The Squad 4 barracks hummed with quiet efficiency, healers bustling through pristine halls scented with medicinal herbs. Akio limped in, his body a symphony of bruises and cuts from another brutal spar. As always, he headed straight for Captain Unohana's private chamber—per Ryūgō's orders from the start of the year: 'Go to her. She's the only one who can patch you up right without asking stupid questions.'
When he slid open the door, she was already there.
Unohana Retsu—serene as a still lake, her hair flowing like ink over her shoulders. Her smile was gentle, almost motherly, but her eyes… those eyes carried an abyss.
"Sit," she said simply, her voice smooth as silk.
Akio obeyed, settling onto the mat. The faint glow of Kidō spread from her hands, warmth seeping into his wounds. For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Then Akio tilted his head, lips quirking faintly with a playful smile. "You know… you're really beautiful up close. So beautiful that it almost makes me forget the pain."
Unohana's hands stilled for the briefest second before continuing, her expression unchanged. "Flattery will not quicken your recovery."
Akio smirked. "Maybe not. But it might make you smile. And if it does, I'll consider myself healed already."
Her lips curved faintly, the smallest shift, but her eyes betrayed amusement. "You're far too bold for someone who drags himself here half-dead every week. You used to be so well mannered when you came, and look at you now."
Flashback: That first visit, months ago. Akio had staggered in, half-dead from Ryūgō's "training," blood soaking his robes. Unohana, hair neatly braided then, had greeted him without surprise with her characteristic smile. "Kurozume Akio. Ryūgō's new toy, I presume, though after many decades. Sit. This will sting."
Her voice was calm, absolute. Akio obeyed, sinking down. Warm green light bloomed from her hands, washing over him like a tide.
"…Thank you," he muttered.
"No thanks are needed," she replied softly. "This is my duty."
Visit after visit followed. Akio tested her with questions, teasing remarks. Once, he asked: "Why are you healing me every time I come without asking anything?"
"Most healers would complain," he winced as her Kidō pressed against broken ribs.
Her lips curved faintly. "Most healers have not been asked by Kenpachi himself."
Akio chuckled. "Fair enough."
Then on every visit Akio would try to start a conversation by asking Unohana random questions. But one day, Unohana asked him a question. "You come with broken body almost everyday. Why are trying so hard? Why not give up?" She had a curious expression on her face.
Akio had laughed, madness flickering in his eyes. "Give up? Nah. Because it's fun becoming strong. It feels the best when everyone looks at you with respect and reverence. When you're the strongest—you can do anything you want."
Unohana's lips had curved into something sharper. "Well, aren't you a cute one?"
"Cute, who me? Nah. You're the beautiful one. You look so young too. So beautiful and young that, I should call you big sis." he teased.
She ignored him. "Your treatment is finished."
Back to the present…
Akio clutched his chest dramatically. "You hurt me, big sis. Aren't I better now? But let's leave that—tomorrow is the Crimson Ascent. Won't you come see me?"
Unohana made a thoughtful expression, then nodded once.
---
The wasteland crater, their personal hell, thrummed with latent energy under a sky bleeding from orange to deep violet. The final spar.
Kenpachi Ryūgō stood across from him, his massive nodachi *Tetsuryū* resting on his shoulder. The old man's wild gray hair was like a storm cloud around his head, his amber eyes gleaming with a feral pride.
"Last one, kid," Ryūgō growled, his voice like continents grinding together. "No holds barred. Show me the monster I forged before you go show those academy brats what real power looks like."
Akio said nothing. He simply drew his Asauchi. The plain blade seemed to drink the fading light, shadows coalescing around it like a shroud. His Reiatsu, once a leaking faucet, now rolled off him in controlled, dark waves—a pressure that would have flattened most seated officers.
They moved simultaneously.
There was no hesitation, Akio used Shunpo then, just disappearance and an earth-shattering *CRACK* as their blades met in the center of the crater. The ground beneath their feet splintered into a web of fractures. Ryūgō's style was ancient, efficient, and brutally direct—every swing meant to dismember, every thrust aimed to pierce the heart. Akio met him not with finesse, but with adapted savagery.
He weaved Ryūken into his Zanjutsu—a Toryū-enhanced punch to parry a blade swing, the shadowy energy numbing Ryūgō's arm for a split second. He used Sōryū not as a flurry of strikes, but as a relentless, flowing chain of movement, closing distance and creating angles that shouldn't exist, his afterimages blurred by clinging darkness.
