The setting sun faded into the horizon, giving way to the heavy curtain of night.
A thin, ethereal mist drifted through the Rukongai, catching the dim yellow glow of the streetlamps and casting shifting shadows across the damp cobblestones.
The district’s winding alleyways formed an unplanned, chaotic labyrinth, but a dark silhouette darted through the crowded buildings with practiced ease.
Every single Flash Step was perfectly calculated.
Whether he was weaving through impossibly narrow alleys or bounding across towering rooftops, Haru moved as though he were strolling on flat ground.
Ancient architecture, flickering lanterns, and the panicked faces of fleeing souls blurred past his eyes.
It didn’t take long for Haru to find exactly what he was looking for.
The Soul Society was in a state of utter unrest.
The rebel factions had grown bold enough to launch open assaults against the Gotei 13 inside the Seireitei itself, which meant the deeper, lawless districts of the Rukongai were practically warzones.
By spreading his Spiritual Pressure as he ran, it was incredibly easy to track down a skirmish.
Haru perched himself on the edge of a high roof, clutching his jar of honey, and used the cover of night to peer into the alley below.
Telling the two sides apart was effortless.
The official forces were uniformly dressed in the black Shihakushō, while the rebels wore a chaotic mismatch of whatever armor or rags they could scavenge.
‘No wonder this rebellion gets crushed so easily in the end,’ Haru thought.
‘They’re just a glorified mob.’
The battle in the alley below had already reached a fever pitch.
Boulders shattered in mid-air, gale-force winds howled, and arcs of lightning clashed against roaring pillars of fire in an apocalyptic display of power.
Well, no, not really.
There were only about a dozen people fighting, and out of all of them, maybe two or three had actually achieved Shikai.
But this was the standard level of combat for the average Soul Reaper, so it was hardly surprising.
It was mostly just a frantic, close-quarters brawl.
Swords clashed clumsily, sending sparks flying into the night.
Every so often, a low-level fireball would explode, cast by someone with terrible sword skills hiding at the back of the pack.
By the time Haru arrived, the Gotei 13 squad had been whittled down to just two members.
They were completely surrounded by a dozen rebels, fighting desperately like cornered animals.
Lying flat against the roof tiles, Haru peeked over the edge, a thrill of genuine excitement pulsing through his veins.
Playing the role of a pampered young master for a decade had been excruciatingly boring.
There was only so much secret ability-training a man could do before losing his mind.
Fortunately, his past life spent locked inside a psychiatric ward meant he was already well-accustomed to isolation.
His internal world was plenty colorful to keep him entertained.
But now that a real opportunity for action had presented itself?
He definitely wasn’t going to let it slip by.
Haru stood up on the edge of the roof and clapped his hands loudly.
Nobody paid him any attention.
The mob just kept hacking and slashing at each other.
“Ahem!” Haru cleared his throat loudly and clapped a few more times.
Unfortunately, the combatants below were far too weak—and way too absorbed in their passionate deathmatch—to notice a thing.
They couldn’t even sense the faint fluctuations of Haru’s intentionally suppressed Spiritual Pressure.
‘Well, that’s just disrespectful,’ Haru muttered.
He scanned the chaotic brawl, searching for the ugliest person in the crowd.
His eyes suddenly lit up as he locked onto a target.
‘Lucky me, he’s one of the rebels.
Your style points are in the absolute negatives, buddy.
You’re practically begging for the sweet release of death.’
‘In a world entirely dictated by how cool you look, if you’re born ugly, you at least need to know how to dress.
But if you’re ugly, dressed like garbage, and fighting for the losing side?
Yeah, you’re a dead man walking.’
He snapped his fingers.
The rebel Haru had singled out happened to be one of the few fighters who had actually achieved Shikai.
Wielding a massive, cleaver-type Zanpakutō, he was currently tearing through the alley with terrifying momentum.
Yanking his jagged blade out of a Soul Reaper’s gut, the rebel watched the blood and gore spill onto the cobblestones and threw his head back in a manic, arrogant laugh.
“Fools!
None of you are a match for the great Shūji Maruoka!”
But midway through his maniacal cackling, something felt horribly wrong.
His laughter grew increasingly shrill and strained.
He desperately tried to stop, to close his mouth, but his body refused to obey.
It was as if someone else had hijacked his physical form and was forcing his lungs and throat to violently expel laughter on his behalf.
The sheer wrongness of the sound drew the attention of everyone in the alley.
The brawl ground to a sudden halt.
Both the rebels and the Soul Reapers backed away from the convulsing man, keeping their swords raised in tense, uneasy guards.
