Amamiya Miyako lowered his hand that had been reaching for his zanpakutō. With a sharp breath, he vanished in a flash of Shunpo, dodging the stream of glowing arrows flying his way.
"Tch... Shunpo again?" Ishida Ryūken narrowed his eyes. "Don't use that. That's a Shinigami technique. Try gathering reishi under your feet to move. From now on, seal all Shinigami abilities—whether it's in movement or combat. From here on, you fight as a Quincy."
"Yare yare..." Miyako scratched the back of his head, wincing slightly. "That's easier said than done, Ishida-san…"
He had spent five whole years training in the Gotei 13. Cutting himself off from everything he learned there was like walking without legs. Still, Ryūken's words struck true. As long as he leaned on Shinigami techniques, he'd never truly master Quincy reiryoku control.
"Hai… I understand, Ishida-san." Miyako took a step back and raised his Quincy cross, drawing in ambient spiritual particles. His reishi bow began to take shape in his left hand, faint blue and still unstable. With his right, he began forming arrows.
Without waiting for Miyako to finish, Ishida Ryūken raised his own hand and casually launched a volley of arrows.
"Tch—!" Miyako fired instinctively.
The arrows clashed midair, but Miyako's arrow shattered on contact while Ryūken's shot ripped through cleanly. Eyes widening, Miyako barely twisted his body in time to avoid being pierced.
"What the hell—?" he muttered.
"Your Heilig Pfeil," Ryūken said coolly, "is nothing but a child's drawing. It looks right, but its density and focus are far too weak. You need to compress more reishi—compact it tightly while keeping the arrow's size the same. Otherwise, you couldn't even purify a Gillian."
Miyako nodded grimly. So far, all he'd done was form the shape of an arrow, but power didn't come from form—it came from control.
Following Ryūken's instruction, Miyako gathered reishi into a single point, shaping the arrow again—but this time focusing on compression. He squeezed more particles into the form without altering its external size.
But he didn't even get halfway.
Another flurry of arrows whistled toward him.
"Wha—!" He flinched and instinctively tried to use Shunpo—but stopped himself.
The arrows hit. One grazed his arm, another caught his thigh, and he stumbled backward, gritting his teeth.
"No enemy will wait patiently while you charge up," Ryūken said coldly. "Move with reishi. Keep gathering while evading. Do both, or you're already dead."
"Hai!" Miyako grunted, forcing himself upright.
He started to circulate reishi under his feet, forming thin pads of energy—basic Quincy footing. It wasn't as fluid as Shunpo, but it worked. He ran across the uneven reishi-constructed ground, gathering spirit particles with both hands while ducking Ryūken's relentless assault.
Again and again, he formed arrows, dodged attacks, and failed. But he also improved—bit by bit, his arrows began to shimmer brighter, denser. His movement steadied.
The hours passed like that.
.....
"That's enough for today," Ryūken finally said, ceasing fire as he turned toward the door.
Miyako collapsed onto one knee, breathing heavily. His body was covered in bruises and burn marks where reishi had scorched him. His robes were tattered. And yet… his spiritual pressure still pulsed strong. For now, he could still complete his Shinigami duties without issue.
"Be here by five o'clock. Every day," Ryūken added without looking back.
"I'll be here… Ishida-san," Miyako replied, standing slowly.
As he moved to follow, Ryūken tossed something over his shoulder. Miyako caught it reflexively.
A black cloak.
"This will suppress your reiatsu," Ryūken said, adjusting his glasses. "If you keep coming and going from my clinic, it'll draw attention from the other Shinigami. That would be… troublesome."
Miyako blinked at the cloak, recognizing the craftsmanship. "This… this is Urahara-san's work, isn't it?"
Ryūken didn't answer.
"Hontou ni… that helps a lot. Arigatou, Ishida-san."
Miyako had been wondering how he'd train without alerting others—especially once Fourth Seat Kotsubaki recovered. But Ryūken had already considered that. Their thoughts aligned, though nothing needed to be said.
"It's just a business transaction," Ryūken muttered, stepping out of the reishi training space.
Miyako didn't argue.
...
Amamiya Miyako didn't waste time lingering. He quietly returned to the place he once called home—but five years had passed. His old room had long since been torn down, replaced by a remodeled building now occupied by strangers.
Just like that, the last trace of Amamiya Miyako's existence in the Human World had vanished.
He stood there for only a moment, casting a final glance at the street and window. But nostalgia had no place in his heart now. Both the Human World and Soul Society were on the verge of drastic change—and he knew it.
"Yare yare... no time for sentiment," Miyako muttered, pulling his black cloak tighter around himself.
If he wanted to strengthen his control over reishi, he'd have to rely on Quincy abilities before finishing off Hollows with his Zanpakutō. That way, he'd polish both sides of his power without favoring one over the other.
Leaping onto a telephone pole under the silver moonlight, he pulled out the Quincy Cross given to him by Ishida Ryūken. He raised it silently. The cross gleamed faintly in the pale light. Gripping it tightly, Miyako turned and vanished into the shadows.
Later that night, he arrived at a quiet, isolated spot—perfect for reflection. Sitting cross-legged beneath a lone streetlamp, he steadied his breath.
"It's time," he said, closing his eyes and diving into the depths of his inner world.
His consciousness shifted, and the familiar inner landscape unfolded before him.
"Well, well… So you came back," said the black-haired, white-robed boy with a smirk. "Did learning a tiny bit of Quincy knowledge from Ishida-san give you a false sense of confidence?"
Amamiya Miyako stared at him. Something felt… different. The edges of the boy's white robe were now tinged with creeping darkness, slowly spreading, like ink soaking into cloth. Still, Miyako didn't dwell on it. His goal was to sharpen his instincts and get used to the rhythm of his Zanpakutō in combat.
"I didn't come here to defeat you," Miyako replied calmly. "Just preparing for what's to come."
"Hah! That so? Fine then. Come at me. I'll push you until you break."
Without hesitation, the boy formed a Reishi bow in his hand and fired the first arrow.
Miyako moved swiftly, manifesting his own bow through Reishi manipulation. With precise movements, he gathered spirit particles, forming an arrow and releasing it.
To his surprise, the Heilig Pfeil (Holy Arrow) he shot was far more potent than before. It shattered his opponent's arrow mid-flight and surged forward without resistance.
"Huh...?" Miyako blinked. It reminded him of the time Ishida Ryūken's arrow had effortlessly pierced his own. But this time, he was the one with the upper hand.
The black-haired boy tilted his head just enough to let the arrow fly past. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"You seem shocked," he said. "But you shouldn't be. This is your inner world. If your understanding of Quincy power has evolved, it will be reflected here. This world reacts to you, after all."
Miyako narrowed his eyes. "Then why tell me that?"
"Because, if you've learned it… then I have too." With that, the boy smirked and raised his hand again. Another Heilig Pfeil condensed into existence and flew straight at Miyako.
Miyako didn't hesitate. He responded in kind—and this time, the two arrows clashed and exploded in midair, equal in power.
"Tch… figures," Miyako muttered. "He grows just as fast as I do."
That realization settled in his chest like a stone. It wasn't just that his Zanpakutō spirit knew more—it was evolving alongside him.
But giving up? That wasn't in his blood.
"Tch... guess there's no easy way out," he muttered, lunging forward to engage again.
Their clash continued, echoing through the endless skies of Miyako's inner world.
Yet unnoticed by him, the creeping black stain on the boy's robe continued to spread—inch by inch—slowly drowning the white in a consuming darkness...