In the tense silence, blood flowed freely, its dark red sheen reminding every soon-to-be graduate and observing Shinigami of the brutal truth of their world.
At the same time, it carved one name indelibly into their memories.
Kisaragi Akira.
From now on, no matter which squad he joined, all eyes would inevitably fall upon him.
Shiraiki Shinichi lay collapsed on the ground, his once-ferocious expression now twisted into pure terror. The smug confidence he had carried moments ago was gone, replaced only by unspoken fear and pleading.
Yet no one responded.
Under the countless gazes fixed on him, the demon-like boy raised both hands and gave a casual wave toward the viewing platform.
Yamamoto's heart skipped a beat, a foreboding chill creeping along his spine.
Before he could speak to stop him, the dojo reverberated with a voice.
"I am Okami Miyaoji of the Gyakukotsu Shrine, responsible for exorcisms, blessings, prayers, communication with the divine, selling protective charms, and more."
"Fellow future colleagues, if you ever find yourselves in need, you may visit anytime…"
Aizome sighed, rubbing his forehead, fully anticipating this kind of chaos.
This brat was openly advertising his shrine in front of everyone. When the exam was over, there was no doubt Captain Yamamoto would tear him a new one.
On the high platform, Yamamoto's veins stood out sharply, his aura radiating heat and pressure. Had it not been for the timely intervention of the amused Fuchikake, the boy on the floor might have received a direct lesson in why you never, ever provoke the captain.
"You insolent brat… when this exam ends, I will—"
The sudden surge of killing intent hit Akira like a volcanic blast, scorching heat radiating from every direction, threatening to roast him alive.
With no time to respond, he shot a glance at the rapidly simmering Yamamoto and leapt from the dojo floor in a single bound.
Returning to the preparation area, Akira sat up straight, hands on his knees, as if the chaos moments ago had never happened.
Aizome glanced at him and murmured, partly in admiration:
"Unexpected… you actually thought that far ahead."
Akira looked at his friend, confused, large eyes blinking.
"You fought with decisive ferocity, brutal and unrestrained, but as soon as it ended, you put on an utterly harmless facade. You indirectly reshaped the squad members' perception of you."
"This way, after joining a squad, you won't be ostracized. You'll integrate quickly…"
As Aizome analyzed, Akira furrowed his brow, then relaxed it, his face lighting up in sudden understanding.
"Exactly! That's it!"
"You know me best, Souzuke!"
Seeing his expression, Aizome gave up on overanalyzing. This kid was just… advertising his shrine for no other reason than to advertise.
The Shinigami on the viewing platform looked at Akira with complex emotions—fear, respect, admiration…
Above, Unohana Retsu smiled softly, her eyes fixed on him, a peculiar gleam shining in their depths.
"As expected of someone I've been watching," she thought. "Talent, fighting style… everything fits that name perfectly."
On the high platform, Souya Genjirou announced the formal end of the exam. Most of the students had passed, officially becoming Shinigami. Now, they only had to wait for their squad assignments—or submit application letters to the squads they wished to join.
Usually, this method was reserved for geniuses.
For example, Takeo Matsushita and Saori Takeshita submitted applications to their desired squads and were quickly accepted.
As for prodigies like Kisaragi Akira and Aizome, there was no need for letters. The squad officers could sense their talent and approached them directly.
In fact, Akira hadn't even left the dojo before several bold officers had already extended enthusiastic invitations.
Polite as always, Akira assured them he would consider each offer carefully. Though squad assignments could later shift with duties, a cautious approach at the start was wise.
Soon, when most had departed, a gentle-looking, slightly frail man stepped in front of Akira, blocking his way.
"Hello, Junior Kisaragi. I am Fuchikake Jūshirō," he said with a warm smile, a kind of comfort like a central heating system—always pleasant.
"I'm also a disciple of Souzuke, and I joined a bit earlier, so it's no breach of etiquette to call you my junior."
"Hello, Senior Fuchikake," Akira said without hesitation or awkwardness.
From his view in the stands, Akira had seen that if Fuchikake hadn't restrained the furious Yamamoto, he'd likely have been punched squarely in the forehead.
Fuchikake's demeanor suggested he was approachable, just like Captain Unohana in everyday life.
He gestured to the number "13" on his back and asked:
"How about it? Interested in joining my Thirteenth Squad?"
Akira hesitated, pondering.
"No need to answer right away," Fuchikake added with a wink. "This is just routine."
Despite Akira's stunning performance, in the Thirteenth Squad he would need more than fighting skill; social dynamics mattered.
Usually, Fuchikake spent most of his time recovering at Ukandō, helping with paperwork only occasionally.
His junior, Sentarō Kobashi, was extremely strong. Knowing their temperaments, Akira thought letting them clash unsupervised could be disastrous—Kobashi might end up in pieces.
Fuchikake shook his head at the grim thought, then looked back at Akira to speak… only to cough violently.
"Cough… cough… nothing to worry about," he said, wiping his mouth. "Old problem."
Seeing the concern in Akira's eyes, Fuchikake's mind suddenly sparked an idea.
"You mentioned you were from Gyakukotsu Shrine, right?"
Akira nodded.
"Then… do you have charms that protect the wearer's health?"
Expectation flickered across Fuchikake's face. His survival had relied on sacrifices to Lord Mimihaki in his diseased lungs. Now, with his lungs fixed in a three-year-old state, he remained frail, and coughing spells could feel fatal.
