Kidō—the high-level spell techniques exclusive to Shinigami—are categorized into three branches: Hadō, Bakudō, and Kaidō."
"Hadō governs offensive and destructive techniques. Bakudō governs binding and defensive arts. Kaidō, though less frequently used in combat, governs healing and restoration."
"Today, we'll begin with Hadō."
Standing at the center of a broad, circular training field within the Seireitei's Spiritual Arts Academy, Jūshirō Ukitake addressed the top students of First Class. His voice was calm yet commanding, echoing lightly across the stone-floored court surrounded by thick spiritual barriers designed to absorb Kidō backlash.
Every student before him was a prodigy—geniuses who would one day shape the Soul Society. From Urahara Kisuke, with his razor intellect, to Tessai Tsukabishi, future Grand Kidō Chief, they absorbed knowledge not merely through repetition but by inference and instinct.
"Hadō #1: Shō."
Ukitake calmly extended a single finger. From his fingertip, Reiryoku surged in a focused burst of kinetic force, and a thick wooden stake ten meters away shattered into splinters. Even the lowest-ranked Hadō was formidable when executed by a Gotei 13 captain.
"With sufficient spiritual power and control," he continued, "the lengthy incantations of Kidō can be bypassed entirely. The same applies to Bakudō and even Kaidō in advanced applications."
"Now, begin your individual practice."
Having demonstrated both the full and incantation-less versions of Hadō, Ukitake gave them space to explore and experiment freely. He didn't hover or micromanage—these students didn't need it.
He had taught thousands over his centuries, and this cohort would write their own legacy.
"Kidō? Doesn't seem too difficult," Akira muttered under his breath, closing a worn leather-bound manual. The pages recorded Hadō and Bakudō spells from #1 to #60, complete with hand gestures, Reiryoku flow diagrams, and optimal application strategies.
He stood, ready to select a nearby stake to test a few spells—until a discontented voice echoed through his mind.
[Your Kidō talent is overwhelming. Please refrain from interfering in his training.]
[Your Kidō has spoken—if you begin practicing, the Zanpakutō and Kendō disciplines at the next table will jeer at it. To prove its worth, it's already practiced every Hadō and Bakudō from #1 to #60 on its own.]
Akira paused mid-step, eyes twitching slightly. He exhaled and sat back down under the shade of a sakura tree at the edge of the courtyard.
He had originally intended to train just like everyone else. But apparently, his Kidō—one of the cheat-level aspects of his transmigration—had an inflated sense of pride. It couldn't bear the idea of being looked down on by the more martial arts-focused systems, so it trained itself while Akira was reading.
Honestly, he suspected it wasn't even finished. The spellbook only listed techniques up to #60, but that didn't mean his Kidō ability had reached its limit.
"Hadō #4: Byakurai."
"Hadō #11: Tsuzuri Raiden."
"Hadō #12: Fushibi."
He recited them casually in his mind, and each activated without the need for gestures or chants. Clean, crisp execution.
Across the yard, Jūshirō Ukitake swept his gaze across the training field. Each student was immersed in casting. Tessai Tsukabishi, though Rukongai-born and newly introduced to Kidō, was already an anomaly. Despite his first formal lesson, he had already mastered Hadō #15: Ryōdan, and was casting it chantless with power rivaling a seated officer.
Byakuya Kuchiki, raised in the Kuchiki main house, and Shihōin Yoruichi, heiress of the Shihōin clan, had years of training in advance—yet Tessai's raw talent was quickly closing the gap. This was what Ukitake admired most: pure, unrefined genius that transcended pedigree.
But as he scanned the grounds once more, something caught his eye.
Akira .
The one who had achieved Shikai within a day of forging his own Zanpakutō—who had caused even Kisuke and Yoruichi to pale—was now… sitting under a tree, seemingly doing nothing.
Ukitake's brows furrowed.
He approached slowly, calm but curious.
"Student Akira ," he asked gently, "is something wrong?"