"HAH! That's it!" Ryūgō roared, laughing as he was forced to actually defend, his nodachi moving in a whirlwind to counter Akio's unpredictable assaults. "Use everything! The tricks, the shadows, the damn kitchen sink!"
Akio's eyes were slits of focused intensity. He feinted a high slash, melted into an Utsusemi that left a shadowy decoy stumbling forward, and reappeared low for a Gekiryū grapple at Ryūgō's legs. The old Kenpachi grunted in surprise as the shadowy bindings snagged him, and for a breathtaking moment, he was off-balance.
It was all the opening Akio needed. He poured every ounce of his power into a single, point-blank Shō. The incantation was a thought, the release a thunderclap of force amplified by his dark Reiryoku. It wasn't elegant, but it was devastating.
The blast hit Ryūgō square in the chest, throwing the 2nd Kenpachi back for the first time in their entire year of training. He skidded feet-first through the dirt, carving deep trenches before coming to a halt, his chest heaving. A slow grin spread across his scarred face.
He straightened up, sheathing Tetsuryū with a definitive *click*.
"Enough." The word echoed in the sudden silence. "You're ready. Now go to that tournament and crush them. And remember our deal."
Akio bowed, his own chest burning, his Asauchi dripping with condensation from his unleashed Reiatsu. "I won't forget, old man. Zaraki. At his peak."
Ryūgō nodded once, a look of fierce satisfaction in his eyes. "Don't get sappy. Just win." And then he was gone, vanished in a flicker of pressure that left Akio alone in the ruined crater.
---
The Shin'ō Academy training grounds had been transformed. Grandstands draped in crimson banners surrounded a massive, sealed arena floor. The air crackled with anticipation and the dense, overlapping Reiatsu of the most powerful beings in Soul Society. 'The Crimson Ascent' was not just a student tournament; it was a spectacle for the captains.
And they were all there.
At the center of the main viewing platform, 'Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni' sat like a stone idol, his ancient hands resting on his cane, his eyes closed as if in meditation, yet missing nothing.
To his right, 'Unohana Retsu' observed the assembling students with her characteristic serene smile.
'Shunsui Kyōraku' lounged nearby, his wide-brimmed hat pulled low but his eyes keenly interested, a sake gourd held loosely in one hand. 'Byakuya Kuchiki' stood rigidly, arms crossed, his expression an impenetrable mask of noble disinterest.
'Sōsuke Aizen' offered a benign, encouraging smile to the students below, the picture of a supportive captain. 'Gin Ichimaru's' fox-like grin was in place as he whispered something that made 'Kaname Tōsen' sigh slightly. The massive form of 'Sajin Komamura' stood stoically beside the stern, watchful 'Soi-Fon'.
And then there was him.
Looming at the edge of the captain's platform, a mountain of unchecked power and scar tissue, was 'Kenpachi Zaraki'. His captain's haori was thrown over one shoulder, and his single eye roved over the crowd with blatant boredom.
"Tch. A bunch of kids swingin' sticks," he grumbled to no one in particular, his voice a low rumble. "Where's the fun in that? Where's the blood? Yachiru, this is boring."
The tiny vice-captain perched on his shoulder giggled. "But Ken-chan, maybe one of 'em is strong! Maybe one'll surprise you!"
"Doubt it," Zaraki scoffed, but his eye lingered on the arena with a flicker of predatory hope.
From the sidelines, Yumichika's mentor, 'Kiyomi Hoshizora' of the Kidō Corps, watched with analytical sharpness, while Ikkaku's teacher, 'Goro Takayama', stood with arms crossed, a permanent scowl etched on his face.
The academy's Zanjutsu instructor, Hiroshi Tanaka, stepped into the center of the arena, his voice amplified by a simple Kidō.
"Welcome to the Crimson Ascent! A trial by combat to determine who among you stands above all others! Rules are simple: single elimination. Fight until surrender or incapacity. Killing blows are forbidden—though accidents can happen."
A ripple of nervous laughter.
"The eyes of the Gotei 13 are upon you," Tanaka declared, gesturing to the captains. "Fight with pride, or leave now."
No one moved.
"Good," Tanaka barked. "Then let the matches begin!"
