The group of four crossed the courtyard, arriving at a clearing at the far end of the Genji Academy.
The surroundings were tranquil, surrounded by bamboo groves. In the center, a deep pond, encircled by stones, housed fish gliding beneath the surface, creating ripples. A bamboo shishi-odoshi struck a rock intermittently, emitting clear "thock thock" sounds.
Fujimiya Makoto, clueless about why he'd been brought here, shot a puzzled look at Chojiro Sasakibe ahead. Noticing his gaze, Chojiro shook his head, signaling him to stay quiet.
It wasn't until Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni stopped that things clarified.
"This'll do."
Chojiro and Genshiro positioned themselves on either side. Yamamoto and Fujimiya faced each other.
With one glance, the razor-sharp old master saw through Fujimiya's confusion. In a low, steady voice, he said:
"I made you a promise, didn't I?"
"To take you as a disciple and teach you earnestly."
"In exchange for your loyalty to the Genji Academy."
"If you want to back out, I can act like it never happened."
At those words, Fujimiya's heart raced. Excitement flashed in his eyes.
"No!"
"I'm honored."
"Please, instruct me!"
Who'd be stupid enough to pass up a chance like that? If a training fight with Saito the Immortal had shot his hakuda to level 5, what would Yamamoto's direct guidance do?
He remembered vividly: in the manga, this old man had obliterated the Fire Prince, a captain-level foe (Chikara to Jushiro tier), with just his fists. Yamamoto's strength was absolute, across all domains. And right now, he was at the peak of his skills and power.
"Hm."
The already-bald elder nodded slightly, scanning Fujimiya's seemingly lean frame.
Suddenly, a suffocating, murderous intent erupted from his eyes, so intense it could choke anyone. At the same time, he reached for Fujimiya's shoulder.
Driven by pure reflex, without a shred of thought, Fujimiya drew his asauichi and slashed at Yamamoto's wrist.
"Cling!"
No surprise, the blade was caught firmly between Yamamoto's two fingers.
It didn't budge.
Only when the blade stopped did Fujimiya realize what he'd done, his body tensing.
"... Master Genryusai?"
"As expected."
But Yamamoto, far from surprised, looked at him with growing approval.
"Makoto."
"Your ability to memorize all of Saito's movements and techniques in a single glance during training… that's your talent, right?"
Snapping back, Fujimiya nodded awkwardly:
"Yes."
"Truly an enviable gift."
Yamamoto nodded, releasing the blade. He rubbed his fingers behind his back, as if with slight disdain, while staying dead serious.
"In that case, I know what to teach you."
"Put your sword down first."
"Yes."
Fujimiya sharpened his focus.
"Do you know why, in your training with Saito, when she matched her speed and strength to yours—even lowering them to accommodate you—you couldn't land a single hit at the start?"
Yamamoto took a cloth from Chojiro, wiping his hands slowly, cutting straight to the core.
"Because… of the gap in experience and perception?" Fujimiya ventured.
Teachers like students who can think ahead.
"Partly."
"But not entirely."
Yamamoto handed back the cloth and tapped his temple, voice calm:
"The key point is—Saito knew what she was doing."
"You didn't."
His gaze hardened.
His voice grew sterner:
"Makoto, you have an astonishing learning talent. Complex hakuda and zanjutsu techniques hold no secrets for you."
"But in contrast, your combat awareness is as vague and fragile as a newborn's."
"You leave everything to your body."
"Like just now."
"When I unleashed killing intent, your body struck before your mind, which knew I wouldn't kill you, could stop it."
"For an ordinary person, such strong instinct is a divine gift."
"For you, it's too strong."
Fujimiya's expression turned grave, absorbing every word.
As expected from a titan at the Soul Society's peak.
With just two observations and a small test, he'd exposed the fragile foundation beneath Fujimiya's apparent strength.
Without this insight, how long would it have taken Fujimiya to notice?
He didn't know.
Yamamoto's voice, increasingly calm, locked onto Fujimiya's eyes:
"Right now, your mind and body are like two identical people."
"Appearance, abilities, strength—all the same. So, who should control the fight, and who should be forced to follow?"
"What's the difference between them?"
"Makoto."
The elder's questions, each sharper than the last, rang like bells, striking Fujimiya's core.
Each sentence pushed him to unearth the answer buried deep within.
From the start, Fujimiya felt a growing familiarity, as if digging up a distant memory. When Yamamoto hit his final line, he blurted out:
"It's… instinct, damn it!!!"
"…"
Yamamoto froze, staring silently, caught off guard.
Not just him.
Chojiro and Genshiro behind gaped in shock.
They'd followed Yamamoto's logic but found no answer.
Their instincts weren't strong enough to break rationality's chains in combat, making Fujimiya's situation hard to grasp.
Their eyes on him shone with awe and envy, like mediocrities beholding a prodigy.
Amazing, Makoto!
Their gazes seemed to shout.
Yamamoto stayed quiet for a long while, watching him.
Finally, he nodded, smiling with approval:
"You're even more gifted than I thought."
"Very good!"
Under their stunned stares, Fujimiya froze, a bit embarrassed.
He couldn't exactly tell them he'd heard this before, could he?
Luckily, Yamamoto wasn't done:
"Exactly, instinct."
"Rationality must control the body's impulses through instinct, not be enslaved by it."
"That's what you need to do."
Fujimiya, listening, swallowed nervously, visibly tense.
He couldn't help but be.
In the manga, Ichigo had to face and subdue Zangetsu in his inner world to master his instinct.
And him?
Would he have to "subdue" his system?
"Master Yamamoto."
"What's… the method?"
Yamamoto gave a cryptic smile.
From nowhere, he produced two white stone handcuffs and handed them over.
Behind, Chojiro and Genshiro paled at the sight. Chojiro stepped forward to protest, but Genshiro held him back firmly.
That detail set off alarms in Fujimiya's mind.
This old man wasn't cooking up some nasty trick, was he?
"Hm."
"From now on, you'll train with these handcuffs."
"Until…"
Mid-sentence, Yamamoto pointed casually behind him.
With some unknown kido, a massive white monolith, ten meters wide and tall, identical to the handcuffs, appeared, dwarfing their figures.
"… you shatter this stone with your bare hands!"
"That day, you'll be barely qualified."
Fujimiya swallowed hard, his Adam's apple casting a sharp shadow.
Just standing near the monolith, he felt an oppressive danger.
His spirit particles scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind, as if the stone was reiatsu's natural enemy.
He was certain that even a regular Zan or a weaker shinigami would see their spiritual body collapse after lingering near it.
"Master Yamamoto."
"This stone is…?"
Without giving him a choice, Yamamoto shoved the handcuffs into his hands, his weathered face wearing a kindly, experienced smile:
"It's no big deal."
"Just a few killing stones I pried off the Seireitei's walls."
"Killing stones are merely rare minerals that block spirit particles and reiatsu. Nothing scary."
Fujimiya's eyes widened, stunned.
You old bastard!
Don't talk about something lethal so casually!
Shinigami are made of spirit particles, right?
Wearing these is like constantly disintegrating!
Yamamoto, still coaxing, went on:
"Think about it. If your body can't use a single spirit particle, suppressing your instincts to the extreme, your rationality will fully take control, right?"
"Got it?"
"…"
"Uh, yeah."
Saying that, Fujimiya's smile was uglier than a sob.
Damn it!
This isn't the training I wanted!