something like this?
At most, Kenpachi Madarame could manipulate matter by fusing with reishi. Even when fusing with living beings, he could only control the fused parts and had to guard against rejection.
"Try it on me."
"That doesn't seem appropriate, Teacher..."
Yamamoto ignored Kensei, who already had his hand on his hilt, eager to try. The spiritual pressure gap between them was too vast; even at full power, Kensei couldn't harm Yamamoto.
Kensei closed his eyes, perceiving the reishi composing Yamamoto's body. He could see the weak points, but the thread of condensed reishi couldn't pierce them when he tried to connect. It was as if a protective membrane enveloped Yamamoto's surface, preventing external disturbance of his reishi.
"Teacher, it doesn't really work."
Kensei felt instantly disappointed. He'd even named it. Was it a useless technique after all?
Yamamoto closed his eyes, recalling the sensation when Kensei used Spirit Reversion on him—a peculiar tremor, as if the very foundation of his existence was being pried at. If not for the vast spiritual pressure difference, he might have truly fallen victim to this kid's trick.
"The concept of this technique is excellent. It's hard for most to imagine such an attack method." Yamamoto's insight was sharp; experiencing it firsthand allowed him to analyze Spirit Reversion's strengths and weaknesses. "However, intelligent spiritual bodies have a protective membrane on their surface to prevent their reishi from dissipating. The higher the spiritual pressure, the stronger this membrane."
"Please instruct me, Teacher."
"I have two ideas."
Kensei bowed respectfully. Truly, having an elder at home was like having a treasure. He could even solve this problem.
"First, develop this technique in the direction of Kidō. Its power would be at least that of a Kidō spell numbered in the nineties. Moreover, this technique isn't strictly dependent on a Zanpakutō, so its power wouldn't be diminished."
"Kidō isn't cool enough. Won't learn it, won't learn it."
Even though Kidō could be cast without incantation, who had time for it during a fight?
"Second, affix the reishi to your Zanpakutō. While it won't achieve the current one-hit victory, it will be more lethal to spiritual bodies, creating wounds that are difficult to heal."
The inspiration for Yamamoto's second method came from the spirit-cutting blades used by Quincies in battles long ago. Many Soul Reapers had suffered from them, and Yamamoto himself bore several such scars.
"This one's good! This one's good!"
Kensei was as delighted as a monkey who had immobilized the Seven Fairies and was now gorging himself at a Peaches of Immortality buffet.
"With your talent, there's nothing wrong with mastering both. Once you reach my level, you'll naturally be able to use it as you wish."
Yamamoto continued stroking his beard, which was nearly long enough to sweep the floor. The more he thought about it, the more awkward the technique seemed—it resembled those troublesome Quincies far too much. But he'd never heard of a Quincy dying and becoming a Soul Reaper.
"Alright, get out now. Don't disturb my peace."
Yamamoto waved his hand, impatiently shooing away this incomprehensible kid.
Kensei grinned, said "See you later, Old Man Yama," turned, and scampered out. Now that he had a research direction, he wasn't in a hurry. First, he'd go check if Urahara had finished the Tenshintai at the Twelfth Division.
Kisuke Urahara, buried in work in a small research lab within the Twelfth Division, let out a massive sneeze. Rubbing his eyes, shadowed by dark circles, he looked at the completed prototype of the Tenshintai in his hand and nodded with satisfaction.
Finally finished the task Kensei assigned. Now I should be able to rest properly, no more overtime every day...
"Urahara! I'm here to inspect the new invention!"
The moment Urahara relaxed, tension instantly returned. He turned his head stiffly to see Kensei pushing the door open. Feeling the hand Kensei placed on his shoulder, it felt like a thousand pounds.
"Kensei, your timing is perfect. The Tenshintai is just finished."
Urahara forced a customer-service smile, pointing at the completed prototype to divert Kensei's attention from himself.
Kensei circled the finished Tenshintai twice. Honestly, he didn't understand how this thing, which looked like a paper doll, could summon a Zanpakutō's true form. One could only say the black technology was too OP.
"Tested the effects yet?"
"Well... it was just finished. Haven't had time to test the effects."
Urahara scratched the blond hair on his head, praying internally that Kensei wouldn't assign him a bunch of testing tasks. He'd really work himself to death.
"But don't worry, I ran simulated tests beforehand. Its stability is guaranteed."
Though he wanted to spout a bunch of technical jargon to prove his reliability, remembering Kensei's modus operandi made Urahara abandon the idea of casting pearls before swine.
"Perfect timing. I have three test subjects. Let's test your prototype today."
Kensei thought it was time to give Muguruma and the others their lesson. Once the people he supported were in power, he could gradually sideline Old Man Yama!
"Don't worry. If it works without issues, I'll give you a long vacation next. Might even give you a bonus."
Kensei waved a hand grandly, essentially drawing a pie in the sky for Urahara.
Even though Urahara was young, he didn't believe in the so-called bonus at all. Just being allowed to rest for a few days would be a blessing enough.
"Now, come with me."
Carrying the Tenshintai in one hand and hauling Urahara with the other, Kensei laughed heartily as he left, like a bandit descending from his mountain stronghold.
Even with a thousand unwilling thoughts in his heart, Urahara couldn't resist Kensei's tyranny. He could only accept the reality of continued overtime.
***
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