The morning light in the Seireitei filtered harshly through the Academy's windows.
Seishiro dragged himself through the halls, still feeling the echo of pain and chaos from his inner world. Every step was heavy, his muscles sore, his mind still buzzing from the night before. The two Zanpakutō spirits—they—were quiet now, but he could feel their presence lurking just below the surface, watching, waiting.
Renji fell into step beside him. "You look… awful."
"I feel awful," Seishiro muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't think surviving a night like that would be so exhausting."
Rukia appeared a few paces ahead, rolling her eyes. "You always exaggerate. Though… you do look like you went three rounds with an menos grande last night."
Seishiro let out a bitter chuckle, though it quickly turned hollow. "You have no idea."
The Zanjutsu hall was alive with the sounds of clashing blades. Students sparred, each attempting to demonstrate control and skill. Seishiro's eyes scanned the room, cold and distant. His gaze fell on a boy from his year—a cocky, self-assured student who had been showing off for the last ten minutes.
"Ready?" Seishiro asked, his voice low, almost calm.
The boy smirked. "Bring it on, Kuchiki. Don't think I'll go easy just because you're…" He faltered slightly, noticing the strange intensity in Seishiro's gaze.
Before the boy could react, Seishiro moved. Not fast in the usual sense—his footwork was erratic, almost stumbling—but every motion carried a violent unpredictability. His swings were reckless yet terrifyingly precise in outcome, hitting openings the boy didn't even realize existed.
The boy tried to counter, but Seishiro's movements twisted and turned like a storm. He spun, slashed, and ducked, his body bending in impossible angles. Every strike, every feint was unorthodox, self-destructive even; at times he risked overextending or injuring himself, yet he never faltered.
Other students stepped back, whispering. "He's… insane."
The instructor barked, "Seishiro! Control yourself! You're going to kill him!"
Seishiro's lips curled into a faint, almost gleeful smile. "Control isn't survival."
The boy's defenses collapsed under the relentless chaos, leaving him staggering and exposed. Seishiro's final move—a brutal spinning slash that barely cleared the hall's floor—ended with the boy collapsing, exhausted and humiliated.
Seishiro exhaled slowly, breathing heavily, his eyes flickering as though listening to voices no one else could hear. They were quiet now, but their influence lingered, feeding his chaotic brilliance.
Renji, watching from the sidelines, muttered under his breath, red-faced. "Man… he's… he's completely lost it. But… damn, he's good."
Later, in Kido class, everything changed. The students lined up, ready to practice under the watchful eye of Tessai Tsukabishi, the Kidō Corps Commander, who had taken personal interest in today's lesson. His presence alone exuded authority and calm precision, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of Seishiro's Zanjutsu.
Seishiro stepped forward, gripping his Zanpakutō. The memory of last night's inner-world battle was still fresh, but now, instead of reckless energy, he centered himself. Tessai's calm, deliberate instructions guided every movement:
"Concentrate. Feel your energy flow. Hado and Bakudo are extensions of yourself, not instruments of chaos," Tessai instructed, voice steady and commanding.
Seishiro followed each motion, his eyes narrowing. He chanted the incantations for Hado #31, Shakkahō, sending a perfectly controlled energy sphere straight at a target dummy. It struck dead center, immaculately precise, without deviation.
Then, seamlessly, he followed with Bakudo #4, Hainawa, binding the same dummy. The ropes of spiritual energy formed cleanly, constricting with surgical accuracy. No excess, no waste. Every motion flowed logically into the next, every spell executed perfectly under Tessai's guidance.
Renji, attempting the same sequences beside him, sputtered and failed repeatedly. His energy bursts veered wildly, his bindings collapsed, and sweat poured down his face.
Seishiro didn't look at him. His focus was absolute, every movement guided by Tessai's calm authority. To the other students, it was almost shocking: the same man who had been unhinged, chaotic, and destructive in Zanjutsu was now measured, flawless, terrifyingly efficient in Kido.
Even Tessai gave a slight nod of approval. "Well done, Kuchiki. That is the precision I expect."
Renji's jaw dropped. "Wait… what just happened? That… that was Seishiro? The same guy who went berserk in Zanjutsu?"
Seishiro exhaled slowly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Different battlefield, different rules. Chaos isn't always strength. Control… is."
Rukia, standing nearby, gave him a subtle, appraising look. "He's… unpredictable. Completely. And somehow, he adapts faster than anyone else I've seen."
Seishiro's hands rested lightly on the hilt of his Zanpakutō, the tension in his body easing. Inside, they stirred faintly, a whispering reminder of the night before. But for now, he had learned something new: that chaos and precision were two sides of the same coin—and he could wield both.
Renji muttered again, mostly to himself, "I swear… one day I'm going to figure him out. Or die trying."
Seishiro only smirked faintly, letting the words slide past him.
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