Yes.
Seiya hadn't done anything excessive — he had simply swung his sword.
However, after his first "failed" strike, the power of Sāgara Ryū fully activated, compiling every relevant detail about Kiganjō.
The toughness of his skin, the density of his spiritual pressure...
The gap in their power, the speed Seiya needed to dodge Kiganjō's six arms, the precise moment to strike — every difficulty standing in his way had been mapped out.
Piece by piece.
All of it.
Within the boundless ocean of Sāgara Ryū, every detail had been magnified and meticulously analyzed.
In this vast mental space, Seiya observed Kiganjō's every move like a detached, higher-dimensional observer. With the assistance of Sāgara Ryū, he rapidly deconstructed Kiganjō's abilities, down to the smallest nuances:
The rhythm of his breathing.
The speed of his reactions.
Amid this sea of seemingly trivial fragments, Seiya simulated his attack over and over again.
A hundred times.
A thousand times.
Ten thousand times.
In the endless void, Seiya repeated the same swing of his sword over and over, like a clueless monkey fiddling with a computer.
At first, the results were meaningless — gibberish output, a mess of random characters.
But...
If given infinite attempts, even a monkey can write a masterpiece.
And then, in a flash of insight, a weak point emerged.
In countless iterations, Seiya discovered a crack in Kiganjō's defense, capturing the vital point with precision.
Drifting in an endless sea of uncertainty...
Now, Seiya had touched truth.
With Sāgara Ryū's power, that truth was shared across every clone, across every possible iteration of Seiya.
All the monkeys had learned to write this great work.
Seiya now knew how to cut through the third-level spiritual pressure gap and break Kiganjō's skin. He grasped it fully — the angle of the blade, the breathing pattern, the precise footwork, and the target point.
What seemed like a casual strike on the surface had, in reality, been perfected after thousands of simulations within the Sāgara Ryū ocean.
And it didn't stop there.
Seiya's two mirrored selves stood side by side, both calm and composed.
The Seiya on the left smiled gently.
"Even a monkey learns. We won't stand still."
The Seiya on the right raised his sword to his brow, his expression somber.
"Standing on the shoulders of giants, we ascend to new heights."
Finding a weak point wasn't the end — it was merely the first gate.
After breaking through his defense, Seiya aimed to deepen the wound, attacking again and again, pushing forward until he found the killing blow.
Both Seiyas moved into position.
"Let's bet on this, shall we?"
The Seiya on the left took a step forward, sheathing his sword in a swift Iaijutsu stance.
"Let's see whether your fists crush my spiritual pressure..."
The Seiya on the right stepped back, holding his sword at eye level, both hands steady.
"Or whether my blade breaks through your defense and cuts you down."
Kiganjō's monstrous form tensed instinctively.
A deep, primal fear surged within him, twisting his expression into a grimace.
"Don't mess with me, you little bastard!!!"
Despite the overwhelming difference in their power — their spiritual levels, physical endurance, and sheer strength — Kiganjō couldn't shake the throbbing pain in his side.
His arrogance was faltering.
At the gambling table of life and death, he should have been holding the winning hand.
And yet...
Why did his heart pound so wildly?
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
I'm Kiganjō, captain of the Eleventh Division!
I've earned my place through strength! I've wielded this power, these privileges! People admire me, fear me — I stand above them all!
Why should he risk his life against this nobody?
His mind told him to act, to strike down Seiya before it was too late.
But his hands... trembled.
Sweat poured down Kiganjō's face, stinging his eyes.
"Damn it... damn it... DAMN IT!!!"
In a desperate fit of rage, Kiganjō raised his six massive arms, ready to bring them crashing down.
But before he could make his move, a calm, unfamiliar voice rang out through the night.
"Let's end it here."
"Shatter."
"Kyōka Suigetsu."
Thump.
A barely audible sound — like a droplet hitting still water.
Kiganjō froze. His eyes went blank for a fleeting moment before clouding over with confusion.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly...
Or perhaps it had only been a few seconds.
Then, a loud voice snapped him back to reality.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!"
Kiganjō spun around, bewildered, to see a tall man with a round afro and white-framed sunglasses approaching.
The man wore a captain's haori with bold lettering — Seventh Division Captain, Love Aikawa.
Even behind his shades, it was clear that Aikawa was annoyed.
"What the hell are you standing around for?!" Aikawa bellowed. "I asked you a question!"
Kiganjō blinked, struggling to process what he was seeing.
"I... I'm fighting, of course!" he stammered, his voice shaking with disbelief.
"What, fighting?"
Aikawa's voice rose again, sharp and scornful.
"Fighting WHO?!"
Still confused, Kiganjō whipped around to point at his supposed opponent...
Only to see the bruised and battered members of his own Eleventh Division lying on the ground.
His face went pale.
"I... I..."
I was fighting someone...
I know I was...
But... who was it?
Love Aikawa didn't wait for him to piece it together.
He leapt down from the nearby roof and landed amid the shattered streets, his tone turning grave.
"Releasing your Zanpakutō in the Seireitei, using Bankai without permission..."
"Attacking your own squad members without cause... showing no remorse..."
"Disobeying a direct order from the Head Captain..."
Love's voice grew heavier with each word, like a judge delivering a final sentence.
"You... have some serious balls to pull this kind of crap in the Gotei 13."
His expression darkened.
"What — do you think you're above the rules?"
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates