Lu Yu had always concealed his strength. His true power—especially the godlike might of his Zanpakutō—had never once been shown in open battle. But now, the opportunity he never sought had arrived on its own.
Frost began to spread across the furniture in the dormitory room, creeping silently like death. The temperature plunged without warning, and had Lu Yu's Reiatsu not surged in time to envelop his body, even he would have been frozen in place. He vanished in a blur of movement, blade unsheathing in a single motion, and slashed downward at the slumbering silver-haired boy on the futon. "All laws and all things—falsehoods. Sen Luo Wan Xiang, rule the world!" The incantation rang out, and in the next moment, the world fractured around him.
Reality collapsed into the domain of the blade. In the infinite plane within his Zanpakutō's spirit realm, ancient trees rose toward the heavens, their trunks thick with age, their branches twisted skyward. Endless mountains curled around one another like waves beneath a limitless sky. Amid this expanse of spiritual steel and silent awe, a titanic sword fell from the heavens—crashing into the ground, cleaving earth and sky in two.
From that celestial edge, a phantom roared into existence: a white ice dragon, magnificent and unyielding, spiraled through the air with scales that shimmered like frozen glass. Its arrival shattered silence with a cry that shook the mountains, a high, keening wail that summoned forth walls of frost and howling blizzards in every direction. This was Hyōrinmaru, the strongest ice-element Zanpakutō in all of Soul Society—unbound, furious, and fully awakened.
But it was no match for Sen Luo Wan Xiang.
Despite its majestic form and devastating elemental power, Hyōrinmaru found itself pinned in place—its movements halted, its spiritual force crushed by an overwhelming presence. It struggled, it shrieked, it summoned tempests that could bury entire cities in snow, but the divine blade remained unmoved. Even the dragon's strength could not resist the invisible chains that held it fast.
Lu Yu stood calmly within this frozen tempest, watching the scene with distant eyes as the phantom of Hyōrinmaru raged in vain. "So this is the strongest of the ice-element Zanpakutō... You're impressive," he said with quiet indifference, his voice carrying easily through the vast dreamscape. Then, as though speaking to a child throwing a tantrum, he extended one hand and murmured, "Enough. Playtime's over."
With a pulse of spiritual dominance, the ice dragon's form cracked apart—shattered into threads of reishi that scattered like snowflakes and dissolved into the void. One blow. One invocation. That was all Sen Luo Wan Xiang required to suppress the strongest elemental Zanpakutō in existence.
That was its power: domination. Everything that existed—whether tangible matter, spiritual force, abstract principle, or rule-bound ability—could be controlled by Lu Yu, so long as his Reiatsu eclipsed the target and his understanding of it was absolute. Conceptual energy, natural elements, even the essence of a being's soul—all fell within the dominion of his blade. This was no mere combat ability; it was authority incarnate.
Though its activation demanded vast amounts of spiritual energy and required strict preconditions—most notably the superiority of Reiatsu and deep cognitive grasp of the target—its effects were irreversible and immediate. Few abilities in Soul Society could be called invincible without exaggeration, but Sen Luo Wan Xiang made no such claim—it simply was. The world obeyed its wielder.
The deeper Lu Yu's understanding of a phenomenon, the more perfectly he could manipulate it. And in the case of Hyōrinmaru, Lu Yu knew it better than its own master. Hitsugaya's connection to his Zanpakutō was still new, unstable—whereas Lu Yu had already dissected it in theory and now experienced it in form. As for Reiatsu? The power flowing through Lu Yu dwarfed nearly every Shinigami in the Academy, possibly even several seated officers within the Gotei 13.
Suppressing Hyōrinmaru had been effortless.
As the frost melted away and the spiritual cold evaporated, Hitsugaya stirred. His eyelashes fluttered, and he sat up slowly, blinking at the frozen air and frost-dusted floor. A tight expression crossed his face—trouble again. Before he could speak, Lu Yu waved off the situation with casual assurance. "Relax. It's fine. Your sword was just a little cranky waking up. I took care of it."
As he spoke, he allowed Sen Luo Wan Xiang to slip back into its sealed form. The residual cold that had filled the room just moments before had never breached the boundaries of the dormitory, contained entirely within Lu Yu's field of control. It had never been allowed to endanger anyone.
"Thanks... again," Hitsugaya muttered, voice low with frustration. "I keep causing trouble. I can't even control my own Zanpakutō."
