Akira slowly opened his eyes, glancing at the white wall with its familiar elegant painting. A faint fresh scent mingled with disinfectant in the air.
One look told him exactly where he was.
Coordinated Relief Station, Room Two.
Though waves of sharp pain tormented his nerves and his entire body screamed in protest, he paid it little attention.
Despite his anger, old man Genryūsai had maintained his rationality. Even such a heavy hit wouldn't cause severe injuries.
Akira stared at the ceiling, contemplating how the same punching stance and force could yield such different levels of destruction.
The two were in completely different leagues.
In their second fight, if the old man hadn't held back and controlled his power... Akira would have been reduced to nothing but a puddle of blood splattered across the dojo floor, without even a finger-sized piece remaining.
No match, absolutely no match.
He shook his head, pushing aside thoughts of reversing the heavenly formation.
He tested his injured body, moving first his left leg, then right foot, then midsection, followed by his right hand...
Wait, why was it being held down again?
Akira instantly recalled his previous experience in the hospital room.
Cold sweat poured down his back. He stiffly turned his head, only letting out a relieved sigh after seeing who sat beside the bed.
Thankfully it wasn't that giant Tessai.
"Long time no see, Kisaragi-kun."
With a gentle smile that seemed capable of healing all ailments, Unohana pressed her hands on his right hand, caressing it with the softest touch.
Green healing light penetrated his skin, activating the Reiryoku hidden in his cells, stimulating his Reiatsu, and maximizing his Spiritual Body's self-healing ability.
"I never expected you would choose to join the Genji School." Unohana spoke softly, her black eyes lowered as she observed his injuries healing, "And even actively seek out the Captain-Commander for training. Someone like you..."
"A talent?" Akira interjected curiously.
Her smile froze slightly, and after a pause, she continued, "Children who face death so fearlessly are becoming rare these days."
His face darkened.
What kind of comment was that?
He hadn't chosen this path — it was old man Genryūsai's harsh training that had nearly destroyed him with a single punch.
If only that hot-tempered old man could be as gentle as you, would I be suffering like this?
Of course, such thoughts had to remain unspoken. While Akira wasn't afraid of death, he certainly didn't seek it out.
There was, after all, a clear difference between taking calculated risks and having a death wish.
Yet despite her gentle demeanor, the woman before him was no less formidable than Genryūsai. In some ways, she was even more terrifying.
"However, since you've started training in Hakuda..." Unohana's tone shifted, her gentle smile taking on a dangerous edge, "Your Death Sword Style must have improved as well, right?"
Akira sharply inhaled, staring at the beautiful woman beside his hospital bed in shock, his teeth aching.
Great, so now I've gone from getting beat up by one scary teacher straight to another?
"Your injuries aren't serious." Unohana released his right hand, ending the treatment. She leaned forward, tucking in his blanket, and whispered near his ear, "Remember to wait for me at the dojo tonight. I want to personally assess your training progress."
After saying this, she gracefully left the hospital room to attend to other official duties.
Meanwhile, Akira stared at the ceiling with lifeless eyes, wondering what excuse he could possibly use to avoid her examination.
Life is hard, the young man sighed.
Hopefully Captain Unohana won't be too harsh tonight...
⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬
That night brought a fierce battle.
Like Genryūsai's approach but even more extreme, it was completely unreasonable combat.
The moment Akira stepped into the dojo, a fierce slash greeted him. Swift as wind, the technique split the air, adding a touch of chill to the already cool night.
Though merely a bamboo sword, its presence was no less intimidating. Heavy, thick killing intent rushed toward him, making it feel as if he faced not training equipment, but a terrifying mountain of corpses and sea of blood.
Warned by instinct of the danger, Akira emptied his mind, raised his bamboo sword, and met the attack head-on at a speed difficult for the naked eye to follow.
⤫ Jigoku Arashi Kire ⥤ Hellish Storm Cut! ⤬
The essence of the Death Sword Style shone forth in this moment!
Under the moonlight, two figures drew close and crossed paths like dance partners, their movements complementing each other perfectly.
Silent as a light melody, countless notes collided and merged in the clash of bamboo swords, their symphony building steadily to its peak...
⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬
When Akira returned to the Shin'ō Academy, he was completely exhausted — sore waist, aching back, cramping legs — looking thoroughly worn out.
Even Aizen wondered if he had been training or drinking in Rukongai.
How could he be so depleted?
"Ah, don't even mention it." While lamenting, Akira massaged his calves continuously, trying to relieve the muscle soreness.
Two consecutive high-intensity battles — forget about him, even an iron man couldn't handle it.
Moreover, that ruthless Unohana, to keep him fighting all night, had brought out her self-developed stimulant drug. She had coaxed and tricked him into taking it, forcing him to continue without rest. She had treated him as less than human.
{T/N: Me right now: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )}
When Aizen learned of his ordeal, he fell silent.
The fact that his friend had returned alive was truly fortunate.
He realized his previous assessment had been too simplistic. Among academy students, Akira was indeed formidable, capable of taking on a hundred opponents.
But against Captain-level fighters, especially Genryūsai and Unohana, he was in a completely different league.
After being beaten by these two, mere survival was an achievement.
Or rather, only this priest could endure such high-intensity combat. Anyone else would have ended up in the intensive care unit of the Coordinated Relief Station.
Thinking this, his gaze toward Akira filled with sympathy.
"By the way, those assassins who attacked us were identified." Aizen said, breaking through his friend's sighs, "Kaoru-sensei came by this afternoon to warn us. You need to be careful these days."
"What assassins?" Akira raised his head, confused.
Aizen fell silent, suddenly worried that his close friend's brain might have been damaged from the beating.
He sighed, looking at the bewildered youth with pity as he slowly said:
"You were backstabbed. Those people who tried to assassinate you last time were from a branch of the Azashiro clan. They betrayed Soul Society and joined the rebel forces..."
⤫⤬⤫
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