Tenth Division Barracks
"Captain, you're slacking off again."
The moment Rangiku Matsumoto stepped into the captain's office, the scent of sake drifting through the air told her everything she needed to know. Files were piled haphazardly across the desk. A few plates of half-finished snacks sat between them, alongside an empty bottle.
The current Captain of the Tenth Division, Shiba Isshin, was fast asleep on the floor beneath his own desk.
Rangiku closed her eyes for a brief second, inhaled deeply, then walked forward and nudged his face with her foot.
"…Mm?"
Isshin blinked groggily, vision swimming until it settled on the furious yet breathtakingly beautiful face of his vice-captain.
"Oh. Rangiku."
"Captain. Did you finish yesterday's work?"
Isshin scratched his head as he pushed himself upright. "Work? What work was that again?"
"Captain!"
He hurriedly got to his feet, apologizing as he fumbled for excuses, promising to handle everything immediately.
Rangiku let out a long, weighted sigh and began clearing the battlefield that was his desk.
Then she noticed several documents she didn't recognize.
"…What's this? Student Council?"
Isshin moved instantly.
He shot up and snatched the papers from her hand.
"Nothing important."
Rangiku narrowed her eyes. "Captain, is there something about this division that your vice-captain isn't allowed to know?"
Isshin laughed awkwardly. "I said it's nothing. Just some trivial matter."
She folded her arms beneath her chest, lifting the generous curve of her posture as she fixed him with a flat stare. "Whatever it is, finish your work first."
Isshin didn't return the documents to the drawer.
He tucked them straight into his robes instead.
Then something occurred to him.
"By the way," he said, glancing up, "that student from the Spiritual Arts Academy you mentioned before—the one you wanted to recruit to our division. What was his name again?"
"Mizuhara Shin, Captain. Could you please take division matters more seriously? If all the talent gets snatched away by other squads, who exactly do you expect to help shoulder your workload? Are you trying to work me to death?"
"Mizuhara Shin…" Isshin repeated thoughtfully.
Seeing his sudden interest, Rangiku elaborated.
"He's from the Eightieth District of Rukongai—Zaraki District. I met him during a mission some time ago. His Spiritual Pressure was unusually high for someone from there, so I recommended he enroll in the Academy to become a Shinigami."
"Zaraki, huh…" Isshin clicked his tongue softly. He knew exactly what that meant.
Rukongai was divided into eighty numbered districts arranged around Seireitei. District One, closest to Seireitei, enjoyed relative peace, stable food supply, and livable conditions. District Eighty was the furthest—barren land, famine rampant, violence a means of survival. Killing for scraps wasn't rare.
"And what kind of person is he?" Isshin asked.
Rangiku considered her words.
"A genius. He's currently a fourth-year. Perfect scores in Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō. Especially swordsmanship. In his third year, he defeated his own kendo instructor."
Isshin let out a low whistle.
"But," she added, "he's slippery. I invited him to join the Tenth Division after graduation and offered him the Twenty-Third Seat. He refused."
Isshin blinked. "Even you couldn't persuade him?"
His gaze drifted—subtly, questionably—over his vice-captain's impressive silhouette, and a suspicious thought flickered through his mind.
Was this Mizuhara Shin even a normal man?
A vein pulsed faintly on Rangiku's forehead.
"Twenty-Third Seat…" Isshin murmured, recalling that the position had recently opened due to illness.
"Isn't that a bit low?" he said at last. "You called him a genius. Think about it—most so-called geniuses go on to accomplish extraordinary things. At the very least, he should be given an upper-seated officer position."
Upper seats referred to Third through Tenth—elite officers involved in core division operations.
Rangiku stared at him. "But there are no vacancies within the top ten. And I've reviewed his Academy records—he doesn't even possess his own Zanpakutō yet."
Isshin waved dismissively. "The Academy curriculum only goes so far. Most Shinigami don't properly develop their Zanpakutō until after joining a division. And you said he's slippery. How certain are you that you know everything about him?"
Rangiku hesitated.
Ultimately, the decision rested with the captain.
"So… which seat?" she asked.
Isshin's lips curled into a knowing grin. "Why not go talk to him again? The Academy's on break now, right? He should have plenty of free time."
After final exams, non-graduating Academy students were granted a substantial vacation. However, since many hailed from Rukongai, the Academy continued providing food and lodging. Staying was optional.
Most classrooms and training grounds sat unused during this period. Students could apply to use them—but any damage would be recorded and repaid after graduation.
Inside an empty kendo hall, the sharp clang of steel echoed repeatedly.