The tournament commenced. Several matches played out to cheers and gasps. Skilled students demonstrated polished Kidō, swift Hohō, and solid Zanjutsu. It was impressive, academy-level fighting at its finest.
Then Tanaka consulted his scroll. "Next match! Kurozume Akio versus Sato Ren!"
Silence.
Tanaka looked around the competitor's waiting area. He saw no sign of Akio. A few students snickered. Had the top-ranked student gotten cold feet?
"Kurozume Akio to the arena!" Tanaka called again, his voice firmer.
Nothing.
Ikkaku scowled. "Where is that runt?"
Yumichika tapped his chin. "Fashionably late is one thing, but this is just rude."
Tanaka's face began to darken. To delay a tournament watched by the entire Captains' Court was a grave insult. He took a deep breath for the third and final call.
"KUROZUME AKIO! THIS IS YOUR LAST—"
He never finished.
It hit like a physical wave.
A Spiritual Pressure so dense, so vicious, and so reeking of killing intent that it stole the breath from every student in the arena. Weaker recruits collapsed to their knees, eyes wide with terror. Others vomited or fainted outright. Sato Ren, Akio's designated opponent, dropped his Asauchi with a clatter and fell to all fours, trembling uncontrollably.
The captains stiffened. Shunsui's hat tilted back. Byakuya's eyes widened a fraction. Aizen's benign smile didn't slip, but his gaze sharpened behind his glasses. Zaraki's bored expression vanished, replaced by a wide, manic grin. "Now that's more like it! Who is that brat? So sad if he was a little more older we could have fought."
Yamamoto's eyes cracked open, a single, bushy eyebrow rising infinitesimally.
And then he appeared.
He didn't use Shunpo. He simply walked into the arena from the entrance tunnel, his footsteps echoing in the dead silence. Akio's academy robes were torn and dusty from his spar with Ryūgō. His Asauchi was still in its sheath at his hip. But his eyes… his eyes held the cold, focused gleam of a predator fresh from the hunt. The overwhelming, bloodthirsty Reiatsu poured from him, a suffocating blanket of power.
He looked at the terrified Sato Ren, at the stunned Instructor Tanaka, and then casually scanned the stands of horrified students and intrigued captains.
A look of faint surprise crossed his face, as if he'd just remembered where he was.
"Oh. Sorry," Akio said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. He made a vague gesture with his hand, and the crushing Spiritual Pressure vanished, retracted so completely it was as if it had never been. The relief was audible, gasps filling the air as students struggled to breathe again. "I just came straight from training with my master. I forgot to restrain my killing intent and Reiatsu."
Instructor Tanaka stared, his mouth agape. 'What kind of training… and with whom… could leave a student with that level of palpable bloodlust?'
Sato Ren, shakily retrieving his sword, got to his feet. His face was pale, but a flicker of determination remained. He couldn't win, everyone knew it. But he couldn't yield without a fight.
Tanaka, collecting himself, barked, "Begin!"
Ren charged with a desperate yell, swinging his Asauchi with all his might.
Akio didn't even draw his blade. He sidestepped the telegraphed swing with minimal movement, his own body a blur. A palm strike to Ren's solar plexus knocked the air from his lungs. An elbow to his jaw snapped his head back. Before Ren could even crumple, Akio grabbed his arm and hip-tossed him effortlessly over his shoulder, sending him flying cleanly out of the ring to land in a groaning heap.
The match lasted three seconds.
The crowd was silent for a moment longer, then erupted into murmurs. Akio hadn't even broken a sweat.
He crushed his next match with similar, brutal efficiency. Against a noble prodigy who began a long Kidō incantation, Akio simply vanished from his spot and reappeared directly in front of the boy. A sharp jab to the throat halted the chant with a gurgle, followed by a sweeping kick that planted the noble face-first into the dirt. The boy yielded, gasping for air.
Another foe, a burly brawler known for his Hakuda, charged like a maddened bull. Akio didn't retreat. He met the charge, swaying under a wild punch and delivering a single, devastating Gekiryū-enhanced punch to the man's stomach. The air left the brawler's lungs with a whoosh, and he dropped like a sack of stones, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"He's not even trying," a student whispered, echoing the thought on everyone's mind.
Shunsui chuckled from the stands, taking a sip from his gourd. "Kid's toying with them. Overwhelming physicality—no waste."
Byakuya gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod of agreement. The real tournament, it seemed, had just begun.