"Idiot Callum, yours isn't any better!"
Rukia, upon seeing Kyōraku Callum's calligraphy, retorted mercilessly:
"Those turtle-crawling characters perfectly demonstrate your contempt for this art!"
As their argument escalated, neither noticed their relationship had unexpectedly become closer.
Aizen Sousuke, from the lectern, had been observing them. He was particularly interested in Kyōraku Callum.
The strange energy surrounding Kyōraku Callum's soul at the narrow space exit had intrigued him.
Though that energy had vanished upon their second meeting, Aizen didn't believe Kyōraku Callum had lost it; rather, it had simply hidden itself.
But why were these two arguing?
Aizen felt it was necessary to intervene, and to get to know this young Kyōraku.
He left his position and walked towards them.
Noticing Aizen approaching, they stopped arguing.
Rukia felt a pang of anxiety. She was late for the first class and then argued with Kyōraku Callum.
She must have made a terrible impression on Aizen.
She glared at Kyōraku Callum, though it lacked any real menace.
Aizen's attention immediately went to the two pieces of calligraphy.
Even the usually composed Aizen couldn't control his expression.
The calligraphy was simply too awful!
Aizen had practiced calligraphy for hundreds of years, seeking self-cultivation. He never expected to be so disturbed.
"These are your works?"
He quickly regained his composure, asking gently.
Rukia lowered her head, embarrassed. She knew her calligraphy was poor.
Kyōraku Callum, however, nodded proudly.
"Yes!"
"After careful consideration, I've concluded no one can replicate my unique style."
"Therefore, I've named it the 'Kyōraku Style'!"
Aizen's eyes widened slightly, a hint of disbelief flashing in his brown eyes.
He'd never met someone so brazen.
"No one else can replicate it?" It wasn't that others couldn't; it was simply too awful for anyone to even want to try! And he named this atrocious style after himself?
Aizen struggled to find the right words.
"Keep practicing,"
he finally managed, swallowing his prepared questions.
He quickly moved away from them, unable to bear looking at the calligraphy any longer.
Once he was gone, Rukia glared fiercely at Kyōraku Callum.
She understood now.
Her bad luck was entirely due to him.
"You're the most shameless person I've ever met!"
Kyōraku Callum nodded seriously.
"Thank you for the compliment."
Rukia was speechless, completely defeated.
"Damn it! I can't get the upper hand with this guy!!"
After calligraphy class, they parted ways.
Although Rukia had vowed never to see Kyōraku Callum again, that wasn't up to her.
Kyōraku Callum had little interest in the remaining classes. He'd already mastered Shunpo (flash step) in the Kyōraku household.
While not as skilled as the 2nd Division's Shunpo specialists, he surpassed average Shinigami.
After classes, Kyōraku Callum returned to his dorm, his mind filled with questions.
Unable to ask anyone, he sought answers within himself.
He sat on a straw mat, placing his asauchi beside him, focusing intently, attempting to enter sword meditation.
Fortunately, he seemed to have a natural talent for it.
Within minutes, he entered his Zanpakutō's space.
The familiar scene appeared before him: countless clocks ticking incessantly.
The "tick-tock" echoed throughout the space.
Still, he couldn't see any sign of his Zanpakutō, let alone its true name.
The eerie Zanpakutō space, Kyōraku Callum's bewilderment, formed a surreal picture: a young man in a black academy uniform, walking among countless clocks, searching endlessly.
Here, Kyōraku Callum couldn't perceive the passage of time, nor any change, static or dynamic.
He tried observing the clocks, but they seemed no different from ordinary clocks.
This only added to his confusion.
"How do I unlock its power?"
Kyōraku Callum scratched his head, feeling a headache coming on.
He wasn't a deep thinker, yet he had this peculiar Zanpakutō.
Normally, a Zanpakutō should be connected to the soul's essence.
But here, he saw nothing familiar.
Now, his only option was to follow the endless path of time.
Kyōraku Callum gritted his teeth and continued forward.
Step after step.
Initially, he counted his steps, but as the path lengthened, his patience waned, and he gave up.
After an unknown time, the scene remained unchanged.
He felt only mental instability, no other changes.
"Is everything… static?"
He stopped, looking at the surrounding clocks, muttering,
"So, this whole thing is a trick?"
As soon as he spoke, the clock space began to collapse.
The shattering space was terrifying.
Everything dissolved into nothingness.
As the space crumbled, Kyōraku Callum felt his consciousness blurring. He knew this was the prelude to leaving his Zanpakutō's space.
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