In the brand-new dōjō, Naraku once again heard the sound of the sun rising.
Then he was sent flying by a completely unrestrained double Ikkotsu—launched into the sky, spinning a full 7,200 degrees before crashing down, staggering, and spitting out a mouthful of thick, dark blood.
Yes. After being "broken" by Naraku's Black Flash, the old man had gotten embarrassed and furious.
Right in front of everyone, he dragged Naraku into another dōjō and proceeded to enact what he called "strict-teacher instruction," but was in reality pure iron-fist revenge.
What Naraku found most incomprehensible was this:
That Ikkotsu "variant" he'd used in battle earlier—Yamamoto reproduced it almost instantly.
And he used it even more smoothly and perfectly. The strike angles, the force application—there wasn't a flaw to be found.
Truly worthy of being the founder of Genryū.
At least the old man hadn't learned Naraku's Black Flash, which meant Naraku still had a shred of dignity left.
But getting beaten wasn't without benefits.
Maybe Naraku's Ikkotsu variations had inspired Yamamoto too. After a few tries, Yamamoto innovated further, developing multiple advanced branches off Ikkotsu.
A simple technique became endlessly varied in Yamamoto's hands, fused with his vast combat experience into terrifying offensive tools.
In Naraku's view, it was basically flawless.
During the process, Yamamoto tried explaining the technical applications—what each motion meant in combat, the purpose of each detail.
But he quickly realized that while Naraku could understand what he was saying, turning it into practical use still required enormous repetition and hardening.
So Yamamoto changed teaching methods.
The most brutal and the most effective:
Hands-on sparring.
Maybe because of Naraku's boosted growth potential—or maybe because of something related to hollowfication—Naraku found he actually thrived under this style.
With his perfect grasp of Ikkotsu, plus Yamamoto's no-holds-barred "senpai bullying," Naraku rapidly integrated those newly created moves into his own combat system.
[Hakuda: LV70!]
The suffering of becoming a full-time grinder showed perfectly in the numbers.
Setting aside Shikai buffs, among the four core Shinigami skills, Hakuda had risen to undisputed first place, far ahead of the other three.
Add in the "stat-stuffed" Black Flash, and it was hard to imagine how cathartic a Black Flash · Ikkotsu would feel in real combat.
"Did you feel it?"
"Sōkotsu differs from Ikkotsu not only in force application, but also in how it uses the entire muscle group and dozens of different Reiatsu applications."
After Yamamoto's "loving" iron fist stamped a human-shaped crater into the new dōjō floor, he crouched beside it and calmly explained Sōkotsu's principles.
"That's the general idea. The finer details must be realized through your own experience."
In the silence, Naraku's gaze was a bit unfocused.
But at least the old man had restraint, and Naraku had high-speed regeneration as a built-in mechanic.
Together, his injuries visibly healed.
Yamamoto raised a brow at the sight.
For some reason, the more he looked at his delinquent disciple, the more familiar he felt—like he'd seen him somewhere else.
He tried to think it through, but couldn't find the answer.
So Yamamoto tossed it aside. In the quiet, he let out a sigh. A trace of hesitation and difficulty appeared on his face.
"Brat… what was that move you used earlier called?"
Naraku looked up from the crater and grinned.
"So Teacher wants to learn it too?"
"Not saying you'll definitely master it—but I'll hold nothing back."
"If you want to learn it… I'll teach you."
Yamamoto's eyes turned complicated.
...
...
North Rukongai, District 72.
The Sediment Plain.
Chaotic Reiatsu piled up and churned, scorching energy spreading through the air until it nearly filled the entire plain.
Deafening battle cries shredded the silence. Flesh tore with cloth-ripping sounds, constantly stabbing at fragile nerves on both sides.
Hundreds of Shinigami slaughtered each other across the plain, trying to prove their "rightness" through blood.
The thick stench of blood made eyes go red, veins popping, as if reason itself had been lost.
Beyond close-range slaughter, Kidō blasts detonated across the grass. Amid the flying dust, brilliant lightning spread through the ranks.
The most miserable screams were barely noticeable under the roar of explosions.
At the edge of the battlefield, on a stone pillar, a red scarf fluttered in the wind. Kuchiki Kōga stood with arms crossed, watching the battle with a stern face.
It wasn't time for him to move yet.
This was a war to wipe out rebel Shinigami, and the rebel leader was powerful. If Kōga entered too early, the advantage could flip, and comrades might die as a result.
That was what his father-in-law, Kuchiki Ginrei, had taught him.
Don't panic. Stay calm. Then you can handle sudden changes and keep yourself in an unbeatable position.
Yet watching Shinigami he'd once shared drinks with scream inside Kidō flames, anger flashed in Kōga's eyes.
War shouldn't look like this.
He had the power to turn the tide—yet he was forced to wait on a pillar for "the right time," letting familiar comrades die.
They could have lived.
"Muramasa."
A voice, calm yet suffocatingly restrained, sounded atop the pillar.
Air rippled, and a figure in a white robe appeared. Eyes shadowed by heavy makeup looked at Kōga with the same unwavering loyalty as always.
"Do you need me to act?"
"Stay here."
"…?"
Before Muramasa could ask, Kōga lifted his unadorned blade and vanished.
When he reappeared, he had already plunged into the rebel formation.
A towering pillar of Reiatsu shot into the sky. Heavy pressure spread outward.
With that fresh force entering the field, the stalemate snapped and the Gotei 13 side surged forward.
But it didn't last long.
Another powerful Reiatsu entered the battlefield almost simultaneously.
It was the rebel leader: Akao Retsu.
He was frighteningly strong—someone who had escaped multiple times even against Kōga and Muramasa working together.
