The summer sun beamed down on the Shinigami Academy, but inside Class 2A, an unusual hush fell over the room as Sakazuki-sensei stood at the front with arms crossed. His expression was serious—more so than usual.
> "Listen up," he began. "Five days from now, your early placement test will begin. This isn't just for grading—it's to evaluate if you're suitable for squad recruitment ahead of schedule."
A ripple of surprise passed through the class. Even the lazy-eyed Shinji straightened up.
> "What kind of test is it?" asked Rose, raising a hand with mild curiosity.
Sakazuki glanced at his roster, then continued in his deep tone:
> "The exam is divided into four tasks:
1. Team Combat – Groups of four must engage an instructor. If the team forces the instructor to use their Shikai, you pass.
2. Stealth Mission – Each of you will individually infiltrate the Academy lab and retrieve a specific scroll without being caught.
3. One-on-One Duel – You will face off against another student in a live-combat simulation.
4. Hollow Hunt – You must take down two low-level Hollows outside the safe zone, monitored by instructors."
As soon as the class was dismissed, the atmosphere shifted completely. Whispers filled the halls, footsteps quickened, and students eagerly began forming their teams. Friends banded together, strategizing and analyzing strengths. But in the middle of it all, Mohit sat alone, quietly on a bench near the courtyard.
Though he couldn't see them, he could feel the shifting air of hesitation, the deliberate avoidance. No one approached him.
A Silent Step and a Smirk
Three benches away, Shinji noticed Mohit sitting in solitude. An idea flickered in his mind—a harmless prank. He tiptoed toward him, grinning, trying to sneak up like a silent assassin.
But just as he came within arm's reach—
> "You'll have to try harder, Shinji."
Shinji froze mid-step.
> "Tch. What was I thinking, trying to sneak up on a blind guy who... isn't really blind."
Mohit smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Shinji chuckled and sat beside him, elbow resting on his knee.
> "So... I've been thinking. What if we team up for the test? You, me, Arthur, and Love. That makes four. We're a weird bunch, but weird might just work."
Mohit was silent for a moment. He tilted his head slightly, sensing Shinji's energy—not just the playful nature, but the subtle genuine respect underneath.
> "Alright," he said finally. "Let's do it."
As Shinji stood and stretched, he casually added:
> "Great. But just so you know, I'm not carrying you through the stealth mission."
> "I wouldn't let you," Mohit replied, standing as well. "Besides, I've already walked through the dark."
From that moment on, the team was unofficially born—a misfit alliance of skill, instincts, and unspoken trust. And as the Academy buzzed with anticipation, somewhere in the shadows of that excitement, a quiet storm began to form.
The quiet hum of the ceiling fan was quickly drowned by raised voices in the Academy's staff room. Four instructors stood around a long wooden table scattered with scrolls, test files, and class rosters. The tension in the room was thick—each word weighed down by duty, fear, and belief.
Sakazuki, arms folded and brows furrowed, stood firmly beside Headmaster Ryosei, who was calmly listening, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.
Across from them, KAZUKI paced back and forth, visibly agitated. Beside him sat Hana, who looked more worried than angry.
> "This isn't just some sparring match," KAZUKI said, stopping mid-step. "We're talking about field tasks—live Hollows, stealth operations, high-risk combat. Mohit may have adapted, yes, but he's blind. One wrong step, and we're not bringing him back with just bruises."
> "And yet," Sakazuki interjected, voice calm but stern, "in the last six months, he's trained harder than half the class. You've seen it yourself. He's sparring blind against top-tier students and holding his ground. Are we really going to deny a warrior his right to prove himself because we're scared?"
> "It's not about fear," Hana cut in, her tone sincere but firm. "It's about responsibility. If he's injured—or worse—it'll be on our heads. He was hospitalized not too long ago for a self-inflicted injury. That's not normal behavior. It's reckless."
Ryosei raised a hand slightly, urging calm.
> "Let's not forget," he said, his voice commanding, "Mohit placed 10th in the year-end evaluations, blind or not. The early placement exam is voluntary. He chose to take it. Are we saying a student who meets the criteria can't participate because he makes us uncomfortable?"
> "He's an inspiration to his peers," Sakazuki added, stepping forward. "You should see them training with him every morning. Even Arthur, Shinji, and Love have sharpened up under his presence. He's not a liability—he's a symbol of perseverance."
KAZUKI shook his head, muttering, "He's a symbol of tragedy waiting to happen."
> "Then let him decide his tragedy," Ryosei replied, voice steady as stone. "We will put safeguards in place, yes. But if Mohit wants to step onto the battlefield, we will not cage him in pity."
Silence hung in the room for a moment.
Finally, Hana spoke softly, her gaze falling to the scroll in her hands.
> "Then promise us—if something goes wrong, we all share the weight of that choice."
Sakazuki and Ryosei nodded. The decision was made.The morning air buzzed with tension as the first team stepped onto the academy's outdoor training field. Rows of students lined the boundary, their eyes fixed on the four who would open the placement test: Mohit, Shinji, Love, and Arthur.
Across from them stood Sakazuki-sensei, calm, composed, and as unshakable as ever. His sword rested at his side, and he wore a faint grin—as if amused by the challenge.
The whistle blew.
Arthur was the first to charge, raw strength bursting from his frame as his blade came down with heavy momentum. Love followed right behind, his strikes rapid and unrelenting, trying to overwhelm Sakazuki's defense. But the seasoned instructor didn't even flinch.
With only his left hand, Sakazuki parried each attack fluidly, sidestepping Arthur's swings and redirecting Love's slashes with surgical precision. The crowd watched in awe. It was clear: even with one hand, Sakazuki was dominating.
From a distance, Mohit and Shinji observed sharply, searching for a gap.
> "He's barely moving his feet," Shinji muttered, "but he's covering every angle."
> "Exactly," Mohit said, gripping his sword tighter. "We need to throw off his rhythm. Listen—when I say go, all three of you attack at once. Aim to draw him toward his left leg. That's his blind spot while guarding with the left arm. If you keep him occupied... I'll strike."
Shinji, Arthur, and Love nodded without hesitation. They trusted Mohit—not because he was blind, but because he saw more than most with eyes ever could.
> "Now!"
The three surged forward in perfect sync. Shinji led with a high feint; Arthur aimed for the ribs; Love drove his blade low toward the ankle. Sakazuki shifted his stance to intercept, his guard moving fast between the blows.
In that fraction of a second—the opening appeared.
Mohit moved like a whisper on the wind. His footsteps silent, his presence masked in stillness. With a sharp motion, he slashed through Sakazuki's exposed left leg—from thigh to foot. Blood sprayed, and the crowd gasped.
Sakazuki grunted, eyes narrowing as he reeled back.
But just as Mohit raised his sword for a second strike—
> "Time's up!" a proctor announced from the sidelines.
The match ended, and silence fell across the field. Mohit's team lowered their weapons, breathing heavily. Though they hadn't forced Sakazuki to draw his Shikai, they had landed a blow—a deep, clean strike—on one of the academy's most feared instructors.
The crowd erupted into whispers.
> "Did you see that?"
> "He cut Sakazuki-sensei!"
> "Is that really the blind guy?!"
Sakazuki stood upright, unfazed by the injury. He looked at Mohit for a moment, then gave a slow, approving nod.
> "Clever. Very clever," he muttered before walking off the field.