Just as Iori was, as usual, indulging in thoughts of a bright future, the noisy commotion coming from not far away made him frown.
"So loud." The boy looked over unhappily.
The faint smile on Yuki's face also gradually faded, and she cast a cold, displeased glance in that direction.
The siblings had already reached the entrance of the Shin'o Academy of Spiritual Arts near the White Path Gate (one of the Seireitei's main gates). Logically speaking, this was a place where disturbances were forbidden, yet there were still people bold enough to make a scene.
Several upperclassmen wearing white-sleeved, loose-pants kimono were gathered at the entrance, split into two groups, four against one.
The unpleasant noise mainly came from those four. Their tone was aggressive as they surrounded a dark-skinned student, seemingly threatening him. Yet judging by his expression, the other party wasn't afraid at all. No matter how the four pressed him, he remained completely calm.
The siblings saw this scene, but didn't stop walking. They strolled past calmly, which naturally drew the others' attention.
"Huh?"
One of the gloomy-looking men sensed something and turned his head. When he saw who it was, his expression changed instantly, first a bit flustered, then forcibly steadying himself, though a trace of fear lingered deep in his eyes.
"Tch… alright, let's go!"
The other three also noticed them after hearing this. Their gazes swept over Iori, then settled on Yuki. They quickly looked away again. Their previous ferocity vanished, replaced instead with a hint of embarrassment.
"You know them?" Iori looked at Yuki.
Yuki shook her head indifferently, "Don't know them."
Maybe she had seen them before. But for people with no talent and no value to exploit, Yuki had always treated them as if they didn't exist.
Before leaving, the leader glared straight at Iori. "Don't forget about tomorrow. Make the most of this time to sharpen yourself, Aizen Iori!"
With that, he led the other three away, fully exposing the student they had been surrounding.
It turned out to be a dark-skinned young man with his eyes tightly shut, seemingly blind. His race was different from the Soul Society mainstream, but his facial features weren't unattractive.
"So it really is you, Tosen-senpai." Iori said without surprise. "Got into another conflict with someone again?"
This was Tosen Kaname, one of the future captains of the Gotei 13, though at present he was just an ordinary Shinigami student.
…Which also made one wonder how someone who couldn't see had even managed to enroll.
Iori remembered the rough outline of the plot, but didn't know much about the life experiences of these characters. After all, the original work hadn't gone into much detail, so he wasn't sure whether Tosen had already entered the academy at this point, or whether he and Aizen had been classmates in the original timeline…
But this was a world where even Aizen could be genderbent. Of course the details couldn't possibly line up perfectly with the original, why bother worrying about that.
"Good afternoon, Iori-kun, Soyuki-kun."
Although blind, Tosen's other senses were very sharp. Even though Yuki hadn't spoken, he still noticed her presence.
"Just got back from home? You've worked hard. Thank you for what happened just now, otherwise it probably would've dragged on for quite a while."
Tosen Kaname bowed to the two of them. As an upperclassman, he didn't really need to be this polite to Iori, yet he still acted very humbly and even used honorifics.
"You're just too honest, that's why you got blocked here. Against people like that, you should teach them a lesson. Beat them up a few times and they'll learn to behave."
Iori wore a teasing expression. "You should know, outside the academy, those nobles are untouchable. Only here can you 'spar' openly and aboveboard. Opportunities like this shouldn't be wasted."
"Heh, Iori-kun, you're joking…" Tosen smiled calmly.
"Violence can't solve problems. It only breeds conflict and hatred. A friend of mine once said that mutual understanding between people is what matters most."
"Your friend must be a very gentle person, Tosen-kun. That's really admirable. I hope I can become that gentle in the future too."
Yuki spoke softly with a smile, but a trace of mockery surfaced in her eyes, it was clear that her true thoughts were the complete opposite of her words.
Iori was more straightforward. "I agree too, but there are many ways to reach mutual understanding. Communicating with fists is far more efficient than words!"
