At the First Division barracks, in the training hall, Kisaragi Akira left Kaede behind and strode toward Yamamoto. He had a few questions, naturally—but more importantly, he wanted to take another beating.
When Akira explained his request, the bald veteran didn't hesitate. He removed his captain's haori, hung it on a nearby rack, and, with one hand, hauled Akira into the training hall.
The old master and the young prodigy wasted no words, swinging fists at each other with violent ferocity.
After several brutal rounds, Akira began thinking strategically: how could he make Yamamoto—the master of all four Zanpakutō combat techniques—suffer, even when their levels were unmatched? Most of his waterfall meditation sessions had been spent pondering this very question. Thanks to his Divine Heart talent, he could analyze each frame of combat, extracting any knowledge useful to him.
Yamamoto was skilled, but far from one-dimensional. After each beating, he would patiently point out flaws in Akira's technique while explaining the essence of his own movements.
Though his training had only just begun, Akira's progress was explosive. His Hand-to-Hand (Bajutsu) level skyrocketed ten points, jumping from 40 to 50!
Compared to his almost supernaturally rapid Zanpakutō development, Hand-to-Hand was far more difficult to master. Even so, Akira was thrilled—after only a few days, he was already making tremendous strides. At this rate, defeating Tenkō wouldn't be a dream.
In the hall, Yamamoto's massive muscles bulged like a volcanic eruption. Every step brought a tidal wave of pressure, spanning several meters in an instant, closing in on Akira's face.
The sinews of his arms rippled with force, the endless power inside forming visible currents, accompanied by the sound of creaking strings. Yamamoto's fist, tightened like collapsing mountains, barreled down with explosive wind—there was even a faint sonic boom.
The Genryu technique: Crushing Pressure!
Akira didn't meet the blow head-on. Instead, he retreated, his body taut like a drawn bowstring. The tension in his muscles emitted a faint, strained creaking sound.
A flicker of surprise crossed Yamamoto's experienced eyes. He recognized Akira's strategy instantly.
This was clever. He was storing energy in his body, coiling like a spring, preparing to unleash a devastating counterattack several times stronger than anything before.
"Well done… the kid has insight," Yamamoto murmured, nodding. But his brow furrowed slightly, a faintly feral glint appearing.
Yet when the gap between opponents is too vast, pure collision can shatter the weaker combatant in an instant.
Yamamoto held his ground, waiting. He drew back his right arm, the rippling muscles flowing like water, clenched his fist again, and unleashed a chilling ki blast from his palm.
As his fist descended, a scorching wind howled, threatening to engulf Akira like a stalk of grass in a storm.
But Akira did not crumble. In the fleeting gap before the wind hit, he planted his right foot, smashing the floor, and using the momentum to spin his body.
The next instant, the furious gale, charged with unstoppable momentum, hurled itself straight at Yamamoto's bald head.
"Take this—!" The boy's roar echoed through the hall.
"Tornado Crush—Parking Lot Destroyer!!"
The string of assassination attempts had kept Akira on edge for several days.
It wasn't fear for his own life that worried him, but concern that it might affect his upcoming early graduation evaluation. Though he wasn't a noble himself, he had inherited assets from the Shinjō family, effectively tying him to their name.
Now, with Shinjō Towa retired to Unending Hell, the only target left for those with greedy eyes was him alone. Not just minor nobles—some upper-class families, even a few of the Five Great Noble Houses, might covet his assets.
There was no guarantee that any of these madmen wouldn't break Soul Society's laws to get what they wanted.
Though one could hand over property to the Thirteen Court Guard Squads or other nobles in exchange for temporary safety and protection, Akira hadn't given such compromises a second thought. Once something was in his hands, he wasn't about to give it back.
He already had a plan for distributing and using the assets. After graduation, once he had established his position in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, he would secure a prime plot in Rukongai and move the Reverse-Bone Shrine there, vying for territory with local gangs.
The Mimihagi had done so much to help him—giving them an improved environment and promoting their name was only fair. Once he had some status and power, he could even try to expand the influence of the shrine in Seireitei.
Akira felt genuinely proud of his selfless plans and shared them directly with Mimihagi.
True to their quiet nature, Mimihagi didn't speak, only fixing a single eye on Akira for a long moment. Though silent, Akira's imagination interpreted their gaze as one of speechless excitement. Surely, having such a dedicated palace master must have been deeply gratifying for them.
For now, everything was ready—he only had to graduate.
At the Spiritual Arts Academy dojo, two young men sparred seriously, performing each textbook technique with flawless precision. Since returning from the First Division, Akira had briefly summarized Yamamoto's feedback to Aizen, who had volunteered to help him refine his basics.
Training with a partner naturally accelerated progress compared to solitary practice.
Aizen's reasoning was simple: he needed to analyze Akira's spiritual body for his new Kido research but lacked the equipment for precise measurement. Combat provided the perfect data. This wasn't a personal vendetta.
Aizen's blade descended with crushing force, as if to cleave the very air. Akira's face tensed, hands gripping his zanpakutō as he countered with the Reverse Kesa technique.
Clang!
Metal met metal in the empty hall, their energies locked in perfect balance.
Time passed—how long, no one could tell.
"Enough, enough," Akira finally said, lowering his stance and waving a hand. "It's mealtime."
Compared to training, food remained the real priority.
Aizen reluctantly set down his bamboo sword and glanced at the dojo clock—just in time for the Maō Cafeteria's opening. He couldn't understand how Akira was so punctual. Had his stomach evolved its own internal clock?
At that moment, a figure appeared in the dojo, exhausted, with a pale face and a faint, unnatural flush.
"Your early graduation application has been approved," Kaede announced, producing a paper certificate. "Once you pass the evaluation, you can graduate from the Academy smoothly."
Akira's eyes lit up, halting his steps toward the cafeteria.
"That fast? Kaede, your efficiency has really improved!"
Kaede let out a long breath, as if releasing a heavy burden. Bloodshot eyes fixed on Akira. "I haven't slept for three days straight, just to get you sent off sooner."
Akira's expression fell. Ever since Shōyo had bought protective talismans in front of him, Kaede had thrown caution to the wind—he was clearly using every method possible to graduate him early.
"The exam is simple: basic Hand-to-Hand, Zanpakutō combat, practical evaluation, and internships for basic Soul Reaper duties," Kaede explained.
Akira raised an eyebrow. "Basic duties?"
Kaede almost choked, astonished that someone at the Academy for half a year didn't know the fundamental responsibilities of a Soul Reaper.
"Souls' escort and purification," Aizen explained, showing a hint of pity. "The former guides souls into the Soul Society; the latter deals with Hollows. The internships will likely take place in the human world."
Kaede nodded, satisfied. This was the mark of a proper student.
"Wait—you said 'we' just now?" Akira asked, sensing the key point.
Kaede explained: "Aizen applied for early graduation before you. Since he aced all theory exams, the process was quick. He will go for his soul escort internship in the human world next week, and you will join him."
"Don't worry. I've taken care of everything for you," Kaede added, eager to see Akira leave. "You just need to follow the procedures. I'm not worried about your Hand-to-Hand or Zanpakutō evaluation—few teachers at the Academy could match your skill. If you can't pass, that would be ridiculous."
With Kaede's hopeful gaze behind him, Akira turned to Aizen, ready to ask a question, but the other spoke first.
"Like you, the Academy can no longer teach me," Aizen said earnestly. "Better to graduate early and choose a suitable division to join."
Just like Akira before him, Aizen's eyes held sincerity—not the slightest trace of deceit.