"Although first-year students receive a collective loan ceremony after six months of enrollment, as the name suggests, this is merely a loan granted in the Academy's name."
"In the end, all the blades are collected back… It's not hard to understand. After all, we are still students — the symbol of immaturity and inexperience."
"If we allowed young people to roam freely with sharp weapons inside the Academy, sooner or later someone would succumb to the desire to fight. To prevent this possibility, the rule is clear: students cannot carry swords on campus."
— I see… — thought Arima Shinya. Although he had already imagined something like this, hearing Aizen explain it personally gave him a new understanding.
"For ordinary people, without special talent, obtaining an asauchi sooner or later doesn't make a difference. After all, the very process of merging one's soul with the blade and calling it by its true name already requires tremendous effort."
"For administrative convenience and control, this method reduces costs and risks."
From a management perspective, this policy made perfect sense.
"But of course, where there are mediocres, there are also geniuses. For those with exceptional talent, bending the rules to facilitate their own path is not surprising."
"As long as someone is willing to act as a guarantor, the student can receive an asauchi early and begin the spiritual fusion process. During the school period, it is not uncommon for some to awaken the name of their Zanpakutō."
Aizen then smiled faintly.
"I believe you are also capable of this, Shinya-kun."
Arima took a deep breath.
Being the target of such expectations was flattering… but it also made him nervous.
Damn… being expected by Aizen is intimidating!
Trying to lighten the mood, he forced a laugh and changed the subject:
"By the way, Professor Aizen… what exactly is the difference between an asauchi and a Zanpakutō?"
Aizen brought his hand to his chin, reflecting briefly.
"A simple question, but the answer requires care. 'Asauchi' and 'Zanpakutō'… the two terms, in fact, are not very different."
"In the end, the latter is just the evolved form of the former — the special name given after its release."
"In essence, the only difference is that one has a name… and the other does not."
Arima Shinya nodded, satisfied. It was something he had never considered before.
"Spiritual fusion varies from person to person — some need a lot of time, others almost none. But the truly talented always find the answer quickly…"
"So, Shinya-kun, you should also expect this. The blade that will bear your name, that will house your spirit… a precious treasure refined from your very soul."
"I wonder what its form will be like?"
Even though he had imagined it before, now, with Aizen's words, Arima felt his heart race with anticipation.
"Speaking of which, Professor… did you go out yesterday because of this?"
"In part, yes — but I also handled other matters."
"I understand… Thank you very much, Professor Aizen."
"It was just a small favor, you're welcome."
Seeing the boy's embarrassed expression, Aizen simply smiled and rested his hand on his shoulder.
"These are things an instructor should know and do. If you truly feel grateful… then work harder, Shinya-kun."
"Only then can you truly repay me."
Now I feel even more embarrassed!
Arima scratched the corner of his mouth, chuckling lightly.
"I-I understand…"
Aizen led Arima Shinya to the veterans' wing.
Just like in the previous meeting with Yoruichi, first-year students were not allowed to enter unless accompanied by a teacher.
After a few corridors, they arrived in front of an isolated, strangely-shaped building. As soon as he crossed the entrance, Arima's vision darkened.
The walls seemed reinforced and painted black, blocking any external light.
Blinking several times, he saw Aizen talking at the reception desk.
Shortly after, the teacher returned, smiling.
"All set. Identity verification has been approved. My role ends here. From this point on, the path is yours, Shinya-kun."
So it's now…
Arima took a deep breath and bowed respectfully.
"Thank you very much for your help, Professor!"
"You're welcome."
This time, Aizen was brief, without his usual long speeches.
As he watched him wave, Arima took two steps forward — but Aizen's voice reached him again.
"Shinya-kun! If at any moment you feel difficulty or confusion… try changing your way of thinking. Sometimes, it's better to abandon reasoning and trust your intuition."
A mysterious phrase, hard to comprehend.
But coming from Aizen, it certainly held meaning. Arima nodded firmly and moved forward.
Guided by a shinigami, he stopped in front of a dark room.
"This is it. Normally, during the ritual, asauchi are distributed randomly. But since you have a guarantor, you may choose."
The man pulled out a set of keys, picked one, and turned the lock.
The heavy sound of the door echoed — and in front of Arima opened a shadowy, silent corridor.
"Enter and see. Thanks to your guarantor… you have the right to choose."
Arima stepped in, almost as if something pushed him.
The walls curved in an arch, forming a grand circular hall.
At first, the darkness blinded him — but soon he realized there was no need for light.
For everything there shone.
Blades.
Flickering reflections, sparks flashing and crossing in the air. Arima squinted against the intense brightness.
The swords were arranged like a steel forest — endless rows of blades gleaming pale white.
Their surfaces were identical, without any ornamentation, all in the same standardized shape. And in the dimness, they seemed to warp…
…as if dozens of lifeless eyes were watching him.
— Look.
— Another stranger has arrived.
A shiver ran through Arima's body. His throat went dry.
His breathing quickened, and tension showed on his face.
Is this… a test?
He soon realized that those asauchi were not as simple as Aizen had described.
After all, they were not "lifeless objects."
Each was individually forged by Nimaiya Ōetsu — all unique, alive in their own way.
At first, Arima thought it would be enough to pick one and leave.
But the process proved… unsettling.
Under that invisible gaze, he didn't know whether to advance or retreat.
Soft sounds echoed from all sides, making the environment suffocating.
And then, in an instant, something inside him calmed.
Arima closed his eyes.
'Abandon thought… and surrender to intuition.'
Aizen's words echoed in his mind.
Even if the advice seemed vague, perhaps it was the only option now.
Alright. Let's try it your way, Aizen-sensei.
Arima took a deep breath. Closed his eyes and… relaxed his body.
Step.
The soft sound of his right foot touching the floor.
He moved — shoulder low, posture firm.
His left hand rose, holding the air as if grasping something invisible. The right approached, fingers closing slowly.
His mastery of the sword — thirty-three points of skill — flowed through his muscles and bones, coursing through his entire body.
Breath and energy united in a perfect cycle.
His mind calmed.
Then, the index and middle fingers of his right hand extended, passing between the left-hand fingers — like a blade ready to pierce the veil of doubt.
If I cannot choose… then I will let it choose me.
Want to look? Then look closely. See clearly… this is me, Arima Shinya.
Come!
In the next instant, the hall, once filled with noise, fell into absolute silence.
…
Minutes later, Aizen opened his eyes, breaking the meditation.
The smile on his face was broader than usual.
Something had pleased him.
"Have you chosen, Shinya-kun?"
Arima responded with a confident smile, turning to display the sword at his waist.
The black sheath, uniform, with the braided cord at the end — a perfect image to match the young man's determined shine.
Aizen shook his head, chuckling softly.
"It's good to be recognized by an asauchi, but… try not to get carried away, alright?"
"Ahaha, just for a moment! Let me enjoy it a little!"
"There's no helping you…"
As the two walked away, the hall returned to silence.
The attendant who had guided him suddenly awoke, confused.
"…Huh?"
He rubbed his forehead, feeling strange.
Did I fall asleep on duty?
He looked at the keys — everything in order.
But something bothered him.
"Did I… speak to someone just now?"
He didn't remember. Everything felt like a dream.
He shook his head, muttering:
"It must be fatigue… nothing else."
Then his eyes landed on the.