Sabitsura District
A sign reading "Hot Spring Fountain" hung above the entrance of the thermal inn, surrounded by a crude wooden fence. Perhaps due to the fearsome reputation of "Thunderbolt," the area was deserted, not a soul in sight.
Fujimiya Makoto sat blankly on a bench beside the inn, gazing at the hazy expanse of Flowing Soul Street in the distance.
He now wore a fresh outfit: a black shihakusho with a white inner lining and a new pair of straw sandals. His previous rags and grass-woven clothes, soaked in blood from the fight, had been discarded somewhere.
His long, black hair, once greasy and lice-ridden, was now clean after a soak in the hot springs. Tied into a short ponytail with a straw cord, it hung behind him.
He stared into the void ahead.
—PI—
Name: Fujimiya Makoto
Spiritual Pressure: Sixth Rank Lower (3rd-4th Seat level)
Four Arts:
Sword: Seventh Rank (13/100)
Hakuda: Second Rank (29/100)
Kido: First Rank (35/100)
Hoho: Sixth Rank (20/100) [Talent-Limited]
Zanpakuto: Unreleased
Talent Points: 1
Bond Trait: Sword Genius (Unohana Yachiru, Lv. 1)
Romantic Trait: None
Note: Spiritual pressure, four arts, zanpakuto release, and bond/romantic traits are capped by talent. They can be upgraded or modified with [Talent Points].
—END—
Fujimiya glanced at his single talent point on the panel, recalling Kirinji's mention that Yamamoto Shigekuni might summon him soon. He held off on using it for now.
Feeling the tangible increase in his reiatsu and the countless sword techniques now etched in his mind upon waking, he wasn't sure whether to celebrate or curse his luck.
Sitting on the bench, he thought over the intel he'd pried from the bathhouse worker, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.
"What kind of shitty starting point is this?"
"Goddamn it."
He knew Kirinji Tenjiro.
Kirinji Tenjiro, a member of the Zero Division, Eastern Divine General, nicknamed "Hot Spring Demon," overseer of the Kirin Palace in the Royal Dimension.
But… that was a thousand years from now!
Right now, he was just a quirky doctor playing corpse dissection games in a bathhouse.
Not only was that intel useless, but from what Fujimiya had gathered, the current Soul Society's structure was worlds apart from what he knew.
Yamamoto Shigekuni, called "Jusai," "the greatest warrior in the Soul Society for a thousand years," had founded the Genji Academy nearly a millennium ago. He had three thousand disciples and seventy-two sages under his command.
The old man's chiseled muscles could practically form the kanji for "Virtue" just by flexing.
His Ryujin Jakka commanded universal respect.
And those who doubted him were usually burned to ash by Zanka no Tachi.
His authority was so immense that he'd even tamed the one dubbed "the greatest criminal in Soul Society history," a certain woman, defeated and forced to become a kenjutsu instructor at the Genji Academy.
A true paragon of invincible virtue.
But if that was all, the Soul Society would've just gained another powerhouse.
In its million-year history, such figures weren't unheard of.
The kicker was that this unbeatable old man didn't just fight. He started teaching!
It was as if Confucius, meant to don armor and defend a city, decided to open a school instead. And not just any school—one that lasted two thousand years.
Is that normal? Hell no, it's insane!
And he didn't just teach. The old coot only recruited the dregs of Flowing Soul Street—starving, desperate souls who survived on water and fought like fearless beasts.
Who'd dare mess with that kind of crew?
Over centuries of accumulated prestige, Yamamoto's Genji Academy naturally became a legendary training sanctuary, a must-pass milestone for any dead soul with spiritual potential aiming to become a powerful shinigami. The hope of all Flowing Soul Street.
Over time, these hand-picked shinigamis, meticulously selected from the eighty districts of each quadrant of Flowing Soul Street, had grown to outnumber those in the Seireitei.
Better yet, the average skill of Genji's rank-and-file shinigamis far surpassed that of the Seireitei's nobles.
The Central 46's corruption wasn't new, but only recently, with the situation dire, did they sluggishly realize…
This Genji Academy was way too strong.
Extermination.
It had to be exterminated!
But could they even win?
Hmph.
The great Seireitei, invincible under the heavens!
When the Central 46 issued that order, one had to wonder if their heads contained a single functioning brain cell.
Regardless, since that decree, the war between the Seireitei nobles and the Genji Academy had raged on.
Today, Yamamoto, the mastermind, topped the Seireitei's most-wanted list with a bounty of fifteen billion kan—ten times the combined bounties of the next nine.
In another worldview, he'd be the outright Shinigami King!
But for a transmigrator like Fujimiya, this pre-story context was a nightmare.
"This damn plot, I've never heard of it!!"
"Kubo Tite, give me my life back, damn it!"
Fujimiya, fuming, wanted to bash his head against a wall.
"Hey, kid!"
"You're really that weak to get scared shitless by a woman?"
As he raged, Kirinji Tenjiro strolled back, grinning slyly, chewing a toothpick with a thug-like drawl.
His tiny eyes squinted into slits as he teased:
"You just got on Yachiru's radar, that's all!"
"Haha."
"You're already doomed to get chopped into eight pieces, so live it up while you can."
"You call that comforting?"
Fujimiya shot him a dark glare, even angrier at his smug face.
"And open your damn eyes when you talk to me."
Kirinji's face twitched, turning red. He popped his eyes open—big as date pits—and roared:
"They're already wide open, asshole!"
"Huh?"
Fujimiya, staring at his face, froze, then showed a guilty look. His eyes darted away:
"Sorry… uh, really sorry."
"You little…!"
Kirinji, veins bulging, face twisted, suddenly got it.
Yachiru had reasons for wanting to slice this kid up.
"Teacher Kirinji."
As he rolled up his sleeves, a cold voice came from the doorway:
"Master Genryusai is still waiting."
Hearing this, Kirinji remembered his actual business.
Fujimiya turned and saw a tall, lean man with silver hair and golden eyes, his hair slicked back. He stood at the entrance, left hand on his sword hilt, a pristine white cape over his shoulder, his gaze sharp as an eagle's.
His mere presence was like a freshly drawn blade.
Chojiro Sasakibe Tadanotsume.
Yamamoto Shigekuni's chief disciple.
Even in the current Genji Academy, he was among the strongest, loyal to Yamamoto for a thousand years, his most trusted right hand.
"Tch."
"Brat, it's for you!"
Kirinji spat but didn't argue, stepping aside.
Chojiro nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then said calmly:
"You're Fujimiya Makoto?"
"Master Genryusai wishes to see you."
"Follow me."
With no further words, cold and curt, he vanished abruptly.
He reappeared dozens of meters away.
Fujimiya's pupils contracted.
The people at this Genji Academy were insanely fast.
But as he moved to follow, Kirinji, tilting his head, tossed out casually:
"Hey!"
"Old man Yamamoto ain't as chill as me, you know."
Fujimiya grinned, looking back:
"You're pretty cool, though."
"You little punk!"
Kirinji lunged, ready to smack him with a karate chop.
But Fujimiya, as if he'd seen it coming, flashed a shunpo, darting dozens of meters to trail Chojiro, vanishing into the distance.
"Tch."
Kirinji, toothpick in mouth, spat on the ground, grumbling:
"That damn kid."
"No wonder Yachiru, that crazy chick, has it out for him!"
"If he dies, I ain't saving his ass!!"