Silence settled over the arena, broken only by the soft, continuous trickle of blood.
For the soon-to-graduate academy students and the observing Shinigami, the brutal scene forced them to confront the world's real face — raw, merciless, unadorned.
And in that same moment, they etched a single name deep into their hearts:
Kisaragi Akira.
From this day on, no matter which division he eventually joined, he would be the one everyone watched.
Shiraki Shinichi collapsed to the ground, his once-arrogant face twisted beyond recognition. The easy confidence he'd displayed earlier was nowhere to be seen — only terror and pleading remained.
But no one responded.
Countless eyes remained fixed on Akira, the boy who looked every bit a demon as he raised both hands…
…and waved casually toward the viewing stands.
Yamamoto Genryūsai felt a very bad premonition rise in his chest.
Before he could bark out a warning—
A voice boomed across the dojo:
"I am the High Priest of the Rebellious-Bone Shrine — specializing in exorcisms, blessings, consecration, divine mediation, spiritual consultations, and the sale of protective charms and talismans!"
"Future colleagues, if you ever need something, feel free to visit anytime—"
Aizen couldn't stop himself from rubbing his forehead and sighing.
Of course this idiot would pull something like this.
The boy was advertising his shrine.
In front of the entire academy.
During the graduation assessment.
Once the exam ended, Yamamoto-soutaichō was probably going to flay him alive.
Up on the high platform, Yamamoto's forehead bulged with veins as scorching heat radiated outward in waves.
If not for Ukitake Jūshirō's quick reflexes in grabbing his arm, he likely would have launched a flaming punch straight toward the boy below.
"Brat… when this examination ends, I will—"
The sudden surge of killing intent hit Akira like he'd been hurled into an active volcano.
Heat crushed down from all directions, so intense it felt like it would roast him on the spot.
Seeing Yamamoto on the brink of spontaneous combustion, Akira didn't waste a second — he vaulted out of the dojo in a single leap.
Back at the contestants' bench, he sat down with perfect posture, hands on his thighs, expression innocent as though none of the chaos had anything to do with him.
Aizen gave him a sidelong glance and murmured in half amazement:
"I didn't expect you to think that far."
Akira blinked at him, genuinely confused.
"In battle you come off ruthless, ferocious, even bloodthirsty.
But the moment the fight ends, you flip instantly into harmless mode. That contrast subtly shifts everyone's impression of you."
"That way, after you join a division, you won't get excluded — you'll blend in easily—"
As Aizen analyzed aloud, Akira frowned… then gradually relaxed… then lit up in sudden understanding.
"Exactly! That's what I meant!"
"Only you truly understand me, Sōsuke!"
Aizen abandoned all further analysis.
He'd been overthinking.
This idiot had only been advertising.
From the viewing stands, the assembled Shinigami stared at Akira with complicated expressions — awe, respect, admiration… and a bit of fear.
On the high platform, Captain Unohana Retsu smiled softly, her gaze fixed on him.
Her beautiful eyes glimmered with a strange light.
As expected of the one I've taken interest in… both his talent and his combat style fit that title perfectly…
Soon after, Chōzuka Genjirō announced the official end of the examination.
Most candidates had passed and were now Shinigami in full.
All they needed next was the division assignment.
Of course, those with enough talent could submit an application to their desired division.
Geniuses like Matsushita Takeo and Takeshita Saori had already done so—and been immediately accepted.
As for monsters like Kisaragi Akira and Aizen…
They didn't need to write a thing.
The division officers responsible for scouting new recruits were already hunting them down by scent.
Akira hadn't even stepped out of the dojo before several brave officers rushed to invite him enthusiastically.
Akira responded politely, promising to make a careful decision.
Even if transfers were common later on, choosing one's first division still mattered.
Before long, once the crowd thinned—
A frail, gentle-looking man stepped into Akira's path.
"Hello, Akira-kouhai. First time meeting. I'm Ukitake Jūshirō."
