In the world of the Shinigami, the concept of Reiatsu—also known as Reiryoku Level—can be simply understood as the density of one's soul.
Generally, the higher a person's Reiatsu, the more spiritual power they can wield. Actual control over that power, however, depends on the individual's ability.
This applies to both Shinigami and Hollows. For example, the protagonist Ichigo Kurosaki had an extremely high Reiatsu, but lacked control in the beginning. As a result, he couldn't freely manipulate his spiritual energy, nor did he have refined spiritual techniques—just look at how chaotic the energy path was when he first entered Hueco Mundo.
The Quincies, on the other hand, are a special case. They might not have particularly high Reiatsu, but because they battle by manipulating spiritual particles in their environment, the amount of spiritual power they can use isn't necessarily less.
From Hao's understanding, the Shinigami concentrate spiritual particles within themselves and rely on their internal power to fight. Quincies, however, can draw on external forces—nature itself—as a source of combat power.
So, Reiatsu isn't exactly the same as the "mana points" found in games Hao used to play, nor is it fully equivalent to his current Mental Attribute. Instead, it's a composite measurement.
For instance, Hao's physical body was now extremely powerful. If he truly existed as a soul in the Shinigami world, that meant his soul density was also fairly high. Which in turn meant that his Reiatsu wouldn't be low either.
Of course, considering the way Shinigami fight—with heavy reliance on projecting Reiatsu—Hao deduced that the Mental Attribute must contribute significantly to one's Reiatsu level.
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"Unbelievable..."
Instructor Fujimoto, who was in charge of the test, looked at the screen with mild astonishment. The surrounding students began whispering among themselves.
As a violet-black glow pulsed from the testing device, the progress bar on the screen skyrocketed. The moment Hao placed his hand on the platform, it blasted through the ten introductory thresholds almost instantly.
"Level 20 Reiatsu!"
someone exclaimed.
But many students remained composed. Since the founding of the Shinō Academy, many prodigies had enrolled. There had even been monsters who entered with Level 7 Reiatsu in the past.
However, as the number on the screen continued to shift, several people began to look serious.
Level 20... Level 19... Level 18... Level 17 Reiatsu!
"Is that enough?"
Hao turned to Instructor Fujimoto, seeing the number stabilize on the screen.
Unlike the surprised students, he didn't think this result was all that amazing—because he knew that the geniuses in the original story entered with single-digit Reiatsu levels.
Take Kaien Shiba, who would appear two centuries later. Or even Gin Ichimaru and Tōshirō Hitsugaya—their entry-level Reiatsu would've blown his out of the water.
But Hao wasn't disappointed. He wasn't a native of this world, nor was he a true spiritual lifeform composed of spirit particles. His strength came from his incredible growth potential, exceptional combat skills, and razor-sharp instincts.
"No wonder Captain Unohana brought you here," Fujimoto said, regaining his composure. "You're clearly quite talented. Let's move on to the next part of the test."
He stepped aside and picked up two bamboo swords.
In truth, Hao's Level 17 Reiatsu wasn't among the highest this year—not even in the top ten. What surprised Instructor Fujimoto was Hao's background: he used to be just a street orphan from the Rukongai.
Those geniuses with single-digit Reiatsu scores weren't necessarily more talented than Hao. Most of them came from noble families in the Seireitei or other prestigious clans, receiving formal training from a young age.
By the time they entered the Shinō Academy, they had already been cultivating their Reiatsu for years—of course they scored high.
But Fujimoto knew: Hao had never received any training at all. This child didn't even know how to properly condense spirit particles.
So that Level 17 score?
That was pure, natural talent.
If Hao were to study diligently at the academy for six full years, it was entirely possible for his Reiatsu level to reach Level 8, or even Level 6—which would be the standard of an official seated officer.
In Fujimoto's eyes, Hao was already a raw gem—the only question now was what kind of talent he had in actual combat.
With that in mind, he casually tossed one of the bamboo swords in his hand to Hao.
"Come at me and give it a try."
Hao caught the bamboo sword and weighed it in his hand, a flicker of understanding flashing in his eyes. This so-called "second test" clearly wasn't part of the standard entrance examination—it was just Instructor Fujimoto's way of personally assessing his swordsmanship.
That's why Fujimoto had said that passing the first test was enough to become an official student. This was nothing more than the instructor of this swordsmanship class trying to size him up.
Seeing that Hao had accepted the sword but remained motionless, Fujimoto thought the boy was hesitating.
"Don't worry. I'll suppress my Reiatsu to match your level, and I'll hold back.
Just come at me with your full strength."
Hearing this, Hao couldn't help but smile. He looked at Fujimoto.
"Are you sure about that, sir?"
Fujimoto's brows furrowed. He got the distinct feeling that this young man was underestimating him.
"Don't overthink it. Just attack me—
come at me with the intent to kill.
I want to see your true level,
so I can tailor a training plan that helps you catch up with the others."
Fujimoto spoke with confidence. Before becoming a swordsmanship instructor at the Shinō Academy, he had held the position of a seated officer. He considered himself quite accomplished in the art of the sword.
In his view, Hao might have some talent, likely honed through street brawls while growing up in the chaotic districts of the Rukongai. The boy had probably never lost before, so he was getting a little full of himself.
But today, Fujimoto planned to teach this arrogant youth a lesson—to show him that the crude brawling of street fighters was nothing compared to true swordsmanship!
"Come at me with the intent to kill, huh..."
Hao repeated those words softly.
He tilted his bamboo sword to the side of his body, lowering his stance slightly.
In that moment, Fujimoto suddenly felt that the carefree youth before him had transformed—his gaze had sharpened, and his aura had shifted entirely.
It was like the crouch of a tiger before the pounce. Like the tension of a blade being sheathed, waiting to strike.
Beneath his lowered lashes, a manic fervor was barely contained, like a volcano about to erupt. It was the madness of a warrior—the wild passion of a battle-hardened fighter.
And then—
The wooden floor beneath Hao's feet cracked and tilted as he launched himself forward like a cannonball, heavy yet impossibly light.
In a blink, he closed the distance of more than ten meters. The bamboo sword arced through the air in a graceful curve—like a master's brushstroke on fine paper. It may have been just a bamboo blade, but it carried the illusion of a blood-soaked slash.
Boom!
At the very last second, Fujimoto raised his bamboo sword to block. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, ruffling both his long hair and Hao's short bangs.
As their eyes met, Fujimoto saw something terrifying in Hao's gaze—hunger... and excitement.
'This is bad!'
Fujimoto's heart sank.
His first strike had already lagged behind by a fraction of a second, and the youth before him wasn't going to stop.
He now realized—this young man fought like a veteran swordsman who had survived countless battles. Or perhaps he was just born with a flawless instinct for combat, never missing a single opening.
Just as Fujimoto tried to recover and redirect his blade, Hao's next strike came—like a serpent darting through a crack in his defense, thrusting straight at his throat!