As a teacher, he naturally disliked having someone fall asleep during his class.But the girl in question was a prodigy in Hakuda—so monstrously gifted, in fact, that there was very little he could actually teach her anymore.
He'd heard about the morning's Kendo class—about how Arata had defeated Instructor Fujimoto. What he didn't know was how the newcomer fared in close-quarters combat.It wasn't that he refused to personally test the transfer student; rather, he had to admit, in terms of Hakuda mastery, the child of the Shihōin clan surpassed even him.
"Oh? A new student, huh…"
The girl everyone had been staring at—her dusky skin radiant in the light—turned lazily toward Arata. She wiped the trace of drool from the corner of her mouth and curved her lips into a devilish smile. Several nearby students instinctively stepped back, knowing full well what that expression meant.
Every first-year at the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy knew her name.The Shihōin heiress—Yoruichi—was infamous as a noble-born troublemaker, a mischievous whirlwind who feared nothing and no one.And in the realm of Hakuda? Every single student in this class, including Aizen, had been beaten by her at least once.
"Arata," Aizen murmured from the side, his tone polite but edged with quiet amusement. "That's Yoruichi Shihōin. She's arguably the best Hakuda user in the entire academy. You might want to be careful."
Yet the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed his real thoughts—he was entertained.
Yes, even Aizen had been struck down by her before.And though his spiritual pressure could overwhelm most, in pure hand-to-hand combat—without relying on reiatsu—he had to admit he still wasn't her equal.
So then… would Arata surprise him again?
"Strongest, huh?"Arata tilted his head slightly as he locked eyes with Yoruichi, a grin exposing his sharp white teeth."So Hakuda… that's basically unarmed combat without any restrictions, right?"
"You could say that," the instructor replied dryly.
Yoruichi's interest piqued the moment she saw how calm and unflinching the newcomer was."Oh? Confident, aren't we?" she said, stepping forward with that trademark feline grace. "You good with your fists, then?"
A ripple of tension spread through the dojo like static electricity. The air itself seemed to tighten. Students instinctively backed away, forming a wide circle as they watched, eager for the inevitable clash.
Arata rolled his shoulders, and the joints along his body crackled like popping firewood."Good? Not exactly. Let's just say I know a thing or two."
He wasn't being modest for effect.Back in his own world, he had studied every martial technique preserved in ancient tomes under his master's tutelage. But that world had long since forgotten the true essence of martial arts.So yes—by that world's lost standards—he truly "knew only a little."
Yoruichi laughed softly. "You're funny. One look at your stance, and anyone can tell you're no beginner. But calling yourself a dabbler… you're going to make me want to bully you."
"You look younger than me, though," Arata replied with a grin. It was true enough—Aizen appeared about twenty, while Yoruichi's lithe frame looked more like a sixteen-year-old's.Even with her confidence—and her chest that hinted otherwise—calling herself "onee-san" just sounded wrong. Maybe the Shihōin troublemaker simply had a natural big-sister complex.
"Heh. We'll see if you're still saying that after I make you call me onee-san."
She flexed her wrists and rolled her shoulders, her expression sharpening.Unlike the other students in loose uniforms, Yoruichi wore a fitted white combat outfit tailored to resemble academy colors—sleeveless, wrapped at the waist with a slim belt that accentuated her toned abdomen. Strips of cloth bound her wrists. Every line of her form radiated speed and precision.
"Shihōin," the instructor warned, his tone half-exasperated. "Remember to restrain your spiritual pressure. Match Arata's level—seventeenth class."
He wasn't aiming for fairness; he simply didn't want her to accidentally kill the new guy.
"Well, well. Seventeenth class, huh? Not bad."Yoruichi's words sounded complimentary, but her tone carried the faintest hint of mockery.
As heir to one of the Five Great Noble Houses, she'd had access to the best tutors since childhood. She'd entered the academy already at ninth class reiatsu—mostly because she preferred physical combat over spiritual cultivation.Seventeenth class wasn't impressive to her; what caught her attention was Arata's technique.
"Alright then," she said, reining in her spiritual aura until the air around her stilled again."Come at me."
Arata didn't respond to the provocation. Instead, he brought his hands together in a brief, respectful bow."Please, show me your guidance."
Then—he moved.A blur of motion—like thunder splitting the silence.
In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance between them, his first punch snapping straight toward Yoruichi's face. Fast, precise, and merciless.
The sudden ferocity wiped the teasing smirk off her lips. Her arms snapped up in defense, forearms crossing before her face as the impact forced her back a step.
But Arata didn't let up. Like a wolf clamping down on its prey, he pressed forward, his second punch driving toward her abdomen.
The Shihōin heir's instincts were razor-sharp. Using her flexibility, she bent backward with inhuman agility—the strike grazing her bodysuit without landing.She planted a hand on the floor, using her momentum to whip her leg in a horizontal arc, aiming to sweep his legs out from under him.
But Arata had already anticipated it. He leaped—just high enough to evade the sweep—and as their legs crossed in midair, he brought his heel down like a war axe toward her unguarded centerline.
Yoruichi rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the strike, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and alarm. She wanted to counter, but Arata's relentless rhythm gave her no room to breathe.Each movement was economical, stripped of flourish—pure, lethal efficiency.
The watching students were dumbstruck.In mere seconds, the two had exchanged a flurry of blows faster than the eye could follow—and their invincible Hakuda queen, Yoruichi Shihōin, was being driven backward by a transfer student.
Arata felt no guilt about striking low. In a true fight, mercy was self-betrayal.Hakuda wasn't a sport—it was a killing art.
Even if this was only a spar, against someone like Yoruichi, he couldn't afford to hold back. Fujimoto's humiliation was still fresh in his mind.And besides—if he truly managed to injure her, her spiritual pressure alone would likely shield her. He couldn't actually break through her natural defense.
After all, Yoruichi wasn't just any student—she was the heir of one of the Five Great Houses. Her reiatsu density alone was probably around tenth class or higher.Even without using it offensively, her soul's density made her body far tougher than his.
If he didn't aim for her weak points, there was no way to win.
Yes—Arata loved combat.But he hated losing.
Even if his opponent's overall strength eclipsed his own, in the domain of pure martial skill—he refused to be outdone.
A thunderous impact rang out—BOOM—as his right leg came down again like a battle-axe between Yoruichi's legs.She barely twisted away, her bodysuit brushing the floor.
For all her early disadvantage, she was still a genius. Every narrowly-avoided blow honed her focus, every dodge refining her rhythm.She knew she couldn't defend forever—against someone this aggressive, a single mistake could mean defeat.Sweat glistened along her forehead as she calculated countermeasures in real time, her golden eyes narrowing.
And then—finally—she found an opening.
As Arata's descending kick missed by a hair's breadth, Yoruichi's waist snapped like a coiled spring.Her long legs whipped upward—serpentine and fluid—twining around him like living steel.