With the matter settled, Haru was in a fantastic mood.
Under the burning gazes of the crowd, Kisuke Urahara had no choice but to drop his act.
He effortlessly floored his opponent in the sparring ring.
Amidst Katsuta’s furious, anguished roars of “Despicable schemer!”, Kisuke was unceremoniously dragged off by Marenoshin Omaeda for a crash course on managing the Maggot’s Nest.
Yoruichi publicly announced Kisuke’s promotion to the Third Seat of the Second Division, cementing his role as the Lieutenant’s aide and the warden of the underground prison.
Although the squad was shocked that the resident slacker had hidden his true strength so deeply, they respected raw power.
Kisuke won their acknowledgement with barely any effort.
Haru was incredibly satisfied.
‘This is exactly how it should be!’
His reputation for having a keen eye for hidden talent would surely spread throughout the Seireitei.
Between the brilliant Sōsuke Aizen and whoever else he decided to mold into Captains and Lieutenants in the future, his disciples would be everywhere!
Wouldn’t the entire Seireitei effectively be in the palm of his hand?
Basking in the reverent gazes of the masses wherever he went…
it was simply perfect!
“I trusted him!
I actually tried to mentor him!
And he had Third Seat-level strength this whole time?!
He was watching me make a fool of myself!
Kisuke Urahara!!!
You are my sworn enemy!!!”
Leaving Katsuta’s furious, tearful roars echoing behind him, Haru strolled out of the Second Division barracks in phenomenally high spirits.
The moonlight flowed like water.
Haru sat cross-legged in the center of his courtyard.
For some reason, he felt less like a Soul Reaper and more like an immortal cultivator from a fantasy novel.
The ambient Reishi—the fundamental building blocks of all matter—was being frantically drawn toward him, pouring directly into his body.
If every transmigrator was supposed to receive a ‘golden cheat,’ Haru technically had over a dozen stacked together.
Because they had all crashed and canceled each other out during his mental fusion, the systems were dead, but the passive, monstrous talents they provided had miraculously remained.
‘Now this is more like it.
At least I didn’t cross over for nothing,’ Haru thought.
Although he had spouted that profound nonsense to Aizen about “a battle between Soul Reapers being a battle of Reiatsu”—which was honestly only true when bullying the weak, and largely useless when fighting equals—he actually…
kind of believed it himself.
Just a little bit.
Absorbing Reishi, refining his body drop by drop, and endlessly amplifying his Spiritual Pressure.
‘Why does this feel exactly like a classic Xianxia novel?
I guess this would be the Qi Condensation stage, right?
Gathering the spiritual energy of heaven and earth to temper the body and fill the Purple Mansion.
I wonder when I’ll form my Golden Core and finally reach the ‘Kensei Muguruma’ tier of combat power?
Once I hit that six-car threshold, I’ll finally have a solid foothold and some actual self-preservation skills.’
Shin’ō Academy.
Kidō Class.
Today, they had a very special guest instructor.
“Everyone, everyone!
Raise your knowledge-starved heads!
You’re in for an absolute treat today!”
Haru stepped briskly into the classroom, clapping his hands to command the students’ attention before gesturing to the massive, imposing man standing behind him.
“Allow me to formally introduce a true titan standing at the absolute pinnacle of Kidō!
A man who surpasses even your beloved Mr.
Shimizu!
He is an unmatched legend in the Soul Society—Lord Tessai Tsukabishi, the eternal lighthouse of Mr.
Shimizu’s heart!
Let us welcome the Vice Kidō Chief with a tidal wave of applause!”
Having been thoroughly conditioned by Mr.
Shimizu to wildly cheer for Aizen on command, the students instantly fell into their routine.
Led by their Class Representative, Aizen, they erupted into deafening, fanatical applause.
The sheer, overwhelming enthusiasm made Tessai’s heart swell.
He was practically moved to tears, deeply feeling that coming here today had been the right choice.
He had been invited by the Headmaster to give a guest lecture, and while the students in the other classes had been polite, he had never received a rock-star welcome like this!
Technically speaking, the Kidō Corps was an independent military branch, and the Kidō Chief was entirely equal in rank to a Gotei 13 Captain.
