He woke every day at five sharp.
An hour of stretching.
Then straight into shunpo.
Ten hours of nothing but flash steps—vanishing, reappearing, vanishing again—until his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead. He only stopped long enough to eat, drink, and catch his breath.
By four, he shifted into zanjutsu and hakuda: sword drills and hand-to-hand, blade clashes echoing until the sun dipped. After that came kido until ten at night, then meditation and reading until exhaustion finally pulled him under.
Wake. Repeat.
Day after day.
Year after year.
Five years without breaking the cycle.
The result? Nothing short of terrifying.
I had struck a deal with Genryusai-dono himself.
Kurotsuki's spiritual energy was abnormal. His reiryoku was a storm, his reiatsu a crushing tide. The Head Captain agreed to let me keep him under the 13th Division's supervision as a "temporary recruit." Ten years max—then he would have to enroll in the Academy.
At first, I planned to let all ten years pass. But watching this boy's monstrous growth… I know I can't wait another four.
His reiatsu control is still raw, but combat-ready. The real problem is his body—it's too young to fully bear the ocean inside him. On his best day, he's somewhere between a third seat and a lieutenant.
In that, he reminds me of Hitsugaya.
And the boy hasn't just adapted to Seireitei. He's thriving.
The Academy won't simply accept him.
They'll be shaken by him.
After finishing another brutal round of shunpo, Kurotsuki flowed into sword drills. He was just about to begin kido practice when a sharp voice cut across the courtyard:
"—Surprise attack!"
Kurotsuki's grin flashed, sharp as steel. His figure vanished.
"Not bad," Hitsugaya muttered when Kurotsuki appeared behind him a heartbeat later. "You're faster."
"You haven't seen anything yet," the redhead snorted.
"Oh? Think you can surpass me already?"
FWIP!
Toshiro blinked—Kurotsuki was behind him again, patting his shoulder like a smug friend.
"Looks that way."
The white-haired prodigy spun, blade slicing the air—but struck nothing.
"Y-you?!"
"What? Too fast for you, Shiro-chan?"
Normally, Toshiro would snap back. Instead, his eyes locked on Kurotsuki, who was now perched on a rooftop, smirking like a fox that had just raided the coop.
What the hell? Two years ago, I was still faster. Five years since we met, and he's already outpacing me? What kind of insane training did this idiot put himself through?!
"Maybe it's not me getting faster," Kurotsuki mocked. "Maybe you're slowing down. Or maybe…" His grin widened. "Your short legs just can't keep up."
"You—!" Toshiro's face burned red. "I'm older than you! Show some respect, brat!"
"Of course, of course… once you grow up."
Kurotsuki bolted. Toshiro cursed and gave chase.
I could only watch. What else could I do? Children should be children. And yet… his shunpo already rivals Toshiro's. He's faster than Rukia. Faster than both my third seats, Kiyone and Sentaro.
The truth is simple: his discipline is unnatural.
An average Soul Reaper trains maybe four hours a day, a few days a week—roughly 800 hours a year in one art.
Kurotsuki?
He hammers flash steps ten hours a day.
That's 3,600 hours a year.
Four and a half times more.
In five years, he's logged what would take others twenty-two.
And because he begged me—me, one of the few shunpo masters in Soul Society—to mentor him, nothing has slowed him down. No squad duties. No distractions. No wasted time.
Just training.
No wonder Hitsugaya is rattled.
If you run the math across all his training, he's compacted decades of progress into a handful of years. People whisper "genius." They don't see the blood, sweat, and madness behind it.
Hours later, Toshiro and Kurotsuki collapsed on the 13th Division's training grounds, gasping like fish out of water.
"You… huff… got… faster…" Hitsugaya wheezed.
"And you didn't… huff… stay… in place either," Kurotsuki grinned back, chest heaving.
Their little race ended with laughter, quick greetings to Rukia and myself, and Toshiro heading back to the 10th. Kurotsuki, meanwhile, ditched the rest of his regimen for once and perched on a rooftop, eyes fixed on the burning sunset.
I joined him. Together we watched the horizon fade into darkness. Silence lingered—until Kurotsuki broke it.
"I think I've gotten pretty fast now."
I chuckled. "Hahaha! So you beat Shiro-chan, huh?"
"Yeah. That's how it went."
"And? You going to keep this insane pace?"
He paused. Then shook his head. "Yes and no. I'll change it. My shunpo's solid now, so I'll cut it down to four hours in the morning. Two hours for zanjutsu and hakuda—they're fine for now. What I really need is reiatsu and kido. So noon to eight will be pure demon arts. Eight to midnight—meditation, control, maybe some reading."
His tone sharpened. "Strength is my priority."
The clarity in his voice… It wasn't a boy talking. It was a captain laying out long-term goals.
"You never cease to amaze me, Kuro-chan," I sighed. "You don't even need my advice. You've assessed your strengths and shifted focus exactly as you should. Zanjutsu and hakuda are solid. Shunpo mastered. And now… kido and reiatsu control."
I tilted my head. "Tell me, though—have you heard the voice of your zanpakuto yet? Even once, since that day back in Rukongai?"