Second Division's barracks perched atop a high mountain, quiet as a shrine; but the first impression it gave was of a martial sect's headquarters.
That impression only strengthened after they threaded the maze-like corridors and gardens and came to the back mountain: a jagged stone forest straight out of some recluse master's training ground.
And when Soi Fon stood proud on a needle-sharp spire, the very picture of an ascetic adept—no one would believe she wasn't a master, or that this place wasn't a secret dojo.
"You're quick… What's with those faces? Especially you, Ōmaeda, looking like you're watching a comrade march to glory."
"Huh? N-no, well… Captain! I'll get back to work!"
Ōmaeda's panicked retreat only deepened her suspicion.
"Shinomiya—did he bad-mouth me again behind my back?"
"No. He said you looked off. He was slacking and you didn't scold him. Personally, I think that's fine—proof of a strong mind."
Shinomiya's eyes moved up and down her.
"…Right. That's all. He's always making a fuss."
She sounded a touch unnatural, and quickly changed the subject.
"My business can wait… How's your Bankai? If you still haven't remembered, I do have a method—"
"It's done."
"It's a little dangerous, but Bankai training is never—what?"
"I said it's done."
He was relaxed—face, posture, breath, everything had a loose ease to it.
Soi Fon didn't mistake that for openings. That ease sat atop a terrifying, prickling confidence; a soft, tensile coil that could explode at any time.
And beneath it—if you didn't look closely, you'd miss it—was a reiatsu clearly stronger than yesterday, solidly in captain class.
"…What happened? What did you do after you got home?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. Slept."
Shinomiya tilted his chin, admiring the stone forest tinted gold-green by the light.
"Maybe I've been saying things that sound arrogant too often. So last night I slept, for once, and had a good dream… I saw the me who wasn't arrogant. And I remembered."
"They say 'what you think by day, you dream by night.' I guess that's true."
"…I don't think that's why."
Her look was complicated.
"Your heart is too strong. You treat it like a riddle game you'll solve for fun. Otherwise… you wouldn't have slept at all."
The certainty in her tone was like iron.
Shinomiya's gaze flicked to the faint shadows under her eyes; he said nothing.
"Mainly, what you said helped."
"Maybe… So? What's the answer?"
"What answer?"
"…"
She narrowed her eyes.
"The thing you feared most," he sighed. "Honestly, it's not profound. It's almost embarrassing to say sober."
"Oh? Not profound, not philosophical… So: simple and childish? Don't tell me a man like you was going to say snakes or bugs."
"We'll save it for the next time we drink. Promise I won't lie."
"I wouldn't mind if you did. That might be more interesting."
"…Anyway, Captain—you mentioned a 'method,' dangerous but effective. What was it?"
She was clearly in fine spirits—looked ready to hit that izakaya again tonight—so he steered the talk back.
"That?—"
Even if it was obsolete now, Soi Fon glowed with pride at the clever diversion. She clenched a fist; reiatsu surged, a visible wind coiling around her delicate wrist—
—and she snapped a punch straight at his face.
Boom!
Shinomiya didn't dodge. He didn't even blink.
Because the fist stopped dead at the tip of his nose.
The gale didn't so much as chafe his skin; it howled past his cheeks like a train. Behind him, dust roiled and two stone pillars snapped in half with an ear-splitting crash.
He was unharmed. The noise alone would have frozen a vice-captain.
"Well?"
She lowered her hand—disappointed not to see him flinch, but eager for his verdict.
"You know why I did that."
"…"
He did know. Which was why he looked exasperated.
"Captain… you wanted to put me near death so I'd flash through my life on instinct and remember? "
"What's wrong with that? You're trying to remember, not reason. It fits perfectly—and it works for most people. Risky, yes, but cheap for the payoff of a Bankai."
Arms crossed, head tipped, mildly annoyed—she meant every word.
Shinomiya glanced back the way they'd come. Ōmaeda was long gone, but he could still picture that stout frame.
Good.
If the man ever "accidentally" died off duty, he wouldn't be forgotten too quickly.
