The comfortable silence with Ikkaku and Yumichika was a brief and pleasant in the constant current of Akio's thoughts. As they parted ways, the lingering notion that the world had a stubborn tendency to correct its course stayed with him. But if the plot was resistant to change, he would simply have to become a force it couldn't ignore. And for that, he needed more than power; he needed precision.
His feet carried him towards the Squad 10 barracks. The sun has set and the night came so he went straight towards the bed as he some plans for tomorrow. He wanted to make use of the favour he asked with Yamamoto. He was time for that old man to help him by making use of his experience.
He had bargain the favour with his life so he had to use that after all. He had taken many risk to get where he is now. The gillian incident with Isshin, the incident with Kyoraku, Byakuya and Yamamoto as well. This has caused him to have quite some eyes set on him. But the actions he did were all planned and calculated by him. He knew his chances to be killed where great but he still went on with it, because he knew the power structure of bleach and how powerful the beings at the top are. So knowing that he can't compromise with his training at all.
And because of his actions he might ave drawn some eyes on him but they can't act immediately neither directly. All they can do is try to kill him in shadows. And that was to his advantage as he knows that for becoming powerful he has to face difficulties.
Another advantage of his action is relations. He had actively tried to form a type of relation with every powerful figures he had met and that was also a huge benefit on the long run. Despite all these he also have another motive which will be known later.
The next morning he didn't head towards the training ground of Squad 10, but towards the heart of the Seireitei. He had already informed about his absence to Isshin. Normally being absent on 1st day is not looked at goodly but again he was Akio and his relation with Isshin was good enough to be pardoned for one day.
As he was walking the air grew heavier, more solemn, the closer he got to the First Division compound. This was not a place of boisterous celebration or chaotic training grounds. This was where the weight of a million souls was shouldered by a single, ancient will.
The guards at the gate recognized him—a perk, or perhaps a burden, of Yamamoto acting as his guardian. They nodded him through with silent deference. The courtyard was empty save for the gently rustling leaves of the ancient trees. And there, on the veranda overlooking the tranquil garden, sat Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto. He was not meditating, nor was he reviewing paperwork. He simply sat, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes closed. He was a monument to stillness, and the very atmosphere seemed to bend around his immense, reigned-in power.
Akio approached, stopping at a respectful distance and bowing deeply. He did not speak. To interrupt the Captain-Commander's peace was a privilege one did not assume.
After a long moment, Yamamoto's eyes opened. They were not the eyes of a kindly old man, but of a general who had forged the Soul Society in fire and blood. They settled on Akio, seeing through the calm facade to the turmoil and ambition beneath.
"Kurozume," his voice was a low rumble, like tectonic plates shifting. "Your internship is complete. You are now a full member of the Tenth. Why are you here, and not training with your comrades?"
Akio straightened, meeting that formidable gaze. There was no point in dissembling. Yamamoto would see through it instantly.
"Captain-Commander," he began, his voice steady. "I came here with a purpose which I deemed more important than today's training session."
Yamamoto said nothing, his expression unchanging, a clear signal to continue.
Akio continued, "The one year internship was… enlightening. It solidified my understanding of my squad's purpose. We are the first line. We assess, we contain, we report. Our duty requires not just strength, but judgment. So I was hoping if you could help me integrate it to my fighting style."
Yamamoto leaned forward intrigued," But from what I know you have gotten combat training from the second Kenpachi?"
'Of course this old bastard knows this. Makes me wonder if he was deliberately ignoring when Aizen murdered the Central 46.'
"I have been granted training beyond my worth. Not only by the 2nd Kenpachi but from Uncle Kyoraku and Captain Kuchiki too," Akio said. "From Captain Kyoraku, I learned the versatile foundation of Hakuda. From Captain Kuchiki, I learned perception and precision as well as Hoho. And from Kenpachi Ryūgo, I learned…" He paused, searching for the right words. "I learned the intent to kill. The raw, overwhelming pressure to dismantle an opponent without hesitation."
"A valuable skill for a warrior," Yamamoto stated, his tone giving nothing away.
"It is, sir," Akio agreed. "But it is a weapon without a sheath. It is a hammer. And not every problem in the field is a nail. The Tenth Division requires a scalpel. If I am to be an effective officer, if I am to protect my squad and fulfill our duty of assessment and containment, I cannot solve every confrontation with the instinct to crush and kill. I need to learn to fight with my brain, not just my instinct. I need to control my strength, not merely unleash it."
