No matter how much Ichirō worried about it, there was nothing he could do to change the situation.
All he could do was wait patiently.
Fortunately, there was at least some progress—slow, but progress nonetheless.
"Ahh…"
Standing before the washbasin, Ichirō sighed again.
Urahara, who was buttoning up his uniform beside him, glanced over with a deadpan expression.
"What are you sighing about this time?"
"I just realized I've gotten even more handsome. What should I do about it?"
"…"
Urahara rolled his eyes. "Just hurry up, will you?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You nag every morning—don't you ever get tired of that?"
"My fault for having to deal with someone this narcissistic," Urahara muttered, eyebrows twitching.
This ridiculous exchange had somehow become their morning routine.
If they didn't bicker like this before class, the day would almost feel incomplete.
Honestly, Ichirō could now understand why so many students chose to graduate early—he was no longer learning anything new.
At this point, aside from the higher-level Kidō spells, there wasn't much the academy could teach him.
In fact, Ichirō cared less about how many Kidō he learned and more about how they worked—the principles and techniques behind them.
That was why, despite knowing only a limited range of spells, there were few instructors left who could actually guide him.
His only reason for staying in the academy was time—time to continue researching his own field.
Graduating would mean joining a Division, and while that might expose him to more advanced Kidō, his true priority was Reishi Alchemy.
Now that he had connected the two spirit-forged pistols to the alchemy of his past life, his research was advancing faster than ever.
There was no way he'd give that up just to become another overworked cog in the Gotei 13.
---
After leaving the dorms, Ichirō and Urahara waited downstairs for Yoruichi, as they did every morning, before heading off together.
"Hey," Yoruichi asked, tilting her head, "do you guys want to train at the base this weekend? It's been forever since we practiced together."
"This weekend? Can't," Ichirō replied. "The Division Captain's giving a lecture. I have to attend—it's a rare opportunity."
"'Rare,' huh?" Urahara murmured dryly. "If I recall, that's the third one this month. There were four last month, and we're barely halfway through this one."
"Really? I didn't count." Ichirō rubbed his chin. "But the senior members said Captain Unohana only holds lectures once every few years. It's supposed to be special."
"Oh."
"Oh."
"…Don't you two find that strange? Why is she suddenly giving lectures so often?"
"Oh."
"Oh."
"Can't you at least pretend to be curious?"
"Not curious."
"Not curious."
"…."
Ichirō's face twitched as Yoruichi and Urahara exchanged a barely suppressed grin.
Truly—someone else's suffering was the best entertainment. Ichirō had once said it himself, and now the truth came full circle.
Still teasing each other, the trio entered the classroom.
Ichirō, however, was still determined to get in a little bragging today, no matter what.
—
"Hey, have you heard?"
Issho, bouncing over with her long ponytail swinging energetically, leaned in with excitement. "A new genius is transferring into our class! She's already achieved Shikai!"
Her enthusiasm was contagious—though, sadly, only her ponytail was bouncing.
Leaning against the window, Ichirō rested his head on his hand. "Shikai, huh? So about the same as Urahara. Guess geniuses are everywhere these days."
"Not quite," Urahara replied mildly. "She's more gifted than me. I needed nearly a year to reach Shikai. She's done it in half that time. Fascinating."
"More geniuses, huh…" Ichirō sighed. "Feels like it's getting harder to stand out lately. Even Captain Unohana's been lecturing more often—no idea why."
Oh no.
Oh no.
Both Urahara and Yoruichi stiffened—Ichirō had taken the bait, and Issho had followed through.
"Why indeed?" Issho asked, tilting her head. "My family says it's rare for a captain to hold lectures. They're usually far too busy."
"Ahh…"
Urahara and Yoruichi sighed in perfect sync, both pinching the bridge of their noses.
Ichirō, meanwhile, suppressed a triumphant smirk and sighed dramatically. "Who knows? The senior members said it used to be once every few years. But ever since I started attending, the frequency's skyrocketed. Strange, isn't it?"
"…."
Issho stared blankly at him for a moment, then glanced at Urahara and Yoruichi, who were both facepalming in silent despair.
At last, understanding dawned on her.
"Heh… heheh… maybe it's because—"
Before she could finish, Yoruichi grabbed her by the shoulders and plopped her down into the seat in front of Ichirō.
"Class is about to start," she said flatly. "Better focus."
Ichirō pouted, but relented. He pulled two notebooks from his desk drawer and began jotting calculations and alchemical formulas in neat, precise handwriting.
A few minutes later,
The instructor entered, accompanied by a girl with long, straight black hair.
A petite Zanpakutō hung at her waist—not an Asauchi, but a distinct, elegant blade. That meant it was already in a permanent released state.
"Everyone, please welcome our new transfer student. Go ahead and introduce yourself."
Instead of speaking, the girl produced a rustling sound.
Ichirō frowned, looking up just as she raised a large notebook.
Her delicate fingers moved across the page with surprising grace.
His gaze flicked to her Zanpakutō, and his eyes narrowed.
A permanently released Shikai?
Such Zanpakutō were extremely rare—there was no activation phrase, no transformation process. They existed in a constant state of release.
The girl flipped her notebook around.
Written in careful handwriting were the words:
[Hello, everyone. My name is Suzuran Tsuki. Please take care of me.]
"She can't speak," the instructor explained gently. "I hope you'll all be considerate."
Ichirō stared at her radiant smile and silently added another research topic to his mental list.
But, of course, there were always a few idiots too dense to read the room.
"Hahaha! What's next—mutes can become Shinigami now?"
The laughter died instantly under the weight of dozens of cold glares.
The fool fell silent, lowering his head, resentment flickering in his eyes.
Ichirō's brow furrowed. He recognized him—a thug from the Rukongai districts, same as himself, though from a poorer sector. Even after a year at the academy, the man's street habits hadn't changed.
Ichirō's voice was icy.
"If even she's stronger than you, what does that make you? Trash?"
"You—!"
"What? Is he wrong?" Urahara interjected lazily, not looking up. "You can't even achieve Shikai. Acting tough without the power to back it up—isn't that a real shame?"
Ichirō's mouth twitched at Urahara's pointed tone.
Still, given the situation, he decided to let it slide—for now. He could always repay that jab later… personally.
"Enough!" the instructor's cold voice cut through the tension. "Sukasa, out.
If I hear one more word or even a rumor of this kind of behavior, you'll be sent straight back to the Rukongai.
And you can test for yourself whether I have the authority to do that."
The classroom fell silent.
Ichirō leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting toward Suzuran Tsuki, who smiled faintly before turning her gaze to the window.
For a moment, he wondered—
What kind of voice did her soul possess?