"Zanpaku...tō?"
Confusion flickered through Mihawk's eyes.
As the world's greatest swordsman, he'd seen countless blades. Maybe not every famous sword in existence, but any blade that had left its mark on history? He knew its name.
He'd never heard of Ryūjin Jakka.
Even if it had never appeared publicly before, "Zanpakutō" sounded like a category—a classification for a type of blade. But he'd never encountered that term either. Some new Marine weapon development?
That didn't track. His swordsman's instincts screamed otherwise. The blade in Kai's hand radiated an ancient presence that made his skin prickle.
More ancient than Yoru itself.
The realization jolted him. More ancient than Yoru?
His black blade had been passed down from eight hundred years ago—from the Void Century, that blank period in history. If Kai's unremarkable-looking katana was older than that...
Over a thousand years?
Impossible.
And it supposedly surpassed the twelve Supreme Grade Swords? Those legendary blades had survived centuries of testing, each one a king among weapons. Every swordsman's ultimate dream.
What could possibly exceed them?
Mihawk had no frame of reference.
Kai clearly wasn't going to explain. So Mihawk forced the questions down, exhaling slowly through his nose. His entire body coiled like a spring, aura climbing to its peak.
"Black Blade: Slash!!!"
He struck without hesitation. Full power from the first move. Devastating sword energy tore through the air, a crescent of pure cutting force that could split battleships.
Kai's expression didn't change.
A strange smile curved his lips.
He raised Ryūjin Jakka slowly—almost lazily—and swung.
"Black Blade: Slash!!!"
Mihawk's eyes went wide.
Then his pupils contracted to pinpricks.
No. That's—
Identical.
The same technique. The same terrifying sword energy. The same angle, timing, everything.
His own attack, reflected back at him like a mirror.
How?!
Black Blade: Slash wasn't some common technique any swordsman could learn. This was the culmination of decades of training—his personal understanding of the blade, refined through countless battles, perfected through Yoru's unique properties.
He'd never taken students. Never taught anyone. The technique should be his alone.
How does Kai know it?!
And the execution was flawless—as skilled as Mihawk's own.
His gaze snapped to Kai's face.
Then froze.
Those eyes.
Understanding crashed through him.
Kai's pupils had transformed. Purple rings spiraled inward toward the center, nine white tomoe rotating slowly against the violet backdrop. The pattern was hypnotic. Alien. Powerful.
That's how.
The Sharingan—even at three-tomoe—could copy techniques. And these eyes were clearly far beyond that level. Combined with what had to be Byakugan-level perception...
He can copy anything he sees.
The two Black Blade: Slashes collided mid-air.
BOOM
Sword energy exploded outward in a shockwave that tore through the Birdcage itself—shredding the supposedly indestructible threads like tissue paper.
"Holy shit!"
"Admiral White Dragon is a swordsman?!"
"Those slashes were identical!"
Marine voices rose in shock around the training ground.
Mihawk's jaw clenched.
Fine. You can copy a single technique. But can you match everything?
He charged forward, both hands gripping Yoru. The black blade came from the left in a devastating arc—
Kai mirrored him perfectly.
Ryūjin Jakka swept in from the left at the exact same angle.
CLANG
Steel screamed against steel.
Same technique. Again.
Mihawk pivoted, transitioning into a thrust—
Kai's blade was already there, matching the motion frame-by-frame.
CLANG CLANG CLANG
Dozens of exchanges in seconds. Every strike Mihawk threw, Kai replicated with surgical precision. Same angle. Same timing. Same everything.
Except Kai was stronger.
Pure physical power drove each clash, and Mihawk felt it in his arms—the vibrations traveling up through Yoru's hilt. Kai wasn't just matching his technique.
He was winning the pure swordsmanship exchange.
Impossible.
Mihawk twisted Yoru sideways, deflecting Ryūjin Jakka's incoming strike. He leaped backward, breaking contact, chest heaving.
His face was pale with shock.
"You..." His voice came out rough. "How do you know my techniques?!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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