The Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy was not, in the grand hierarchy of the Soul Society, a seat of immense power. Its influence was measured in the quality of the souls it shaped. The current Dean, a pragmatic officer retired from the legendary First Division, knew this better than anyone. He was one of the many unsung Shinigami who dedicated their lives to the Gotei 13 without a moment in the spotlight—a quiet pillar destined to fall, as he and most of his staff would in the coming war against the Quincies, dying to protect their students with no fanfare to mark their end.
But the old man, who upheld the stoic traditions of his former division, cared little for glory. His only hope was to produce outstanding graduates, souls who would strengthen the Gotei 13 and preserve the delicate balance of the three realms. It was this hope that drove him, year after year, to personally supervise the entrance examinations from the first day to the last.
"Alas," he sighed, watching the hopefuls from an observation window. "Ever since Captain Hitsugaya's time, the quality of the students has been in a steady decline. How am I to face Captain-General Yamamoto?"
He knew, of course, that generational talents were anomalies. Prodigies like Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō with their paired Zanpakutō, or once-in-a-millennium geniuses like Hitsugaya Tōshirō, were lightning strikes—not the norm. The current state of affairs was average, predictable. But the Dean was not satisfied with average. His dissatisfaction lay not with the students, but with the Academy's stagnant teaching methods. He believed in constant striving, in pushing forward with the same perseverance as one would in kendo. To stop was to admit defeat, to have reached one's limit. And with the memory of those geniuses as proof, he knew the Academy had not yet reached its limit. There were still diamonds in the rough, waiting to be found.
If only he could innovate, could change the rules… but the Academy answered to the Central 46. His hands were tied, a fact that left a bitter taste of helplessness.
Beside him, an elite instructor named Dayunahara Yanwulang offered a comforting word. "Do not be discouraged, Dean. This year, we have two freshmen with exceptionally high spiritual power. The upper grades also have the Shihōin heir and other young nobles. We are stronger than in previous years."
The Dean shook his head. "A temporary glory that changes nothing. And the talents of the nobility are to be expected; they are supposed to excel. There is little the Academy can truly teach them." He gestured toward the testing area. "Those two freshmen, however… though their academic performance is reportedly unbalanced, making them problem children of a sort, I would choose them over any noble."
The conversation drifted to the current assignments of notable Shinigami, including the adopted daughter of the Kuchiki clan, who, despite her pedigree, was seen by many as having less promise than her peers like Abarai Renji.
The topic died as they continued their rounds, walking past the testing halls where some candidates were being quietly eliminated. Every year, it was the same. In Rukongai, where resources were scarce, education was a luxury. Many souls with immense spiritual potential lacked the basic literacy required by the Academy. It was a harsh but necessary rule. The six-year curriculum was already brutally condensed; there was simply no time to teach reading and writing without sacrificing essential combat training. For the protection of the Seireitei and for the safety of the graduates themselves, these candidates had to be turned away. The Dean, for all his desire for reform, never considered lowering that standard.
"The new testing equipment from the Technology Development Bureau is a marvel, though," the Dean remarked, watching a candidate sit in a sleek, metallic chair. "All the data appears in an instant. It reduces labor and eliminates the chance of misjudgment."
"It's a marvel of engineering, but it costs a fortune," Dayunahara muttered, suspecting Squad 12 had grossly inflated the price.
The Dean's eyes fell upon a new candidate stepping into the testing room—an orange-haired boy. "Hmm… he looks vaguely familiar."
Before he could place the face, the examiner inside the booth cried out, his voice cracking with shock. "Level Four Spiritual Power! Potential… potential is off the charts! It cannot be digitized!"
The Dean and Dayunahara froze, then exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated astonishment. The surprises, however, were not over. The very next candidate took his seat.
"Spiritual Power, also Level Four… Potential… also unmeasurable!" the examiner stammered, looking helplessly toward the observation window.
The Dean stood stunned, his mind racing. It took a long moment for him to regain his composure. He took a deep, steadying breath. "Have the background checks on those two been completed?"