Two figures darted across the polished wooden floor—blades flashing, feet sliding, bodies weaving in swift arcs.
At first glance, it looked like a fierce duel.
On closer inspection, it was more like instruction.
"Too slow. Way too slow, Shūhei. Do you realize your entire body is full of openings?"
"And you have the nerve to say you didn't graduate early because of me? Don't expect me to feel grateful."
Hisagi Shūhei grit his teeth, gripping his Asauchi with both hands, throwing himself forward with everything he had.
But every swing was read.
Neutralized.
Countered before it fully formed.
Their difference in reaction speed alone made the outcome inevitable.
Another strike missed.
Shūhei slashed sideways in desperation as his opponent slipped to his flank—
Clang!
The collision rang out sharply.
Hisagi's blade flew from his grasp. Pain exploded through his palms as his grip tore open.
He stared blankly at the fallen Asauchi for several seconds before collapsing backward, breathing hard.
Mizuhara Shin sheathed his weapon and wandered over casually, tossing him a water flask.
After drinking deeply, Shūhei's breathing steadied somewhat.
"I regret staying at the Academy over break," he muttered.
Shin glanced sideways at him, smiling faintly. "You were the one who asked me to train with you. That little setback and you're already crushed?"
Shūhei didn't answer.
He lay flat on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling.
Losing to Shin wasn't humiliating. He had never beaten him.
What truly crushed him was this:
No matter how hard he trained, he couldn't even see Shin's back.
Forget catching up—he didn't even know how strong Shin truly was.
"Shin… just how strong are you?"
Shin twirled his blade idly.
"What's the point of saying it? Discover it yourself. If one day you force me to go all out, I'll be genuinely happy. I'll even praise you sincerely."
Slow applause suddenly echoed through the hall.
"Now that was a cool line."
The door had opened without them noticing.
Leaning against the frame stood Rangiku Matsumoto.
Sunlight streamed in behind her, illuminating silken golden hair and the elegant curve of her silhouette. The deep neckline of her Shihakushō framed her confidence and vitality with unapologetic ease.
Her smile was playful—dangerous without being vulgar.
"Vice-Captain Matsumoto!"
Shūhei shot upright.
When did she arrive? Did she see me lose like that?
His thoughts raced—before realization struck.
She's here for him again.
Rangiku removed her sandals and stepped inside. The vice-captain's armband marked her rank. A crimson-sheathed Zanpakutō rested at her waist.
"What brings you to the Academy, Vice-Captain?" Shin asked mildly.
"Just taking a walk," she replied, eyes resting on him. One hand casually settled on her sword hilt. "Watching you spar made me feel a bit restless. Care to exchange a few moves?"
Shūhei swallowed.
Was she testing him?
Shin laughed lightly. "Vice-Captain, you're the Tenth Division's vice-captain. I'm just a student. That's hardly fair."
She drew her blade in a smooth arc, holding it horizontally before her.
"It's only sparring. Opportunities to cross blades with a vice-captain are rare. Treasure it."
She moved.
Too fast for Shūhei's eyes to track.
Clang!
Steel met steel.
Shin had already blocked.
Rangiku smiled brightly. "Not bad."
She leapt back three meters, gaze sharpening.
"Ready? I'm coming."
Shin sighed inwardly.
So this was the real purpose.
Testing his worth.
A Shinigami's ultimate ceiling was tied to strength. Intelligence alone could never carry someone far in Soul Society.
Whether his mind was exceptional remained unclear.
His strength, however, was easy to verify.
Her blade flashed forward—
A thin white arc cut across Shin's vision as his Asauchi rose effortlessly to intercept.
Clang!
She pivoted, sweeping low and horizontal—
Blocked again.
Another heavy strike—
He stepped back just enough to evade.
Rangiku stopped.
Something felt wrong.
She was faster.
Stronger.
Her Spiritual Pressure vastly exceeded his.
His only advantage should have been technique.
Yet—
He was ahead of her.
He was reading her.
"You have skill," she said softly. "Why not show it properly?"
She had realized it.
He saw through her sword.
Shin's expression remained calm.
"If you can make me use my full strength, Vice-Captain, I'll offer you sincere praise."
Her gaze darkened.
Arrogant.
She surged forward again—faster, sharper, blade thrusting directly toward his chest.
She refused to believe he could anticipate this.
She was a vice-captain.
He was a student.
She had already lowered herself to test him.
She even held back slightly—to avoid injuring him.
Clang!
The piercing ring of steel resounded.
Her blade halted.
Blocked again.
The polished surface reflected her widened eyes.
And behind it—
A faint smile.
"I've seen through you, Vice-Captain Rangiku."