The sun shone brightly over the Seireitei, casting golden rays across the Eleventh Division's training grounds. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and steel, punctuated by the constant sounds of clashing blades and battle cries. Warriors of all sizes and ranks sparred with one another, their grins wide, their laughter loud.
This was a place where strength ruled.
Asta stood at the center of it all, his arms crossed, taking in his new home. His uniform now bore the insignia of the Eleventh Division, marking his official status as one of them.
"So this is it, huh?" A wide grin spread across his face.
He had spent years training, fighting, and pushing past his limits to get here. Now, he was finally a part of the division that embodied everything he loved—combat, competition, and the thrill of battle.
But he had no time to bask in the moment.
"Oi, newbie!"
Asta barely had time to turn before a massive shadow loomed over him. A towering Eleventh Division member charged at him, his blade gleaming under the sun.
"Let's see if you're worth keeping around!" the man roared.
The fight began instantly.
Asta's instincts kicked in. He sidestepped just in time as the giant sword came crashing down, splitting the ground where he had stood. Dust and debris flew into the air, but Asta was already on the move.
"Oh, we're starting already?!" he laughed, gripping his Zanpakutō. "Nice! I was getting bored!"
The other squad members whooped and cheered, forming a circle around them. In the Eleventh Division, formalities were tossed aside—only strength mattered. The best way to welcome a new member?
A fight.
Asta's opponent lunged at him again, but this time, Asta met his blade head-on. Their swords clashed, sending a shockwave rippling through the air.
The fight had only just begun.