A warm, all-season-air-conditioner kind of smile spread across his face.
He truly looked like the kind type.
"I'm also a disciple of Master Genryū, and I joined a little earlier than you, so calling you 'kouhai' isn't too presumptuous."
"Ukitake-senpai."
Akira greeted him with zero hesitation.
After all, he'd clearly seen it — if Ukitake hadn't grabbed Yamamoto yesterday, he would've been punched into oblivion.
And this senpai seemed extremely easy to get along with, similar to Captain Unohana on her gentler days.
Ukitake turned, pointing at the large 13 printed on his back.
"So? Interested in joining the 13th Division?"
Akira hesitated for a moment.
"No rush."
Ukitake winked.
"This is just a formality."
Even though Akira's performance was spectacular — enough to stand out even among the Thirteen Divisions — Seireitei wasn't just about combat.
Politics existed too.
Ukitake spent most of his days in Rainfall Hall recovering from illness. He only handled duties when his condition allowed.
Most day-to-day work fell to his lieutenant, Kotobuki Sentarō.
A kouhai as overwhelmingly strong as Akira… with Sentarō's personality, conflict was almost guaranteed.
And Ukitake wouldn't know who to back.
If left alone, Sentarō might end up in eight pieces.
He visibly winced at the mental image.
Just as he was about to continue, he broke into a heavy fit of coughing.
"Cough—cough— Don't worry. It's an old issue."
Akira's concerned look gave him an idea.
"I heard earlier… You said you were the High Priest of the Rebellious-Bone Shrine, correct?"
Akira nodded.
"In that case… do you have a charm that blesses the wearer with good health?"
A faint hope flickered in his eyes.
Long ago, he'd survived only by offering his diseased lungs to the Great One — Mimihakki-no-Kami.
His lungs had been permanently fixed at the state of a three-year-old's — weak, fragile, prone to collapse.
He had tried using the divine eye embedded within to communicate again, hoping he could offer something else for health.
But the Great One's answer had been something he could not endure.
His recent nightmare had also been his first time receiving an unsolicited message from the deity.
When he later explained everything to his teacher, Yamamoto…
He learned that the divine eye had gone out of control because of this very boy's ritual.
Ukitake had wondered endlessly what made Akira so special.
Was talent alone enough?
Even now, he didn't have the answer.
But Akira brightened instantly.
"That's easy."
"Consider it my greeting gift to you, senpai."
He reached into his pocket — somehow still intact after yesterday's battle — and pulled out a thick stack of charms.
He selected one and handed it over.
The wooden plaques used for making charms came from his sign-in rewards and were stored safely in the system inventory.
Ukitake blinked.
How had these charms survived that fight?
Aizen, watching from the side, sighed softly.
Even he had no idea where this guy kept all his stuff.
Every time Akira produced an item, it was a new mystery.
Ukitake thanked him and studied the charm carefully.
A pristine white wooden plaque, engraved with a familiar image — luxurious robes curling around a black right hand.
The personified pose radiated sanctity, awe, and inviolable majesty.
On the back of the hand, a single closed eye rested peacefully, its cold gaze seeming to stare straight ahead.
"It may not fully restore your health," Akira said with a sincere smile, "but it should help. The One-Eyed Great Kami will be quietly watching over you."
Ukitake gently stroked the charm, feeling the familiar divine energy within.
After a quiet moment, he looked up and smiled warmly.
"Thank you, Akira-kouhai.
If you ever need help in the future, just say the word."
Akira nodded and accepted the favor without reservation.
This Ukitake-senpai was easy to get along with.
Once he secured his support…
Then he just needed to win over Captain Kyōraku of the Eighth Division…
And after that —
He could launch a counterattack against Yamamoto!
Genryū School would one day speak with one voice.
His!
Heheheh…
With such ambitious thoughts, Akira watched Ukitake leave, then followed Aizen back to Shin'ō Academy.
Since neither had chosen a division yet, they would continue living in the dorms for now.
