The dorm was small. A single mat, a cracked window, and a wooden cabinet that creaked every time the wind touched it. But it had walls, and that made it better than everything I'd had in Inuzuri.
I didn't sleep.
Not because I was nervous.
Because I didn't need to.
My body was buzzing from Reiryoku. It swirled beneath my skin like a low, constant current. The Spirit Conditioning skill was doing its job, converting every second of stillness into growth.
Efficiency.
[Passive Bonus Active – Training Efficiency +15%]
By sunrise, I'd already meditated, stretched, and completed 300 push-ups in silence.
By the time the bell rang, I was fully dressed in the Academy uniform, hood down, face still unreadable.
I filed into class with the rest of the "C-rank" students.
We were the nobodies. Not weak enough to be kicked out. Not strong enough to be worth tracking. The perfect place to stay hidden.
---
The classroom was a long stone chamber, open at the far wall where we could see the mountains surrounding Seireitei. Dozens of us sat cross-legged on mats while an older instructor scribbled on the chalkboard with silent precision.
"Reiryoku is spiritual potential," he began, voice flat but firm. "Reiatsu is its expression. Know the difference. Confuse the two, and you die."
Straight to the point.
I liked him already.
He didn't call on me once. I didn't raise my hand. I answered every question in my head but kept my mouth shut. My Reiatsu stayed low. Breathing shallow. Back straight. Hands still.
Just another soul trying not to fail.
---
Combat drills came next.
Zanjutsu basics.
Wooden swords. Dull edges. One instructor, thirty students.
The courtyard buzzed with excitement. The louder students bragged about past fights in the districts. Nobles had stances passed down for generations. A few swung their practice swords like they thought this was real.
We were amateurs.
I chose the most generic stance I could remember from an old textbook. Weak knees. Slightly bent elbows. Just enough to avoid correction.
My first opponent was a tall, broad-shouldered boy with spiky black hair and a toothy grin.
"Name's Daigo," he said. "Hope you don't mind bruises."
I just nodded and raised my sword.
The instructor gave the signal.
Daigo charged.
I analyzed everything in the span of a heartbeat : weight distribution, overcommitment, sloppy grip, untrained feet.
I lowkey could've ended it in one step.
But I didn't.
I absorbed the blow, let it glance off my shoulder, and staggered back with a grunt. Swung wide, missed intentionally. Made it look like I was trying to not get humiliated.
He smirked.
Came in again.
I let him graze my ribs. Slid my foot at the last second to avoid taking real damage.
Three exchanges later, the instructor called time.
"Messy but passable," he muttered.
Good. That was the goal.
I caught Daigo giving me a proud nod. Like he'd done me a favor.
I nodded back.
Let them think I'm weak. Let them think I'm grateful.
[Daily Training Registered: +1 Stat Point Acquired]
---
That night, I slipped out to the forest behind the dormitories.
No eyes. No rules. Just trees and moonlight.
I trained in silence with high-speed sprints, reinforced push-ups, Reiryoku manipulation. Then a hundred perfect Zanjutsu strikes against a marked tree trunk.
The wood cracked but held.
[System Notice: Stat Threshold Reached – Hidden Passive Unlocked]
[Soul Stabilization] – Your Reiryoku no longer leaks under emotional duress. Spiritual signature remains flat under stress.
[Stat Points Available: 8]
I smiled, just a little.
It was all working.
The instructors were watching the nobles. The students were watching each other.
No one was watching me.
Not closely enough.
---
But I wasn't the only one keeping secrets.
---
Somewhere within the inner academy walls, a tall woman stood at a balcony, overlooking the Class C courtyard. Sharp-eyed, dark-skinned, wrapped in subtle authority.
Yoruichi Shihōin.
She watched the feeds of student Reiatsu readings scroll across an enchanted tablet.
Most readings were noisy. Inconsistent. Peaking and crashing like unstable fires.
But one signature was wrong.
Too flat. Too stable. Like a body hooked to a machine: outputted just enough, and nothing more.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Interesting."
---