"Are you struggling with Hadō? Or perhaps there's something unclear about today's lesson?"
"You're welcome to ask me anything."
Any other instructor might have assumed laziness. Some might have thrown chalk, as was tradition with unfocused students.
But Jūshirō Ukitake wasn't just a captain—he was a mentor. And he knew better than to misjudge someone like Akira , especially after the astonishing revelations of the past few days.
Not only because of his good temper and patient nature, but also because he knew Akira 's innate potential all too well—a genius on par with or beyond prodigies like Gin Ichimaru.
"Thank you."
"But, Jūshirō-sensei, there's nothing I don't understand."
Akira shook his head gently, lips curling into a polite, nonchalant smile.
"Then why aren't you practicing Kidō?"
"Look around."
"Everyone else is training—even Aizen. As the older brother, shouldn't you be setting a better example?"
Jūshirō Ukitake spoke earnestly, a hint of concern in his tone. Though Akira always behaved modestly, Ukitake wondered if the boy's overwhelming talent had made him complacent—or worse, arrogant.
After all, to achieve Shikai within a day of forging a Zanpakutō wasn't merely unheard of—it bordered on legendary. Perhaps he'd lost interest in the more methodical disciplines like Kidō?
Their conversation soon drew the attention of the surrounding elites—Urahara Kisuke, Byakuya Kuchiki, Tessai Tsukabishi, and several others—each quietly tuning in as they paused mid-casting.
[Your Kidō says: "Cultivation is my domain. If you interfere, I'll let that show-off Zanpakutō and smug swordsmanship at the next table laugh at me."]
Akira sighed inwardly.
"Honestly, Jūshirō-sensei,"
"I want to train—but my strength… it doesn't allow me."
"Please, don't waste your time worrying about me. There are other students who need your guidance more."
He bowed slightly, his tone sincere yet evasive.
Seeing the genuine concern in Ukitake's expression—an expression that silently begged him to reconsider—Akira had no choice but to act the part of the helpless genius.
The truth was more absurd than he cared to explain.
He had tried to practice many times, attempted to go through the motions, even argued with his own system—but his Kidō ability, self-aware and prideful, refused to let him.
It rejected interference outright.
It insisted that Kidō development was its exclusive domain, that Akira 's intervention was unnecessary and disrespectful.
If he dared to train improperly and ended up being mocked by the swordsmanship and Zanpakutō training systems next door, it threatened to boycott all further progress, refusing to cast even a single Hadō or Bakudō beyond that point.
What could he say to that?
In the end, he had no choice but to retreat under the shade of a tall tree at the field's edge, letting the arrogant Kidō system do its own thing while he looked like he was lazing about.
"Tch. What an arrogant fool."
From not far away, Byakuya Kuchiki, who had been focusing on precise Hadō incantations, narrowed his eyes. He wasn't one to outwardly express anger, but his brows twitched, and his tone held a trace of annoyance.
"Even members of the Kuchiki Clan, trained in Zanjutsu, Hakuda, and Kidō since childhood, wouldn't dare speak such lofty words."
"You would do well to restrain yourself. Pride unchecked leads only to disgrace."
If Akira had simply stayed silent, Byakuya might have ignored him. But his earlier words, telling Jūshirō Ukitake to "spend his time on other students," had stung.
Byakuya was a noble—but even he trained diligently, showing respect to every instructor. For Akira to brush off a captain's guidance so easily—it was intolerable.
"Thank you for the advice."
"But some things, like Kidō, don't benefit much from repetitive practice."
"It's more effective to master them early. After all—there's such a thing in this world as talent."
Akira 's voice was calm, but his words held an undeniable edge.
"Talent smooths over time, effort—and even your noble lineage."
He turned slightly, glancing at the young, prideful heir of the Kuchiki family—so poised and disciplined, yet so clearly ruffled.
A small, knowing smile tugged at Akira 's lips, indifferent to the tremble of anger that passed through Byakuya's otherwise composed expression.