The familiar, mechanical voice of the system echoed within Lu Yu's mind, precise and emotionless.
"Congratulations to the Host for checking in. Purple-grade A-rank reward acquired. Due to interaction with plot character Matsumoto Rangiku, reward tier has been upgraded. Golden-grade S-rank Zanpakutō: Sen Luo Wan Xiang—Shikai form—has been obtained."
In that instant, the announcement rang like divine music in Lu Yu's ears. Not merely a powerful reward—this was an S-rank Zanpakutō, already in Shikai form. No forging, no decades of meditation or battle-hardened breakthroughs. Just power—pure and immediate. A windfall so outrageous it bordered on divine intervention.
Three-minute Shikai? Hope you're paying attention, Xiaobai.
In the sea of his inner world, three glowing abilities shimmered before him like stars on a black ocean. Their radiance etched themselves into his soul, each one a silent promise of untapped dominion. Then, from deep within his heart, a voice called out—feminine, ancient, and resonant.
"Call my name. Release my power."
Guided by the inherited instincts from Sen Luo Wan Xiang itself, Lu Yu invoked the release incantation with deliberate calm.
"All laws and all things—falsehoods! Sen Luo Wan Xiang, rule the world!"
The blade in his hand stirred in response. In an instant, its once-ordinary appearance contorted under a rush of spiritual power. The familiar curve of the sealed katana straightened and flattened, becoming narrow and refined—its new form sharp, divine, and battle-hardened. Gleaming in the ambient spiritual pressure, it evoked the elegance of the legendary Yitian Sword, a blade of myth capable of contesting the Dragon Saber itself.
As Sen Luo Wan Xiang reached full Shikai manifestation, Lu Yu's spiritual vision bloomed wide. His consciousness expanded into a vast and boundless realm—an inner world of infinite sky and ageless ground, the very domain of the sword spirit. In that endless terrain, something ancient stirred, and a tidal force, quiet but overwhelming, pressed outward from the center. Power—massive, dormant, and absolute—was awakening.
The spiritual pressure within Lu Yu burst free. His Reiatsu, once compressed and still, now flooded outward like a ruptured dam, warping the air itself. But before the spiritual fluctuations could ripple beyond the isolated area, Lu Yu instinctively activated one of Sen Luo Wan Xiang's abilities—Omniform Suppression. In seconds, the surging energy was restrained, masked, and perfectly contained.
This place—secluded behind the Spiritual Arts Academy's forbidden zone—had been carefully chosen by Lu Yu. There were no teachers. No students. No patrols. No eyes. Despite the magnitude of spiritual upheaval, the field remained still, its silence preserved by absolute concealment. No one sensed a thing. And no one could have imagined that within these quiet woods, a freshman had already reached Shikai.
This wasn't brilliance. It was heresy.
Lu Yu's body trembled—not from fear, but from the intoxicating surge of power flooding his limbs. His Reiatsu, already high for an Academy student, had risen by over thirty percent. It wasn't just a step up—it was a leap past conventional boundaries. Ordinary Shinigami would have spent centuries grinding for that much gain. Veterans like Kyoraku Shunsui or Ukitake Jūshirō didn't reach their heights by shortcut—they reached them by endurance, by clawing for inches across lifetimes of hardship.
But Lu Yu had skipped the line.
He hadn't just caught up to the average Shinigami; he'd reached their peak—and then stepped beyond it. His spiritual pressure alone now rivaled that of seasoned combatants. And with Sen Luo Wan Xiang in hand, he finally had a weapon worthy of his power. Before this, he'd been a powerhouse with no means to exert control, forced into brute confrontations with lieutenant-level Shinigami, hoping to scrape by with sheer resilience. Running hadn't been an option. Winning had always been uncertain. Now? He wasn't yet a Captain—but a duel wasn't out of the question anymore.
He was no longer fighting for survival—he was starting to fight to win.
This, finally, was a foundation. A foothold. A declaration that Lu Yu was no longer a lost soul in a world of giants—he had arrived.
The Academy had been the right choice after all.
Without a Zanpakutō, a Shinigami was just a uniform and a name. Their sword was their soul, their will made manifest. Without it, they were fractured. Crippled. Shadows of what they could be.
Glancing down at his transformed Zanpakutō—now a sleek, archaic sword of sharp lines and sacred presence—Lu Yu smirked.
