4th Division Barracks
In a dark space beneath Unohana's residence, there was a training ground similar to the one Ren had used at Urahara's place. But unlike the bright and lively area beneath Urahara's shop, this space was grim and oppressive.
At that moment, two shadowy figures clashed repeatedly at an incredibly fast pace, their forms blurred and indistinct.
"You seem to have a solid foundation, but your mastery is still slightly lacking," said Unohana, appearing behind Ren and stepping toward him without a hint of hesitation.
"Well, I've only been learning to fight for about two months," Ren replied, raising his sword to his back and easily parrying Unohana's strikes.
"Only two months?" – Unohana whispered in faint surprise, yet her eyes remained fixed, staring at Ren with an intensity that never wavered.
She continued her attack with a sequence of precise, fast, and lethal strikes, as if performing a deadly dance whose steps few could know. Each strike targeted a different weak point on Ren's body, yet always stopped just a fraction of a second short, as if testing him.
Ren, on the other hand, stayed calm. His movements flowed naturally, parrying or evading the attacks with minimal effort. Though he didn't display frenzied aggression, it was clear that his eyes longed for a violent, bloody fight.
"This level of control after only two months…" – Unohana murmured quietly between strikes – "You are not only talented; you were made for combat."
"Or perhaps…" – Ren replied with a faint smile, sidestepping a diagonal strike from Unohana – "Perhaps I'm just trying to survive in a world that shows no mercy to the weak."
Their blades slid again, scattering small sparks from the fierce clash of Zanpakutos, but Ren did not retreat. Instead, he pressed forward suddenly, forcing Unohana to step back half a pace for the first time since the battle began.
"Beautiful…" – Unohana murmured with a small smile forming on her lips, her face beginning to lose the false calm she had always worn like a mask.
"But survival alone doesn't grant this… that look in your eyes, I know it well." – She fixed her gaze on him, her voice trembling with excitement – "You are not just trying to survive… you seek dominance, control, as if combat… is your mother tongue."
Ren said nothing, merely tightening his grip on his sword and adjusting his stance, then spoke in a low voice:
"If that's what you see, you are not entirely wrong."
In the next instant, Ren felt a change in the Reiatsu pressure around Unohana, and without warning… she lunged at him in a straight line, almost a blur, carrying a suffocating Reiatsu pressure, sharp as if the very air had become a blade.
Chaaang!!
Ren parried the attack, but his right foot slid back a step, as if the ground beneath him had shattered under the immense pressure.
Unohana smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sharp light.
"You are like me… addicted to combat."
Silence.
Then Ren smiled calmly, removing the blindfold from his eyes for the first time since entering Soul Society.
The eyes that appeared were more than just blue… they glowed with a celestial coldness that carried no mercy, only one truth: everything before him… would either be shattered or tested.
"I don't like fighting, Nee-san…" – he whispered softly, almost like a pre-death prayer – "But I love it when I fight someone worthy."
In the next moment, his form vanished.
"Shunpo?" – Unohana whispered, feeling the pressure behind her.
She turned quickly, but Ren's blade was already approaching her neck.
For the first time in centuries… Unohana smiled with pure joy, raising her blade to receive the strike.
Boom!
A violent wave of spiritual pressure erupted, shaking the sand and artificial grass beneath them in the closed training ground, while the echo of their clash reverberated as if the place could not contain both of them together.
As the skirmish continued, the atmosphere changed.
It was no longer just a skirmish.
No longer just a test.
In the heart of that grim arena, everything went silent… except the sound of clashing swords and two heavy breaths mixing caution with ecstasy.
Ren fought with a calm madness… no screams, no rage, only precise movements and eyes that devoured his opponent as if weighing his worth. And every time he raised his sword, the Reiatsu was cold, sharp, deadly… mirroring the gaze of a killer who knows the next strike could end everything.
As for Unohana… she was alive.
For the first time in a long while, she found herself forced to take defensive steps, then a second, then a third. Her body moved with an ancient instinct, awakened only by Zaraki Kenpachi… and now, this boy, with no mercy behind that faint smile, had awakened it again.
"Those eyes… are not of an ordinary Shinigami." – she murmured, staring at the glowing Six Eyes – "But of a hunter of fate."
In the next moment, Ren pressed forward suddenly, cutting through the air with a diagonal strike that pierced Unohana's compressed Reiatsu. She raised her sword to block, but Ren's Zanpakuto split into two images, a feint preceding reality… a strike that was not physical, but a manifestation of intent.
Kaaash!!
The sound of Reiatsu tearing filled the air, and the ground beneath Unohana trembled violently, forcing her to step back, tilting her head to the side… a drop of blood sliding from a thin cut on her cheek.
She was not shocked.
She… smiled.
"Was this what I had been searching for all along? Someone in front of whom I need neither mercy… nor explanation?" – Unohana thought, raising her hand slowly to the wound.
"Ah… very beautiful… so this is your true level?" – she said in a voice closer to nostalgia, raising her hand to her shoulder, wiping the blood from her cheek and licking it as if reclaiming a taste forgotten for centuries.
Then Unohana closed her eyes for a moment, as if summoning a ghost from a distant past. When she reopened them, there was no trace of the calm, smiling, gentle 4th Division captain.
Before Ren stood… a killer.
"Zaraki Kenpachi awakened me once…" – she whispered, her voice carrying a dark resonance wrapped in nostalgia and blood – "But I never knew anyone else could make me smile like this again."
"…" – Ren stared at Unohana, sensing an unusual closeness and alignment between their spirits, as if the madness within her matched his own.
At that moment, words became unnecessary.
Unohana struck like a storm, carrying only one intent: testing the limit.
Her first strike was not merely a movement, but a statement — a blade carrying centuries of killing history, rushing toward Ren like a fated edge.
But Ren… did not retreat.
He spun half a circle to gain momentum, parrying Unohana's blade, causing her to recoil slightly under the force and the overwhelming Reiatsu fueling the strike.
Ren's fingers gripped his Zanpakutō handle as if it were a piece of his soul, and his gaze was not on an opponent… but on a distorted mirror reflecting part of himself.
"You are strong, Unohana-san…" – he said quietly, exhaling softly – "But I am not just fighting you… I am fighting everything that made me who I am."
Unohana's eyes widened slightly, but she did not smile this time.
She advanced.
No steps, no warning — just a red flash of Reiatsu preceding her, a sword cloaked in the aura of old blood striking Ren from an unexpected angle.
Chaaang!!
The battlefield shook violently, and with each clash, the walls cracked more, the ceiling shuddered, as if the entire place screamed: "Stop!"
Yet the madness in their eyes… only intensified.
"Do you realize what you are now, Ren?" – Unohana murmured, pushing him upward with an ascending strike – "You are walking the edge… between humanity and savagery."
But Ren did not answer. He vanished again behind a blue flash.
Appearing above her, then behind, then in front — three images in a moment, only one strike real.
Kaaash!!
A deep cut slashed across Unohana's side, not lethal… but meaningful: I see you.
She flinched slightly, then laughed.
Without hesitation, she lunged at Ren, ignoring her wound, for nothing mattered compared to the excitement she had not felt in centuries.
Soon, they were locked in a bloody, feral dance, smiling beautifully as if painting a masterpiece with the world as their canvas and their blood as paint.
...
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