"Shinomiya?"
"Sorry. I was wondering if you had a Plan B. Normally, you'd have a backup."
"Redundant."
Soi Fon walked to a pillar and said, "You really are forgetful… Last night I told you—I'd show you power beyond imagination. It's not finished, but you can spar with me while I refine it. A change of pace might jog you."
"But you don't need that or the… more 'direct' approach anymore. What a pity."
Reiatsu wreathed her hands again—hotter, more condensed, not wind now but a white blaze: high-density kidō pressure.
She didn't hit hard—just rapped the pillar as if at a door.
The ten-plus-meter-high monolith, too thick for a dozen people to encircle, shattered with a thunderclap. Stone rain fell—then was blasted away by the flaring pressure around her.
"Well?"
Her tone lifted—not smug, but proud.
She didn't wait for an answer.
"A hakuda secret I developed—sheathing limbs in kidō pressure to massively boost striking power. Even a delicate woman like me can crush mountains."
"Paired with top-tier shunpo and hand-to-hand, it's a power-up no inferior to a Shikai."
"And… once it's complete, it may rival a Bankai."
"For the record, what you just saw isn't even half—just the skin of it."
"Right."
Shinomiya nodded slowly.
"Your conversion rate from reiatsu to kidō pressure is too low. The compression is rough; you're late on the wrap and the 'fit' around your limbs is loose. When you punch, force bleeds out."
"Best outcome is pinpoint detonation; second best, bombardment; worst, shockwave. Right now, you're at 'worst.'"
"Your reiatsu 'ports' are narrower than average—that's physiology. But flip it: stop trying to dump a lot at once. Bleed it out at very high frequency, make the pressure cut like a blade…"
"And your conversion efficiency is poor. Likely a focus issue. I suggest—what's with that face?"
"…?"
Soi Fon's mouth opened, then closed.
Yes, she'd asked him to 'spar'—but wasn't he the one who needed the mental break?
"…Is Fifth Division's kidō course that good? You're a first-year and you understand applied kidō pressure this well?"
"Aizen's kidō lectures helped a lot, but that's not it… Pardon me, Captain, hasn't the Surveillance Room shown you footage of my fights in the World of the Living? I used a move that combines swordsmanship and kidō into a final form… Isn't that why you asked me to help you train?"
Shinomiya looked honestly baffled.
Soi Fon blinked.
"The Image Hall isn't omniscient. It can't capture everything clearly… Usually we just get clips when you make a huge mess. I don't recall that move. I remember you releasing your Shikai and breaking things."
"When we surveyed the battlefield where you fought that Adjuchas, we did find a massive gouge like from a sword… but isn't that your Shikai?"
"…"
"…"
They stared at each other. Everything each said sounded right—and yet something was off.
"Forget it. Not important…"
She shook her head hard, then glared at him.
"You said it—'final form combining sword and kidō,' right?"
"Did I?"
He frowned.
Whoosh!
A fist came like a shell.
He slipped aside. The way he moved—so clean it seemed to float—made her frown in turn.
"Hey, Shinomiya. Who taught you that shunpo?"
"I figured it out. If you want, I'll teach you—like I did with your pressure."
His casual tone made her snort a laugh.
"Do you know who you're talking to? Whatever. I brought you here to fight. Whether it's a hazy vision or a finished technique, nothing beats a bout. Use your new Bankai if you want. Get the feel of it."
"No… that's too unfair."
He shook his head.
Soi Fon was about to declare, Even with your Bankai, you won't beat me yet. But the instant his hand touched the hilt, every hair on her body stood up.
They were far apart; yet it felt like a blade was already on her throat—a thing that would, in the next beat, become true.
"…Fine. Show me how 'beyond imagination' it is."
She stripped her mind of clutter. Whatever this was, it wasn't a joke.
The stone forest roared and boomed.
Time slipped.
In a blink, it was three days before the execution.
That was when West Rukongai, District 1—Junrin'an—received three uninvited guests.
To everyone, they were—
"Ryoka."
-------
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