In reality, however, the Gotei 13 largely ignored them.
Their primary duties consisted of opening Senkaimon gates, maintaining protective barriers, and occasionally sealing troublesome enemies.
They were essentially the Soul Society’s toilet paper: incredibly necessary when you needed them, but completely forgotten the rest of the time.
“Mr.
Shimizu, you are far too kind…
I…
I am nowhere near as incredible as you claim!” Tessai stammered, his normally stern face flushing a deep red as he pushed up his glasses.
‘So pure?
Has this guy seriously never been complimented before?’
Haru could read that expression instantly: it was a mix of immense enjoyment and bashfulness, layered with a desperate, secret craving for more!
Haru raised a single eyebrow.
Catching the visual cue, the students immediately doubled their efforts, sending a second, roof-shaking wave of applause roaring through the classroom.
It wasn’t until Tessai had bowed deeply in gratitude several times that Haru finally gave the signal for the cheering to subside.
Kidō was categorized into Hadō, Bakudō, and Kaidō.
Haru taught the first two, while a specialized instructor handled healing.
To be fair, Haru’s talent in Kaidō was completely average—just enough to keep someone from bleeding out in an emergency, but nowhere near enough to actually cure them.
But honestly, Tessai Tsukabishi absolutely lived up to his future title of Grand Kidō Chief—the kind of monster who could casually clap his hands and spam high-level forbidden spells.
His profound understanding of Kidō formulas greatly benefited even Haru, who was quietly taking notes from the back of the classroom.
After seeing off a thoroughly satisfied Tessai and securing a promise for future lectures, Haru shot Aizen a knowing look.
The two seamlessly cast Kyokkō and hurried toward the outer, lawless districts of the Rukongai.
This was the beauty of the Shin’ō Academy.
Being outside the Seireitei meant a slightly longer commute, but it made sneaking around and doing shady things infinitely more convenient.
Lately, Haru had been insanely busy.
By day, he was sweating on the podium as a model teacher or moonlighting as the Sixth Division’s emergency rebel-suppression specialist.
By night, he was a masked vigilante, dragging Aizen out to use the rebels as live target practice to hone their combat skills.
The two used Shunpo, silently bounding across the rooftops of the Rukongai slums.
Honestly, despite the dilapidated appearance of the houses, the structural integrity was impressive.
Soul Reapers were constantly leaping across these roofs, and they hadn’t caved in yet.
Suddenly, Aizen spoke up.
“Mr.
Shimizu…
the very first time you killed someone…
did you feel sick?”
Haru was slightly taken aback, though he didn’t let it show on his face.
Human beings were complex creatures.
Aside from the rare, naturally evil psychopaths born with malice in their bones, most people were normal.
Even a man destined to conquer the heavens like Aizen must have felt some hesitation and confusion in his youth.
Haru looked up at the darkening sky, pausing for a moment before asking, “Are you feeling sick?”
Aizen shook his head.
He didn’t feel any physical or moral discomfort.
To achieve his goals, he didn’t care about the methods required.
He was simply curious about how Haru perceived it.
He liked to analyze things.
He analyzed others, analyzed himself, and analyzed the mechanics of the world, all in pursuit of discovering his true self.
Haru thought back.
His first kill…
it was right after he had completed his Executive Militia training and mastered stealth.
He had snuck out to the Rukongai in the dead of night to ‘test his blade’ on some local thugs.
It was a bit strange, but he genuinely hadn’t felt sick or disgusted.
As a man prone to intense self-reflection, Haru had analyzed his own feelings afterward.
Trepidation, curiosity, and a faint trace of adrenaline-fueled excitement…
but no fear, and no guilt.
Why was that?
Haru asked himself.
It was probably because he had never truly viewed himself as a part of this world.
He was just coasting through the Soul Society, carrying a completely detached, transcendent attitude.
He viewed the inhabitants as ‘NPCs’ in a video game, watching them squabble, fight, and kill each other from an outsider’s perspective.
Since they were just NPCs, what did it matter if one or two died?
Hell, he barely even cared about his own life.
Why would he care about lines of code?