Chapter 2: A Little Bit of Alcohol Boosts One's Courage
Northern Rukongai, 80th District — better known as Zaraki.
It was the furthest district from Seireitei and also the most lawless. Compared to the peaceful 1st District, this place was a land of violence, famine, and chaos — a cesspool where brutal souls gathered to fight, kill, and survive.
Even the legendary 11th Division Captain, Kenpachi Zaraki, and his subordinates Ikkaku and Yumichika had once crawled their way out of this very district.
It was a place where dragons and snakes mixed freely… but strong individuals were never in short supply.
A long line of residents in front of the gate came to an abrupt halt at the sound of a mocking voice.
"Hey, hey! What's a fancy noble's brat in a haori doin' out here? If you wanna stay alive, hand that haori over without a fuss."
Staggering unsteadily in front of the broken gate was a young man in a noble's haori and a straw hat — black-haired, slim, wobbling from side to side like he might fall any second.
Blocking his way were dozens of burly thugs, each close to two meters tall with muscles bulging like chiseled granite. They grinned cruelly at the sight of him.
The nearby souls slowly backed away in fear, clearing a wide circle around them.
"You saying I'm a noble?" the youth — Shiba Kuroba — hiccuped, raising dazed eyes and a flushed face.
"No… you just said you want my haori, right? Then trade me some wine… not much… three jars of any good stuff'll do."
The thick stench of alcohol rolled off him as he spoke.
Then, under everyone's gaze… his foot slipped. He crashed face-first into the dirt.
Dead silence.
Seeing this disheveled drunk sprawled on the ground, reeking of booze with not a trace of noble dignity, even the vicious thugs stiffened in surprise.
A noble haori was supposed to be as precious as life. Yet this kid just offered it up for alcohol.
"You little bastard… are you mocking us?" growled the leader — a man in battered armor — drawing a scale-pattern sword.
"Listen up! We're the Black Raiders, biggest force in the Zaraki District — three thousand strong. Hand over your haori nice and easy and maybe your fancy family can ransom you. If not — you die right here."
"Judging by that embroidery on your shoulder, you're a high-ranking noble. Don't even try claiming you don't have money — we aren't fools."
The surrounding thugs chuckled viciously and tightened their grips on their weapons.
"Stop! I'll pay for him," a crisp voice called out.
A young woman in plain white garb landed lightly beside Kuroba. Short black hair framed a calm, determined face. At her waist hung a Zanpakutō.
Kuroba cracked open one eye and pushed himself up, swaying.
"Hic… figured you'd just watch and not step in. Still — showing up dressed like that's basically serving yourself up to be eaten."
"You knew I was here? And what do you mean served up? I'm a Shinigami. Also — drinking is forbidden in the Gotei 13!" Rukia frowned, clearly surprised and annoyed.
She'd actually been tailing him for half an hour, hiding to observe what differences this drunken youth had from the late Shiba Kaien — since they were both from the Shiba Clan.
Her conclusion: a complete drunkard.
Before arriving, she had already heard rumor of the rising unrest within Zaraki. But without concrete evidence, the Gotei 13 couldn't simply sweep in and execute them. From a Shinigami's perspective, these Black Raiders were just stronger-than-average wandering souls — not worth serious military action.
"Hah. A woman, huh?" The armored thug snorted before breaking into a laugh. "Judging from how you carry yourself, you're Gotei 13. I'm Kazama, leader of the Black Raiders."
"Lately we've been figuring out how to level up our power. Even if we can't get Zanpakutō, if we grab your Kido manuals, that'll do just fine. Once we're strong enough, stormin' Seireitei and overthrowin' you Gotei 13 will be as easy as breathing!"
His arrogant words rang through the empty street.
Any actual Captain here would've called him a moron.
As it stood, Kuroba — who had only transmigrated half a month ago — and Rukia, whose strength was barely that of an unseated officer — wouldn't stand a chance if this became a real fight.
"Hic… anyone got wine? I'll swap this haori for a drink…" Kuroba muttered, opening up a glowing interface only he could see.
---
Wine God System
Host: Shiba Kuroba
Level: Incompetent Novice (Needs 1 more fine wine to reach "Drinker")
EXP: 8/20
Skill: Precise Reiatsu Perception
Zanpakutō: None
Drinking Conduct: Terrible
---
Is this system some kind of sick joke? Kuroba thought to himself. Other people got insanely powerful cheats. His? A so-called "Drink to Get Stronger" system that made him look like a bar clown.
To make matters worse, the only liquor on hand in the entire Shiba household was cheap swill — stolen by Shiba Ganju and hidden from his terrifying older sister, supposedly for his coming-of-age.
After draining all of that in desperation, Kuroba had promptly blacked out.
He woke the next morning to find Ganju half-mummified in bandages and half the fireworks workshop blown apart.
Later, from Shiba Ganju's deeply resentful account, he got one reply: his drinking manners were exceptionally poor!
"You seriously gonna trade your haori for wine? If I knew you were this useless, I wouldn't have come to pick you up even for Brother Kaien's sake!" Rukia snapped in frustration, drawing her Zanpakutō.
"So you're Kazama, the leader of the Black Raiders from the recent reports? Our intel described you as a blue-faced demon with fangs, about seven meters tall…"
The 13th Division, being a support division, also shared intelligence reports.
They knew a little about the Black Raiders group.
However, this group before them clearly differed from the intelligence.
If they were just bluffing, Rukia was still confident she could handle them alone.
Kazama's smirk stretched wider. ""Hah, woman, you've got more guts than the Shinigami who came before to investigate the disappearances. I thought that kid was just an ordinary noble. We'd just take some toll money, have him drink some 'holy water', see if he had a reaction, and leave it at that. I didn't expect to catch a big fish."
His yellowish skin suddenly bulged, veins writhing beneath the surface. A violent surge of spiritual energy burst from his body with a crackling roar as his armor ripped apart — revealing a massive, blue-skinned oni-like demon nearly eight meters tall, long fangs dripping.
The dozens of men behind him also transformed into smaller oni-forms, spiritual pressure swirling chaotically in all directions.
"Little girl — after seein' my true form, I'll give you one last chance. Surrender quietly… or I'll smash your limbs like the last two and let you die slow."
Rukia's blood ran cold.
"Soul mutation…?!"
As a mere recruit, she'd only ever purified ordinary souls — she had hardly any real combat experience.
One Blue-Faced Demon she might be able to stall.
Dozens? That was suicide.
Still… thinking back to when Shiba Kaien had once risked his life to save her, she clenched her trembling hands around her blade.
"You — run! I'll hold them off. If you're lucky, you might survive long enough for backup to arrive."
"You want me to run?" Kuroba's voice suddenly sharpened.
The alcohol smell around him had long been blown away by the raging Reiatsu.
He casually walked past Rukia — already lifting the gourd hanging at her waist.
"Ooh… this is quality wine."
"Give that back!" Rukia barked.
Kuroba uncorked it, took a swig, and sighed with satisfaction.
"I don't drink because I'm an addict. It's just that in a world this chaotic… a little wine gives a man courage."
He rolled his shoulders, raising his head to face Kazama and his transformed army of demons.
"The reason I drink… is because once I'm buzzed… I have a bad habit of hitting too damn hard."
"And I'd hate to accidentally kill someone."