The “great” Shūji Maruoka was completely doubled over.
Tears streamed down his face as the hysterical laughter tore its way out of his throat.
Then, the violent vomiting started.
He retched so viciously that the onlookers genuinely thought he was going to expel his own internal organs.
“H-Help…
help me…
hahahaha!
You—hahahaha!
Someone, help me!”
The hysterical laughter cut off with a sickening snap.
Shūji Maruoka collapsed to the ground, dead from sheer asphyxiation.
The ranking Gotei 13 officer gripped his Zanpakutō so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Who is it?!
Who’s there?!” he bellowed into the darkness.
“Stop hiding like a coward and show yourself!”
No one answered.
A suffocating, unnatural silence blanketed the alley.
Up on the roof, Haru decided to just stay put, perfectly masking his Spiritual Pressure.
‘Well, that’s just ungrateful,’ he muttered defensively.
‘I literally just saved your life, and you call me a coward?’
‘Still…
it actually took ten full seconds for him to die,’ Haru analyzed critically.
‘Against a low-level thug like that, it’s way too slow.
What should I test next?
Infusing a single, continuous emotion seems to only be useful as a support tactic.
And that was with the element of surprise.
In a head-on clash, the effectiveness would probably be cut in half.’
While Haru was busy treating the alleyway like his personal laboratory, the situation below shifted.
The rebel forces were nothing more than a patchwork mob.
Their ranks were filled with manipulated Gotei 13 deserters, disgraced noble private armies, and a vast majority of cutthroat “villains” dredged up from the deepest, poorest districts of the Rukongai.
Because they lacked proper, unified military training, they were incredibly effective when fighting a winning battle—relying on sheer numbers to overwhelm smaller forces.
But the moment they hit a real obstacle, or encountered something as deeply terrifying and incomprehensible as a man laughing himself to death, their flimsy morale immediately crumbled.
Self-preservation instinct kicked in.
Haru noticed several of the hardened “villains” slowly inching backward, trying to quietly slip to the rear of the group so they could bolt into the night.
‘I should totally write a thesis when I get back: An Analysis on the Combat Applications of Emotional Manipulation!’ Haru’s eyes gleamed with academic enthusiasm.
A person with immense willpower could naturally resist his Zanpakutō’s influence.
But a bunch of terrified, low-level thugs who were already on the verge of a mental breakdown?
They were the ultimate test dummies.
As an outstanding educator, Haru held himself to incredibly high standards.
If he didn’t fully understand his own abilities, how could he possibly teach his beloved students?
He simply couldn’t bear the moral responsibility of stunting the growth of the Soul Society’s future generation.
‘Alright then, let’s try out my newly developed technique!
To defend the peace of the Soul Society!’
Haru narrowed his eyes, silently reciting an incantation.
For a fraction of a second, his face drained of color.
An invisible, chaotic, and unimaginably massive torrent of conflicting emotions forcefully rammed into the fragile mind of another rebel.
Pop!
With a sickening sound like a sledgehammer crushing an overripe watermelon, the rebel’s head violently detonated.
The headless corpse slumped to the cobblestones.
The ranking Soul Reaper collapsed onto his backside, his face entirely painted in a gruesome mixture of crimson blood, yellow fluid, and white brain matter.
That was the absolute breaking point.
The remaining rebels completely lost whatever was left of their minds, screaming in sheer terror as they scattered into the alleyways like roaches fleeing the light.
“I’m going to have to ask you to forget about me.
Sorry about this,” a smooth voice whispered right into the Soul Reaper’s ear.
Before the officer could even turn his head, Haru delivered a swift, precise chop to the back of his neck, knocking him out cold.
Standing over the unconscious squad member, Haru debated with himself for a brief moment before sighing heavily.
He decided to spare the man’s life.
However, he wasn’t going to be nearly as merciful to the fleeing mob.
Haru slowly drew his Zanpakutō from its sheath, stepping out into the middle of the alleyway.
Up ahead, the scattered rebels stopped.
Seeing that the terrifying unseen enemy had finally revealed himself—and that it was just a single, unarmed-looking young man—their cowardly, bullying instincts flared right back up.
Turning around, they regrouped and quickly surrounded Haru.
Human nature was incredibly predictable.
People were terrified of the unknown and paralyzed by the unseen.
But the moment a threat became physical and visible, their fear diminished significantly.
Haru was still deep in thought, quietly analyzing the optimal way to weaponize emotional trauma, when a vicious blade swung directly at his head.
“You all saw that, right?” Haru smiled faintly, his eyes locking onto the man charging him.
“He swung first.
Which means…
every single one of you has to die.”