The Squad 8 training hall echoed with the sharp crack of fists against air, the faint hum of Reiryoku vibrating through polished wooden floors. Cherry blossoms drifted through open windows, their petals catching the midday sun as they fell like soft embers. Akio Kurozume, a third-year student at Shin'ō Academy, stood at the center of the hall, his black robes crisp, his Asauchi sheathed at his side. His sharp blue eyes locked onto his opponent: Haruto Mori, the 10th seat of Squad 8, a wiry Shinigami with a cocky grin and a reputation for relentless speed.
Shunsui Kyōraku lounged against a pillar, his pink kimono fluttering, sake gourd dangling lazily from his fingers. Beside him stood Byakuya Kuchiki, his captain's haori immaculate, his expression a mask of stoic indifference. Their presence filled the hall with an unspoken weight, their Reiatsu a subtle pressure that made the air feel alive.
"Ready, kid?" Haruto called, cracking his knuckles. His stance was loose, but his eyes gleamed with predatory focus. "No blades, no Kidō—just Hakuda and Hohō. Let's see if you're as good as the captains think."
Akio's lips curled into a faint smirk, masking the churn of his thoughts. 'A year of training under Shunsui and Byakuya, and now this. Haruto's fast—Squad 8's speed specialist.' I match him, I prove I'm ready. Overdo it, and I risk exposing too much. He nodded, settling into a low stance, Reiryoku coiling in his legs. "Bring it, 10th seat."
The air snapped. Haruto vanished in a blur of Shunpo, reappearing at Akio's left with a spinning kick aimed at his ribs. Akio reacted on instinct, his own Shunpo flashing him backward, the kick grazing his sleeve. 'Fast. But I've drilled with Byakuya—this is nothing.' He countered with Ryūken's Toryū—Dragon's Fang—channeling Reiryoku into a piercing fist. A faint black thread wove into the strike, the air cracking as it grazed Haruto's shoulder.
Haruto twisted, using Shunpo to circle behind, his elbow arcing toward Akio's spine. Akio spun, raising an arm coated in Hiryū—Flying Dragon Counter—deflecting the blow with a pulse of shadowy Reiryoku that left a fleeting afterimage. Haruto's eyes widened, thrown off by the illusion, and Akio pressed the advantage, launching Sōryū—Twin Dragon Surge. His punches and knees flowed in a relentless chain, each strike laced with dark tendrils that blurred his movements, forcing Haruto to dodge wildly.
The hall buzzed with gasps. Shunsui sipped his gourd, his lazy grin sharpening. "Kid's got flair. Those shadows are a nice touch." Byakuya's eyes narrowed, tracking the faint distortions in Akio's Reiryoku. 'His control has sharpened, but the darkness persists. Intriguing… and dangerous.'
Haruto recovered, his Shunpo a flickering dance as he weaved through Akio's barrage. He landed a glancing palm strike to Akio's chest, the force shoving him back. Akio gritted his teeth, feeling the bruise form. 'He's testing my endurance. Time to end this.' He lunged with Gekiryū—Raging Dragon Grasp—his hands clamping Haruto's arm, shadowy Reiryoku binding like cold chains. With a twist, he slammed Haruto to the floor, the wood creaking under the impact.
But Haruto was no rookie. He rolled free, using Shunpo to gain distance, then charged with a flurry of strikes—fists, elbows, knees—each one a blur of academy-style Hakuda, precise and relentless. Akio matched him blow for blow, his Ryūken techniques weaving with basic Hakuda forms: a straight punch to block, a low sweep to disrupt, a palm strike to counter. Their Shunpo clashed in bursts, afterimages flickering like ghosts across the hall, neither yielding ground.
Minutes stretched, sweat dripping, breaths ragged. Akio's shadows danced with every move, disorienting Haruto, but the officer's experience kept him in the fight. Finally, both struck simultaneously—Akio's Toryū fist meeting Haruto's palm strike. The collision sent a shockwave through the hall, petals scattering, and both fighters staggered back, panting, eyes locked.
