Ichirō briefly summarized the events from the previous week for everyone, leaving out the more complex details. As long as they understood that Kaido—the healing branch of Kidō—was about to undergo reform, that was enough.
Kisuke Urahara shook his head after listening, a faint groan escaping his lips.
"Seriously, you… you're a monster."
The rest of the group silently nodded in agreement. They were all second-years at the Shin'ō Academy—yet the difference in talent between them and Ichirō was so overwhelming that it felt almost unfair.
"Wait a second," Urahara exclaimed, suddenly glaring daggers at Ichirō. "Doesn't that mean we'll have to memorize even more incantations now?!"
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Ichirō raised his hands in protest. "It's not like I'm the only one who thought of it. The Captain had already started the research long before I mentioned anything."
"Hold on," Yoruichi cut in, frowning. "Wouldn't this be bad news for Suzuran? If new Kidō all require chanting…"
Suzuran Tsuki, sitting quietly at the end of the row, blinked in surprise as both Yoruichi and Urahara turned toward her with concern.
She quickly scribbled on her ever-present notebook, showing it to them with a gentle smile:
[It's alright. I can still fight using my Zanpakutō.]
Ichirō waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry so much. It won't have much impact. The new Kaidō classification mainly focuses on organizing existing healing techniques into numbered categories. Even if someone only knows the current Kaidō methods, they won't be at a disadvantage—and with a healing-type Zanpakutō like yours, you're already far ahead of most healers."
He flipped open his notebook, fingers crackling faintly with blue Reiryoku. With a soft buzz of energy, several pages materialized and detached themselves, neatly forming into a small bundle of notes.
He handed them to Suzuran. "Here. These are my personal insights into Kaidō. They should be useful to you. If you study them well, you'll be able to perform healing spells even without chanting. It won't be as powerful as a full incantation—but it'll still be effective."
Suzuran shook her head quickly and began writing again, her strokes hurried and nervous:
[I can't accept this! It's far too valuable. I really can't… but thank you for the thought.]
Ichirō looked at her, then smiled and placed the papers on her desk.
"Take them. They're not as valuable as you think. And it's not exactly free—you'll owe me a favor. When you graduate, you'll have to join the Fourth Division. Otherwise, Captain Unohana might actually kill me."
"That's right," Urahara added from the side, smirking. "For him, this stuff's basically scrap paper. With the way he learns, it'll probably be outdated in a month anyway."
After a moment of hesitation, Suzuran bowed deeply, accepting the notes with both hands. She didn't say anything further, but the gratitude in her eyes was unmistakable.
Urahara opened his mouth to speak again, but the bell rang, signaling the start of class. He swallowed his words, slumping back into his seat. The day's lesson was Kidō theory, so Ichirō—as usual—pulled out his notebook and began jotting down his own formulas and experimental diagrams.
Moments later, a small piece of paper landed on his desk. He blinked, glanced sideways at Urahara, and unfolded it.
You once mentioned something called "sign language" from your old world. Maybe you should teach it to her—it'd make communication easier.
Ichirō stared at the note, then at Urahara, then at the note again. After a long sigh, he wrote back:
Why are you so invested in her? Don't tell me you fell for her at first sight.
Urahara wrote quickly in return:
What are you talking about? I'm thinking about you. You should socialize more—make some friends for once!
Ichirō: Quality over quantity. Besides, I'm doing fine in the Fourth Division. No need for you to play matchmaker. She's not my type anyway.
Urahara: Didn't you say you liked petite girls?
Ichirō: Sure. But cuteness means nothing compared to sensuality. I prefer mature women, thank you very much. I'm an S-type, not an S.A. simp.
Urahara: She's still young. There's room for… development.
Ichirō: No, no, no. Based on my research, the potential growth curve's already fixed. Don't get your hopes up.
Urahara: Oh? You've researched this too? Cough… Care to share the details? Asking for a friend.
Ichirō: A "friend," huh? Sure you do…
The two continued scribbling back and forth, completely absorbed in their silent conversation. They didn't even notice that the entire class had turned to stare at them—watching in disbelief as they exchanged notes with ridiculous seriousness.
The teacher's eyebrow twitched. He took a deep breath, forcing a strained smile.
"Tenshin. Urahara. Please… try not to disturb the other students."
"Ah… yes, sensei."
"Sorry, sensei."
Both of them hunched down a little, looking appropriately guilty.
A minute later, Ichirō glanced at the last note in his hand, frowning. After staring at it for a while, he scrawled another message and passed it over.
Wait—what were we talking about again?
Urahara stared at it blankly, eyes darting between the messy pile of exchanged papers. After a few seconds, he too frowned in confusion.
Right… what were we talking about?
Then, after another moment:
Oh yeah! Teaching her sign language. Writing everything down's way too slow.
Ichirō replied:
It's pointless. Learning sign language takes time. You, me, and her would all have to practice—and she doesn't have that kind of time. She probably won't be able to master Kidō, meaning she'll graduate early and be placed directly into a Division. The Fourth Division is the best fit for her.
Urahara: So what? She can still use sign language there.
Ichirō: No need. There are only two possibilities for her condition: one, she simply forgot how to speak because she hadn't used her voice for a long time before death—but that doesn't seem to be the case. That leaves a congenital defect in her vocal organs. Once that's fixed, she'll be able to talk again.
Urahara: That's not an easy fix, though.
Ichirō: Actually, it's not that hard. My alchemy can eventually repair it. And even if I don't, advanced Kaidō techniques could easily do the job. It's just a vocal mechanism issue. A big deal in the Human World—small matter here.
Urahara: That's what you're focusing on? You've got a perfect excuse to bond with a cute girl, and you'd rather fix her throat? …Wait. Don't tell me—you're into Captain Unohana?!
Ichirō: What are you even talking about? I'm not that kind of guy. I'll let things happen naturally—it's way too early for that.
---
Up front, the teacher sighed heavily.
Watching the two whisper through paper notes without an ounce of shame, he gave up entirely.
Forget it. At least they weren't bothering anyone else.
He turned back to the board and continued the lecture on Kidō modulation techniques, pretending not to notice the pair of geniuses scheming behind their desks.
And so, even with the arrival of a new classmate, Ichirō's schedule remained as disciplined as ever. To him, Suzuran Tsuki was no different from anyone else. Their paths might cross again someday—but not here.
After all, Ichirō would never accelerate his studies, and Suzuran would have no choice but to do so. To cure her loss of voice would require an immense price—one only a "genius" could afford to pay.