He hated this. He hated being the burden. He didn't want to hurt anyone—least of all Lu Yu, who kept cleaning up after him. Why couldn't he just master it the way Lu Yu had?
"You've only just bonded with your Zanpakutō," Lu Yu said calmly, tone without judgment. "What happened was a normal reaction. Once you attain Shikai, things will stabilize."
Hitsugaya stared down at his sealed blade, thinking of the dragon that loomed so close in his dreams—so real, so near, yet still unreachable. It was his sword. So why did it respond to Lu Yu instead of him?
Lu Yu, catching the shadow in the boy's eyes, added more firmly, "Don't compare yourself to me. It's pointless. You're already ahead of nearly everyone else. Aside from me, no one in the Spiritual Arts Academy can match your raw potential. The only mistake you're making is choosing the wrong rival."
Hyōrinmaru wasn't designed for average Shinigami. Its natural rival was Ryūjin Jakka—the oldest, most powerful fire-type Zanpakutō in history, capable of obliterating the Three Realms with its flames. For a weapon like Hyōrinmaru to accept a wielder, it required a soul that could one day stand against the apocalypse. That Lu Yu had suppressed it so easily was not an insult to Hitsugaya—but proof of the sheer scale of power the blade demanded.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, Lu Yu summoned a steaming bowl of ramen into existence. The scent of spiced broth and slow-cooked beef filled the room, and Lu Yu's expression relaxed for the first time that night. After such intense spiritual exertion, he was ravenous. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks, he dug in with enthusiasm, slurping down the noodles as if savoring a treasured memory.
"Even as a spirit item, this ramen's still better than half the food I've had in the physical world," he said between bites. "Not quite Ōtsutsuki-level cuisine, but hey—at least it's not one of those overhyped noble dishes with golden flakes and no taste. Simple flavors, cooked right... that's real food."
Hitsugaya sniffed at the air, eyes wide and stomach audibly growling. He tried to hide it, but the noise betrayed him.
"Where'd you even get that?" he asked, voice low with both curiosity and a touch of jealousy. "Smells amazing."
"You're too late," Lu Yu replied, slurping the final mouthfuls and patting his stomach. "I was starving. It's already gone."
Hitsugaya's eye twitched. "My sword went berserk. And now you've stolen my food, too..."
The following morning, Lu Yu and Hitsugaya walked into the special class lecture hall together. Hitsugaya remained quiet as always, choosing a seat near the window in the back corner—solitary, observant, unobtrusive. Meanwhile, Lu Yu offered a wave to Hinamori Momo, who had been bouncing in her seat trying to get their attention.
He took the seat directly behind Hitsugaya, as if silently promising to stay nearby.
"Hey, Momo, do you know that guy?" whispered the brunette girl sitting next to Hinamori. "He's, like... insanely good-looking."
"We're just friends," Momo said automatically. Then, after a beat, she smiled faintly. "Best friends."
Hitsugaya, she thought, was more like a little brother. But Lu Yu? Lu Yu was different.
"Best friend, huh?" the girl teased, drawing out the syllables with an exaggerated grin. "Must be nice."
A few rows down, Abarai Renji leaned forward, his red hair spiked and untamed. "More transfers?" he muttered with irritation. "What happened to strict entry standards?"
This was the elite class. No one got in unless they were gifted—or well-connected. His eyes narrowed. Maybe they were more nobles, like that insufferable Tsunayashiro Masao, with their arrogant smiles and family crests. His hands clenched. One day, he'd wipe those smirks off their faces.
Kira Izuru, sitting beside him, seemed more curious than annoyed. He was already plotting how to make friends with the new students. Anyone that calm after suppressing a dragon had to be worth knowing.
Up front, a tall student with jet-black hair scoffed. "Trash. That's what they are. This isn't a playground. Let's see how long they last."
After Daewoo Nahara Yan Wulang gave the usual welcome speech—half inspirational, half indoctrination—the students were brought out to the Kidō training grounds. Rows of students sat in formation, grouped in fours, waiting for their turn.
Lu Yu and Hitsugaya, as new arrivals, were told to observe for now rather than participate.
"Special class, first group—step forward!" barked the instructor.
At the command, the first quartet stood and began performing the elementary Hadō techniques that formed the bedrock of every Shinigami's spiritual training.
Lu Yu crossed his arms and leaned back.
The rest of the class was still learning to walk.
But he? He was already sprinting.