“Hopeless!
Utterly hopeless!”
On the Shin’ō Academy training grounds, the practical Kidō class was in full swing.
The academy’s curriculum always paired one theory lecture with one practical session to help students fully integrate what they had learned.
Currently, a student was gripping his own wrist, straining so hard his face was flushed red, looking like he was fighting for his life on the toilet.
After an agonizingly long build-up, he finally roared, “Hadō Number Four, Byakurai!”
The resulting spell’s power definitely matched its ridiculously long cast time.
A dense cluster of white plasma violently crackled around him.
In terms of raw destructive output, it was actually pretty impressive.
Unfortunately, the idiot hadn’t understood a single word of Haru’s lecture on Reiatsu equilibrium.
He just blindly dumped every drop of his Spiritual Pressure into the low-level spell.
Amidst the flashing plasma, the distinct smell of roasting meat wafted through the air.
‘Sigh.’ Haru looked at the silent Sōsuke Aizen standing in the crowd and let out a quiet breath.
The gap between a true genius and an ordinary person was honestly wider than the gap between a human and a pig.
Aizen was doing what he always did: maintaining top marks in theory while keeping his practical exam scores perfectly, completely average.
He blended right in.
But as a properly qualified Kidō instructor, Haru could easily see through the illusion.
Aizen’s control over his Reiatsu stability already surpassed that of most sixth-year seniors, and he had only been at the academy for two months.
Scoring a 60 wasn’t terrible, and scoring a 100 wasn’t something to be incredibly arrogant about.
But someone who had the ability to score a 100, yet perfectly calculated their output to intentionally score exactly a 60?
That was terrifying.
‘This kid is definitely going to be a massive problem in the future!
He absolutely cannot be left to his own devices!’ Haru made up his mind.
‘You want to keep a low profile?
As your teacher, I understand.
But I absolutely refuse to accept it!’
Haru glanced at the crispy, self-electrocuted student.
He casually tossed out a basic Kaidō spell—just enough healing Kidō to keep the kid from dying—and clapped his hands.
“You there, carry what’s-his-name over to the side.
Take him to the Fourth Division clinic after class.” Haru shook his head.
“How many times do I have to emphasize stable Reiatsu output before you people understand?
Now, I’m going to call up an outstanding student to demonstrate.
You can all see what real competence looks like and reflect on your own inadequacies.”
Whispers broke out among the students.
Tabuchi, the guy currently smelling like burnt toast on the sidelines, was supposedly the strongest in their class.
Was there really someone better?
Hidden in the crowd, Aizen suddenly got a very bad feeling about this.
It was common knowledge that Mr.
Shimizu was as elusive as a ghost.
He appeared exactly when the bell rang and vanished into thin air the second class ended.
The only person in the entire class who had any extra contact with him was the overly honest Sōsuke Aizen.
Yes, his classmates affectionately called Aizen the “honest pushover.” While everyone else bolted for the door after class, he was the only one who always stayed behind when Mr.
Shimizu held him back to clean the chalkboard.
If that wasn’t a pushover, what was?
Aizen’s bad feeling proved entirely accurate.
“Sōsuke!
Come up here!
Show your classmates the true art of Kidō!”
Resigned to his fate, Aizen stepped forward.
As he stopped next to Haru, he lowered his voice.
“Mr.
Shimizu, my Reiatsu reserves are too low…
I used most of it up during practice.”
“Relax, I’m not asking you to kill anyone.
Just demonstrate your mastery over stable Reiatsu output.”
Left with no choice, Aizen put on a convincing act of straining himself.
He fired off a bolt of Byakurai no thicker than a pinky finger, which cleanly pierced the wooden target in the center of the field.
A ripple of giggles and snickers washed through the observing students.
“Don’t laugh!
Yours might not even be as thick as his!” Haru scolded, immediately silencing the crowd.
“Do you see the gap between Aizen’s Byakurai and your own?”
Several students clearly looked unconvinced.
Haru wasn’t going to let anyone insult the future King of the Heavens, so he elaborated.
“You’re all only looking at the surface, completely missing the profound depths of Aizen’s Kidō.
Sure, his is a bit thin, but it has incredible stamina and lasting power,” Haru said without skipping a beat.