Haruto grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Not bad, kid. Call it a draw?"
Akio nodded, his chest heaving but his smile sharp. "Draw." 'I could've pushed harder—let the shadows loose. But a draw would be more believable. You know, image a third year kid beating a seated Shinigami.'
Shunsui clapped slowly, stepping forward, his gourd swinging. "Well, well. That was a show, kid. Haruto's no slouch, and you matched him step for step." His eyes glinted with respect, but his tone turned serious. "Your Hakuda's solid—Ryūken's taken root. I've got nothing left to teach you there. Keep refining it, and it'll carry you far."
Byakuya approached, his presence like a cold blade. "Your Hohō—Shunpo, Utsusemi, Senka—has reached a level where my guidance is no longer necessary. Your resolve has forged skill, but discipline must now guide you. Our lessons end here." His gaze lingered, a flicker of approval buried in his stoic mask. "Do not squander this foundation."
Akio bowed deeply, his heart racing. 'No more lessons from captains. I'm on my own now… but I'm ready.' "Thank you, Captain Kyōraku, Captain Kuchiki. I won't forget this."
Shunsui waved lazily, already turning away. "Good luck at the exam today, kid. Knock 'em dead." Byakuya vanished in a flawless Shunpo, leaving only a ripple of cherry blossoms.
The Shin'ō Academy training grounds buzzed with nervous energy as third-year students gathered for their annual exam. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across rows of reinforced dummies, their surfaces scarred from past trials. Instructors lined the field, led by Hiroshi Tanaka and Miko Sato, their eyes sharp as they assessed the recruits. Ikkaku Madarame and Yumichika Ayasegawa stood among the crowd, Ikkaku cracking his knuckles, Yumichika adjusting his hair with a dramatic sigh.
Akio joined them, his Asauchi at his side. He glanced at his friends. "Ready to lose, Ikkaku?"
Ikkaku snorted, his grin feral. "Hah! I've been training with Goro—my Hakuda's a beast now. You're goin' down, runt."
Yumichika smirked, flipping his hair. "Please. My Kidō-enhanced Hakuda is elegance itself. You both lack my finesse."
Tanaka's voice cut through the chatter like a blade. "Third-years! The exam tests Hakuda and Hohō. You will strike the reinforced dummy with academy-style Hakuda—basic forms only, no advanced techniques. But due to certain events certain students are permitted to show Hakuda which aren't Academy style. Then demonstrate Shunpo: five consecutive Flash Steps to markers, retrieve a token, return. Precision, control, efficiency. Fail either, and you're out."
Students stepped forward, some stumbling through forms, others faltering in their Shunpo, tokens slipping from sweaty hands. Ikkaku went first, his Hakuda a storm of raw power—straight punches, low kicks, palm strikes—each hitting the dummy with bone-rattling force. His Shunpo was rough but fast, retrieving the token in a blur of bald-headed fury. Tanaka grunted approval. "Pass. Sloppy, but effective."
Yumichika followed, his Hakuda precise, almost dance-like, each strike landing with minimal effort but maximum impact. His Shunpo was a work of art, afterimages trailing like silk as he snatched the token with a flourish. Miko nodded. "Pass. Elegant, as expected."
Then came Akio's turn.
He exhaled slowly, Reiryoku curling around his body in shadowy threads. His first strike, Toryū—Dragon's Fang, pierced the dummy's chest with a crack like thunder, a black thread burning into the reinforced wood and leaving a charred crater. Gasps rippled through the students.
Without pause, Akio spun into Sōryū—Twin Dragon Surge, his fists and knees flowing in a chained rhythm, each blow laced with dark tendrils that struck like whips alongside his strikes. The dummy rattled and groaned as fractures webbed across its reinforced surface.
Then, finishing with Gekiryū—Raging Dragon Grasp, Akio's hands clamped the dummy like claws, shadows binding around its frame before he slammed it into the earth. The ground cracked beneath the impact, petals from nearby trees trembling in the shockwave. When he released his grip, the dummy collapsed in splintered ruin.