'Got a conflict? Just beat the other side until they're convinced, isn't that enough?'
Tosen shook his head and smiled. Though he didn't quite agree with Iori, he didn't argue back.
Despite being blind, Tosen ranked among the top of his peers. He had an upright personality and was always willing to help others, often standing up for bullied juniors and classmates, which naturally earned him plenty of enemies.
Among the people he knew, the Aizen siblings were rare "good people" who possessed power yet didn't bully the weak, so Tosen held them in high regard.
"By the way, that person just now mentioned something about you preparing for tomorrow."
With some concern, Tosen asked, "What is it about? Is there anything I can help with?"
"No, you can't help with this one. And it's nothing serious, just requires me to be careful with how much force I use."
Noticing Yuki's questioning gaze, Iori revealed a half-smile.
"After all, crushing an ant but having to pretend it takes a lot of effort, that's actually pretty difficult."
———
[Soul Society, Shin'o Academy of Spiritual Arts, Thirteenth Training Hall]
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The sound of wooden swords colliding rang out, sometimes sparse, sometimes fierce. Spiritual pressure fluctuations clashed silently, grappling with each other like wild beasts. After one all-out collision, the field fell into a deathly silence.
The broad, level training hall was surrounded by students in white dogi and black hakama-style pants, sitting in a circle. They stared unblinkingly at the scene before them. Every face was tense; some were even sweating.
At the center of all those gazes were two swordsmen, one tall and one short. Neither wore any protective gear, each holding a wooden sword.
The tall one looked to be in his early twenties. His masculine, well-defined features carried a resolute air. His neat buzz cut stood upright like iron wire. With big hands and feet, long arms and legs, a muscular build, and a well-proportioned waist and back, his burly appearance concealed formidable explosive power. If he were in the human world, he'd be a natural-born military general.
Compared to him, the other looked much more "frail."
He was a boy of only thirteen or fourteen. Though trained muscle lines could be seen on his arms, his height and weight were nowhere near the same level.
His only possible advantage was his looks. The boy had a very handsome face. Beneath slightly messy bangs were deep black eyes. His refined features were still youthful, yet carried a steadiness that didn't match his appearance.
Under the bright May sun, heat radiated along with the light, illuminating the boy's focused expression and the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, unconsciously drawing the attention of the female students.
If it were Iori-kun, dying under his blade would probably be as beautiful as falling cherry blossoms, such absurd thoughts also began to surface one after another.
At first glance, the two seemed to be standing motionless like statues. But on closer inspection, one could see their wooden swords trembling slightly with the subtle vibration of their wrists. This wasn't from fatigue, but like venomous snakes searching for an opening in their prey.
Their feet took, or rather slid, tiny, minuscule steps, little by little adjusting their relative positions and angles, constantly correcting themselves in response to the other's movements, never allowing their soles to leave the ground for too long.
Strictly speaking, this wasn't a fair fight.
One of them had studied swordsmanship for four years and was a standout among his peers, already preparing to graduate early.
The other was a freshman who had only been enrolled for just over a year, not only lacking experience, but also having a huge disadvantage in height and reach.
Only those who had truly experienced real combat understood the meaning of "a hair's breadth," let alone when the gap between the two was already so obvious.
Yet no student stepped forward to stop this unfair match.
There were two reasons. First, the challenger had staked his dignity as a senior. Second, deep down, everyone believed this was an evenly matched duel.
Just like Miyamoto Musashi defeating Sasaki Kojiro through underhanded means yet still earning praise, because when facing such a dazzling opponent, a challenger must exhaust all their intelligence and courage, using every advantage available, in order to win!
Finally, the tall challenger couldn't hold back anymore.
When his so-called "friends" had come to ask him to step in, they'd only said that Iori was a wandering troublemaker who relied on his sword skills to cause trouble everywhere, and that he should suppress this guy a bit.
But after a few exchanges, he was already certain.
'Those bastards were talking nonsense!'