“Stability represents absolute control.
He can calmly and successfully cast Kidō under any circumstance, whereas the rest of you…
well, you tend to barbecue yourselves.”
A few hotheads still looked rebellious.
Haru pointed out two of the most defiant-looking students and told them to cast Byakurai.
“Now, I’m going to demonstrate a little trick.
Begin.”
The two students immediately began casting.
Just as their crackling white lightning was taking shape, Haru extended his right hand and casually snapped his fingers.
While the rest of the class had their eyes glued to Haru’s hand, Aizen was staring intently at the forming spells, a look of sheer shock flashing across his face.
He knew he wasn’t sensing it wrong.
The exact instant Haru snapped his fingers, a tiny fraction of the Reishi within their perfectly stable spells had violently fluctuated.
The two students stared in dumbfounded silence as their Byakurai completely fizzled out without a sound.
The entire class erupted into applause, praising Mr.
Shimizu’s god-like techniques.
Haru waved his hands modestly, essentially gesturing for them to praise him even harder.
Basking in their flattery, Haru unclipped his sheathed Zanpakutō from his waist.
He tapped it against Aizen’s shoulder exactly three times, flashed a mysterious smile, and announced that class was dismissed.
The next day.
After the Kidō class ended, it was the usual chalkboard-cleaning time.
“Sōsuke!” Haru called out, leaning against the wall as he watched Aizen work.
“Yes, sir!”
“Where were you last night?”
Aizen’s soul nearly leaped out of his body.
Lately, he had felt that the academy’s curriculum was no longer enough to satisfy him.
The school only taught up to Hadō Number 33.
He desperately wanted to get his hands on some advanced Kidō, but those high-level spells were closely guarded secrets.
For a commoner Soul Reaper, the only way to learn them was to either join the Gotei 13 or sell their lives in service to a noble clan.
So, late last night, he had been sneaking around the Shin’ō Academy, trying to find the personal archives of the instructors or the headmaster.
Aizen panicked internally.
‘Did Mr.
Shimizu see me last night?
But…
he doesn’t even live in the staff dormitories!’
Haru sighed, his face a picture of absolute disappointment, looking like a master mourning his dense disciple.
With no other option, Aizen decided to apologize first and figure out a cover story later.
“I’m so sorry, Mr.
Shimizu.
I didn’t mean to do it.
I’ll accept whatever punishment you give me!”
“Huh?” Haru blinked.
“I mean, sure, you’re a bit dense, but why would I punish you for that?”
Aizen was completely stumped.
What was Mr.
Shimizu talking about?
What did violating school rules have to do with being dense?
“I tapped you three times with my scabbard yesterday!
I thought you’d understand the hint!” Haru groaned.
“I was planning to sneak you out and pass down my ultimate techniques to you in the dead of night, but I never expected you to have such terrible comprehension skills.
Sigh!”
‘So…
that was it…’ Aizen’s racing heart finally returned to a normal rhythm.
He forced a humble smile.
“There’s no need, Mr.
Shimizu.
With my dull talents, I’d be perfectly happy just doing clerical work in one of the Squads after I graduate.”
“Oh, spare me, Sōsuke,” Haru waved him off.
“Other people might not know what you’re capable of, but do you really think your teacher would underestimate you?”
Haru leaned in close, staring directly into Aizen’s soft brown eyes, emphasizing every single word.
“In my opinion, there isn’t a single student in this entire academy who can hold a candle to you.”
Before Aizen could formulate a response, Haru kept going.
“Don’t hide your talents away; you’ll make yourself sick holding it all in.
And don’t go thinking you’re incredibly special, either.
Compared to a genius like me, you’re just…
well, you know.”
Aizen did not, in fact, know.
So Haru decided to show him.
The two left the academy grounds and walked to the small river dividing the West 1st and 2nd Districts of the Rukongai.
As they stood on the bank, watching the water flow past, Haru spoke.
“A battle between Soul Reapers is, fundamentally, a battle of Reiatsu.”
The confusion in Aizen’s mind was instantly wiped away, replaced by blinding clarity.
‘What profound words!’ he thought, deeply moved.
‘For Mr.
Shimizu to utter such an absolute truth…