The voice came from directly behind him.
Mirai's hair stood on end.
Damn! This person is way too fast! I'm being completely outclassed!
He didn't even have time to turn around. He dropped his weight low, slamming both hands onto the forest floor. Using his core and legs for leverage, he spun his body violently, whipping his right leg around in a low, sweeping arc.
"Konoha Senpuu!" (Leaf Whirlwind!)
The principle was even simpler than his punch: use the centrifugal force of the spin to amplify the impact, concentrate the Ki in the leg, and sweep the opponent's legs from under them. The name was just something he'd borrowed on a whim—after all, no one in this world knew the source.
The black-clad figure hopped back effortlessly.
The movement was as light as a falling leaf, landing without making a single sound. Those golden eyes stared at Mirai, glinting with a spark of genuine interest.
"How interesting."
The figure spoke. The voice was somewhat androgynous, making it hard to tell the gender, but it carried a distinct tone of amusement. "Got anything else?"
Mirai took two deep breaths.
He was certain of two things now: First, this person was incredibly strong—strong enough to crush him like a bug. Second, they didn't seem to have any killing intent; it felt more like they were playing.
But he couldn't gamble on that. What if they got bored?
Mirai's mind raced. He couldn't win a direct fight, and running... well, he'd already tried that, and the speed gap was too wide. He needed something unconventional.
His lips moved slightly as he began a low, rapid incantation.
"Byakurai."
The figure let out a soft "Oh?"
"Kido, is it?"
The stranger narrowed their eyes, waiting to see how Mirai would use the lightning spell.
Mirai tucked his right hand behind his back, aiming his palm directly at the ground.
"Hado #4: Byakurai!"
White lightning erupted from his fingertips, but instead of firing it at the intruder, he blasted it directly into the earth.
BOOM!!
The ground exploded into a small crater, sending dirt and dead leaves flying in a blinding cloud. Mirai used the explosive recoil of the blast to launch his body forward like a cannonball. Simultaneously, his feet hammered the ground in a blur.
"Soru! Soru! Soru!"
He pushed his speed to the absolute limit. He didn't run in a straight line; he moved in a jagged zig-zag, weaving left and right, using the thick trunks of the withered trees as cover. In the blink of an eye, he burst out of the forest and sprinted toward the safety of the Shin'ō Academy.
The black-clad figure stood still, watching the direction where Mirai had vanished.
A few seconds later, she pulled down her mask, revealing the sun-kissed skin and the mischievous smile of a young woman.
Yoruichi Shihoin.
She had originally just slipped out of her family estate to take a stroll and clear her head. She hadn't expected to stumble upon someone so intriguing in the Sword Forest.
A Grade Nine spiritual power, yet able to output attacks nearing Grade Seven. Someone who could override instinct and concentrate spiritual energy into a single point. And he'd come up with that strange movement technique and that spinning kick...
"What a curious little cub."
Yoruichi pulled her mask back up, her golden eyes flashing. "I'll have to come find you to play again sometime."
She turned, vanishing into the depths of the forest in a few blurred leaps.
Mirai sat cross-legged on a tatami mat, staring at the blank sheet of paper before him.
The night had settled in completely outside his window. He didn't plan on going back to the Sword Forest for a few days—it was too dangerous until he figured out who that person in black was. Since his nights were now free, he needed something to do.
Entertainment in the Soul Society was depressingly scarce.
The Rukongai might have gambling dens and crude taverns, but inside the Academy, post-class hours were mostly spent in meditation or going to bed early. Mirai wasn't yet at the level where he could sit and stare at a wall for an entire night.
He reached into his drawer and pulled out a stack of paper and a pen. Looking at the writing instrument, a smirk touched his lips.
Ever since he discovered his Zanpakuto took the form of a calligraphy brush, he had no intention of following the path of a traditional Shinigami. He planned to write—partly to make money, and partly to gather spiritual energy through the emotional resonance of his readers. A win-win.