If what they said were true, then Iori would definitely be an impatient brat, utterly incapable of wielding such cold, composed swordsmanship.
But now wasn't the time to pursue that. Ending this fight quickly was what mattered most.
Despite the standoff where neither yielded an inch, he felt his movements gradually beginning to follow the other, being subtly led along. Maybe it was just an illusion, but it still made him restless.
Years of swordsmanship experience told him that, at this moment, there was only one way to break the deadlock.
"Hah!!!"
A loud shout burst forth like winter thunder, making eardrums ache. The surrounding students tensed up, their hearts tightening as if they'd encountered a starving beast in the wild.
This wasn't just a simple shout, it incorporated a technique that used spiritual pressure to intimidate the mind. If someone else were in his place, they would definitely lose composure, either panicking or rushing into an attack.
But the boy disappointed his opponent. Even facing that momentum-filled roar, his footwork rhythm remained undisturbed, like the vast, boundless sea, no matter how one vented at it, it gave no response.
"Hah!!!"
At last, with another shout, the tall student stopped probing. Spirit, energy, and intent unified, he struck at the very moment his "sword momentum" peaked.
Upper Guard: Kesa Slash.
He didn't choose the straightforward overhead vertical cut, the "Tochiku," but instead the diagonal kesa slash from right to left. This wasn't a strategic consideration, simply because there were no openings to be found, he chose the "form" he was best at.
The heavy, powerful blow made it seem, for a moment, like a real blade. The coordination of momentum and form was flawless, as if blood would splatter in the very next instant.
At that moment, like a single frame being removed from a film, the boy, who had moved second, suddenly stepped forward without any warning. His smaller body twisted slightly, lowering himself.
The wooden sword, carrying fierce momentum, sliced down past his hair and sleeve. Holding the sword at waist height with both hands, like a mantis striking down an insect, he calmly unleashed a lightning-fast blow...
Smack!
Crouching Body: Headwind Reversal.
A straight upward slash tore through the flesh beneath the ribs, hot organs and blood spilling out.
No, it was just a visual illusion.
The watching students sucked in sharp breaths. Enveloped by that grim momentum, they nearly believed they had truly witnessed a horrific scene of flesh and blood flying everywhere.
"Ugh!"
Even though it wasn't a real blade, the direct hit from the wooden sword caused the tall man intense pain. The cracking sound that followed meant his ribs had already fractured. Yet he didn't admit defeat. Gritting his teeth, he forcibly suppressed the pain.
With several quick micro-adjustments of his hands, his wooden sword moved like a nimble falcon. Then the crowd heard three crisp sounds, bang, bang, bang, as the young swordsman pressed the attack, only to have it deflected by the tall man using small-range parries.
Judging by appearance alone, it would be hard to imagine such delicate swordsmanship coming from a tall, powerfully built man.
But those familiar with him knew that while he excelled at broad, sweeping combat styles, he had also mastered refined short-blade techniques. He was someone with considerable inner depth.
Of course, this only slowed his decline, it couldn't completely stop the young swordsman's assault.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
Born into a prestigious family, Iba Tetsuzaemon understood clearly now, if he couldn't launch a desperate counterattack, he would have no hope of winning.
"Hah!"
With practiced footwork and waist-driven power, he turned, carrying accumulated momentum. Between the shifting of toe and heel, he instinctively switched to a sword stance of last-stand counterattack.
His posture was twisted, but his momentum was even sharper.
That loud shout fused fighting spirit, pain, and resolve into one, and even indirectly stirred his spiritual pressure, making it more active.
The muscles all over his body were stimulated and tightened to the extreme. Veins bulged beneath his skin, and his whole body seemed to turn into a longbow drawn full like a full moon, releasing all its power in a single instant...
Puff!
Iori casually pushed his wooden sword forward. Just before Iba's strike from the shooting stance came down, he precisely hit the exposed armpit.
"Full of openings, senior." He even reminded him lightly.