"Tornado Crush—Parking Lot Destroyer!!"
The moment Akira's roar cut through the training hall, he transformed Yamamoto's scorching wind into his own weapon. Using the momentum from his spin, a massive whirlwind erupted from the floor, twisting violently toward Yamamoto.
Akira became the eye of the storm, controlling the tornado's direction as it barreled straight at the bald captain.
Yamamoto looked up slightly, the corners of his small eyes lifting as a faint spark of surprise flickered within them.
Unexpected, indeed. Not because of the absurd and ungraceful name of the technique, but because of the boy's performance itself.
He had assumed Akira would meet him in a head-on clash, charging with equal force. Instead, the boy cleverly used the wind itself to propel his attack. Unprepared, Yamamoto had unleashed his full strength, only to have it turned into the signal for a counteroffensive.
Too unpredictable.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Yamamoto's lips. His right foot stepped forward, the sole scorching the floor like molten iron, leaving a trail of blackened, melting wood.
Boom!
The dojo trembled under the impact.
As before, he reared back his right arm, muscles swelling and twitching as if they had come to life. The pinnacle of Genryu combat flowed perfectly through his every move.
When Yamamoto's fist shot forward, the scorching wind erupted once again, like molten lava bursting from the earth's crust. The dojo was suffused with searing heat.
The wind screamed deafeningly, smashing against Akira's assault like a hammer, restraining the rapidly swelling tornado.
Akira's spin halted in an instant. Yet his pupils showed not confusion but clarity.
Training under waterfalls had already familiarized him with dizziness and disorientation.
This little bit of rotational force? It could not diminish his combat capability.
Besides—who said spinning couldn't be used to store power?!
The moment the wind paused, Akira quickly recalculated his position. Between the lingering gusts, he launched a final punch at the stationary Yamamoto.
Full Force—Straight Punch!
Yamamoto's eyes widened as the fist grew larger and larger. Today, Akira had given him so many surprises.
Though the technique remained slightly raw, this imaginative approach revealed not just potential, but a new path forward.
Genryu was far from reaching its limit.
But… to think this alone could defeat an old master was a bit naive.
A thin wisp of vapor escaped Yamamoto's teeth as he grinned, his scarred, exposed skin flushed red, muscles bulging like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
In an instant, his right hand shot forward. Fingers clenched, he caught the oncoming fist midair, the accumulated force exploding within yet creating no movement at all—like a stone sinking into the ocean.
Akira froze, staring in disbelief at the elder.
"That will do, Akira," Yamamoto said, grounding himself, his palm neutralizing the punch's impact. "Today's performance was decent. Much better than before."
Seeing Akira still stunned, he frowned slightly. With a single motion, his right arm extended, gripping the boy as easily as one might pick up a kitten, and then effortlessly tossing him back onto the still-intact floor.
"Sit."
Acknowledging the gap in strength, Akira obediently crossed his legs.
"Your strengths and weaknesses are clear."
Yamamoto walked closer, sitting opposite the boy. As he twisted his neck, a chilling crackling sound echoed, making Akira's scalp tingle.
"Your body is resilient—your spiritual form ten times stronger than others of the same reiatsu level."
"Don't dwell too much on this. Soul Society has existed for centuries, with countless souls. Exceptional cases are inevitable. The elite families guarding Seireimon, for instance, were naturally born with strong spiritual bodies."
"And as your reiatsu grows, this gap will shrink, and the advantage will lessen."
Akira nodded, thoughtful. Blue Dye had mentioned similar data before, but he hadn't cared.
At his current level—ninth-grade reiatsu—any peer of equal power hitting him full-force would be lucky not to reduce him to a bloody pulp.
"As for your weaknesses," Yamamoto's expression hardened. "Your talent is remarkable, but that's precisely why you advance too quickly, leaving your fundamentals shaky."
"In battles with a clear disparity in power, this might not matter. But in an evenly matched struggle, it could become your fatal flaw."
"Focus on strengthening your basics first. I'll highlight the critical issues—you watch carefully and learn."
With that, the old master rose, his body betraying none of his age or fatigue.
Across from him, Akira rose, wincing from prior injuries, his expression fierce, almost demonic. This time, there would be no further sparring.
Yamamoto waved his hand, beginning a demonstration of the most fundamental Hand-to-Hand techniques—those taught in the Spiritual Arts Academy.
But Yamamoto's movements were textbook-perfect, down to the minutest breath, replicated as if copied verbatim from the source. Worth noting: many of the Academy's textbooks were authored by Genryusai himself.
Soon, Akira was fully absorbed, eyes glowing with focus, unwavering, utterly serious. Yamamoto nodded with satisfaction.
If all Genryu disciples were this attentive, Soul Society would have been revitalized centuries ago.
After covering the basics, time had grown late. Yamamoto prepared to dismiss Akira, when the boy suddenly spoke:
"Captain, I still have a question."
"Speak."
"Master Kaede told me that the Academy can no longer nurture a genius like me. Staying here is a waste of time. Do you have any advice?" Akira said, expression unchanging.
Yamamoto pondered for a moment. "At your current strength, remaining at the Academy is indeed somewhat wasteful. But… Soul Society is unstable. Graduating early may carry risks."
"Unstable? You mean…"
"The former 11th Division captain has been imprisoned in the Unending Hell for illegally modifying souls."
He cast a sharp glance at the boy. "The current 11th Division captain is temporarily being deputized by Vice-Captain Itsuke."
"And during his imprisonment, assassination attempts have erupted across all noble territories…"
...
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