…
"Sōsuke, have you decided which division you're joining?"
Akira lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Since returning to the academy, he'd been agonizing over his options.
Judging from the conditions offered by Yoruichi and the others, the 2nd Division, the 4th Division, and the Kidō Corps all had irresistible perks.
Choosing was torture.
Aizen was thinking too.
Division placement mattered — it would shape the trajectory of his future plans.
But one thing was certain:
He absolutely would NOT join the same division as Kisaragi Akira.
This guy's senses were sharper than most captains.
If they stayed together long-term, those secrets that must never see the light of day…
He would eventually figure them out.
They might not even remain friends.
Aizen mentally reviewed each division's duties, then deduced which ones Akira definitely wouldn't pick.
"I'm thinking either the 3rd, 5th, or 12th Div—"
SNORE—
Before he finished, rhythmic snoring came from the bed next to him.
Aizen fell silent.
There were times he genuinely wanted to stab this brat.
…
The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched Akira's face, he jolted awake.
Not because of his internal clock —
but because a familiar spiritual pressure unfolded over the entire dorm like a net.
A moment later, a deep, ancient voice echoed in his ear:
"Kisaragi Akira. Report to the First Division barracks. Immediately."
The suppressed fury beneath the words felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Having his dreams shattered, Akira's face contorted in annoyance.
He was just about to block the telepathic communication and go back to sleep when—
"If you dare to sever this link with your spiritual pressure, I'll teach you the meaning of a strict teacher."
The call disconnected instantly.
Being threatened at sunrise by a deranged old man, Akira dragged himself out of bed, letting out a weak, miserable groan:
"This… is life…"
FIRST DIVISION BARRACKS — COMMANDER'S MEETING ROOM
When Sasakibe Chōjirō led Akira to the spacious, subtly luxurious chamber, Akira felt his stomach drop.
He glanced at the immaculate silver-haired gentleman beside him.
"Vice-Captain Sasakibe… There isn't a funeral ceremony today, is there?"
Sasakibe gave him a deep, meaningful look.
Based on his many years beside Yamamoto, today likely wouldn't involve a funeral…
…but the future?
That was another matter.
"No."
Relieved, Akira strode forward with exaggerated confidence and pushed open the doors.
"Yamamot—"
Multiple gazes locked onto him.
One of them was especially lethal.
The words died in his throat instantly.
"Ahem. Good morning, Commander-General. You look… very radiant today!"
Yamamoto snorted coldly.
"Thanks to you, I'm not dead yet."
Every time he remembered this brat's antics yesterday, flames rose in his chest anew.
Shin'ō Academy had existed for nearly two thousand years, hosting over three hundred graduation assessments.
But never — NEVER — had he seen anything as ridiculous as Kisaragi Akira.
If Ukitake hadn't stopped him yesterday…
As Yamamoto's anger simmered, Akira turned his attention to the others in the room.
Most were familiar faces:
Unohana Retsu
Shihōin Yoruichi
Takekasa Tessai
Ukitake Jūshirō
Others he recognized from reputation:
Kyōraku Shunsui in his pink-floral haori
Kuchiki Ginrei, who resembled his descendant Byakuya
And one he didn't recognize at all —
a young man with curled black hair and an utterly average appearance, sweating nervously among the elites.
Yoruichi waved at him cheerfully.
Unohana smiled warmly, her eyes full of expectation.
Tessai, Ukitake, and Kyōraku all nodded with polite smiles.
Akira returned each greeting with friendly enthusiasm.
Yamamoto shot him an exasperated glare and motioned for silence.
"The reason we called you here today is to discuss your future placement."
Akira stepped into the center of the room. Hearing this, he loosened a little.
"Isn't that something I decide myself?"
Yamamoto nodded.
"Normally, yes."
"Most talented academy students are free to submit applications to their chosen division."
"But in this case… circumstances are special. I must intervene."
He paused, then gestured at the captains gathered.
"They all want to recruit you into their divisions—"