Boom—
The thunderclap of impact tore through the dojo.
Arata was hurled backward, spinning through the air before landing in a half-crouch. He slid across the polished floorboards, boots grinding out a long trail before he finally stopped. His fingers were numb. The bamboo sword in his hand had been split cleanly in two.
He exhaled softly, glanced at the broken weapon, and let it clatter to the ground. Flexing his aching arm, he grinned."Sensei, that didn't feel like a seventeen-class Reiatsu."
Fujimoto's expression tightened with embarrassment.He'd realized it too—at the last instant, instinct had overridden his restraint. In pure reflex, he'd reinforced his guard with spiritual pressure, just enough to blast Arata away. Without that, he knew the strike would have landed.
And now that the adrenaline ebbed, a chill ran down his back. His uniform clung to him, soaked in sweat.For the briefest moment, that exchange had felt like dancing along the edge of death.
The boy's raw power wasn't overwhelming—but his presence was. That single instant of killing intent had pressed against him like a storm, sparking a primal fear that triggered his body's defense on its own.
"Arata," Fujimoto managed at last, forcing a smile, "that was remarkable. Have you ever received formal training in kendo?"
He had already regained his composure. As an instructor of the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy, he wasn't so easily angered or humiliated. Instead, he felt genuine curiosity—and even admiration—for the prodigious control Arata had shown.
"Kendo?" Arata shook his head. "Never learned it."
He was telling the truth. He had never studied the kendo of this world.But swordsmanship? That was another story entirely.
By the standards of his old world, his blade skills were… exceptional. The system had labeled him Master-level in Sword Arts specialization. A small thing, perhaps, but accurate.
In that previous life, true martial artists were already a dying breed. Those who had stood at the pinnacle of combat had long since fallen—to him.
He hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was true: the people he'd killed had represented the final peaks of that era's martial knowledge.
Even the so-called "Sword King," Wang Luo, enhanced by exoskeletal armor and armed with a custom alloy blade, had survived barely ten moves against him.Arata, at the time, had used nothing more than a butcher's knife.
After slaughtering those so-called grandmasters, he had grown disillusioned with that world—and its empty ideals of strength.
Now, in this dojo, the murmurs of astonishment filled the air.Students whispered in disbelief, eyes wide. Few could comprehend what they had just witnessed.
Among them stood Aizen Sōsuke. Behind the reflection of his glasses, his gaze gleamed faintly. He studied Arata with quiet fascination.Interesting, he thought. This roommate of mine might make the next few years far less boring.
"You're saying…" Fujimoto blinked, "you've never studied kendo? Not at all?"
He couldn't quite believe it. Then again, considering Arata's background as a wanderer from the Rukongai slums, there was no reason he would have had access to any formal training.
Which, paradoxically, only made his talent more astounding.
No education, no instructor—and yet he could fight evenly with a kendo master under matched Reiatsu. Captain Unohana had truly brought back a once-in-a-century genius.
When Arata nodded, expression unreadable, Fujimoto felt a surge of excitement… followed immediately by frustration.
Excitement—because he had discovered a prodigy.Frustration—because he doubted he could teach this one anything at all.
Even if he had fought with full seriousness, matched spiritual pressure and all, Fujimoto knew the result wouldn't have changed. He would have lost.
What had stunned him most wasn't Arata's first strike—but his second.
That second swing had defied every expectation. Arata had absorbed the recoil of Fujimoto's block, using the impact itself to draw his sword back and redirect his momentum. Then, like flowing water redirected by unseen channels, he had turned that energy into another strike—faster, sharper, and from a near-impossible angle.
That kind of kinetic awareness, that instinctive mastery of power, was beyond anything Fujimoto had seen in any kendo style.It wasn't taught. It couldn't be.It was born.
A prodigy among prodigies, Fujimoto thought. So this is what caught Captain Unohana's eye…
"Arata," he said finally, taking a breath to steady himself, "take a seat. We'll be moving on to theory before resuming sparring practice."
No matter how shaken he felt, class still had to continue.
Arata nodded and walked calmly through the rows of students. Dozens of eyes followed him—some filled with awe, others with envy or curiosity.He sat beside Aizen.
"You're incredible," Aizen said, voice soft, almost admiring. "I've never seen anyone match Fujimoto-sensei in kendo before."
Arata smiled faintly. "Not even you, Sōsuke?"
Aizen's expression didn't waver. "What are you saying, Arata? My swordsmanship grades are good, yes—but nowhere near Sensei's level. I'll be counting on your guidance in the future."
Arata held back a sigh.Typical Aizen.He never quite understood the man's delight in hiding behind that harmless façade. What did he gain from this pretense? Was he already planning his ascent to the throne even now?
Perhaps.
To accommodate the "untrained" newcomer, Fujimoto spent the remainder of the class explaining fundamental kendo theory—stances, rhythm, footwork, the way of spirit and blade as one.
Arata listened attentively. He wasn't arrogant enough to tune it out.And, to his surprise, there was substance in what the instructor said.The weakness lay not in kendo, but in Fujimoto himself.
He couldn't help but imagine, then—what would it be like to witness the swordsmanship of Unohana Yachiru, the master of all known styles in Soul Society? Just picturing it stirred something wild and restless inside him.
Of course, he wasn't suicidal. Unohana's Reiatsu was on an entirely different plane. In system terms, her attributes probably exceeded his by dozens—perhaps hundreds—of points.
No, for now his goal was simple: to become stronger.Only then could he seek out those true battles he longed for—the kind that would make his blood sing.
As he gathered his focus, a faint shimmer crossed his vision.The interface appeared again—his mission log updating.
[Main Quest — Phase Two: Speedrun the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy]
Objective:Within three natural months, the Explorer must complete all Academy coursework and graduate early—achieving the fastest completion record in the Academy's history.
Difficulty: Hard → NightmareReward: 3,000 End Coins / Asauchi / Return EligibilityFailure Condition: Erasure
Arata frowned."Nightmare" difficulty was never a good sign. Even by game standards, that label screamed impossible.
Still, when he broke it down logically, there was no immediate danger here. The Academy was safe enough. But graduating early—that was another matter.If it had never been done before, then there had to be a reason.
In all the centuries since the founding of the Shin'ō Academy, countless geniuses had passed through its halls. If none had achieved this so-called "fastest graduation," then the path ahead would be anything but simple.
After all, the average Shinigami cadet measured around twenty-class Reiatsu—but that alone didn't qualify them for graduation.Raw power wasn't enough.The Gotei 13 valued maturity, mastery, and control.
If someone's talent shone too brightly, the Academy would simply train them longer, polish them harder, until they were ready to serve as true pillars of Seireitei.No one was allowed to grow wild.
Arata watched as the other students began their paired drills, wooden swords clacking in rhythmic strikes. His gaze lingered, thoughtful.
If I want to complete this mission… what exactly will stand in my way?He had a feeling the real obstacle wasn't the coursework——but the system itself.