The morning bell tolled through the Shin'ō Academy, sharp and commanding, rousing Akio from a dream that clung like mist. In the dream, he stood in a boundless void, shadows writhing like ink, a cloaked figure with starry eyes whispering of hunts and unready strength. Thin, dark threads had coiled around his fingers, tugging at his soul with fleeting glimpses of shifting places. Akio shook his head, rising swiftly from his futon, the images fading but the pulse of his Asauchi echoing faintly. 'Was it just a dream?', he thought,
He took his Asauchi in his hands. 'Huh? I feel a connection with my Asauchi now. It's quite faint but it's undoubtedly there. Was that dre-'
"Are you ready for today's calligraphy class today, Akio?" came the voice of IIkaku.
Akio looked towards IIkaku and replied, "Ah! Yes. I am."
"Today, Captain Aizen will show you brutes, the beauty of elegance." said Yumichika.
Just like that they went towards the calligraphy class together. On the way Akio thought about the time when Tanaka talked about Aizen's class.
"Listen up. Two days from now. A calligraphy class by Captain of Squad 5 'Sosuke Aizen' will be held. In that class Captain Aizen may also show his Zanpakto ability. So this class is crucial and compulsary for all the students. His presence is an honor. Attendance is mandatory—skipping is seen as disrespect to a captain, punishable by expulsion or worse. Prepare to learn from a master."
'After that day I have thinking about it. Aizen coming for a calligraphy class must be to use Kyoka Suigetsu's ability on us. Kyoka Suigetsu, a very overpowered Zanpakto which has the power of 'Complete Hypnosis' — meaning it can control all 5 senses. But for controlling the senses of anyone, Aizen needs them to see the release of Kyoka suigetsu — meaning the exact moment he calls his Zanpakto's real name and I will use that to save myself. Hopefully I can pull it off without Aizen noticing.
They arrived at the class. The class was packed, recruits seated at low desks with brushes, ink, and parchment. They also went to take a seat at the back as the seat were available only at the back.
Every pair of eyes sharpened when the shoji slid open, and Sōsuke Aizen entered—calm, confident, smiling in that way that made the world feel both safe and impossibly dangerous at once.
"Good morning," he said, voice soft but commanding. "Today, we will practice the art of calligraphy."
The students straightened, ink brushes poised. But at the back row, Akio settled into his seat with deliberate ease, eyes never leaving Aizen. He knew the man's story. The whispers in the Soul Society, the rise to captain, the strange aura of perfection, and most importantly—the danger beneath the calm. Akio had studied him, understood the subtle currents of manipulation.
Aizen moved among the students, demonstrating elegant strokes of kanji. Every motion, every slight tilt of the wrist, was flawless. His instructions were patient, even encouraging, yet Akio's senses remained alert. Calligraphy, yes—but nothing was truly ordinary in Aizen's presence.
"You've all improved," Aizen said after a time, placing his brush aside. His smile widened just slightly. "But today, I wish to show you something more." He reached for his Zanpakutō. "My Shikai."
A ripple of excitement swept through the class. Among the students no one had seen a captain release his Zanpakutō in a teaching session.
Akio's heart beat faster—but not from awe. He already understood. Kyōka Suigetsu. Complete Hypnosis. The very weapon capable of fooling every sense, twisting reality itself.
He couldn't let himself to se it.
Aizen's hand slid to the hilt, and polished steel gleamed. "Shatter, Kyōka Suigetsu."
The majority of students gasped. Illusions blossomed around the classroom: shifting desks, warping walls, subtle changes in sound and scent, everything bending under the Zanpakutō's influence. But Akio had prepared.
With precise timing, he shifted just enough to align another student directly in front of himself. From this angle, the polished blade was obscured from his eyes. His movements were casual, and very small for anyone to notice, almost absent-minded—like a child adjusting his position.
The steel shimmered briefly in the open air. Gasps continued. Akio felt nothing. His mind focused, heart steady. Once the initial flash passed, he slid back into his original position, keeping his posture natural, tilting his head in feigned awe like the rest. Every gesture mirrored theirs: wide eyes, slack jaw, subtle trembling of the hands—pretending he too had fallen under the hypnotic veil.
