“Unfortunately, I heard you’re quite entangled with the Princess of the Shihōin Clan right now.
So, Uncle Shunsui can’t exactly drag you out to the red-light district to drink with the girls.
What an absolute shame!” Shunsui lamented.
‘How is that a shame at all?!’ Haru screamed internally.
Still, everything made sense now.
By dragging Haru around the most crowded parts of the Seireitei in broad daylight, Shunsui was making a very public statement: This kid is under my wing.
Anyone who wanted to lay a finger on Haru Shimizu would first have to weigh whether they were prepared to deal with Shunsui Kyōraku.
As one of Head Captain Yamamoto’s prized pupils, a veteran Captain from the very first generation of Shin’ō Academy graduates, and a prominent noble himself, Shunsui’s deterrent factor was astronomical.
Because Shunsui always masked himself behind a facade of lazy degeneracy, he rarely ever fought seriously.
He was completely unpredictable.
No one in the Soul Society knew the true depths of his power.
And because of that terrifying unknown, the rats hiding in the shadows feared him the most.
What started as a painfully awkward drink between two men eventually evolved.
Once the sake started flowing in earnest, the emotional walls broke down.
They swore oaths of brotherhood.
They poured out drinks for the fallen.
They wished they could have been born on the same day, in the same month, of the same year—though they absolutely refused to die together.
At the very least, Haru had successfully reset their generational hierarchy, escaping the fate of calling Shunsui ‘Uncle’.
“Let’s drink until we drop!
Drink until we drop!
This is fantastic, brother!
Next time—next time for sure!” Shunsui slurred, practically hanging off the table.
“Next time, big bro will treat you!
We’re going to 16th South Street!
I’ll show you the real dragons!
Over there…
hehehe…”
“Mama-san!
Bring us two more pitchers!” Haru yelled enthusiastically.
The Madam of the establishment—a woman draped in a deep purple, impossibly loose kimono held together solely by a single silk sash and her own impressive proportions—was just about to gleefully fetch the expensive alcohol when she was frozen in place by a murderous glare.
A woman with her hair pulled back into a severe style and a look of absolute disgust on her face stormed into the room.
It was Shunsui’s lieutenant.
She unceremoniously hoisted the drunken, noodle-like Captain onto her shoulder.
Before leaving, she shot Haru a glare so venomous it felt like she was looking at a cockroach.
“The old bastard can really hold his liquor.
I almost didn’t drink him under the table!” Haru muttered, waving his empty cup.
“And that little lieutenant has some nerve glaring at me!
I’m not the one trying to drag people to the red-light district…
Wait, she looked kinda familiar…”
“Heh.
Little Shunsui actually tried to make me call him Uncle?
How arrogant!
How blasphemous!” Haru ranted to himself as he stumbled out into the street.
“Though…
that bespectacled niece of yours is pretty cute!
What was her name again?
Nanao?
Actually, calling you ‘Uncle’ wouldn’t be such a bad deal if I get to—hurk!”
Haru vomited into a bush before staggering his way back to familiar territory.
Early the next morning.
A pale, thoroughly exhausted Mr.
Shimizu rubbed his stiff neck and groaned as he sat up.
Wait.
He was on the floor?
Haru rubbed his face, looking around in a daze.
The room looked awfully familiar.
‘Is this…?’
A sharp whistling sound cut through the air.
Despite his pounding hangover, Haru’s reflexes were still sharp.
He snapped his hand out, catching the incoming projectile.
It was a steaming hot, damp towel.
“Wipe your face!” a cold voice snapped from above him.
A certain tsundere assassin was standing over him, looking down with a distinctly disgusted expression that strongly resembled a scene out of a specific genre of adult videos.
Seeing the sheer, unadulterated fury practically boiling over in Shaolin’s eyes, Haru’s brain went into overdrive.
He immediately chose the preemptive strike.
“Shaolin, why are you in my room?”
…
“You bastard!” Shaolin shrieked, every single word she had prepared dying in her throat.
She stared at him in utter disbelief for a solid five seconds before violently turning around and storming out of the room.
Once Haru was absolutely certain she was gone, he frantically checked his pants.
Clean.
Hygienic.
Nothing sticky.
“I didn’t actually do anything stupid while I was drunk?
That’s surprising,” Haru muttered to himself.
“And…
ow…
why does my neck hurt so much?”
After throwing up twice more, Haru finally stomached the warm porridge Shaolin had aggressively left for him on the stove.
“Ah, the girl I raised really does know how to take care of people.
She acts tough, but deep down, she still loves her big brother.
She even made breakfast!”
Feeling somewhat human again after the meal, Haru dragged his aching body all the way back to his beloved Shin’ō Academy.
The moment he stepped through the gates, a staff member informed him that the Headmaster was looking for him.
By the time Haru walked out of the Headmaster’s office, his hangover had completely vanished.
He was still a bit dazed, though.
Was this…
a promotion?
He had just been officially upgraded from an ‘Assistant Instructor’ to a ‘Homeroom Teacher.’
It seemed his efforts in ‘scouting’ the rebel base had not gone unnoticed, and the Head Captain had tossed him a small reward.
Along with a nice bump in salary—which Haru honestly didn’t care about, given his unlimited funding from the Omaeda clan—he had been assigned a private faculty dormitory and his own independent office.
He swung by the dorm to check it out.
It was a cozy little house with a small courtyard and a patch of bamboo planted in the corner.
He was quite satisfied.
Since he had been busy hunting rebels lately, he hadn’t had any time to check on his favorite student.
What was the very first thing Mr.
Shimizu should do upon becoming a Homeroom Teacher?
