A gentle chant danced through the air like a whisper at one's ear, while the raging flames painted the sky as if divine fire had come to consume the city.
The moment Nagasawa Masaru released his Asauchi, the spiritual pressure he'd been suppressing exploded like a tiger uncaged. Dazzling golden light surged upward, almost tangible in its brilliance.
As Oniganjo Kenpachi charged in with his brutal Zanpakutō raised, Masaru simply swung his blade. In that instant, the searing flames around him seemed to transform into a wrathful guardian deity. With just a motion, those flames closed in from all sides, forming a blazing wall that trapped Kenpachi inside. No matter how wildly he charged, the inferno seemed to possess a will of its own, chasing him relentlessly and denying him any chance to break through.
One move was all it took to suppress a Captain-level opponent.
Yet the battle between Masaru and Oniganjo Kenpachi brought more than just surface shockwaves.
"So... hot..."
"I... I can't breathe..."
"Get back, now! This is no longer a fight you students can safely observe!"
The scorching heat seemed to devour the surrounding oxygen in seconds. In no time at all, several Shin'ō Academy graduates were showing signs of suffocation and dehydration.
It made sense. After all, Ryūjin Jakka, known as the oldest and strongest flame-type Zanpakutō, was said to raise the surrounding temperature to match that of the sun's surface—just from its Shikai release. Had Masaru not deliberately restrained his spiritual pressure and the blade's power, the mere act of unleashing it would have killed everyone nearby.
Realizing something was wrong, the instructors quickly ordered the able-bodied students to assist one another and evacuate.
Meanwhile, the captains of the Gotei 13 all turned in unison toward Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni. His face remained as calm and composed as ever, seemingly unaffected by the swirling chaos.
Kyōraku Shunsui, one of Yamamoto's direct disciples, wiped the sweat from his brow and quietly stepped over to his peer, Ukitake Jūshirō. With a serious expression, he asked in a low voice, "Ukitake, I remember the academy taught us that two identical Zanpakutō can't exist in the same era, right?"
Ukitake's eyes were just as heavy with concern. He stared intently at Masaru, as though trying to pierce the veil of mystery around him. After a moment of silence, he replied, "Yes. In fact, not just the same era. According to ancient records, even across a span of a thousand years, the appearance of two identical Zanpakutō is exceedingly rare."
Shunsui narrowed his eyes. "If there really are two Ryūjin Jakka existing at the same time, the damage it could bring to Soul Society would be catastrophic. Let's just hope this doesn't turn into the worst-case scenario..."
While Kyōraku was known for his lazy and carefree attitude—so much so that people often questioned what the Eighth Division even did—he was also a scion of one of Soul Society's noble houses. His worldly experience was undeniable.
Seeing Masaru use Ryūjin Jakka so effortlessly had only one implication in his mind: if two such weapons ever clashed, their combined power could erase the entire Soul Society in an instant.
A desperate hope formed in his heart.
Maybe… maybe it was just some ability that let Masaru copy the form of other Zanpakutō. If it was just that, perhaps it could still be salvaged.
Before he could voice that theory aloud, someone else beat him to it.
Byakuya Ginrei, head of the Kuchiki Clan and Captain of the Sixth Division, spoke calmly.
"That may not be Ryūjin Jakka," he said. "According to the Kuchiki archives, a Zanpakutō is born from the wielder's soul. The stronger the power, the lower the chance of duplication. And considering that Zero Division member... that's likely why no two identical blades should appear in the same era. This one may be a Zanpakutō with a similar ability—or perhaps one that shares the same origin."
With that, Shunsui fell silent.
As the head of one of the Five Great Noble Clans, Byakuya Ginrei's words carried immense weight. Even though he hadn't spelled it out, Shunsui—familiar with the rumors surrounding the Royal Guard—immediately understood what he meant.
And then, at that moment, the long-silent Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, who had been watching Masaru intently as if engaging in some silent exchange, finally spoke. His voice was soft, yet it carried clearly across the entire training ground.
"That's enough. End it here."
The instant his words were spoken, the blazing hellscape vanished as though it had never been there. The only evidence of its existence was the lingering heat in the air—and the utterly charred figure of Oniganjo Kenpachi, still dumbly swinging his massive Zanpakutō as if the battle hadn't ended.
A world where only Kenpachi got hurt had been realized.
Masaru understood how to show respect to future leadership—especially when his own life still hung in the balance. So, without hesitation, he released his Shikai.
Despite the appearance of overwhelming power, Masaru had actually kept his strength carefully contained throughout the fight. Not a single Shin'ō graduate had been harmed by the aftermath, and even his opponent, Oniganjo Kenpachi, had only received surface-level injuries. Masaru had given everyone face.
Still, not everyone seemed to appreciate that.
Covered in soot, his hair scorched into an indescribable shape, Kenpachi roared in fury.
"Hold it right there!"
"I haven't lost yet!"
"You little brat, you think you can humiliate me like this and get away with it?! I'll make you pay!"
"Ban—!"
Clearly, Oniganjo Kenpachi couldn't accept a world where he was the only one left injured.
Blinded by rage, he prepared to unleash his Bankai and charge at Masaru for another three hundred rounds.
However...
"Enough!"
The shout rang like thunder. Yamamoto Genryūsai, who had just moments ago appeared calm and aloof, now opened his eyes wide. Though aged, they were still razor-sharp as he locked his gaze on Kenpachi and growled each word with steely weight.
"Have you not embarrassed yourself enough?"
"Look at his feet. He hasn't even moved from his original spot. You still don't understand the difference between you two?"
Kenpachi froze.
He quickly turned to Masaru—who had already sheathed his blade and was smiling as if nothing had happened.
Just as Yamamoto had said, the skinny boy who looked like a bean sprout had never moved an inch from his starting position.
Then Kenpachi turned again, facing the other Captains behind him.
Their expressions said it all.
Each of them looked at him with the same eyes—eyes that said, "Everyone else figured it out. You're the only one who didn't."
For the first time in his life, Oniganjo Kenpachi felt the shame of being outsmarted. The high ground of intelligence had been stolen from under his feet.
Shinji Hirako let out another helpless sigh and muttered, face in palm, "Seriously now… Why the hell did they let such an idiot become a Captain?"
Upon hearing that, the Eleventh Division's Vice Captain once again wished he could crawl into a hole and disappear.