Whoosh—
At the very instant of Fūjin Taichi's "Hollowfication," time seemed to freeze. The originally bare underground training ground suddenly transformed into a vast, boundless wasteland—his inner Zanpakutō meditation world.
At the very center of this wilderness stood a towering mountain that pierced the clouds. Upon its summit rose a magnificent golden palace, radiant and resplendent, shining brilliantly beneath the orange sunlight.
Huu—
A green whirlwind suddenly swept across the silent inner world, passing over the head of the youthful sovereign, Emperor Mikado, who sat at the edge of a cliff before the palace.
His silver hair fluttered in the wind, along with his loose crimson short robe, which snapped sharply in the gusts.
"Reckless as ever… that guy,"
Emperor Mikado slowly raised his head, looking toward the sky—where a blue-black Hōgyoku had suddenly appeared, faintly glowing.
"Hmph! I said long ago he was too weak… too weak to withstand even one percent of my king's divine authority!"
Fūma, dressed in a purple robe, stepped behind Emperor Mikado and sneered.
"Don't be so harsh, Kyu,"
Emperor Mikado replied softly, his emerald eyes fixed on the floating Hōgyoku.
"For him to reclaim the power of a Shinigami with this shattered spiritual body—gravely wounded by 'Gōen's' Ame-no-Habakiri—is no easy feat."
"Tch… If you hadn't interfered last time, I would've already taken over this body! In the end, you still harbor illusions about him defeating Gōen."
Fūma snorted, folding his arms. He glanced at the blue-black Hōgyoku in the sky.
"You didn't summon me now just to make me help him again, did you?"
"Indeed."
Emperor Mikado nodded slightly, speaking in a solemn tone.
"I can already sense that Gōen is recovering his power.
"If Taichi cannot master the power of the Divine Authority before that happens, then this world created by God—the Human World sustained by the Soul King's life, Hueco Mundo, Soul Society, and even Hell—will cease to exist."
"Hmph… What does that have to do with me?"
Fūma turned away bitterly.
"All I care about now is the right to use this body. Until I claim it, no one is allowed to damage it."
"Oh? Is that so?"
Emperor Mikado smiled faintly and pointed toward the Hōgyoku in the sky.
"But if you don't destroy that thing now…
"This entire inner world will gradually be contaminated and altered by it. By then, not even the Divine Authority will be able to restore it."
"…Fine. I get it. In the end, you're still choosing his side."
Fūma replied impatiently. With a leap, he shot into the sky, grabbed the blue-black Hōgyoku—and swallowed it whole.
"No…"
Watching this, Emperor Mikado reached up and clasped the golden star pendant hanging at his chest.
"I am merely obeying… God's will. Protecting Taichi—and this world."
…
More than fifty years earlier—
On a moonless, windy, desolate night, inside the long-abandoned Dojo No. 38 in the back garden of the Shin'ō Academy, the sharp sounds of blades cutting through the air rang out repeatedly.
Hah—
"Ha!"
Fūjin Taichi swung his Asauchi again and again, slashing fiercely at an imaginary opponent before him. Sheathe. Draw. Slash again.
"Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine!"
With a low roar, the Asauchi slipped from his hand and clattered onto the ground. He collapsed onto the floor, sitting heavily, mouth wide open as he gasped for breath.
"Still not good enough… too slow."
Lying flat on his back, Taichi thought bitterly:
Drawing the blade ten thousand times a day sounds simple—but actually doing it is unbelievably hard!!
By today, it had been the third day he'd practiced "ten thousand draw-and-slash strikes" inside this abandoned dojo.
Yet every time he reached the thousandth draw, his movements would grow slower and slower. His body became increasingly uncoordinated, as though filled with molten lead—heavy and sluggish from head to toe.
I simply can't maintain the strength, speed, and precision of that very first strike! At this rate… after graduation, becoming even a seated officer would be a stretch—let alone some "strongest captain"!
Drip.
Beads of sweat the size of soybeans slid down both sides of Fūjin Taichi's cheeks, falling one by one onto the wooden floor with crisp tapping sounds.
"Maybe… I should just forget it…"
Staring blankly at the mottled ceiling, the thought of giving up suddenly welled up in his mind.
Really… maybe I should just quit!
Since I don't have genius-level talent like Tōshirō Hitsugaya, why push myself this hard?
At most, I'm just an insignificant "bystander." Wouldn't it be fine to muddle along and survive like I did during that Soul Burial internship?
What does the safety of Soul Society have to do with me? What does it matter whether Sōsuke Aizen betrays anyone or not? And the Bounts? The Thousand-Year Blood War? What do any of those have to do with me?
As these thoughts spiraled, the black pupils of Taichi's eyes grew increasingly unfocused, his mind turning chaotic.
That's right. Why can't I just be a peaceful outsider in Bleach, sit back and wait for the protagonist—Ichigo Kurosaki—to power up? Wouldn't that be nice?
Rustle—
Taichi suddenly sat upright from the floor, staring intently at the Asauchi lying beside him. He muttered:
"Yeah… For someone like me—'ambition higher than the sky, fate thinner than paper'—why keep trying to change the plot and throw myself into danger? Wouldn't it be better to just live quietly as an ordinary Shinigami?!
"So… I might as well snap this Zanpakutō in half. That way, I won't keep daydreaming about nonsense like 'becoming the strongest captain.' In that case…"
He picked up the Asauchi in his right hand and raised it high above his head. His left hand gripped the tip of the blade tightly. A flash of resolve crossed his eyes.
"Let this be the end, Fūjin Taichi!"
Bang!
But just as he was about to break the blade, a pebble suddenly shot in from outside the dojo and slammed hard against the sword, producing a deafening clang!
"What?!"
Taichi jolted. The Asauchi slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He whipped around toward the direction the stone had come from—
"Crap… I've been spotted!"
With a startled cry, a female Shinigami with onion-shaped hair buns leapt down from the window and dashed off into the thick night.
"That was—"
Taichi froze for a moment. As he watched the disappearing figure, the light gradually returned to his eyes.
"Rukia…?"
Would the dignified heroine—Rukia Kuchiki—really pay attention to someone as insignificant as me?
I never would have expected that…
"But… thank you! If you hadn't knocked me just now, I might've really gone down a dead end I couldn't escape from!! In that case—"
Taichi picked up the Asauchi again and gave it a casual swing in front of him before sliding it back into its sheath. Then, in one swift motion, he drew and slashed forward, shouting:
"Ten thousandth strike!!!"