Early the next morning.
Watching a Zanjutsu class from the sidelines, Haru felt a familiar itch.
Sure, he specialized in Kidō and his own self-created, slightly villainous techniques.
But deep down, what man didn’t harbor the primal urge to draw a sword and hack away at something?
A hulking brute of a man—who possessed an inexplicably uncanny resemblance to a certain famous pop idol—swung his wooden bokken, striking a student’s wrist with a sharp clack.
The boy’s sword instantly clattered into the dirt.
“Hold your blade steady, and swing with absolute ruthlessness!” the instructor roared.
“Every time you strike, you must do so with the absolute resolve to cleave your enemy in two!
If you can’t manage that, drop out now!
Otherwise, you won’t survive a single day in the Gotei 13!”
The giant wove through the pairs of sparring students, occasionally spotting an opening and delivering a vicious sneak attack.
“Why weren’t you watching me?!
When you’re out in the real world, do you think the enemy is going to politely wait their turn to fight you one-on-one?!
You must always keep a fraction of your awareness on your surroundings!”
Once the sparring session finally came to a halt—resulting in several bruised students being hauled off to the academy’s infirmary—Haru casually called out.
“Instructor Tony,” Haru began, laying on his usual thick praise.
“Your Zanjutsu is truly sharp and decisive.
You fight with the grace of a true master.
Watching you has made my hands itch.
The students are exhausted anyway; how about we give them a proper demonstration?”
Instructor Tony Ooki was a proud veteran of Squad 11.
He had fought far too recklessly on the front lines and suffered severe injuries.
After the Fourth Division officially declared him unfit for active combat duty, he was forced to bitterly retire to the rear lines, taking up a post as a Zanjutsu instructor at the Shin’ō Academy.
Hearing the challenge, Tony let out a booming, hearty laugh.
A meathead would always be a meathead; he absolutely never backed down from a fight.
He licked his lips, the scar on the corner of his mouth twisting into a savage grin.
“Since Mr.
Shimizu is offering, I’d love to experience your skills firsthand.” Tony carelessly tossed his wooden practice sword to a nearby student and bared his teeth in a challenging smirk.
“Playing around with these flimsy toys is boring.
What do you say we use the real thing?”
Haru happily agreed.
Both men drew their Zanpakutō and stepped back to create distance.
Tony bent his knees slightly, raising his blade into a high guard.
“Well then, Mr.
Shimizu,” he growled.
“I won’t hold back!”
Haru mirrored his stance, gripping his sword firmly.
Even though they were using live steel, this was fundamentally a teaching demonstration, so both had adopted standard, textbook opening stances.
Then, Tony exploded into motion.
He stomped the ground so hard the dirt cracked, his massive frame closing the distance to Haru in the blink of an eye.
He immediately unleashed a reverse Kesa-giri followed by a sweeping horizontal slash.
The terminology sounded fancy, but in practice, it was just a brutal downward diagonal cleave from left to right, smoothly chaining into a horizontal sweep—a fundamental Zanjutsu combo.
Haru brought his blade up to block.
The two swords violently clashed, ringing out with a deafening screech of grinding metal.
‘Tch.’ Haru mentally clicked his tongue.
‘As expected of a brute from Squad 11.’
The sheer kinetic force behind the strike was monstrous.
Tony had truly meant what he said earlier: every swing carried the absolute, murderous intent to cleave the opponent in half.
Seeing his probing attack blocked so cleanly, Tony felt a surge of pure joy.
As a former seated officer of Squad 11 who had served under the legendary Kuruyashiki Kenpachi, he hadn’t had a proper, blood-pumping fight since taking this teaching job.
In a clash between experts, a single exchange was all it took to gauge an opponent’s true caliber.
Through that single block, Tony confirmed that this ‘sissy’ Kidō instructor was actually a master of the blade!
To a meathead from Squad 11, any man with paler skin and less muscle mass than them was automatically categorized as a ‘sissy.’
Thrilled to have finally found a worthy sparring partner, Tony decided to put his entire arsenal of Squad 11 swordplay on full display to really open his students’ eyes.
