From the first impression, the calligraphy class felt more like a club gathering to Takashi than an elective course.
Because there were simply too many people.
The entire lecture hall was packed to the brim; those who didn’t grab a seat could only leave in regret.
Takashi and Rindō, having no afternoon classes, arrived early and unceremoniously took the prime seats in the middle of the first row.
“Most of those coming are upperclassmen.”
It seemed that the longer one stayed at the Spirit Arts Academy, the more they could appreciate the charm of this course.
Without making the students wait long, the special lecturer wearing a captain’s haori appeared on the podium early.
As soon as he spoke, people felt a warmth like a spring breeze.
“Good afternoon, everyone.”
“As per tradition, I will introduce myself to the new students.”
“I am Aizen, Aizen Sōsuke. I hold the position of Captain of the Fifth Division in the Gotei 13, but today I stand here only as a teacher.”
“I am very honored and gratified to be able to share my understanding of calligraphy with all of you.”
“Because more and more people are joining, it is a great encouragement to me, proving that I am walking the right path together with all of you.”
“Without further ado, let us get to the main topic.”
Takashi watched as he pulled a roll of white paper from his sleeve, spread it out, and hung it on the blackboard.
The visual impact of the two extreme opposite colors of white paper and black ink was far less than the shock brought by the character itself.
“…”
As a young master who knew something about both Japanese and Chinese calligraphy, Takashi felt what was called a realm.
The white paper Aizen brought out had only one character written on it: Mountain.
But at a glance, no one would see it as the character for mountain; they would only feel they were looking at a landscape painting.
The pitch-black mountain body leaped off the paper, creating an extraordinary visual experience.
Only then could the brain react: wait, this is actually the character for mountain!
“In past classes, I have said many times that calligraphy is an art, not a technique, because it focuses more on spiritual cultivation.”
“For this character, I used no special techniques; I simply wrote the mountain as I understand it onto the paper, nothing more.”
Aizen had no air of self-importance, saying jokingly: “So our class has no textbook; as long as you come, it’s fine. Newcomers need not worry about falling behind.”
Whether these words dispelled the concerns of other newcomers, Takashi didn’t know, but he certainly felt the charm of this class.
Aizen really was just sharing his calligraphy experience.
Even if Ichigo came, he wouldn’t necessarily fail to understand.
…No, he still shouldn’t be so absolute.
But at least Takashi understood.
One couldn’t say Chinese calligraphy isn’t art, but can fine art and performance art be compared?
Japanese calligraphy was the performance art of text.
By boldly deforming and transforming to break through the shackles of traditional characters, it expressed different emotions, pushing innovation to the extreme.
For example, it could be full of imagination like a child’s graffiti, or filled with a sense of distortion that made one’s heart uncomfortable, or even splitting a character in half.
There were those even more abstract than abstract paintings.
It was no wonder Aizen didn’t adopt a serious teaching method; being even slightly serious would easily make the written characters too ordinary, with no merit.
“Rindō, do you think the Spirit Arts Academy invites people to teach calligraphy because they want people to use it as an outlet for stress?”
Takashi leaned back and spoke in a low voice.
Rindō thought for a moment and replied.
[I find it very interesting]
“Well, that’s also a reason.”
In the Spirit Arts Academy, which lacked club activities, finding something interesting to do wasn’t easy.
At that moment, Aizen suddenly said on the podium: “…Regarding the importance of calligraphy for spiritual cultivation, I would first like to ask a student to cooperate by writing a character. I wonder which student would be willing to assist?”
As soon as he spoke, almost all the students stood up excitedly, for fear that Aizen wouldn’t see their raised hands.
Some even shouted impulsively, making the classroom chaotic for a moment.
Aizen smiled and didn’t mind, like a gentle, nice guy.
He looked around and finally picked Takashi in the first row.
“Then let it be this student.”
Others subconsciously looked over and almost twisted their mouths in anger.
They saw Takashi sitting there silently, expressionless, with one hand raised high.
He looked like everyone else, but he just happened to be holding a piece of white paper with a character already written on it, facing Aizen so blatantly.
How could he not be noticed, like a crew member holding a cue card for a host?
That wasn’t the end of it.
Without waiting for Aizen to ask, Takashi stood up composedly and calmly displayed the characters he had written to everyone.
He said nothing, and there was no look of triumph on his face.
It was as if he were doing something perfectly natural.
He exuded a complete sense of ease.
Although they couldn’t quite put their finger on why, he was just very strange.
“Hmm…”
Aizen pursed his lips, seemingly organizing his thoughts.
“This student… if I remember correctly, you are the genius Shinomiya-kun who just enrolled this year, right?”
“Teacher Aizen, what do you think of my calligraphy?”
Takashi was curious about what level his calligraphy was in Aizen’s eyes.
“Quite remarkable!”
Aizen gave a high evaluation without hesitation.
“At first glance, it looks like two characters, but together they form Hō. Crumble.”
“Did you deliberately separate the top and bottom halves to express the meaning of things collapsing and splitting from within? Or is there a larger macroscopic expression? By combining different things, new things can be formed, which is exactly the opposite of the original meaning of this character, a philosophy of seeking unity within opposition…”
“…or perhaps it hints at a satirical allegory that things forcibly pieced together are bound to split one day.”
“From the appearance of the characters alone, it possesses a certain aesthetic beauty.”
“With such ingenuity combined with the beauty of calligraphy, it seems the Spirit Arts Academy’s evaluation of Shinomiya-kun was still too conservative.”
After this multi-layered deconstruction, the students suddenly saw Takashi in a new light, and even felt a small sense of admiration.
After all, there had been no one so far who could earn such praise from Teacher Aizen.
“Everyone, do you understand now? A genius like Shinomiya-kun has a more thorough understanding of things, which is conducive to improving one’s spiritual cultivation.”
“Many people have misunderstandings about calligraphy, believing it to be meaningless for a Shinigami’s work. I don’t want to deny this notion; after all, one cannot slay a determined enemy with a brush.”
Aizen adjusted his glasses and said with a smile:
“However, even for the same character, the way each person writes it and the posture it presents is unique.”
“Calligraphy is writing one’s own heart. I hope everyone can understand their own hearts and strengthen their beliefs through the process of studying calligraphy.”
“This can help you communicate with your Zanpakutō, and even understand and master high-level Kidō. It will also allow you to show your prowess in a unique way on this same path after you become a Shinigami.”
His words were not impassioned, yet they were full of a strange infectious power.
It could clear away distracting thoughts, making one’s mind follow his rhythm unconsciously.
After a class, it felt like a spiritual baptism.
The effect achieved was far more than just pressure relief.
It was almost like giving everyone a shot of adrenaline.
It was no wonder a mere calligraphy class was so popular.
It wasn’t just Aizen’s personal charm; the fact that his actions truly brought benefits to others was what was crucial.