"Real training with true swords… refers to a type of practice in which combat is conducted using authentic blades."
"In the distant past, people used this method for fair and impartial duels. After all, only between life and death is there true equality."
"Nowadays, this custom has fallen out of use… but from it, new forms have emerged."
"It is a way to, through real weapons, elevate the level of seriousness between opponents — thereby awakening a concentration far more intense than in any ordinary training."
Even in moments like this, Aizen still found time to teach — always amidst some lesson, some instructive speech.
As a teacher, he truly lived up to the word "responsible."
But… this was definitely not the appropriate time for a theoretical lecture!
While listening to Aizen speak calmly, Arima Shinya was breaking out in a cold sweat.
N-no, this can't be right…
No matter how I think about it, there's no way I can match Aizen!
Even more now… they were no longer using wooden swords, but real blades.
Saying he wasn't nervous would be a lie.
Arima's heart began to race. His palms were drenched in sweat.
And of course — Aizen noticed it immediately.
His smile, however, remained unchanged. He kept the tip of the blade pointed downward, walking through the dōjō with slow, calm steps.
"Shinya-kun, are you nervous?"
That's obvious!
"Yes… it's good to be nervous. No, actually, this is normal."
Aizen stopped walking and approached Arima with light, precise steps.
"After all, it's the first time you've touched a real blade. This reaction is the most natural of all."
The sound of his tabi brushing against the polished wooden floor — shiny and slippery, marked by countless footprints and sweat from past trainings.
"Just seeing something so sharp, one feels the urge to retreat, to avoid injury, to fear the blood… and that is perfectly understandable."
"Few are warriors by nature."
"Many need to be selected, molded, and trained until they adapt to it."
Aizen drew closer.
Each step brought him nearer.
And with his soft voice, it seemed that even the air itself moved along, enveloping Arima Shinya completely.
"Did you know, Shinya-kun… that each year, about one-sixth of new students are forced to leave the Academy?"
"Not for lack of talent or poor grades… but simply because they cannot bear the weight of a blade."
"They hesitate, they retreat — and even the lightest sword becomes a burden impossible to lift. Until, finally, they cannot raise it anymore."
Aizen's voice flowed like calm water, yet there was an irresistible power in it.
Before Arima realized, the man was already in front of him.
The teacher raised the sword, spinning it slowly, until the silver edge rested against the side of Arima's neck.
The air seemed to vanish.
Arima's breath caught — it was as if invisible hands were strangling him. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, like a mouse before a wild cat.
He could not see Aizen's eyes.
The lenses of his glasses reflected the white light of the ceiling — cold, emotionless.
What is this…?
It was as if something invisible completely enveloped him, crushing his will.
"See… this is the weapon we share."
Aizen's blade moved slowly, approaching ever closer to Arima's skin.
Even without touching him, the tip emanated a sharp pain — as if it could cut him through the air.
"It is a cursed blade — thirsty, ruthless, devoid of compassion."
"Therefore, when wielding something like this, never allow pity. And hesitation… is even more forbidden."
"Shi— no, Arima Shinya… this is a battle for survival. The moment to prove your worth."
Aizen's words sounded calm, but the weight they carried crushed him.
The air seemed to distort around him.
Sweat streamed from his eyelids, dripping into his eyes — burning, yet he could not blink, nor retreat.
Intuition screamed:
Now… I cannot move even a millimeter backward!
If I show fear, if I reveal weakness… the blade will fall, mercilessly, ending my life in an instant.
"What's the matter? Why don't you react? Have you already accepted your own defeat?"
"Surrendering before fighting… that is the act of a weakling. Arima Shinya, is that what you are? A worthless coward?"
"If that is the case… your life will be cruelly taken in the future. Then it is better that I end it myself now."
"Arima Shinya, engrave this deeply in your heart —"
"This is mercy."
The words fell like thunder.
And at that instant — all the accumulated pressure exploded!
Like a dam breaking, a torrent of emotions overtook Arima.
Fight… I have to fight!
If I don't react, I'll die!
If I don't fight, I'll be crushed!
But… how?
His teeth ground together.
By instinctive reflex, as if his body moved on its own, Arima lowered his right hand.
The moment despair enveloped him completely…
His fingers closed around the hilt of the asauchi.
— Draw.
Clang!
A sharp, clear sound echoed first…
And immediately after, a colossal boom shook the dōjō.
BOOOOOM!!!
…
In the control room of the dōjō, the person responsible for supervision — Fukai Mantada — rested in his reclining chair, enjoying the afternoon sun and sipping his freshly prepared tea.
Another peaceful day… he thought.
But his thought barely formed — when a deafening explosion thundered behind him!
The floor shook.
The shockwave threw him into the air, ripping up boards and destroying furniture.
Fukai spun in the air, screaming, before plummeting dozens of meters forward, landing awkwardly.
"E-eh!? What… what was that!?"
Was it a Hollow invasion!?
Or did someone bring explosives into the dōjō!?
Either way… this is serious!
In an instant, over a hundred excuses to escape responsibility crossed his mind.
With eyes squinting from the dust and a hand raised to protect his face, he shouted to the terrified students gathering:
"Don't just stand there! Go call for reinforcements! The kendo dōjō is in trouble!"
The voice communication was rudimentary, but no one there seemed skilled in Kidō.
Not even a simple transmission spell could they use!
Fortunately, before the chaos spread, Fukai managed to see through the curtain of smoke.
Two figures.
Amid the destruction, two figures stood tall.
What…!?
He forced his focus, concentrating all his attention to see clearly.
And then, finally, he distinguished the scene.
A man with short brown hair and a lean body — hands relaxed, hanging by his sides.
The standard black shinigami uniform was torn.
A horrific wound ran across his body — from the abdomen to the shoulder — like a brutal, deep cut.
The fabric was soaked in blood.
It was Aizen Sōsuke.
His glasses were gone, and red splatters stained his face and neck.
Even so, he was smiling.
A strange, serene smile… almost satisfied.
Hands lowered, no sign of resistance.
As if he were happy.
Why… is he smiling?
This is… too terrifying!
And then Fukai noticed the other figure.
On the ground, kneeling, a boy with long black hair tied behind his head.
One knee on the floor, left hand supporting his body, and the right — firmly gripping the asauchi.
His chest rose and fell in short, desperate breaths, as if trying to confirm he was still alive.
Arima Shinya.
Sweat streamed down his face, sticking his hair to his skin.
Sunken eyes, mouth half-open, trembling.
Gasping, seeking oxygen like a man who had narrowly escaped death.
He looked about to faint.
Even so — Aizen approached, knelt before him, and extended his right hand.
A low sound echoed.
As he moved, the wound opened further, and blood gushed, staining the fabric.
Dripping.
Plip…
"Shinya-kun," said Aizen with his usual calm voice, "congratulations. You have earned your chance to live."
"And remember — engrave this deeply in your heart."
"Keep the feeling you had when wielding that blade… for this is the power of resistance."
Arima tried to say something… but his eyes rolled back.
And he collapsed.
Fukai, who had witnessed everything, was left gaping.
Even as an ordinary shinigami, he was not inexperienced enough to misunderstand what had happened.
It was not an explosion.
That devastating wave — had been caused solely by the release of spiritual power.
The full release of spiritual pressure.
The instant Arima drew the blade… it blossomed with all its strength.