Crack~
As expected, with a dull sound, Iba's arm dislocated. Like a bowstring snapping, the power he had built up instead became a blade that hurt himself.
It also shattered the sword momentum where his spirit, energy, and focus had merged. A numbing pain surged in, his muscles losing control at that moment. Strength flowed away like water, and the wooden sword slipped from his hand.
Smack!
Then Iori's downward slash struck his calf hard, making him grit his teeth and let out a muffled groan as he fell to the side.
The world spun. When Iba finally steadied himself, a cool breeze brushed his throat. The tip of the wooden sword stopped three inches from his body.
"..."
"Withdraw swords, the match..."
The senior in charge of judging raised his hand and shouted, "Winner, Aizen Iori!"
The dojo was deathly silent. The next moment, the spectators who had all let out a breath applauded, the noisy clapping drowning out calls for medical staff.
A few students who considered themselves skilled in "Kaido" hesitated over whether to enter the arena to treat him, but the victorious boy extended his hand at that moment and swept an annoyed gaze around, the applause immediately thinned out.
There were many students present with more seniority than the two fighters, but the dojo's rules were to respect the strong. And Iori, with such sharp swordsmanship, was enough to earn everyone's respect.
After it quieted down a bit, the boy named Iori squatted down, pressed a hand to his opponent's shoulder to signal him not to move, then reached out and felt around a few times. He quickly understood the situation.
"Hold on."
After a serious yet gentle warning, the boy suddenly exerted force. With a "crack," the injured man's face instantly flushed a liver-red color, but the dislocated shoulder was restored to normal.
This made Iba feel both amazed and dejected.
The fact that he hadn't suffered more serious injuries meant that Iori could precisely control his strength. In this fight, he had been far more composed than Iba himself, who had already thrown everything away.
'Is this the leeway of a genius?'
Buzz~
As a faint green light spread from Iori's hands, the tall man's expression gradually relaxed.
"Cough! Th-thank… ugh!" He looked up at Iori, his eyes filled with complicated emotions.
"That's Kaido!"
"Isn't he only a second-year? And with swordsmanship this good, why would he split his focus to study Kaido (healing-type Kido)?"
"It's probably just low-level Kaido… but that's still impressive."
Many middle- and upper-year students outside the arena watched Iori carefully treating his opponent, their feelings quite complex.
Being able to enter this academy meant they were already Shinigami candidates. Compared to ordinary people, their fates were already different.
But clearly, even among Shinigami, there were enormous gaps in talent…
"Thank you… not just for healing me," Iba said in shame. "Also for accepting this rude challenge."
Iba's face was filled with indescribable embarrassment and guilt as he looked at Iori under the soft green glow, wanting to speak but stopping himself.
Watching Iba's expression, Iori secretly smiled.
He knew why this rough, burly man was acting so awkward. Although Iba hadn't said it outright, even before accepting the challenge, Iori had already gathered information through his connections.
The answer was "jealousy."
But it wasn't Iba who was jealous of him. It was some so-called "noble-born" students who felt jealous of how much attention the Aizen siblings were getting. They probably thought the two, who came from humble backgrounds, were too dazzling, so they banded together to squeeze them out in various ways.
Iori and Yuki knew about this, but didn't really care.
Should they deliberately hide their abilities and act mediocre just because a bunch of scheming idiots had complaints?
'May I ask, are you surnamed Yamamoto or Unohana? Do you even deserve it?'
In fact, that group hadn't caused the siblings much trouble at all. Instead, they had suffered plenty of setbacks. Iori's reputation as a swordsmanship prodigy had gradually spread through these "friendly exchanges" with them.
They weren't fools either. After realizing they were completely useless, they changed tactics and tried to incite experts to challenge Iori. The one who got used was Iba.
Iba Tetsuzaemon, hot-blooded, loyal, and righteous, a future vice-captain, and later, amid the heavy losses of the Thirteen Divisions, someone who naturally rose to become a captain. Even in the original story, he had a certain amount of screen time.
At this time, he was still young, yet already full of middle-aged vibes, with a fierce face that would get him mistaken for a gangster if he walked down the street.
But he wasn't cut from the same cloth as those spoiled brats. Although he too came from a noble family, he was grounded and hardworking, training harder than anyone else in the dojo, hoping only not to bring shame to his family (his mother was a vice-captain of a certain division).
The reason he was incited wasn't because he had something against Iori, but because his personality was too straightforward and trusting. Friends he had ties with came to him, saying that Iori was arrogant and had repeatedly humiliated them for no reason, asking Iba to step in and teach that brat a lesson.
Because Iori really did have a reputation for being "aggressive," Iba believed them by mistake, which led to this match where a senior bullied a junior.
However, after the fight ended, he understood. If Iori truly were an overbearing and arrogant person, how could he have held back in battle, and even stepped in to treat him?
After all, Iori was the one being challenged. He stood on the moral high ground. Even if he had broken Iba's arms and legs and then humiliated him viciously, there would have been no problem with the rules.