Naturally, when a man reaches the top, he brings his people with him!
He couldn’t forget his beloved disciple now that he had made it big.
Haru grabbed a random, unlucky student in the hallway and ordered them to fetch Sōsuke Aizen and bring him to his new office.
There actually weren’t that many classes at the Shin’ō Academy.
Each class had a few dozen students, with roughly four or five classes per grade level.
True to his unassuming nature, Aizen was in Class 2—a perfectly average, middle-of-the-pack group.
Inside the class, Aizen maintained his perfectly average status: medium Reiatsu, medium grades, and an incredibly polite, gentle demeanor.
But all of that was about to change under the loving guidance of Mr.
Shimizu.
“Mr.
Shimizu…
are you…
absolutely sure you don’t want to reconsider?”
“How could I possibly allow my most talented student to face unfair treatment?!
It’s decided!
You are the new Class Representative, Sōsuke!” Haru slammed his hand down on his new mahogany desk, completely ignoring Aizen’s desperate plea.
“…Yes, sir.
Thank you, Mr.
Shimizu.” Aizen already knew his teacher’s personality far too well.
Resistance was entirely futile.
He could do nothing but reluctantly accept his new, highly visible appointment as the glorious Class Rep.
“By the way, it’s almost the end of the year,” Haru added, leaning back in his chair.
“I expect you to step it up for the final exams!”
Did Aizen think he could just peacefully lay low and secretly develop his powers?
Not on Haru’s watch!
His beloved teacher was going to bind him tightly with the chains of endless academic glory.
Drown in the adoring, expectant gazes of the masses, Sōsuke Aizen!
You are destined to be the next shining star of the Seireitei!
Of course, Haru knew that forcing meaningless academic titles wouldn’t be enough to truly control a man like Aizen.
He needed to add some real weight to the other side of the scale.
“That ultimate technique I taught you last time…
have you made any progress on it?” Haru asked casually.
Aizen’s demeanor shifted instantly.
The annoyance of being named Class Rep vanished, and the eyes hidden behind his square glasses lit up with genuine, predatory excitement.
“Mr.
Shimizu, I spent the last few days deeply researching the concept.
It was incredibly difficult, but I believe I’ve achieved some measure of success.”
‘He’s being humble,’ Haru realized.
If Aizen was admitting to ‘some success,’ it meant he had likely made a massive breakthrough.
“Come on, show me,” Haru urged, leaning forward with genuine interest.
‘What a good kid,’ Haru thought.
He had merely pitched a theoretical concept to Aizen last time, demonstrating his own fake ability without providing any actual Kidō formulas or solutions.
To think Aizen had actually engineered a real spell out of it so quickly.
“The Kidō you demonstrated last time, the one you called ‘Black Hole’…
I’ve been researching it extensively.
I believe I’ve finally found the correct direction.
Please, offer me your guidance.”
Haru watched Aizen struggle to suppress an excited smile and couldn’t help but marvel at the boy.
‘He truly is a scientist at heart.
Tell him to study Kidō, and he lights up like a Christmas tree; tell him to be a Class Rep, and he looks like he’s going to an execution.’
“Watch closely, Mr.
Shimizu.”
Aizen raised a hand and snapped his fingers, perfectly mimicking Haru’s earlier demonstration.
Visually, absolutely nothing happened.
Haru closed his eyes and expanded his Reiatsu perception.
In a world rendered entirely in shades of spiritual grey and white, Haru watched as ambient Reishi particles slowly, inexorably began drifting toward the center of Aizen’s outstretched finger.
It didn’t look like a standard Kidō cast, where the user actively layered and structured Reishi to force an effect.
It behaved more like a passive gravitational pull.
“I funneled my Reiatsu into a single, isolated particle of Reishi,” Aizen explained softly.
“Just as you suggested, I assigned it artificial mass and density.
And just as you predicted, Mr.
Shimizu…
that single, hyper-dense particle began passively pulling the surrounding Reishi toward it.”
Haru opened his eyes and gave Aizen a firm, approving pat on the shoulder.
“The position of Class Representative was practically made for you, Sōsuke!”
“This is only the beginning,” Aizen said, his voice brimming with unshakeable confidence.
“I know I can fully complete this Kidō.” The sheer thrill of dissecting the unknown and mastering the impossible completely filled his still-developing mind.
“The road is long, Sōsuke, and research is an endless frontier,” Haru said profoundly.
“Did you know?
When Hadō Number 90, Kurohitsugi, is pushed to its absolute limits, its gravitational pull can actually warp time and space.”
Aizen’s eyes burned with intense fervor.
To think that the ultimate peak of Kidō could achieve something so miraculous?
He was instantly filled with boundless motivation.
By the time he left Haru’s office, Aizen had perfectly adjusted his mindset.
He buried his manic excitement deep inside, returning his face to its usual, gentle, unassuming smile.
Sitting alone in his new office, Haru leaned back and thought quietly.
Aizen really was an eye-opener.
As expected of the man destined to conquer the heavens.
The theoretical spell Haru had challenged Aizen to create was actually something Haru himself could already do.
However, their methods were entirely different.
Haru used his Zanpakutō’s ’emotional manipulation’ to project sheer, overwhelming Greed and Desire, treating the emotion itself as a gravitational anchor to violently suck in the surrounding Reishi, creating a pseudo-vortex.
It was a clumsy, unfinished technique that was nowhere near ready for real combat.
Haru had simply tossed the idea out to keep his favorite student distracted.
He never imagined Aizen would figure out how to replicate the effect using pure, raw Kidō mechanics so quickly.