He had tried communicating with Lord Mimihaki through the Eye of the Spirit in his lungs, asking if other offerings could grant him health. The answer was something he couldn't endure.
The last unexpected nightmare had been the first proactive communication from Mimihaki. Fuchikake had shared the event with his teacher, Souzuke, learning that the Eye's misuse was linked to the young shrine's priest in front of him.
Fuchikake had wondered countless times what made Akira so special. Was it just talent? He still couldn't comprehend it.
Akira's eyes lit up.
"That's easy," he said. "Consider it a gift for my senior."
He pulled a stack of charms from his pocket, selecting one to hand to Fuchikake. The wooden pieces were stored in his system space, collected from sign-ins.
Fuchikake froze. After such a brutal battle, the charms remained intact.
Aizome sighed quietly nearby. He still had no idea where Akira kept all his things—each time he pulled something out, it was a new surprise.
Fuchikake carefully accepted the charm, inspecting it closely. The delicate white wood bore a familiar design: a majestic figure in black robes, hand extended, embodying sacred authority. On the back of its right hand, a single half-closed eye gazed ahead, calm and unyielding.
"Though it can't guarantee full recovery, it should help a little," Akira said sincerely. "The One-Eyed God will watch over you silently."
Fuchikake touched the charm gently, sensing the familiar power within, then looked up with a warm smile.
"Thank you, junior. If you ever need assistance, don't hesitate to ask."
Akira nodded, accepting this favor graciously.
This senior seemed easy to win over. Once he had Fuchikake on his side, dealing with Kyoraku Harusame of the Eighth Squad would be straightforward. Then, Souzuke would hear only one voice: Kisaragi Akira's.
With that thought, Akira watched Fuchikake depart and then returned with Aizome to the Shinigami Academy, still living in the dorms as their squad assignments were pending.
...
"Souzuke, have you decided which squad you'll join?"
Akira lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Since returning to the academy, he had been pondering the decision.
Based on the offers from Yoruichi and the others, whether it was the Second Squad, Fourth Squad, or the Kido Corps, each had irresistible incentives.
Too difficult a choice.
Aizome was also deep in thought; squad choice was crucial to his future plans. One thing was certain: he would not join the same squad as Akira. Even compared to the captains, Akira's perception was frighteningly sharp.
Long-term proximity would eventually uncover secrets that must remain hidden. They might not even remain friends.
Aizome reviewed squad roles and personalities, predicting which squads Akira would never choose.
"I'll probably be in the Third, Fifth, or Twelfth…"
Before he could finish, the rhythmic snore from the neighboring bed cut him off.
Aizome went silent. Some days, he truly wanted to throttle this brat.
...
The next morning, when the first rays of sunlight touched his face, Akira awoke instinctively—not to his body clock, but to a familiar spiritual pressure weaving a web across the dorm.
Then a gruff voice sounded in his ear:
"Kisaragi Akira, report immediately to the First Squad barracks!"
The contained fury was like a volcano ready to erupt.
Disturbed from his slumber, Akira grimaced and reached for spiritual pressure to block the call, planning to return to a satisfying nap.
But before he could act, the harsh voice spoke again, leaving no room for refusal:
"If you dare block the call to Tenkō Rō, I'll show you what a strict teacher is!"
Click. The call ended.
Early morning, terrified by a screaming old man, Akira groaned weakly as he rolled out of bed:
"This… is life, huh…"
The First Squad barracks, squad leader meeting room.
When Akira was escorted by Major Jirou Suzume to a spacious, slightly luxurious room, his heart skipped.
He eyed the meticulous silver-haired gentleman nearby and asked cautiously:
"Vice-Captain Suzume, there's no squad funeral today, right?"
Suzume regarded him with experience-earned certainty: probably not today, but who could say in the future?
"No," he confirmed.
Relieved, Akira strode in without restraint.
"Souzuke…"
Suddenly, several gazes locked on him, one particularly dangerous, forcing him to swallow his words.
"Cough… Captain, you look well today," he said, feigning politeness.
Yamamoto snorted: "Thanks to you, I'm still alive."
Just thinking of Akira's dojo antics yesterday reignited his anger.
The Shinigami Academy had been operating nearly two millennia, holding over three hundred graduation exams. But nothing like Akira's behavior had ever occurred.
If not for Fuchikake's restraint…
As Yamamoto seethed, Akira's attention swept across the room, recognizing most faces.
Retsu Unohana, Yoruichi Shifune, Tetsuzai Wagiri, Fuchikake Jūshirō—all familiar.
Some unfamiliar but recognizable by appearance: Kyoraku Harusame in pink floral haori, and Ginrei Kuchiki, resembling Kōsumi Kuchiki, wearing the captain's haori.
And some completely unknown—a young man with curly black hair, ordinary face, black Shiba attire, nervous among the veterans.
Yoruichi waved happily, Retsu smiled warmly, her eyes full of expectation.
Wagiri, Fuchikake, and Harusame offered polite nods; Akira responded warmly in kind.
Seeing this, Yamamoto scowled and gestured:
"I called you here to discuss your future assignment."
Akira relaxed slightly, stepping to the center of the room.
"Shouldn't this be my decision?"
Yamamoto nodded.
"Normally, yes. Many talented Shinigami choose their squad via application. But the situation now is… unusual. I must make adjustments."
He paused, gesturing toward the others.
"They all wish to recruit you into their squads…"
...
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