This was a place to cultivate "Shinigami." Might makes right was the greatest principle.
Iba glanced toward a certain spot, where several students were gathered, their eyes darting about uneasily. In that moment, he understood everything.
"Actually, I..."
Out of guilt, Iba wanted to apologize, but Iori cut him off.
"That was a really good match. I haven't felt this hot-blooded in a long time. Senior Iba truly lives up to his reputation, I even broke out in a cold sweat."
Iori also glanced at those petty people, his smile unchanged, then turned back to Iba and said, "Senior, you don't need to say more. I actually understand everything, whether it's their instigation or your unease… but I'm not angry because of it. Do you know why?"
"This…" Feeling the stinging pain from the injury as Iori treated him, Iba frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"Because thanks to them, I got to meet a good opponent!"
Iori finished the treatment, the green light in his hands slowly fading.
"You don't need to explain yourself to me. I already know what kind of person you are, senior."
"…But we're not that familiar."
"Is that so? I think it's the exact opposite. Because everything about you, senior, I've already experienced fully in that battle just now."
"For swordsmen, or rather, for men, the best way to deepen understanding is through direct clashes of fists and blades. As long as both sides go all out, they'll definitely be able to understand each other."
"Your swordsmanship is simple yet steady, a piece of uncut jade polished through countless days and nights… so I understand that a swordsman like you must be an upright person, absolutely not an accomplice of those petty people."
"And what kind of person I am, you should also understand very clearly by now, right?"
Iori stood up with a smile. In front of all the students, amid their surprised gazes, he extended his hand to Iba on the ground. "I'm really happy. From now on, I've gained a friend worth getting to know deeply."
"…Looks like this time, I really lost. Completely."
Iba shook his head, but then broke into a wide grin. He firmly grasped Iori's hand, producing a loud clap as they clasped hands.
"From now on, please take care of me… of course, we'll speak with blades. My rival, my close friend!"
One large and one small swordsman looked at each other. After a brief pause, Iba couldn't help but burst out laughing, and Iori also shook his head with a chuckle.
The crowd, witnessing the two laugh away their grudges, was deeply moved by the mutual respect between them. Some of the more emotional female students even covered their mouths, looking as though they were about to cry.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
[Ding!]
[CG recorded]
[Written as Rival, Read as Close Friend]
[Category: Bond CG]
[Rank: B (higher item drop rate)]
[Quality: Elite (increased chance of mid-tier rewards)]
[Drawing…]
[Calculating…]
[Reward overview~]
[Attributes:]
[Stamina: slight increase]
[Endurance: small increase]
[Spirit: slight increase]
[Mobility: slight increase]
[Evasion: small increase]
[Talents & Skills: (none)]
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
"So many attribute points!"
Iori was secretly shocked. Not drawing a skill was a bit of a pity, but that was normal. You couldn't expect just any random side character to contribute a skill. Still, this many attribute points were really rare… and the CG's rank itself wasn't bad. This meant that the bond value between Iori and Iba was pretty high…
What the heck, they just fought once, didn't they?
'Are bonds really that easy to farm? As expected of a hot-blooded man!'
Just as Iori was thinking he'd made a big profit, another notification suddenly rang out in his mind, making his heart tighten, and then leap with joy.
'A limited one, finally!'
[CG recorded]
[Carefree Man!]
[Category: Art Style CG]
[Rank: —]
Quality: —]
[Reward overview:]
[Art Style Value +3]
[Note: Current total Art Style Value "31"]
[Converted based on the current world setting~]
[Current spiritual pressure cap: "110 + 31 * 10 = 420"!]
[Current spiritual pressure: 381]
(Vice-captain-level spiritual pressure averages around 500–600, not counting a few individuals who hide their Bankai.)
———
It was still the Thirteenth Dojo. Three days had passed since that battle which had left onlookers sighing in admiration and made Iori and Iba famous.
Now it was dusk. The students were returning to their dorms, yet in the dojo, which should have been quiet and empty, short, crisp sounds of practice swings rang out.
The delicate-featured boy wore a serious expression. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead, but his movements were decisive and swift. The arc of each arm swing and the distance of each step were as precise as the hands of a clock.
The bamboo sword, specially made from bitter bamboo and steel wire and three parts heavier than a real blade, cut through the air again and again. This practice, called "suburi," was the most basic of the basics in swordsmanship. Its main purpose was to train arm strength and correct swinging posture.
Because it was so simple, it could hardly even be called a "technique."
A swordsmanship instructor once said that fundamentals were the most important thing. Swinging the sword thousands of times every day was tedious, but it would definitely repay you when you needed it.
But the students studying here often didn't take that to heart. Most Shinigami valued spiritual pressure and Zanpakuto more, believing those two to be the decisive factors in victory.
Slash (swordsmanship), Fist (hand-to-hand), Step (Shunpo), Demon (Kido), these four skills were important too, but they were merely methods for training the body and refining spiritual pressure.