"Yes, sir!" the examiner replied swiftly. "They are wandering souls guided to the Soul Society only yesterday. They are staying in the Verdant Grove, vouched for by the local elder. All their paperwork is in order."
It can't be, the Dean thought, a storm of disbelief warring with the facts before him. These weren't natives of Rukongai, nor were they scions of the Great Noble Houses. They were merely the souls of dead humans, yet they possessed a spiritual density on par with a vice-captain. They hadn't even touched a Zanpakutō, yet their raw power was already at the level of seasoned officers who had trained for decades. It was utterly unprecedented.
Dayunahara's mind reeled. He felt a pang of sorrow for his proudest students, like Renji Abarai, who had been so thoroughly eclipsed by these newcomers. But that feeling was quickly replaced by a surge of excitement. These two anomalies would undoubtedly be placed in Class One. They would become his new prized pupils.
"But, Dean…" the examiner hesitated, holding a document.
"What is it?" the Dean asked, his brow furrowing.
"See for yourself, sir."
The Dean took the report, Dayunahara peering over his shoulder. "Kurosaki Ichigo… A surname I've never heard. Just a coincidence, it seems. Spiritual Power: Fourth-Class. Overall Rating: Excellent." "Sigong Zun… Spiritual Power: Fourth-Class. Overall Rating: Excellent." "All their deductions are in Kidō aptitude… but compared to the others, they're still miles ahead. There's no such thing as a perfect genius…"
Wait.
The Dean's eyes widened. At the bottom of Ichigo Kurosaki's report was a single, damning note: Deficient in classical literature.
Dayunahara adjusted his glasses, his face falling. The elation of a moment ago curdled into deep disappointment.
"But… I thought the World of the Living was highly developed…" the Dean began.
"Dean, Master Dayunahara, the living world develops so quickly," the examiner offered tactfully. "There are bound to be minor differences in grammar and historical context."
"Then why was the other one unaffected?" the Dean pressed.
"Well… perhaps there is a slight difference in their cultural level," Dayunahara interjected, coming to the rescue. "Dean, you have a keen eye. The two candidates are three years apart. It's hardly fair to compare a teenager to a young adult; the latter will naturally have more life experience." He warmed to his argument. "But the Academy's purpose is to educate, not to turn away those who lack experience. Our mission is to cultivate Shinigami, and this boy's talent is unparalleled. With his intelligence, this minor gap will be closed in no time."
"Exactly!" the Dean declared, his resolve hardening. "We cannot allow stereotypes and formalism to cost us such an outstanding student. That would betray the very spirit in which Captain-General Yamamoto founded this institution!"
With a calm, deliberate motion, he took Ichigo's report, folded it, and tucked it into the sleeve of his robes. He then turned to the examiner, his voice firm. "File their results directly. And do not make such shortsighted comments again. If you do, I will consider reassigning you to a position that allows for more… reflection."
"…The Dean is wise," the examiner stammered, his eyelids twitching as he wisely decided not to ask about the missing report.
"How in the hell do you know classical Japanese?!"
In the courtyard, Ichigo stared at Sigong Zun, his mood thoroughly deflated after comparing exam notes.
"I am a man of culture," Sigong replied simply.
"So am I! My grades are some of the best in my school!"
"But were you, like me, planning to become a folklorist with a guaranteed spot in the Archaeology Laboratory at the University of Tokyo?"
"…Okay, you win," Ichigo conceded, sighing. "I'm not going to fail because of that, am I? I just answered a lot of the questions based on my gut."
"Then trust your gut," Sigong said, a hint of a smile on his face. "If there's a problem, it's the Academy's problem, not yours. Let them figure it out."
"I hope so," Ichigo grumbled. "I really don't want to go through the 11th Division's back channels. The last thing I need is to deal with a bunch of battle-crazed lunatics. I hate fighting."
"Exactly," Sigong Zun nodded in solemn agreement. "We're both reasonable, honest people. The leaders of the Academy are educators of high moral character. Surely, they wouldn't mind giving people like us a little leeway."
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