Morning in Fourth Division — The Death Sentence Wrapped in a Smile
Ethan woke to the kind of soreness that made him briefly consider becoming a broom in the supply closet instead of a person.
Bones were intact — thanks to Unohana's healing.
Confidence, not so much.
He stepped out into the hallway, fully expecting someone to stop him with a note saying:
> Captain Unohana says you're excused from training due to not wanting to die again.
Instead he got Mira, the senior healer, who just patted his shoulder sympathetically.
"She's waiting for you in the rear courtyard."
Ethan blinked.
"The… rear courtyard?"
"Mm."
Mira shivered.
"No one uses that one."
Oh great. A murder garden.
---
Fourth Division — Rear Courtyard
The courtyard was quiet, empty, too open, and too clean — like someone washed blood out of the tiles a few too many times.
Unohana stood in the center with her sword already in hand.
Not drawn.
Not threatening.
Just ready.
The morning sun outlined her silhouette, gentle and deceptively peaceful.
"Good morning, Ethan," she said, bowing slightly. "Today, we begin refining your swordsmanship."
Ethan swallowed. "With respect… Captain… I'm not sure the word 'refining' applies to whatever I have."
Unohana smiled.
"That is why we must begin with the basics."
The way she said "basics" made Ethan's spine lock up.
He had seen her basics before.
They were advanced war crimes.
---
Lesson One — Posture of the Living, Stance of the Dead
Unohana circled him like a painter evaluating a half-finished sculpture.
"Hold your sword."
Ethan drew his Fourth Division medical-issue zanpakutō — a shorter, lighter blade meant for defense, not aggression.
Unohana tapped the flat of it with a finger.
"That grip is wrong."
She moved behind him.
Her hands slid lightly along his arms and wrists, adjusting angle, pressure, and balance.
"Lower your shoulder. Relax your wrist. And shift your weight."
He shifted.
"No, not like that. Shift your weight with intention."
He tried again.
"Better. But you are thinking too loudly."
"Huh?"
Unohana stepped in front of him, gaze sharp.
"The sword is an extension of your reiatsu. Anxiety fractures intent. Intent fractures form. Form fractures survival."
"…I'm beginning to understand why your division has trauma."
She smiled.
"That is because you are perceptive."
Then she snapped her fingers.
Reiatsu pressure dropped like a hammer.
---
Lesson Two — Striking Under Killing Intent
Unohana's spiritual pressure was not heavy like before.
Now it was sharp.
Focused.
Precise.
Like a needle aimed at a vital point.
"Attack me," she said.
"No."
"You must."
"I'd rather not—"
She stepped forward.
Every instinct in Ethan's body screamed move or die.
He slashed.
Unohana deflected with the casual flick of a wrist — blade meeting blade without sound.
Ethan stumbled.
She followed gently, softly, the way a falling feather follows wind.
But her blade touched his neck.
"You hesitate," she whispered. "Start again."
He swung with more force this time.
She parried with even less effort.
Ethan's frustration rose. His reiatsu twitched, threatening to surge—
Unohana tapped his sternum with her hilt.
Pain exploded outward.
"You rely on raw power," she said. "That is sloppy."
"It's also the only reason I survived this long—!"
"And that," she said gently, "is exactly why we must correct it."
She raised her blade.
"Again."
---
Lesson Three — Footwork of the First Kenpachi
This part was hell.
Absolute, concentrated hell.
Unohana told him to move.
So he moved.
Right step — blocked.
Left pivot — punished.
Retreat — countered.
Forward — countered harder.
Every mistake she corrected with a strike.
Not enough to maim.
Just enough to teach.
She cut his sleeve clean off.
Then his other sleeve.
Then the edge of his hair tie.
"Your steps are predictable," she said calmly. "Walk with intent, not fear."
"I am full of intent," Ethan gasped. "All of it is to not die."
"That is not enough."
She vanished.
Reappeared behind him.
Lightly placed her blade against his back.
"You must learn to step in directions your mind fears."
"Captain, that is not—"
She pushed lightly.
Ethan stumbled forward —
Right into her next strike.
He barely blocked.
Barely.
"For someone with your potential," she said softly, "you cling too tightly to safety."
---
Lesson Four — The Cut That Reveals the Soul
Hours passed.
Sweat soaked his uniform.
His arms shook.
His legs felt like packed sand.
Unohana watched him, serene as ever.
"You are improving."
Ethan wheezed. "If this is improvement, I'd rather stay mediocre."
"That is not an option."
She lifted her sword.
"Now. Strike me with the intent to win."
"I'm afraid."
"You should be," Unohana said warmly. "Fear teaches. But resolve commands."
Ethan exhaled.
If he didn't show progress, she'd escalate.
If she escalated, Ethan might literally evaporate.
He gripped his zanpakutō.
Centered his stance.
Let his reiatsu rise —
But only a fraction, carefully wrapped with the Concealment Weave.
Controlled, not wild.
His swing was sharper.
Cleaner.
Directed.
Unohana's eyes softened.
She parried — but this time, she had to shift her foot by a hair.
A tiny concession.
A victory the size of a grain of rice.
But still a victory.
"You are finally listening to your sword," she murmured. "Good."
Then she flicked him across the courtyard with her scabbard.
He hit a wall.
Slid down.
Died a little inside.
Unohana walked over, healing energy already glowing around her hands.
"Excellent progress, Ethan," she said as she repaired his ribs. "Tomorrow, we apply these basics under bloodlust simulation."
"Captain," Ethan croaked, "I think I've had enough bloodlust."
She smiled gently.
"Not mine. Your own."
Ethan froze.
"Oh."
Unohana stood, smoothing her uniform.
"Rest. Eat. Hydrate. And reflect. You are closer to awakening your true potential than you realize."
Ethan blinked.
"…Awakening?"
Unohana paused at the door.
"Your zanpakutō is listening."
Then she left, leaving him alone in the courtyard breathing like someone who'd been run over by a herd of hollows.