A peaceful night's sleep!
Arima Shinya's luck wasn't too bad — the dormitory assigned to him was located in a more secluded area.
Because he didn't have to mingle with the nobles and their endless etiquette, he could act freely, without worrying about class distinctions.
Moreover, his two roommates were from different classes, allowing Arima to move "off-peak," rarely crossing paths with them.
Although he wasn't particularly fond of solitude, at this stage of his life, what mattered most was focusing on his studies.
After all, once he graduated, he'd probably never again have such a convenient environment for learning.
Commoners should behave as commoners — and if the Academy was a treasure, then he intended to make the most of it!
Since it was only the first day of classes, the school hadn't started anything too demanding — which, for Arima, was excellent news.
Other than kendō (Japanese swordsmanship), he was practically illiterate in the other three core disciplines.
For someone like him, who wasn't there merely to "gain experience" or "fill a curriculum," but truly to study, the challenge was welcome.
"Hakuda, also known as hand-to-hand combat.
It's one of the four fundamental techniques — I assume everyone understands its importance…"
"Shunpō, the flash step technique.
It allows movement at a speed imperceptible to the human eye, appearing beside the enemy or even farther away…"
"Kidō…"
An entire day of classes passed, and although Arima didn't recognize any of the instructors, his notebook was completely filled with notes.
His special ability — to gain attribute points upon being instructed — was proving its worth.
[You have been introduced to the fundamentals of Hakuda – Hakuda +2]
[You have been introduced to the fundamentals of Shunpō – Shunpō +2]
[You have been introduced to the fundamentals of Kidō – Kidō +2]
Aside from kendō, all his skills had increased by +2!
Satisfied with his progress, Arima couldn't help but feel an abundant sense of accomplishment.
"Say what you will, but… entering this school was the best decision of my life!"
Had he not managed to infiltrate the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy, he would never have had access to this kind of knowledge while living in the slums of Kusajishi District.
When the day finally ended, he was exhausted — but completely fulfilled.
Curiously, Aizen hadn't attended class that day — apparently, he had been called away for something outside the Academy.
In his place came a substitute teacher, a middle-aged man with a stern expression.
Most of the students sighed in disappointment, which left the poor substitute confused.
"Am I… really that unlikable?"
"Well then, that will be all for today.
Starting tomorrow, you'll have two classes per day, and tests will be held at regular intervals.
Please, be prepared…"
The long and monotonous speech made it clear that the workload would be intense — and soon, complaints started spreading among the students.
After all, not everyone could keep up with such rigorous material.
The difficulty of the exams and the high standards would surely push many toward unimportant, dead-end positions…
A bleak future, to say the least.
But in contrast, Arima Shinya had no such worries.
He had no time to waste complaining — training was what mattered.
In good spirits, the boy left the classroom and headed toward the kendō dojo.
However, he hadn't expected to find the place so crowded — it was already past ten at night!
"What the hell… don't you people ever sleep?!"
Curious, he asked the old caretaker watching over the dojo.
The man scratched his ear lazily, replying with a tone of disdain:
"Ah, must be some young noble who decided to train on a whim.
Then all the usual bootlickers came running after him, like dogs chasing their master.
And there you have it — a damn circus."
"I see…"
Nobles, huh…
Arima sighed, slightly melancholic.
Even without his twenty years of life as a refugee, he could still feel the sharp divide between commoners and nobles.
After all, even Rukia, in the original story, had been an example of that.
At first, an ordinary, inconspicuous student — but the moment she received the Kuchiki surname, everyone's eyes turned toward her.
The teachers' expectations, the jealousy of her peers…
Such things were everywhere.
For some, it was pressure; for others, an invisible prison.
"Typical Japanese caste system…"
But in the end, none of it had anything to do with him.
One way or another, those arrogant nobles would get what was coming to them.
"Want to act all high and mighty, huh? Fine then… Aizen will teach you how to fly!"
After a brief rest back in the dorm — two hours of sleep — Arima got up again.
His night training plan couldn't stop.
"I'd like to see if any noble dares to train at midnight!"
Returning to the dojo, he found the place still lit, but now finally quiet.
"Excuse me, could I borrow a uniform and a wooden sword, as usual?"
The caretaker checked his ID and sighed in mild admiration.
