2nd Division – Detention Block.
Soma let the Onmitsukidō march him in without fuss, pulled out a chair, and sat like he owned the place.
The room was bare, spotless, and nothing like a "cell." More like solitary confinement. No shackles, no bindings.
"Back in Seireitei before sunrise. Mission accomplished, I guess. Would've been better with a soft bed."
No bed, of course.
Not that he was tired. The adrenaline from staking his life on a real fight for the first time still burned hot in his nerves. His brain refused to slow down.
And then—after a month of silence—the familiar ink-black text flickered across his vision.
[Heaven pities you. You just dragged a pack of rookies through a battle way above your weight class. The brainpower you burned would be enough to draft a cult classic rookie debut…]
"…???"
[You killed the dog that tried to inherit a loser's will, and crushed the beast whose future rage would have bent knee to another failure. Such cold-blooded display of the Fourth Calamity's might—the Machine Soul rejoices!]
[You've grasped the Saint's Sword—the blade of another world's holy man who lived to protect his comrades—]
[Skill acquired: Shichisen]
[Skill in progress: Yuisen…]
Soma jolted, his whole spirit rattled by a foreign surge that sank into his core. His mind roared like a storm, inspiration hammering through in waves.
His hand twitched for a hilt—but of course, his Zanpakutō had been confiscated at the door. Otherwise, the whole room might've been carved apart by now.
Breath by breath, he steadied, clarity settling back into his eyes.
"Figures. The bigger the waves, the bigger the catch."
Barely half a year into the academy, and already he'd gone head-to-head with an Adjuchas in a live fight. A rare event, one the Machine Soul couldn't possibly ignore.
And the reward proved his instincts were right.
"Though it kinda feels like you're pushing me down the lunatic path. I'm not a battle junkie, y'know."
If anyone in 11th Division heard that, they'd cry blood. Truth was, every division except the 4th lived and died by the blade. No one got to skip the fighting.
Soma shifted his focus to his brand-new techniques.
Soul Society ran its East Branch, but the Märchen Dragon's blood had flowed from Europe's West Branch. Over there, it wasn't swords and Kidō—it was magic. But magic, Kidō, curses… they were all the same at the root.
"Shichisen" and "Yuisen" looked like sword arts on the surface, but in truth? They were magic.
Shichisen: compress reiatsu into threads too fine to see, then snap them like whips at supersonic speed with a draw-cut. Seven of them. Seven invisible blades striking at once.
And those threads weren't wasted energy—they were raw, unshaped reiatsu. Ready to fuel any Kidō on demand.
He could already picture it: an enemy braced for seven slashes, only for the threads to flare into seven different Kidō mid-strike—or stack the same one until the target vanished under raw overkill.
Swordman would probably scream: "That's not swordsmanship!"
As for Yuisen?
The Machine Soul said "learning in progress." Simple enough—he hadn't learned enough Kidō yet.
Like Aizen casting Kurohitsugi without an incantation, losing two-thirds of its power, Yuisen demanded not just raw reiatsu but depth in Kidō. Without that foundation, the technique couldn't bloom.
It was a conceptual skill. The stronger his Kidō arsenal, the stronger it would become.
Different from the versions he'd once imagined—but that was fine. This was his world, his Machine Soul. Of course it would evolve.
If one day his Byakurai came out green instead of white? So be it.
…
"Captain! Captain! Look, this doesn't have anything to do with them. Just a handful of academy kids. Let them off and focus on that Shiba woman instead—she's the real suspicious one! If you want, I'll interrogate the students myself while you deal with her!"
Ōmaeda trailed behind Soi Fon down the 2nd Division's corridor, babbling with a fake grin and forced bravado. He wasn't about to let those brats get hammered. If someone had to eat it, let it be Kūkaku—hell, the Shiba clan was famous for being stubborn anyway.
But Soi Fon's voice was ice.
"Kūkaku Shiba can wait. These students are the better entry point for information."
Ōmaeda paled. "But, Captain, I already explained what happened! They're kids, they don't know anything. If we hold them, the academy will—"
Bad move.
Her glare froze him solid as she stopped outside Soma's cell.
"Those missing students' bodies haven't been found. Too many questions remain. And you'd take the Hollow's words at face value? If they were really devouring Zanpakutō, then how long have they been nesting in Rukongai? How many accomplices?"
Her voice cut like blades.
"You'd have me wrap this up with a two-hundred-word report for the Head Captain? Call it a day?"
"Better you take that time and drag your lazy ass back to Junrinan. Round up every suspicious soul. Interrogate them before they scatter."
The verbal barrage left Ōmaeda wilted, retreating in shame.
"Useless."
Soi Fon exhaled, then snapped at the guards. "Open it."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The door creaked wide.
She stepped in, small frame framed by the pure white haori of a captain. Every line of her posture radiated cold authority. Sharp brows, sharper presence. Like her short blade, thin and merciless.
She was all barbs and frost, daring no one close.
Soma looked up from his thoughts, curiosity sparking.
"Soma Kiryu. First-year at the academy. Entered Soul Society via Konsō by 13th Division's Rukia Kuchiki. Been here just over a month."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And already trading blows with an Adjuchas. Impressive skill. You're not just spiritual power—you've got technique."
She tilted her head, cold but calculating.
"Unlike that orange-haired brat whining the whole way back, you didn't say a word. You've already guessed why you're here."
"So I'll keep it simple. Tell me everything you know, and you walk free."
"That's all?" Soma asked mildly.
Her smirk was scornful. "What else? You think I'd put you on the case? Fighting and investigation aren't the same. Sometimes we stroll through Rukongai like we're sightseeing and come back with the enemy's hideout. The methods are beyond a classroom kid like you."
"Captain Soi Fon speaks from experience, then." Soma inclined his head, mock-respectful.
"Of course. Do you even realize who you're talking to?"
Her cheeks twitched, just slightly off.
"Commander of the Onmitsukidō. Captain of the 2nd Division. Elite of the Gotei 13. Model of the new generation. The standard for female Shinigami everywhere?"
"…Tch. You know enough. But keep that to yourself. Onmitsukidō stay low-profile."
"Lesson learned," Soma said smoothly. "With your ability, no criminal could escape. Allow me to report everything I've seen."
His expression was earnest, his words sincere.
And for the first time all day, the frost in Soi Fon's chest eased. Her eyes, just slightly, softened.