Because Akao knew Kōga's profile well: the moment he fought, he would seal his inner world, giving Muramasa no opening.
"So we meet again, Kuchiki Kōga."
Akao unleashed Reiatsu no weaker than Kōga's, standing against the purple pillar and splitting the battlefield again.
"You're still as impatient as ever."
"You don't truly believe you're the righteous side, do you?"
Kōga stayed silent, simply staring at the middle-aged man.
Even now he didn't understand: Akao had once been vice-captain class—a position near the very top among Shinigami.
Why would someone like that betray?
He'd wondered for a long time.
But whether he asked Ginrei or Yamamoto, he never got a clear answer.
Akao sneered.
"Just look at you—I can tell Kuchiki Ginrei didn't tell you anything."
"In the end, he just wanted to forge a sharp, obedient tool. Your only value is to protect the Kuchiki's ridiculous 'honor'!"
"Kuchiki Kōga—the real traitors are you people!"
Kōga frowned, instinctively thinking about what that meant.
But Akao had said all that for one purpose—to make Kōga lose focus.
"Die!"
A savage grin surged in. Akao formed Kidō Reiatsu in his left hand while raising his blade in his right.
Yet the panic he expected didn't come.
Kōga remained calm from start to finish.
"Bakudō #39: Enkōsen."
A blazing fireball dropped from the sky and slammed into the round shield, fragments exploding outward and carving trenches in the grass.
Akao snorted. His blade flashed coldly as it came down on Kōga.
"Even if you block, so what?"
"Before this fight I sealed my mind with secret arts. Your Zanpakutō is useless against me."
"And as for pure swordsmanship—I lose to no Shinigami!"
The air cried out as something split. A cold flash cut through.
Blades collided, sparks scattering.
Without thinking, Kōga raised his sword to block, Shunpo'd in, and clenched his left fist tight.
Heavy Reiatsu wrapped around the fist.
A straight punch.
In Sora's terms, the move was called "Volcanic Eruption."
In Akao's baffled stare, the "sandbag-sized" fist filled his vision.
Boom!
The unstoppable punch smashed into Akao's face. Condensed Reiatsu detonated instantly—
Like a volcano erupting, swallowing him in raw impact.
In the next moment, Akao flew across the battlefield faster than the eye could track, skipping past countless fighting Shinigami, shattering stone pillars one after another, carving a trench into the earth, and finally crashing beneath the plain, kicking up dust that blotted out the sky.
Kōga Shunpo'd again and reappeared at the edge of the trench.
He stared down at Akao up close and wore the same feral grin Naraku always did.
"Your swordsmanship is nowhere near Sora's."
In the middle of unbearable pain, Akao barely registered the words. His mind was flooded with one question:
Why was Kuchiki Kōga's Hakuda this strong?
And who the hell was "Sora"?
The moment Akao fell, the war was already decided.
No one could stop a mad dump truck.
Wherever Kōga went, rebels either dropped to their knees and surrendered, or resisted—only to be punched to the ground.
He realized Naraku's teachings really were useful.
He couldn't wipe entire groups instantly like before, but the fist-to-flesh feeling was addictive—hard to stop once you started.
And this style also tempered the self.
By the end of the war, Kōga was delighted to find his bond with Muramasa felt even tighter.
The only blemish was Muramasa's gaze—always tinged with a strange sadness, like it had lost something.
Kōga asked about it, but Muramasa just shook his head and said nothing.
Kōga didn't overthink it. He turned back to the battlefield.
There was still cleanup work to do. Once it was done, he'd return to Seireitei and share the results with Naraku.
The victory report reached Seireitei quickly.
First Division, Captain-Commander's office.
Yamamoto looked at Kōga in surprise, gaining a clearer understanding of his ability.
He'd assumed this war would end quickly like previous ones, but Kōga had annihilated the enemy even though the rebels knew his intel.
Had Muramasa's Bankai evolved to ignore mind-sealing techniques?
The thought made Yamamoto's face turn serious.
Kōga, meanwhile, looked at the old man with confusion.
He remembered leaving Seireitei not long ago—why did the Captain-Commander look like he'd changed outfits?
And why was that waist-length beard now only half as long?
"Kōga," Yamamoto said, noticing the gaze and tugging his haori forward irritably, "I have a question."
"How did you deal with Akao Retsu?"
Kōga grinned and recounted the battle in full detail.
Yamamoto started off grim, but as the story went on, he nearly failed to keep a straight face.
What do you mean "it was all thanks to Naraku"?
What do you mean "Volcanic Eruption decided the fight"?
"I understand," Yamamoto sighed darkly.
Looking at Kōga's excited expression, Yamamoto suddenly understood why Ginrei had been in a bad mood lately.
A refined son-in-law, a rising star, a future pillar of the Kuchiki—
And that bastard had dragged his whole "vibe" off the rails.
If it were Yamamoto, he'd probably already be carrying a sword to cut that brat down.
"Enough."
Yamamoto waved helplessly. "Send the prisoners to the Central Prison."
"Yes, Captain-Commander!"
Kōga left excitedly—he couldn't wait to share the war's accomplishments with his friend.
Deep in the Noble District, at the end of the road, a towering estate lay like a sleeping beast.
In a silent study, several figures gathered. The air was heavy and oppressive, like the night before a storm—
Dark.
"Moriyama family annihilated. Multiple chaotic reishi signatures remain on site; the combatant's identity can't be determined. Takeda Satoru has vanished without a trace."
"Akao Retsu fell to Kuchiki Kōga, and has been escorted back to Seireitei."
The elderly man behind the desk tapped the armrest lightly. His brows creased as his low voice filled the room.
"In less than a month, our faction's strength has suffered severe losses."
"Do any of you have countermeasures?"
~~~
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