He took a breath, laying his reasoning bare. "Kenpachi Ryūgo can teach me how to kill a man a hundred different ways. But he cannot teach me how to subdue a hostile spirit without shattering its chain, or how to neutralize a threat without collateral damage, or how to gauge an opponent's strength and decide if force is even the correct answer. I need to learn control. I need to learn strategy in the heat of combat. I need a teacher who embodies not just power, but disciplined, precise application of that power."
For the first time, a flicker of something—perhaps interest, perhaps approval—passed through Yamamoto's ancient eyes. He had seen countless brash young men ask for more power. It was rare to see one, especially one already so powerful, ask for less. To ask for restraint.
Still he asked another question, " But wouldn't you be taught that by the tenth division? Wasn't your training for the year as an intern based on that?"
'Obviously they taught me that, old man. But what would be the use of your promise then? And also if I get to learn about fighting from the oldest and most powerful being in the soul society currently why would I train with those side characters?' despite cursing the old man in his mind he didn't voice out a single word and just stayed silent.
"You seek a counterbalance to the Kenpachi's teachings," Yamamoto continued. "You wish to temper your blade, not just sharpen it." He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. "A shrewd assessment. Power without control is a danger to ally and enemy alike. It is why the Onmitsukidō exists separately from the combat divisions. It is why the Kidō Corps emphasizes control above all else."
He fell silent for a moment, his gaze turning inward. "The skills you seek are not taught in a dojo. They are honed through decades of discipline and an unwavering devotion to duty. They require a mind that is calm, analytical, and ruthless in its efficiency, not in its brutality."
Yamamoto's eyes refocused on Akio. "And as much as I know you, you want the best to teach on this aspect too as your other aspects. Greedy brat." He shifted slightly. "Sasakibe."
As if hearing the voice of Captain Commander a man appeared out of know where from god knows where. Chōjirō Sasakibe, the Lieutenant of the First Division, stood with perfect, unwavering posture. His face was serious, his eyes sharp and intelligent. His Reiatsu was so tightly contained it was nearly undetectable, a stark contrast to the roaring furnace of his captain.
"Captain-Commander," Sasakibe said, his voice quiet but clear.
"Kurozume here has a unique request," Yamamoto said. "He wishes to learn control. He wishes to learn how to think in a fight. He wishes to wield his considerable power with the precision of a surgeon's knife, not a butcher's cleaver. I can think of no one better to teach such discipline than you."
Sasakibe's eyes shifted to Akio, assessing him coolly. There was no surprise, no hesitation. Only a calm, professional evaluation. "I serve the Soul Society, Captain-Commander. If you believe I can be of use, I will instruct him."
Yamamoto gave a final nod. "See that you do. Do not go easy on him. The potential is there; it requires refining." With that, he closed his eyes again, dismissing them both and returning to his stillness. The audience was over.
Sasakibe turned his full attention to Akio. "Follow me, Kurozume."
He led Akio out of the main compound and towards a secluded, sand-floored training ground reserved for the First Division. The air here was different from the Tenth's grounds—silent, serious, and heavy with tradition.
Once they stood in the center of the grounds, Sasakibe turned to face him. "The Captain-Commander believes you understand the difference between power and application. Demonstrate this understanding. Attack me."
It was not a request. It was an order.
Akio knew this was the first test. To use any type of flashy techniques would be to fail. He had to show he could think. He paused, analyzing Sasakibe's stance—it was flawless, offering no openings. It was a defense built on perfect fundamentals and patience.
Instead of charging, Akio shifted into a basic, textbook-perfect Jūken stance. He didn't lunge. He feinted a low kick, but the moment his weight shifted, he used the momentum to instead slide forward and execute a simple, direct palm thrust aimed at Sasakibe's center mass. It was a basic move, but executed with perfect timing and body alignment, designed to test the opponent's balance and reaction.
Sasakibe didn't block it. He didn't need to. With a minimal, efficient movement, he shifted his body a fraction of an inch, letting the thrust harmlessly pass by his side. His hand, moving faster than Akio could track, came up and lightly tapped Akio on the wrist.
It wasn't a strike of force, but of correction. A master pointing out a flaw.
"You telegraphed the feint in your shoulders," Sasakibe said, his voice devoid of criticism, merely stating a fact. "Your intention was correct, but your execution was inefficient. Control is not just in the strike you land, but in every muscle you move before it. Again."
Akio reset, a new level of focus settling over him. This was what he had asked for. This was the precision he needed. The path to becoming more than just a weapon had begun.
[A/N]Hey everyone! 👋First of all, thank you so much for reading and supporting this fanfic—it really means a lot to me. 💙
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