Hearing Haru’s warning, Sōjun’s heart tightened.
He instantly dropped his awkward expression, replacing it with a mask of cold, vigilant calm.
Without making any sudden movements, Sōjun scanned their surroundings.
The previously sparse crowd of slum-dwellers had vanished.
In their place, a large number of fiercely armed, mismatched soldiers had silently infiltrated the streets, completely surrounding him and Haru.
The rebel commander stepped forward, opening his mouth to deliver a classic, arrogant villain monologue.
Before he could even utter a single syllable, a Zanpakutō flew directly into his face.
The whistling blade carried a scalp-numbing, lethal intent.
The rebel leader, who had been on screen for exactly one second, was instantly killed by the flying sword.
“Haru…” Sōjun stared in sheer disbelief.
“Why did you just throw your Zanpakutō?”
Having received the most orthodox, traditional noble education since childhood, Sōjun was completely flabbergasted.
A Zanpakutō was a Soul Reaper’s other half.
It was a partner, their very soul forged into steel.
It was a weapon that must absolutely never leave a Soul Reaper’s hand, no matter how desperate the situation.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff!
Go get ’em, Sōjun!” Haru casually patted him on the shoulder.
“I’ll play support on this one!”
With a helpless sigh, Sōjun drew his own blade.
It wasn’t in his nature to hide behind others anyway; his pride wouldn’t allow it.
A moment later, he realized exactly why the Head Captain had assigned Haru to his squad.
Using Shunpo, Sōjun flashed directly in front of a rebel soldier.
The man roared, raising his crude sword to deliver a heavy downward cleave.
But in the split second before their blades clashed, a brief, unnatural haze of confusion washed over the rebel’s eyes.
The fight was decided in that single instant.
Sōjun leaned slightly forward, his blade sweeping in a graceful, upward diagonal arc.
A severed head flew into the air.
Sōjun froze for a fraction of a second, an unprecedented feeling swelling in his chest.
‘Wait…
am I actually this incredibly strong?’
What followed was the Sōjun Kuchiki solo exhibition.
Shunpo.
Slash.
Shunpo.
Slash.
In a matter of seconds, half of the rebel vanguard had been cleanly wiped out.
But their numbers were relentless.
Squad after squad of rebels poured into the streets, closing the net around them.
Haru and Sōjun had spent the entire afternoon casually wandering through the district, inadvertently giving the enemy ample time to gather their forces and set up an inescapable kill box.
As the sea of enemies grew denser, Sōjun noticed quite a few legitimate Soul Reapers who had achieved Shikai mixed into the mob.
He even recognized a few familiar faces among the traitors.
His stamina began to wane.
After forcing back another rushing attacker, Sōjun pointed his free hand at the ground beneath his feet.
“Bakudō Number 21: Sekienton!”
A massive cloud of thick red smoke instantly erupted, blanketing the battlefield.
Using the distraction, Sōjun Flash Stepped back to Haru’s side, leaning heavily on his sword as he broke into a fit of violent coughing.
“Hey, Sōjun, you want to take a break?” Haru asked casually.
“There is no need.
I severely underestimated their determination to kill me,” Sōjun rasped, still flawlessly polite despite the circumstances.
“I must thank you.
Without your support, I would have fallen by now.”
“So, what’s your game plan here?”
“Cough…
forgive me, but it seems I have no choice but to use my Shikai,” Sōjun said, his face deathly pale but his posture perfectly straight.
“My constitution has always been frail, and my father strictly forbade me from releasing my Zanpakutō because the strain drastically worsens my condition.
But I am prepared for this.”
He had made his resolve to sacrifice himself.
Haru reached out and clamped a hand down on Sōjun’s shoulder.
“Look at the state of you.
If it hurts your body that much, just sit down and take a breather.”
“It’s time for Mr.
Shimizu’s main performance.”
“Haru, wait, what are you doing?” Sōjun asked anxiously, grabbing Haru’s sleeve to stop him.
“No need to thank me.
Just make sure to give me all the credit on the official report later.
If it weren’t for a powerful vanguard like you, my frail little ability would never have the chance to shine!” Haru flashed a confident smile and shook Sōjun’s hand off.
“Sow chaos into all things—Paradox!”
He struck a dramatic pose, fully expecting to charge in, but Sōjun immediately grabbed his sleeve again.
“Sōjun, why do you keep grabbing me?!” Haru complained.
“…Haru, I was trying to remind you that you threw your Zanpakutō away at the very beginning of the fight…”
…
“Is that so?
