Lu Yu stared at the reward labeled "Absolute Concealment," and the first thought that crossed his mind was how it felt ripped directly from the Second Division's personal arsenal—an infiltration technique built for covert operatives, steeped in the art of subterfuge. At first glance, it practically screamed "god-tier stealth," the kind of ability tailor-made for assassination, reconnaissance, and silent eliminations. It wasn't just valuable; it was indispensable to anyone working in the shadows—ideal for vanishing after a kill, bypassing security, or stealing secrets from under a Captain's nose.
Honestly, if things went south in the future, maybe hugging Soi Fon's thigh wouldn't be such a bad move. After all, this kind of talent allowed complete suppression of spiritual presence and the power to manipulate or erase one's energy signature—something even Aizen would find troublesome. With this, you could walk into a room unnoticed, slip through surveillance nets, and change your identity as easily as putting on a different set of robes. Even a pink-octopus-mask-wearing salaryman from the lowest district would beg for this kind of weapon. But Lu Yu was no fool—if he revealed this ability too early, without sufficient power to protect himself, it would draw the attention of the Twelfth Division, spark curiosity from shady nobles, and perhaps even bring Aizen's gaze upon him. He'd be dissected by Kurotsuchi Mayuri or quietly imprisoned by Central 46 before he even knew what hit him.
And with how Soul Society worked, especially with the scheming of the Four Great Noble Clans, that wasn't paranoia. That was basic survival.
So he made the rational choice—to keep a low profile, to follow Hitsugaya Tōshirō into the Shin'ō Academy, to train in silence and build his strength beneath the surface. He'd wait for the inevitable fall of Central 46 and the coming of Aizen's madness before making his move. When the time came, he wouldn't just participate—he would rise.
The days that followed proved he'd made the right decision. His first check-in had granted him twin S-rank talents, proof that his system wasn't a fluke. Surely, he thought, future rewards would be at least B-grade on average. But that illusion shattered quickly when the system began offering baffling junk: Sawada Tsunayoshi's worn-out belt, Hancock's original panties, Konoha's green youth jumpsuit from Rock Lee, and even—he could barely say it—Black Widow's used bathwater. The system had lost its mind. Lu Yu stood frozen, scalp tingling, unable to decide whether to be horrified or insulted. Who in all the realms would ever use these things? Was the system trolling him?
Third-hand bathwater? Seriously? Maybe if it were second-hand he could—no, no, even thinking that made him feel dirty. He shook his head hard, clearing the thought. Clearly, passively checking in and waiting wasn't going to cut it. He had to get involved with canon characters, stir up plot progression, trigger proper events. If he didn't, he'd keep getting trash-tier rewards until he died nameless in the dirt. He wasn't trying to rule the skies just to drown in mediocrity.
Shin'ō Academy wasn't just an option anymore—it had become a necessity. Soon the world would be crawling with monsters. Even Captains would be considered weak when everything hit its peak. He had to grow faster, stronger. And with the system backing him, he had no reason to fall behind. He had potential, cheat-like acceleration, and now a clear direction. All he had to do was move.
And let's be honest—if he couldn't even cross paths with the most beautiful Shinigami women in canon, then what was the point of reincarnating here in the first place?
He soon arrived once again at Hitsugaya Tōshirō's house. Gratitude for the old man who'd helped him early on was part of it—Lu Yu wasn't the kind to forget favors—but this visit also had another purpose. If you couldn't help others when you had the strength, then all the morality you claimed from your past life was just empty talk. Might as well have handed it to a dog-faced Captain in the Seventh Division. And beyond gratitude, there was opportunity. Maybe pushing Tōshirō's story forward would trigger a new reward. Either way, progress was waiting.
Six days passed in a blink. The system's recent check-in results were beyond disappointing—each reward a plain white F-grade trash item with zero value, so pitiful they deserved permanent preservation only so Lu Yu could mock them later. Some were shameful enough to erase from memory, others just nostalgic enough to save.
On the seventh day, Momo Hinamori arrived with bright eyes and good news. Special permission had been granted. A personal evaluation would be held just for Hitsugaya Tōshirō. After a warm farewell to the old man, the three set off toward Seireitei. It would be Lu Yu's first time seeing the sacred heart of Soul Society.
The outer wall rose before them like a mountain—a seamless expanse of white stone fused with Murderous Stone, the legendary spiritual suppressant mineral. Guarding the Baidaimon was Sidanfang, a towering sentinel and one of Rukongai's own legends. Lu Yu felt the invisible suppression at once as they approached; the stone radiated a silent pressure that blanketed the air. Reiatsu and Reiryoku alike were instantly stifled—proof that Seireitei's defenses were no joke.
The perimeter of the wall was divided into four sectors: Baidao, Qingliu, Heiling, and Zhuwa, each watched by one of four elite guardians—Sidanfang, Weiwei, Duanzumauan, and Biju. These weren't ordinary soldiers. They were Rukongai's strongest, chosen not by birthright but by strength and loyalty, stationed to keep civilians out and danger at bay. The only ones who could bypass the gates at will were the noble Shiba clan—and only because they'd earned that right long ago.
Fortunately, they had Momo Hinamori. As an honored student of the Shin'ō Academy, her clearance was more than enough to gain passage through Baidaomon, the western gate. As they approached, she called out with affection, "Thank you, Uncle Sidanfang."
The towering gatekeeper gave a warm smile and tapped his head with one massive hand. "Little Momo is our pride. Don't stop moving forward."
Tōshirō narrowed his eyes, glancing up at the towering man. The size difference made his neck ache just from looking, and Lu Yu swore he saw jealousy flicker in the boy's eyes. He snorted quietly. Typical Captain material.
Lu Yu, meanwhile, had his own thoughts as he examined the gate. All that rare Murderous Stone—if sold, could it fund a dowry big enough to woo a noble daughter? He chuckled to himself. Not a bad retirement plan. Momo turned to see him smiling and assumed he was awestruck by the architecture. He didn't correct her. Tōshirō said nothing, but the quiet awe written across his face betrayed him. Even a future Captain had to start somewhere.
The moment they stepped past Baidaomon, Lu Yu felt it. They had entered Seireitei—the spiritual capital of Soul Society, the nucleus of law, order, and death. This was where the Gotei 13 made their home, where the Central 46 ruled from the shadows, and where every noble clan sat atop the rest of the world like perched hawks. This was the origin of every major conflict and every turning point in Soul Society's fate.
And Lu Yu couldn't pretend otherwise—he hated the noble families. Arrogant, pampered, completely detached from the struggles of those below. To him, they were no different from Celestial Dragons dressed in pristine robes. But as he breathed in the air and surveyed the land, even he had to admit—the power here was tangible. The trees stood taller, the grass glowed with spiritual density, and even the wind felt alive. Everything here pulsed with spirit energy, lush and majestic beyond words. The buildings, while impressive in their traditional white wood and carved stone, eventually began to blur together—grandeur without variety, beauty without emotion, strength without purpose.
To live here without power was to exist in a cage made of gold and rules.
Still, this was the world he had entered. And no matter how tightly the nobles clung to control, no matter how much they looked down from their ivory towers, he would rise.
Not for fame. Not for their approval.
But because the system had chosen him—and he refused to let that gift rot in silence.