While the vast majority of the Rukongai was illiterate, Mirai never intended to make money off the poor. The rule of the world was simple: make money from those who have it.
The Shinigami were his ideal target audience.
The Shin'ō Academy mandated literacy and document training in the first year. Any graduating Shinigami had at least a basic reading level. And most students, aside from a few minor nobles, came from the Rukongai. Those people had a natural resonance with stories about changing one's fate.
As for the nobles? The high-ranking ones had tutors, but the youth always craved fresh stories. As long as it was exciting enough, they wouldn't be stingy with their allowance.
His direction was clear: A young boy working hard to rise in status—the classic "Zero to Hero" underdog story. Mirai had far too many of those stored in his head from his previous life.
He smoothed the paper, his brush hovering over the surface as a bead of ink gathered at the tip.
The Seireitei Bulletin had a submission limit of six thousand words. This meant the plot had to be tight, the opening had to grab the reader by the throat, the conflict had to escalate quickly, and the "golden quotes" had to be dropped early.
The brush descended.
Sovereign of the Spirit Realm
He wrote the title in bold, powerful strokes. Mirai recalled the familiar framework of a famous story and began adapting the setting to the Soul Society.
He replaced the "Clans" with "Rukongai Settlements" and the "Sects" with "Noble Houses." The protagonist was a boy from a wasteland district whose talent was judged as mediocre, but who—by a stroke of fate—awakened a sliver of an ancient Royal Spirit.
The plot moved at breakneck speed: A failed spiritual test at age three; at age ten, being publicly humiliated and having his engagement broken by the female disciple of a Great Lord; his father's settlement being shamed...
Mirai wrote rapidly. The sound of the brush sliding across the paper was steady and rhythmic. When he reached the "Broken Engagement" scene, his hand paused.
"Thirty years to the East, thirty years to the West."
"Do not look down on a youth just because he is poor!"
He set the brush down, exhaling slowly. One story wasn't enough. The editors of the Seireitei Bulletin had unpredictable tastes. What if they didn't like the hot-blooded "shonen" style? He needed variety.
He took a new sheet.
Mysteries of the Soul Society
This time, he wrote slowly. This was a story about "Acting" and "Secret-Peeking." The setting was complex, requiring careful weaving of clues. In six thousand words, he could only write the prologue. The protagonist finds a journal written in an ancient tongue in a dusty Rukongai bookstore. That night, he dreams of standing above an endless gray fog, hearing layers upon layers of prayers...
Writing this one made Mirai frown slightly. He had to control the information flow—keep the suspense without being too obscure.
Finally, the third piece.
Hell Girl
A darker, simpler tale. This one flowed the most smoothly. By the time he wrote the final character, Mirai felt like the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.
Three stories. Three different genres.
He carefully folded the drafts, tied them neatly with a string, and placed them at the corner of his desk. The candle had mostly burned down, wax pooling on the brass stand. Mirai blew out the flame and climbed into his futon.
Seven days later.
Inside the 9th Division Headquarters, a thick stack of manuscripts sat before the Third Seat, Ironosuke Yamayama.
Although the Seireitei Bulletin was the only publication in the Soul Society, the number of submissions received daily was staggering. After all, there were plenty of Shinigami harboring literary dreams.
He picked up the draft titled Sovereign of the Spirit Realm and began to skim it.
At first, he was just browsing casually, but soon his brow furrowed. When he reached the part about the broken engagement, he couldn't help but let out a snort and tossed the papers onto the desk.
"Pure delusion," Yamayama shook his head. "I wonder which brat spent too much time daydreaming to write this."
Kensei Muguruma, who was nearby reviewing files, looked up. "What's wrong?"
"Captain, take a look at this one," Yamayama handed over the draft. "The story is interesting enough, but it's completely irrational. To have his engagement broken by a Great Lord's disciple and then dare to shout such arrogance to her face? In reality, that messenger would have wiped out his entire family on the spot."
Kensei took the manuscript and began to read it carefully.
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