That’s just a minor detail!” Haru’s face flushed crimson as he stubbornly brushed it off.
By now, the thick crimson smoke covering the battlefield had mostly dissipated.
Before Haru even finished speaking, he triggered Shunpo and vanished into the remaining red haze.
A faint, iridescent light rippled across his body for a fraction of a second before he vanished completely, bending the light around him.
Standing on the high ground, staying vigilant, Sōjun watched Haru flicker in and out of existence with absolute sheer astonishment.
‘Is this…
is this the true power of the Onmitsukidō?!’
From his vantage point, Sōjun had a clear view of the slaughter unfolding within the thinning smoke.
Haru casually bent down, picked up a discarded sword from a fallen rebel, and began strolling through the fog like he was taking a walk in the park.
He stepped up behind an enemy and swung the blade.
The strike tore through his optical camouflage, revealing him for a split second as the first enemy’s throat was slit.
The exact same footwork.
The exact same momentary break in camouflage.
The exact same lethal swing.
Haru repeated the monotonous, dry motion a dozen times—then several dozen times—until the repetitive slaughter took on a bizarre, mesmerizing beauty.
Every single time the blade approached an enemy, they would freeze in inexplicable, momentary terror, rendering them completely defenseless.
A long arc of blood would flash in the mist, and then Haru would vanish again.
Flash, kill, vanish.
Over and over.
The silent massacre felt like it lasted only a brief moment.
When the red smoke finally cleared entirely, the ground was littered with a carpet of corpses.
Haru was currently wading through the sea of severed limbs, meticulously searching for his own Zanpakutō.
“Haru, you are…
truly incredible,” Sōjun said earnestly as he ran down the hill.
“I am completely in awe of you.”
Haru shook his head, looking deeply humble.
“Don’t overthink it, Sōjun.
My Zanpakutō’s ability simply manipulates emotions.
Your ferocious battle earlier planted the seeds of fear and anxiety in their hearts.
All I did was amplify those existing emotions, making them easy targets.
I can only butcher small fries like this.
Against a true Lieutenant like you, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Sōjun smiled bitterly, shaking his head.
Mr.
Shimizu was perfect in every way, except for being far too humble!
Haru finally found his sword on the ground.
He picked it up and wiped the blood off the scabbard using a dead rebel’s uniform.
This was one of his greatest, most deeply guarded secrets: he didn’t know how to use Shikai.
Even after decades in the Soul Society, he hadn’t achieved it.
The blade resting at his waist was actually just a standard-issue Asauchi.
The so-called ’emotional manipulation’ ability he had demonstrated was complete and utter bullshit.
Haru had spent a lot of time analyzing why he couldn’t awaken his sword.
He eventually concluded that it was a side effect of his transmigration.
Not only had multiple personalities merged within his soul, completely crashing his innate ‘golden cheat,’ but the chaotic mental state made communicating with a Zanpakutō spirit incredibly difficult.
He had gone out of his way to purchase expensive silk wrappings, meticulously wrapping the hilt in a pale purple cloth to disguise the Asauchi as a high-end, awakened blade.
He faked it for two reasons.
First, to save face.
It would be incredibly humiliating for the great Haru Shimizu to admit he hadn’t even achieved Shikai.
Second, camouflage.
Hiding his true capabilities had countless advantages.
The Soul Society was filled with bizarre Zanpakutō with unpredictable abilities.
Take Sōjun’s brother-in-law, Kōga Kuchiki, for example.
His Zanpakutō, Muramasa, was terrifyingly powerful, capable of inciting a Zanpakutō spirit to completely rebel against its master.
Haru loved imagining a scenario where Kōga confidently used Muramasa on him, only to realize he had just wasted his ultimate technique trying to brainwash a blank, empty Asauchi.
And while Kōga was standing there utterly confused, Haru would just walk up and casually smash him in the face!
The thought alone was incredibly satisfying.
Or take his favorite student, Aizen.
Haru hoped that under his brilliant tutelage, Aizen might abandon his villainous ways—or at the very least, only target the corrupt nobles and spare his beloved teacher.
But if push came to shove, having a fake Zanpakutō ability would be the ultimate trump card against Kyōka Suigetsu.
“Alright, Sōjun, call someone to clean this up,” Haru said, kicking a corpse out of the way.
“We need to chop off all their heads so we can turn them in as proof for the bounty.”
Sōjun stared at him, utterly speechless.
‘The Gotei 13 isn’t a Rukongai assassin’s guild…’ Sōjun thought helplessly.
‘Since when do we collect bounties for severed heads?’