For Hohō, he executed five Shunpo bursts, each step a controlled flicker, his afterimages lingering just long enough to confuse. He retrieved the token in a seamless arc, returning to his starting point without stirring the dust. The crowd murmured, instructors exchanging glances.
Tanaka's scar twitched. "Kurozume Akio—flawless execution. First place, again."
Ikkaku cursed, grinning despite himself. "Damn it, runt! You're makin' me look bad!" Yumichika sighed, but his violet eyes sparkled with respect. "Refined, for once. I'll allow it."
Akio bowed, hiding a predatory smile. 'Now the fourth year…'
First day of the fourth year..
Akio adjusted his uniform as he strode through the pristine corridors of the First-Class dorms. The polished wood, sliding paper doors, and manicured courtyards screamed nobility—far from the ragged dorms most students were crammed into. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be here. But he had casually tossed around Kyoraku's name like a VIP pass.
He knocked once on a lacquered door. Rukia's voice rang out from inside. "Coming!"The door slid open, revealing her surprised smile. "Akio? What are you doing here? This dorm's off-limits for visitors."
Akio shrugged, easy as breathing. "All under Captain Kyoraku's blessings. Figured I'd check in on my little sister. You settling in?"
Before Rukia could answer, voices spilled from inside the common room.
"Rukia, who's at the—" Renji Abarai leaned around the corner, red hair tied up like a battle flag, his eyes narrowing the moment they landed on Akio. "Huh. You?"
Akio raised a hand in a lazy wave. His eyes flicked to the blazing hair. "Oh. And who's this matchstick?"
[A/N: Matchstick – skinny with fiery hair]
Renji bristled instantly. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? You'll light the whole room if I strike you against the floor." Akio grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
Behind Renji, Izuru Kira's silent bulk filled the corner like a watchful shadow, Hisagi Shūhei studied Akio with cool calculation, and Momo Hinamori offered a polite, uncertain smile.
"Rukia," Momo said gently, "aren't you going to introduce us?"
Rukia sighed, though amusement tugged at her lips. She stepped aside. "Everyone, this is Akio Kurozume. He's… someone who's been helping me adjust."
Akio gave an exaggerated bow, hands spread wide. "Pleasure to meet you all. I'm Rukia's big brother."
He straightened, his grin sharpening as his eyes swept over the room.Well, well. Look at this—future vice-captains' club, all gathered in one neat little dorm. Guess this year's going to be interesting.
That evening, the academy library glowed softly, its shelves lined with ancient scrolls and the faint scent of ink. Akio sat alone at a lacquered table, poring over a text on combat styles. The fourth year loomed: students would choose a mentor to guide their combat training, a decision that could shape their future in the Gotei 13. 'Ikkaku's with Goro, Yumichika's with the Kidō Corps. Who do I pick? Should I ask Shunsui again? But will he even agree? I want someone who can push my limits without sniffing out my shadows.'
A soft rustle broke his thoughts. An elderly man approached, his robes plain, his hair a wild tangle of gray. The librarian, always a silent fixture, carried a stack of scrolls, his eyes sharp behind cracked spectacles. He set the scrolls down, his voice low but resonant. "Kurozume Akio. I hear you're searching for a mentor."
Akio blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… yeah. You know someone?"
The librarian's lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile. "I do. Someone who knows combat like breathing. Someone who carved his name into Soul Society's history. And....that's me."
"Huh, why do you think I would agree to that? Who do you think you are, old man?"
He leaned closer, his Reiatsu flickering—a pulse of raw, ancient power that made Akio's skin prickle."They called me the 2nd Kenpachi, long ago. And I'm offering to teach you."
Akio's breath caught, his sharp blue eyes widening. 'The 2nd Kenpachi?How?' His mind raced, the weight of the offer sinking in as the librarian's gaze burned with a warrior's fire.
[End of Chapter]