"Don't tell me you're the one Ryūjin Jakka turned to ash back in the day."
The blade trembled, a subtle vibration in his hand. At the edge, a glint of cold light flickered—displeased, perhaps. Lu Yu chuckled and immediately apologized.
"Okay, okay—that was rude. Couldn't help myself."
If Sen Luo Wan Xiang's spirit had been more outspoken, it might have snapped: "Are you insane? Who insults their own Zanpakutō seconds after awakening it?"
To soothe its indignation, Lu Yu dropped into a meditative stance, letting his breath settle and his spiritual frequency align with the blade's. Slowly, through repeated spiritual contact, his understanding of Sen Luo Wan Xiang's power began to deepen. Yet, the entity within remained elusive—silent, perhaps shy, or simply distant. The bond was still too shallow. It would take time.
He didn't rush. Mastery required patience.
"This ability…" he murmured to himself as he visualized its form. "It's deceptive. Looks average at first glance—but its potential? Insane. If used right, this isn't just a Shikai. It's a battlefield-dominating skillset."
In truth, he was being modest. An S-rank Zanpakutō wasn't just high-tier—it was rare, almost mythical. Its amplification of Reiatsu, its flexibility, and its capacity to manifest multiple techniques placed it far beyond the reach of standard blades.
Lu Yu's complaint about a "low floor" wasn't about the weapon—it was about his own impossible expectations.
He trained until midnight. When he finally returned to the dormitory, the moon cast its pale glow across the room. There, curled under a thin blanket, Hitsugaya Tōshirō slept soundly, arms wrapped around his still-sealed Zanpakutō, his expression soft and satisfied. Clearly, the boy had made good progress during the day.
Lu Yu grinned. What boy didn't like big swords?
Still, he didn't bother tucking in his roommate. He only tightened his own blanket, because the temperature had dropped drastically. The air was unnaturally cold, as if someone had left the spiritual equivalent of an industrial air conditioner on full blast.
Frigid.
He shook his head and sighed, not out of weakness, but in amusement. His body, trained and fortified by spiritual power, could handle the cold without issue—but the atmosphere was a clear sign of what was brewing. Had he not worried about spooking the boy, Lu Yu might've yelled, "Oi, brat! Wake up! You freezing the room on purpose or what?"
Instead, he returned to a seated meditation position atop his bed, once again channeling focus into Sen Luo Wan Xiang.
The system had given him capital—now it was up to him to turn that into strength. If he failed to do so, he'd become a joke—a cautionary tale whispered about behind closed doors. No one else might realize how unstable Seireitei truly was, but Lu Yu did. It was a nest of thorns wrapped in ceremonial silk. Beneath the surface lay ancient rivalries, secrets, and ever-looming threats. And beyond the walls? Menos. Hollows. Vasto Lordes. Devourers of squads.
Even nobles like Shiba Kaien, with centuries of legacy behind them, could fall in a single tragic mission.
A Shinigami's life was never safe. Especially not for someone with potential.
Lu Yu's only insurance was overwhelming strength. And so, while others slept, he kept sharpening himself—learning Sen Luo Wan Xiang's tricks, peeling back layers of its mystery, and refining control over its Omniform techniques.
He hadn't come close to touching Bankai, but Shikai alone offered a treasure trove of strategic depth. Without the system's absurdly generous jump-start, this Zanpakutō would've taken him decades to master. But now? It was his—brilliant and deadly.
Its powers were paradoxical: easy to activate, but difficult to wield well. Misused, they'd be clumsy. Mastered, they'd be fatal.
Lu Yu had no plans to be clumsy. One wrong move and your legend becomes a joke. He had no desire to be the cautionary tale with a record of zero wins and ten soul-crushing losses.
Time passed. Quietly. Steadily. Somewhere in the night, the system threw him a minor bonus: a steaming bowl of Ichiraku ramen. Oddly anachronistic—but warm and strangely satisfying.
Then, just before dawn, Lu Yu's eyes opened sharply.
He felt it. The shift in the air. The spiritual chill that had hovered all night suddenly intensified.
Hitsugaya's Reiatsu had reached a tipping point.
A surge of ice-elemental energy burst forth, sweeping across the room like an invisible blizzard. Everything grew colder. Sharper.
Lu Yu's smile returned, slow and eager.
He didn't panic. He didn't flinch.
"My test subject's arrived."