He may have left the Eleventh Division, but his heart would forever remain with them.
He figured if he showcased the absolute peak of their violent aesthetics here, more of these kids would be inspired to join Squad 11 after graduation!
Fueled by that thought, Tony let out a savage roar and stopped holding back.
Flexing his wrist, he forced his sharp blade to grind upward along the flat of Haru’s sword, aiming directly for Haru’s fingers!
He accompanied the strike with a deafening war cry—a martial arts technique formally known as Kiai.
In practice, Haru understood it was basically just hyping yourself up while attempting to startle your opponent into a fatal flinch.
If that grinding strike landed, Haru would have to take a trip to the Fourth Division with a severed hand.
But as an absolute master of emotional manipulation, Haru wasn’t about to be rattled by such a shallow parlor trick.
He calmly backstepped, weaving his blade to parry Tony’s frantic strikes from every conceivable angle.
For a moment, the dojo echoed with the torrential, ringing barrage of clashing steel.
The watching students gasped in awe.
“Is this the true power of an official Soul Reaper?!” “Will we be this strong when we graduate?” “In your dreams!
Instructor Tony is a total monster from Squad 11, and a former seated officer at that!
Though I never expected Mr.
Shimizu to keep up with him.
He always looked so gentle!” “Mr.
Shimizu is so cool!” a female student swooned.
“I know, right?!
If only I could marry a man like him…”
Unlike the flashy, performative martial arts or point-based kendo tournaments of the human world, Zanjutsu between Soul Reapers was explicitly designed for lethal combat.
Just as Tony had lectured earlier, every single strike carried the intent to kill, and every attack was aimed squarely at a vital organ.
Seeing that he couldn’t quickly overwhelm Haru, Tony’s pride as the Zanjutsu instructor began to chafe.
He pushed more strength into his swings.
Every slash visibly tore the air, and his Spiritual Pressure unconsciously began to spike.
A suffocatingly heavy Reiatsu blanketed the training ground, forcing the observing students to stagger backward.
Given their current, unrefined levels, the fully unleashed Spiritual Pressure of a seated officer was more than enough to make them physically ill.
Aizen furrowed his brow, instinctively preparing to mimic his classmates and act as if he were struggling under the pressure.
But then he paused.
‘Wait.
Under Mr.
Shimizu’s coercion, I’m already the Class Representative.
I’ve already exposed a fraction of my true strength to him.’
Realizing he no longer needed to maintain the illusion of absolute mediocrity here, the veteran actor smoothed out his expression, standing perfectly straight as he calmly analyzed the duel.
Tony finally unleashed Squad 11’s signature fighting style: Chaotic Blade!
His heavy, brutal slashes completely abandoned all orthodox forms and patterns, raining down on Haru from bizarre, completely unpredictable angles.
The philosophy was simple: If I don’t even know where my next swing is going, how the hell are you supposed to predict it?
Many opponents far stronger than him had ultimately fallen to this wildly erratic style.
Tony was entirely confident that Haru Shimizu would be no exception.
If he didn’t win this, what would happen to his dignity as the combat instructor?!
However, in the very next second, his dignity was utterly shattered.
A pale, slender—and undeniably ‘sissy-like’—finger effortlessly pierced through the chaotic flurry of steel and accurately pinched the flat of his Zanpakutō.
The lethally sharp blade couldn’t even leave a microscopic scratch on Haru’s bare skin.
Although Tony’s combat skills had noticeably degraded since his injury and retirement, he knew one absolute truth: only someone who had concentrated Lieutenant-class Reiatsu directly into their hand could catch his blade like that.
“Instructor Tony,” Haru said gently, his smile completely unfazed.
“Please rein in your Spiritual Pressure.
Look around; you’re making the students uncomfortable.”
Standing in the crowd, Aizen stared fixedly at the finger Haru used to effortlessly catch the enemy’s Zanpakutō.
‘That move is incredibly stylish,’ he thought, silently committing it to memory.
At the exact same time, standing on the edge of the training grounds, a tall underclassman girl watching the commotion also seared Haru’s dashing figure into her memory.