hree days later, the great hall of Shin'ō Academy held its entrance ceremony as scheduled.
Soma Kiryu's success was no surprise. And, "as expected," Ichigo Kurosaki had also passed with flying colors—ranking just behind Soma.
From the moment their names were posted on the bulletin board, the two of them became the center of attention, labeled as genius prodigies.
Rumors had already begun spreading within the Gotei 13.
The Headmaster, flushed with pride, stood at the podium, speaking with unusual energy.
Meanwhile, his two prized students—one stared blankly into space, the other kept a stiff face, trying not to yawn out loud.
Not that Soma was really spacing out—he was fiddling with his cheat system.
[Great as you are, you not only conspired against the Child of Destiny, but also shattered Shin'ō Academy's entrance record with the highest score in history. You are awarded: Compound Potion.]
Compound Potion: Restores a small amount of Reiatsu and stamina. Two uses per day. Refreshes at dawn.
Leaving aside the accusation of "conspiring against the Child of Destiny," Soma had, over the past few days, figured out the basics of his golden finger.
In short, it functioned like an achievement log.
When he accomplished some feat or triggered a particular event, elegant brushstroke-like words would appear in the air, as though a bard were singing his legend.
And afterward, a reward would arrive—maybe loot, maybe fate's blessing, maybe a tribute to his growing myth.
Call it what you will.
In short, it gave him free stuff.
So Soma had decided to name this cheat ability [Machine Soul]—a title that sounded perfectly at home in Soul Society.
As for this second "entrance gift" from [Machine Soul], Soma was very pleased.
After all, however much he could exploit his transmigrator's miracle, no one knew what his talent ceiling truly was.
For now, his score barely outpaced the stat monster at his side, but from here on, he'd need to put in two hundred times the effort just to keep from falling behind.
A potion that let him grind harder and longer was worth its weight in gold.
"Ugh, finally alive again…"
As they left the ceremony, Ichigo rolled his neck and shoulders as if he'd just survived a trial by fire.
"It was only an hour."
Soma's tone was light.
"If I could zone out like you, it'd feel short to me too."
Ichigo shot him a look and rolled his eyes.
The two chatted idly as they followed the stone path lined with trees back to the dormitories.
Shin'ō Academy never admitted more than a hundred students in one intake. Even if all of them boarded, housing them was no burden.
The dormitory resembled a Taishō-era building—the kind of old wooden schoolhouse you'd see in anime.
Three floors.
The first held shared facilities: courtyard, dining hall, and separate bathhouses for men and women. The second and third were the living quarters.
Inside, it felt like a hot spring inn—part public, part homelike, giving off both formality and comfort.
Every student was assigned a private room. Classic four-and-a-half tatami mats.
"Hey… the guy in that room, he's in our living group too, right?"
Ichigo pointed toward the door next to his.
"Yeah."
Soma glanced at the nameplate with brush-written characters.
"Atae Rindō. I remember him. Sat right behind you in the hall. I heard he's deaf and mute."
"What?"
Ichigo's face darkened.
"You could've told me earlier! The last thing I need is to look like I'm shunning a teammate. I don't care about reputation in general, but that's one I absolutely don't want!"
Each living group had three students, essentially dormmates and neighbors.
Whether for chores or little errands, the Academy always assigned them by group.
It was practical, and it fostered communication and growth. Students rarely ended up isolated.
"I did give you a heads-up. Look."
Soma jerked his chin.
Ichigo instinctively turned—and froze.
A delicate, quiet boy was standing there, so silent he might have been part of the air.
"Wh—when did he…? I didn't hear a thing…"
The boy lifted his hand and traced words in the air with his fingertip, lines of Reishi forming text.
[Nice to meet you. I'm Atae Rindō.]
"Uh—I'm Ichigo Kurosaki. This guy's Soma Kiryu. Ah, sorry, I forgot you—"
As Ichigo fumbled for pen and paper, Rindō was already writing again.
[I can sense people's emotions. Communication isn't an issue. You don't need to worry about me. I'll do my best not to trouble you.]
"…."
Ichigo's throat caught.
Not because of the clever method of communication—because of how calmly, naturally, and confidently Rindō carried himself.
It shattered every stereotype he'd had about disability.
Soon, Ichigo broke into a genuine smile.
"Got it. Looking forward to working with you, Rindō."
[Likewise.]
"…Wait. How did you two say hi earlier, then?"
"Like just now. I nudged you."
At Soma's explanation, Ichigo blinked.
"…Oh."
A tilt of the chin could mean look over there—or let's talk outside—or follow me.
Way more convenient than words, really.
Though with strangers, it did come off as awfully casual.
Still, in his own way, Soma had that same enviable calmness Rindō did—the kind of grounding, natural ease that kept things smooth.
…Except when it came to his Asauchi. Then all composure flew out the window.
The next day, Shin'ō Academy issued Asauchi to all first-years.
There was none of that dramatic scene Soma had imagined—no dim chamber full of swords to choose from.
No, first-years weren't given that kind of privilege.
Asauchi were temporary loans. Only after graduation and induction into a division would a Zanpakutō truly belong to its wielder.
The Academy clearly didn't care much for compatibility at this stage.
Soma suspected that was part of the reason so few Shinigami ever achieved Shikai.
But he held no prejudice against his blade.
The way he gazed at it was nothing short of… passionate.
He stroked the sheath tenderly, as if caressing a girl's skin, yet his fingers twitched, itching to draw it and swing.
"…Soma, the way you're looking at that thing—you remind me of those deranged swordsmen from old stories who tested their blades on live people."
Ichigo's mouth twitched.
He was excited too, of course—but for him it was about the Shinigami's power, not the blade itself. To him, it looked ordinary, almost mundane. Without context, he'd have mistaken it for a traditional craft sword from the Living World.
"…Are you really a high schooler?"
Soma lifted his head, suspicion etched across his face.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Even grade schoolers can't resist picking up a straight stick on the street and swinging it around."
"You said it yourself—grade schoolers. High schoolers aren't that childish."
"On the contrary. High schoolers are even more realistic. They can't resist a cool fight. They can't resist the allure of power that rises above all others. They can't resist the thrill of protecting the world, or the glory of standing tall as their deeds are sung."
"…Do you really have to keep hammering on the word 'cool' like that…?"
"And another thing."
"Another?!"
Ichigo's eyes widened. He failed to notice the newcomer—besides Rindō—who was peeking curiously from behind.
"Yes."
Soma's gaze on his Asauchi was scholarly, almost reverent.
"Didn't Professor Ōkido say it? A Zanpakutō and its wielder are one. You have to carve your soul into the blade, to resonate and grow together. That's why they give Asauchi early—to spark progress as soon as possible.
"But the key is this: a Zanpakutō has a soul. To a Shinigami, it's not just a weapon. It's a partner. A comrade-in-arms."
He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting.
"Now imagine… if that partner took the form of a beautiful girl. What do you think every boy at this Academy would feel?"
Coolness. Power. A beautiful girl.
Gulp.
Even Ichigo wavered.
Not enough to drool, but close.
The three of them—Soma, Ichigo, and Rindō—slowly turned toward the one who was drooling.
The culprit wiped her mouth, grinning shamelessly.
"I'm Akari Koyanagi. I hear the two top scorers this year came straight from the Living World. Lucky me—I happen to be very interested in your gyaru culture. So—how about being friends?"