Aizen lowered the blade, sheathing it with a motion as smooth as water flowing over stone. His voice carried softly across the room: "That is Kyōka Suigetsu, a Zanpakutō water-type, that uses mist and reflections to create illusions." His eyes swept the class, lingering just slightly longer than natural. Testing. Searching.
Akio kept his expression neutral, breathing even. To Aizen, he was like everyone else: fooled, awed, under complete hypnosis. But inside, Akio's mind raced, cataloging every detail, every possible angle Aizen could use to trap him later.
"Now," Aizen said, clapping his hands once, "return to your calligraphy. Balance of senses is as important in battle as it is in art."
The students resumed their work, brushes scratching across paper, whispers of amazement buzzing faintly. Akio's brush moved as well, careful to blend in, to remain invisible among them.
When the lesson ended, bows were exchanged, students filing out. Akio followed the flow, expression carefully unreadable. His secret was intact: unlike the others, he had seen the trap coming and avoided it.
And in that hidden knowledge—dangerous, fragile, and exhilarating—he found a spark of advantage. A secret only he carried, one that could tip the scales when Aizen's illusions came to claim reality itself.
That night, exhaustion dragged Akio into a sleep deeper than the Rukongai alleys he'd once fled. His body surrendered to the futon, but his mind spiraled into a realm beyond the academy's walls—a vast, formless void where darkness pulsed like a living heart.
The ground beneath him wasn't solid; it rippled like spilled ink, each step sending shadows curling upward, brushing his legs with cool, intangible fingers. The air thrummed with a low vibration, resonating with the faint pulse of his Asauchi back in the waking world. This isn't real, Akio thought, his voice muffled, as if swallowed by the endless black. Or is it?
Ahead, the darkness parted, revealing a towering figure cloaked in shifting obscurity. Its hooded form loomed, tall and motionless, its cloak a tapestry of writhing shadows woven with flecks of starlight, like a night sky folded into itself. The figure's presence pressed against Akio's senses—not Reiatsu exactly, but something deeper, pulling at his soul like a tide.
"Who are you? Are you my Zanpakto's soul?" Akio demanded, stepping forward despite the unease clawing his chest. By instinct his hand reached for a blade that wasn't there, fingers closing on empty air. Shadows coiled around his wrist, not binding but guiding, threading through his fingers like gossamer strings. They pulsed faintly, carrying fleeting sensations—distant movements, echoes of unseen presences, a sense of space bending under an invisible will.
The figure's head tilted, its eyes gleaming like twin stars in a void. Its voice came soft yet resonant, layered as if spoken across eons. "Challenger. You seek strength, yet you stand unready. The shadows stir within you, but your soul lacks the weight to wield their truth."
Akio's pulse quickened. "What truth? What are you talking about?" He took another step, and the void shifted—distances stretched, then collapsed, as if the space between him and the figure warped with each breath. Shadows flickered, forming vague shapes: a silhouette mimicking his stance, a wall marked by an unseen hand, a thread tugging him to an impossible place. His mind reeled, but something inside him sparked—recognition, raw and instinctual.
The figure raised a hand, shadows weaving from its fingers like living threads. "You are not strong enough yet. Not to even awaken that fully. But a fragment..." It paused, its starry eyes narrowing. "A portion of that power, you may wield. Hunt carefully, Challenger, or the shadows will hunt you."
The threads tightened, pulling Akio into a whirl of motion—positions shifting, shadows flickering like half-formed mirrors of himself. The void twisted, a step forward looping back, a glance bending into infinity. Panic surged, but so did a strange clarity: 'This is mine. Part of me.' A faint, dark aura flickered around his hand, pulsing with the same rhythm as the void.
Before he could grasp more, the world fractured like broken glass, yanking him toward wakefulness. The figure's voice lingered, a fading echo: "Prove your will... survive the hunt...when the time comes...."
Akio jolted awake, sweat slicking his forehead, the dorm's silence pressing against his ears. His Asauchi rested nearby, its blade seeming to drink the moonlight, casting shadows that danced unnaturally across the tatami. For a fleeting moment, he swore he saw a dark thread flicker in the air, vanishing like mist. 'A dream?' he thought, heart pounding. 'Or something calling me?'
[A/N: Special thanks to [mikedanger],[junior_volpi],[Rabiest_M] for the Power Stones! Your support means a lot and motivates me to keep writing 🙏.]