Chapter 5: One Punch to Shatter Everything
BANG!
The fists collided head-on. Neither side yielded an inch. Every onlooker's pupils shrank in shock. A thunderous impact rolled outward like rolling thunder.
The oni's millstone-sized fist froze for a split second. Then— Bone cracked. Blood sprayed. A sharp, gasping sound escaped. The massive body, like an overinflated balloon, burst under an unstoppable force.
BOOM!
Blood and flesh exploded skyward. The pursuing oni turned deathly pale. Their calves trembled uncontrollably. An enemy so much smaller had just obliterated one of their own with a single punch. The scene was beyond horrifying—it was unthinkable.
"Run! Get the hell out of here!" Sōran roared in pure terror. He finally understood—they had kicked an iron plate this time.
But before they could scatter, Shiba Kuroha—still swaying drunkenly—staggered straight into their midst. A casual flick of his body, a lazy swing of his arm. It felt like ten thousand pounds of force had been unleashed.
WHAM!
A three- or four-meter-tall oni was hurled away like trash. It smashed through several others like a cannonball. Five or six bodies piled together, crashing headlong into the ruined city wall.
BANG!
Another brilliant bloom of blood erupted. Blood and shredded meat rained down, staining the ground crimson. The gruesome spectacle clashed violently with the slender, intoxicated youth at its center. In that moment, everyone finally realized: He hadn't been lying from the start. After drinking, his strikes really were too heavy. Not just killing—obliterating.
"You… stay back! Or I'll kill you!" Sōran howled in panic. His enormous body suddenly felt like dead weight. Especially when he saw that the drunken Kuroha—despite his unsteady gait—was moving far faster than he could match. The shadow of death closed in on him completely.
As the distance shrank, escape became impossible. A flash of madness crossed Sōran's face. He yanked a door-sized greatblade from the ruins, spun, and leaped high.
"Brat! If you're going to hunt us to the last, I'll burn my soul to drag you down with me!"
ROAR!
Sōran bellowed. Crimson light exploded from his body. His seven- or eight-meter frame swelled to over ten meters. Skin flushed as if soaked in blood. Arms ballooned again, muscles on the verge of tearing. The massive blade came crashing down toward Kuroha with earth-shaking momentum.
The overwhelming scene reflected in Rukia's wide eyes. In the moment she snapped back to reality, she froze. An absurd thought flashed through her mind: He's not going to just… punch it apart again, is he?
Her chaotic thoughts raced.
Kuroha let out a loud burp, shook the already-empty sake gourd upside down, then casually hurled it at Sōran.
BANG!
The gourd shot forward like a rocket. In an instant it met the door-sized blade head-on. The blade shattered like glass. The gourd's momentum didn't slow—it smashed straight into Sōran's skull.
CRUNCH!
The massive head exploded. Only the lower half of the body remained, toppling backward with a deafening crash.
The remaining oni scattered like frightened birds. In the blink of an eye, the vast ruins fell into dead silence.
Rukia stood dumbfounded. She had witnessed countless battles. But this kind of crude, overwhelming one-punch obliteration completely overturned her understanding of combat. She had been convinced this was a hopeless death trap—yet a drunkard had solved it in seconds.
"Rukia! Are you okay?"
A figure rushed onto the battlefield. He glanced at Rukia first—confirming she wasn't in mortal danger—then wrinkled his nose. "Rukia… your fighting style's starting to look a lot like those Eleventh Division brutes—rough and messy…"
"Wait—this is that oni Sōran? You actually took him down too? Looks like you've gotten a lot stronger even without training with me lately!"
In the relatively peaceful Soul Society of recent times, the appearance of a mutated oni like Sōran in Rukongai had become a hot topic among capable Shinigami. Rare combat achievements like this were one of the few paths for commoners to rise in rank.
"Renji? How are you here?" Rukia let out a relieved breath. Renji Abarai—her childhood friend and current Sixth Seat of the Eleventh Division—possessed combat power far beyond hers. His timely arrival at least removed her fear of the oni returning for a second attack.
"I was on leave and ran into Captain Kuchiki. He mentioned you were in North Rukongai District 80, so I came to check on you," Renji said quickly. "Captain Kuchiki's here too…"
"Big Brother?" Rukia's expression shifted. Sure enough, Byakuya Kuchiki—clad in his noble haori, face cold and impassive—had appeared atop a ruined building at some point, overlooking the scene from above.
"Did you do all this?" As a captain, Byakuya saw far more than Renji ever could.
"Captain Kuchiki, of course this is the result of Rukia's training! Who else could it be?" Renji scratched his head and laughed. As her childhood companion, he knew full well that—aside from his own burning desire to grow stronger—Rukia had always wanted to prove herself to Byakuya through her own power.
"Rukia," Byakuya said coolly, "are you saying someone else came to your aid just now? As a noble, I hope you won't deceive yourself. The only reiatsu remaining here is yours—and it's faint. You didn't even have time to release your Shikai before the fight ended, did you?"
Shikai? Rukia blinked. The whirlwind of the battle had made her completely forget she even had the option to release her Zanpakutō. But facing Byakuya's calm questioning, she had no time for self-reproach. She hurried to explain:
"Captain… Brother… these oni really weren't killed by me. It was… Shiba Kuroha. He blew them apart with one punch…"
The raw, brutal memory of those scenes made any attempt at polite phrasing impossible. The words slipped out exactly as they were.
Both Renji and—even more shockingly—Byakuya froze.
One punch blew them apart? What kind of nonsense was that?
If they hadn't heard it straight from Rukia's mouth, neither of them would have believed it for a second. In their eyes, Rukia had always been cautious, reserved, even timid. Such outrageous claims shouldn't come from her at all.
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