"You're just a first-year, right? And you came yesterday too… do you really need to push yourself this hard?"
"Hehe, slow birds need to fly early."
The old man chuckled, shaking his head in understanding, then pointed with his chin.
"Training room number five is empty. Go ahead and use it."
Technically, Arima was only allowed to train during designated hours — but it was obvious the old man was bending the rules for him.
"A good man, truly!"
"Thanks!"
Carrying the uniform and wooden sword, he hurried into the dojo.
But before he reached the training room, something made him stop.
In the corner, someone lay collapsed on the floor.
The figure was in a pitiful state.
The body was covered in red welts and open wounds, the uniform torn apart, muscles swollen and bruised…
He looked like a wounded wild dog, slumped against the wall, breathing weakly.
Like a fish caught in glue, he struggled to take in air, trying to grasp the last traces of life.
Still alive, but only halfway so.
Arima watched silently for a moment, until he heard the old man's voice behind him.
"Ah, best not to get involved with that one.
Some noble came to train, and the poor fool insisted on fighting him one-on-one.
With skills like that, it's a miracle he's still breathing."
"I see…"
"Every now and then, one of these shows up — people who think that just because they entered the Academy, they've become equals to the nobles.
They don't realize how small their shadows really are."
Arima followed the caretaker's gaze and saw the young man staggering to his feet, limping out of the dojo.
His steps were unsteady, his face tense and pale — it looked like he could collapse at any moment.
Arima just watched quietly, without intervening.
Everyone had their own path.
If that was his, then it wasn't Arima's place to interfere.
Besides, he wasn't yet strong enough to help anyone else.
He dressed, entered the hall, and began training.
Repetitive motions, cuts, variations — for more than two hours straight.
[You swung your wooden sword – Kendō +1]
Satisfied, he planned to get some sleep before the next class.
He thanked the caretaker and left the dojo.
The sky was still dark when he walked back along the same path…
And there, in the corner of the street, he found that same figure again.
The young man was curled up, unconscious, completely drained.
"Looks like he passed out on the way… they'll find him in the morning and take him to the infirmary."
Arima stared for a while.
He could have just left him there.
It wasn't his fault, nor his responsibility.
Morally and logically, he had no reason to get involved.
Coming from the slums of Kusajishi, Arima knew well the cruelest rule of survival:
The world belongs to the strong.
The weak who challenge the system end up crushed.
The "rules" are chains of steel — the more you struggle, the deeper they cut into your flesh, until your body stops breathing.
Yes… the right thing would be to leave him there.
But even so… his feet stopped.
He turned slightly, his eyes lingering on the fallen body — that "wounded beast" still breathing, weakly, but alive.
…
Some time later, the sound of water being wrung out filled the room.
Tossing aside a blood-stained towel, Arima saw the young man stir and, with effort, open his eyes.
"You're awake?"
The other didn't respond immediately.
Instinctively, he reached toward his waist, fumbling for something familiar — only then did he relax slightly.
"…Who are you?"
His voice was tense, full of suspicion.
"Class 5, first year — Arima Shinya.
And this is my room. You're lying in my bed."
"That's not what I asked…"
The young man had dark skin, short purplish hair, and wore protective goggles — perhaps due to a vision problem.
He tilted his head slightly, not looking directly at Arima, relying only on his hearing to orient himself.
"Why… did you help me?"
Arima crossed his arms, exhaling in resignation.
"If you want a reason… I guess I just thought it was a pity."
"A pity?"
He twisted the towel, watching the water drip back into the basin.
"Life should be valued.
After all, once you die… there's nothing left.
I don't know what your issue with the nobles is, but dying like that, for nothing, seems like a waste."
Two lives, two worlds — and yet, reborn in the slums of Kusajishi.
Even knowing that souls could absorb spiritual energy to survive, hunger still existed.
Without food or drink, they died just the same.
And in the slums, that was normal.
Those who didn't steal starved.
Those who didn't fight were erased.
And it was in that world that Arima learned the true value of life.
"Even if you have resentment, can't you wait a little longer?
Gather strength.
Become capable of facing them as an equal — only then think about revenge."
Turning around, he picked up a cup of warm water and extended it, gently touching the young man's limp hand.
"I'm not good with speeches… what you do afterward is up to you."
But for now, at least…
"Drink some water.
Your body won't hold up if you keep this up."