The Captain of the Fifth Division of the Gotei 13, Shinji Hirako, was trudging sluggishly toward the Shin'ō Academy.
He yawned, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shihakusho, radiating an aura that screamed he wanted to be anywhere but at work.
"So annoying... teaching brats and all that. Captains are supposed to be busy people, you know?"
Complaining aside, his feet didn't stop. This was a strict mandate from Captain-Commander Yamamoto: every two weeks, a seated officer had to lecture at the Academy, and once a month, a Captain had to personally oversee the instruction, with the divisions rotating the duty.
This month, it was the Fifth Division's turn.
Shinji Hirako had zero interest in "nurturing the future." He just wanted to mumble through a few words, find a nice spot under the sun, and take a nap.
The classroom door slid open with a sharp clack.
He walked in, ignoring the various gazes from the students, and drifted straight behind the podium.
"I'm the Captain of the Fifth Division, Shinji Hirako," he began lazily. "Today, what I'm gonna teach you guys is—"
"Captain Hirako! I want to learn Hakuda!"
An energetic voice cut him off mid-sentence.
Shinji looked up. In the front row, a petite girl was holding her hand high, her eyes sparkling with excitement. It was Mashiro Kuna.
His eyes brightened slightly; this student was actually quite cute. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he changed his mind.
"Fine." Shinji tossed the lesson plan he'd prepared onto the desk. "Everyone, head to the training grounds. Today, we're doing Hakuda."
What was supposed to be a boring class to slack off in had suddenly become interesting. He finally felt like scanning the rest of the room. Not bad, he thought, this year's batch of female students has quite a few beauties.
That was until his gaze swept across the back corner of the classroom.
A male student sat there, back straight as a sword, face devoid of expression. He radiated a cold "don't come near me" vibe. Yet, despite that, four or five female students were huddled around him, whispering and stealing glances his way.
Shinji clicked his tongue. Just because he's got a pretty face? All style, no substance.
He let his Reiatsu sense drift over... Tch. Grade Nine spiritual power. It's a toss-up if he'll even make it to a seated position in the future.
On the training grounds, Mashiro Kuna was on the offensive.
Her fists whistled through the air and her kicks were powerful, but Shinji blocked every strike with casual ease.
"No good," Shinji shook his head. "Your attacks are too straightforward."
"You need to use feints. For example, act like you're going for the upper body to trick them into raising their guard, then strike the lower half."
"Still no! Way too obvious!"
"Waaaaah!"
Mashiro suddenly plopped onto the ground and started wailing loudly. "This is no good, that's no good! Then what am I supposed to do!?"
Shinji's head began to ache instantly. He hated it when girls cried.
"Fine, fine! You're good, you're great," he scrambled to soothe her. "You get full marks for today's class. Go rest over there."
Mashiro instantly sucked back her tears and ran off giggling.
Shinji sighed in relief, then raised a finger, pointing at the cold-faced boy who had been standing quietly at the edge of the field.
"You. Yeah, you. Stop watching and get up here."
Yandera Mirai walked onto the training ground and stood firmly before him.
Shinji sized him up again and had to admit—the brat was indeed handsome.
"What's your name?"
"Reporting, Captain. My name is Yandera Mirai."
Damn, even the name sounds cool, Shinji thought, narrowing his eyes.
"You saw what I was teaching Mashiro just now, right? Come on, give it a try."
"Understood."
Mirai took a stance and then launched a direct punch at Shinji's face.
Shinji sneered inwardly. Grade Nine power and he doesn't even learn properly. At best, he'll end up as a nameless grunt.
But in the next heartbeat, that direct punch suddenly halted.
A shadow of a leg whipped up silently from below, aiming straight for a vital point.
Shinji reached down and blocked it firmly. "Not bad. You know how to use a feint."
He praised him out loud, but inwardly he was muttering: The hell was that angle? This kid goes straight for the vitals?
With a slight shove, he sent Mirai back a few steps. Shinji's expression soured slightly. This student looked cold and disciplined, but his fighting style was... vicious.
As they continued, Mirai's attacks were relentless: eye-gouges, throat strikes, shin kicks—all "dirty" street-fighting moves that the Academy would never officially teach.
If the gap in their Reiatsu hadn't been so massive, Shinji might have actually been caught off guard by a move or two.
"That's enough."
He called a halt, staring at the slightly panting Mirai.
"Did you teach yourself this Hakuda?"
The Shin'ō Academy taught standardized, disciplined combat techniques. They certainly didn't teach students to shatter their comrades' noses.
Mirai stood perfectly straight, his voice clear and resonant. "It is all thanks to the excellence of the teachers' guidance."
A glint of light flashed in Shinji's eyes.
He knew exactly what the Academy teachers taught. This kid was a wolf in sheep's clothing—brutal in his execution, yet maintaining the facade of a perfect, respectful student on the surface. Aside from his low spiritual grade, he was the picture-perfect graduate the Academy looked for.
"Today's class is over."
Shinji announced the dismissal, but couldn't help stealing a few more glances at Mirai as he left. The boy was walking away quickly, his face frozen in that same cold mask, quickening his pace just to lose the group of girls trying to follow him.
Shinji Hirako let out a soft chuckle. "Interesting kid."
A year later, Shinji Hirako stood in a classroom at the Shin'ō Academy once again.
This time, he completely ignored Mashiro's waving hand.
"Sit down," he tapped the podium. "Today's lecture is about 'Social Conduct and Etiquette'."
The students fell silent.
Shinji spoke slowly. "Suppose you're at a dinner. Your superior suddenly says, 'This fish tastes good, but it has too many bones.' How would you respond?"
Mashiro was the first to raise her hand.
"Mashiro, go ahead."
"Are you not gonna eat it then? Can I have the rest?!" Mashiro's eyes glowed, and she looked like she was about to drool.
"...Just sit back down." Shinji gave up on communicating with her.
The next few students gave mediocre answers, ranging from "I will pick the bones out for you" to "I'll make sure we have a different fish next time."
"Yandera Mirai," Shinji called out.
Mirai stood up, back straight, his expression as indifferent as ever.
"That depends on who is eating it," his voice was steady. "If you give the fish to a cat, the cat thinks it's delicious. If you give it to a dog, the dog complains about the bones."
He paused, then added coldly, "As for me, I didn't notice any bones. Perhaps the problem isn't the fish, but that you are simply too good at nitpicking."
"Pfft! Hahaha!" Mashiro burst out laughing, slamming her desk.
Shinji Hirako didn't laugh.
He narrowed his eyes, and beneath the podium, his finger twitched. A nearly invisible, thin strand of Reiryoku—a spirit ribbon—shot from his fingertip, silently wrapping itself around Mirai's wrist.
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