Chapter 2: The Drunkard in the Lawless District
North Rukongai, District 80—also known as Zaraki District This was the farthest and most lawless region from the Seireitei. Compared to the peaceful District 1, District 80 was a true den of evil: barren land, widespread famine, and endless hordes of savage souls constantly clashing and killing. The current Eleventh Division Captain Kenpachi Zaraki, along with his Third and Fourth Seats Ikkaku Madarame and Yumichika Ayasegawa, all hailed from this place. It was a chaotic mix of snakes and dragons—lawless, yet brimming with raw strength.
"Hey, hey, isn't that a noble brat in a haori? What the hell is he doing here? If you want to live, hand over that haori nice and quiet."
A mocking shout halted the long line of ragged souls at the ruined city gate. A black-haired youth wearing a noble haori and a bamboo hat staggered forward, swaying drunkenly. Dozens of hulking thugs blocked his path at the crumbling gate. Each one towered nearly two meters tall, muscles like boulders, radiating explosive power. They bared cruel grins at the frail-looking boy. The surrounding souls, sensing the danger, paled and retreated, forming a wide empty circle.
"You talking about me being a noble?" Shiba Kuroha let out a loud burp, cheeks flushed, eyelids drooping lazily. "No… you said… you want the haori on my back, right? Then bring the sake and we can trade. I don't need much… just three jars of good stuff…"
The thick stench of alcohol wafted from him with every word. Then, under everyone's stares, his footing slipped completely—he collapsed flat on the ground.
The ruined gate fell deathly silent. The ferocious thugs straightened up, staring at this utterly un-noble-like, reeking youth. A haori was the symbol of noble status—most nobles guarded it with their lives. And it was worth a fortune. Yet this kid was ready to trade it for booze. It shattered their expectations.
"You little shit, are you mocking us?" The leader—a man in battered armor—scowled and drew a scale-like blade from his waist. "Forget to mention—we're the Black Thieves, the biggest force in North Rukongai's Zaraki District. Three thousand followers. Hand over the haori and let your family ransom you. Otherwise, you die! That shoulder crest means you're at least from a great noble house. Don't tell us you have no money—our brothers won't buy it."
The surrounding Black Thieves grinned savagely, gripping their weapons tighter.
"Stop! I'll pay for him."
A plainly dressed girl leaped forward, landing in front of Kuroha. Seeing the white-clad figure with short black hair and a resolute, cold expression, Kuroha blearily lifted his head and crawled up.
Burp "I thought you were just gonna watch the show from the sidelines. But showing up in civilian clothes like that… you're walking right into the tiger's den."
"You knew I was here already? And how am I walking into anything? I'm a Shinigami—and the Gotei 13 prohibits excessive drinking!" Rukia Kuchiki frowned, annoyed yet surprised. She was confident in her stealth techniques. She'd arrived half an hour earlier and stayed hidden, just to observe this boy from the same Shiba Clan as her late savior—Kaien Shiba, former lieutenant of the Thirteenth Division. After watching, she could only label him one thing: drunkard. He knew the situation was bad yet still provoked them on purpose. Rukia had heard rumors of unrest in Zaraki District lately, but without proof, the Gotei 13 couldn't intervene easily. To most Shinigami, these were just slightly stronger souls—not worth much concern.
"Haha, a woman! From your moves, you're Gotei 13, right? I'm the Black Thieves' boss, Sōran." The armored brute paused, then burst into laughter. "Lately we've been struggling to boost our power. We can't get Zanpakutō, but learning Kidō from you Shinigami would be perfect. Once we're strong enough, breaking into the Seireitei and overthrowing the Gotei 13 will be child's play!"
His arrogant words echoed through the ruined street. Any captain present would have called him an idiot. But right now, facing him were only Kuroha—who'd barely been here half a month and scraped together a recommendation letter—and Rukia, still at the trainee Shinigami level. Against so many Black Thieves, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
Burp "Anyone got sake? I'll trade the haori…"
Kuroha burped again and silently opened his transmigrator-exclusive system panel.
Alcohol God SystemHost: Shiba KurohaLevel: Utter Novice (One bottle of fine sake needed to reach Drunkard rank)EXP: 8/20Skills: Precise Reiatsu DetectionZanpakutō: NoneDrinking Tolerance: Terrible
Staring at the bare-bones panel, Kuroha genuinely wondered if the heavens were trolling him. Other systems were badass; his felt like a salesman's drinking scam—yet it claimed drinking would make him stronger. Worse, he'd transmigrated to this godforsaken place. Even in the vast Shiba estate, finding decent booze was impossible. The little he got was inferior stuff hidden by Ganju Shiba, risking a beating from their strict sister Kūkaku. Supposedly saved for his coming-of-age ceremony. Such scarcity meant no slow, sneaky development. In the end, he'd stolen Ganju's stash, chugged it, blacked out—and woke up to find half of Ganju bandaged and the fireworks workshop half-destroyed. Ganju's resentful explanation? "Your drinking tolerance is godawful!"
"You seriously planning to trade your haori for booze? If I'd known you were such a drunk, I wouldn't have come for Kaien-niisan's sake!" Rukia said, exasperated, drawing her Zanpakutō in one smooth motion.
"You're the Black Thieves' boss Sōran everyone's talking about lately? According to intel, you're supposed to be a seven-meter-tall, fanged blue-faced oni…"
The Thirteenth Division handled support and intel sharing. They knew a bit about the Black Thieves. But these people didn't match the reports. If they were just bluffing, Rukia was confident she could handle them alone.
"Haha, woman—you're bolder than the Shinigami who came investigating disappearances before. Thought that kid was just some minor noble—take some toll money, give him a taste of 'holy water,' see if anything happens. Didn't expect to hook a big fish."
Sōran grinned ferociously and clenched both fists. His yellowish skin bulged with veins as violent reiatsu surged. His armor burst apart with a crack.
ROAR!
With a bellow, Sōran's body swelled to seven or eight meters—dark blue skin, protruding fangs, full blue-faced oni form. The dozens of thugs behind him transformed too, turning into smaller variants of vicious Hollow-like oni. Mad reiatsu swirled outward in chaotic waves.
"Little girl, seeing my mighty form—I'll give you one last chance. Surrender quietly, or you'll end up like the last two: limbs crushed, humiliated, and dead."
"Soul mutation…?" Rukia's face paled as she gripped her Zanpakutō tighter. She was only a trainee Shinigami. Thanks to Byakuya, her duties were mostly routine soul purification—no real combat experience. Fighting one rumored blue-faced oni might be manageable. Dozens of mutated souls? Near-certain death. Running might buy time for reinforcements. But the memory of Kaien sacrificing himself for her snuffed out any thought of fleeing.
Her mind raced. She forced her trembling hand steady and gritted out: "Get out of here! I'll hold them off. If you're lucky, you might reach reinforcements."
"You want me to leave?" Kuroha steadied himself. The violent reiatsu gale had blown most of the alcohol haze away. He brushed past Rukia—and in the process, snagged the sake gourd hanging at her waist.
"So you like good booze too. Top-shelf stuff!"
"I don't drink because I'm an alcoholic. In this chaotic world, a little liquor gives a man courage. I drink because… after I do, I tend to hit too hard. And people die easily."