CHAPTER 43

In a word.

Abandoning chant, double chant, imitation duet—none of them can achieve what Abandoning Duet can. And what the others can do, Abandoning Duet can refine, elevate, and complete. This is the Kidō form that transcends layering spells or juggling recitations. It is Kidō divorced from incantation and rhythm—a pure spiritual harmony without voice.

This is Abandoning Duet.

"You're skipping class to train for your Bankai or just dodging White Hits drills entirely?" Shihouin Yoruichi asked flatly, her arms crossed as she leaned against the practice hall's inner wall.

"I've seen your name scratched off the roster four days in a row. Not even attending Urahara's White Hits module. So, I came to see what genius excuse you'd throw at me. Maybe help you catch up. You're lucky I'm kind enough to give you a private lesson."

"And what's my reward? Sixty light pillars to the face. Bakudō #61: Rikujōkōrō, multiplied sixfold. That's what you give your tutor, Akira?"

Yoruichi's sharp gold eyes glanced past the fading glow of the hexagonal light bars still hovering in front of her. Their lingering glow made her frown—not because of the sting, but the implication.

The array felt cleaner than standard incantation-free casting, but not a true Abandoning Chant. And the way the spell doubled and overlapped in delayed intervals—that was something else entirely. Not mimicry. Not layering.

"That," Akira said calmly, not rising from his cross-legged seat, "is why I don't need to attend the White Hits class."

"I'm not falling behind. Not in Hakuda. Not when I've integrated it into my personal system. Even Yoruichi-dono should understand that."

"Oh? So Kisuke's already giving you permission to ghost his classes, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes, but there was amusement behind the irritation.

"You think skipping drills, just because you have talent, makes you superior?"

"No," Akira replied, tilting his head slightly. "But White Hits isn't ready to teach me yet. I'd rather push through on my own, let it evolve."

Yoruichi's brow twitched.

If it was anyone else, she'd call it arrogance. But she saw it—that stillness in his stance, the total absence of waste in his breathing, the internal rotation of energy that most students hadn't even glimpsed. He wasn't bluffing.

Still.

"Let's test that then," she said, brushing aside her sleeveless cloak and stepping forward barefoot. "No Zanpakutō. No Kidō. No Reiatsu spikes. Just raw Hakuda and Shunpo."

She smirked.

"If you're really that confident, spar me. Prove your White Hits isn't just talk."

Akira hesitated.

Until—

[White Hits is extremely dissatisfied with Shihouin Yoruichi's provocation. It has requested combat to uphold its pride. Beginning tonight, it will train tirelessly to develop a new Shinigami body art.]

Akira sighed softly. White Hits was emotional today.

"Fine," he said, standing slowly. "Three moves. I'll let you go first."

That wiped the smirk right off her face.

"You little—!"

Yoruichi didn't finish the sentence. She simply moved.

Her form vanished in a burst of Shunpo, a movement as fast and silent as blinking. A lesser eye would've missed it entirely—but Akira didn't need to move. He just tilted his head—barely.

Yoruichi's jab cut the air next to his cheek.

He hadn't even stood up fully.

"Don't get cocky!"

She spun, switching her fist to a claw, using the forward momentum to rake at his jaw. It was a classic Shihouin close-quarters feint—turn the punch into a grapple mid-motion. Meant to disable joints.

Akira's response?

Another micro-movement.

His chin slipped back at an unnatural angle. Not a retreat—more like a snake pulling back just beyond reach. She felt her fingers slice air, but not skin.

Her instincts flared.

"Let's see you dodge this!"

She pivoted and swept her leg low like a scythe, a kaiten geri designed to collapse a ribcage if blocked, or remove footing if dodged improperly.

Akira's body responded like water. His upper body bent, spine rotating like a serpent's coil, flowing just above her strike. The technique wasn't Shihōin style. Not Onmitsukidō.

Something entirely different.

"Three moves."

Akira's hand shot forward.

Not a palm. Not a fist. A single extended finger, stabbing like a bullet.

So fast!

Yoruichi twisted into a somersault, legs over shoulders, spine arching. Her hand hit the floor first and flipped her backwards, pure momentum fueling her retreat.

But Akira was already behind her.

He stomped down three times in the blink of an eye—creating overlapping echoes.

He blurred forward like a black flame.

"You're not using Reiatsu, are you?!" she gasped mid-movement.

"No."

"Then how the hell are you doing that?"

Yoruichi ground her teeth.

Shunpo without spiritual pressure… That's something only the Shihouin line has mastered! She had trained her body since childhood to perform flash steps by sheer physical compression and expansion, using muscle elasticity and perfect balance.

But he was doing it too. Not copying—creating. Innovating.

No wonder Urahara had been vague when she asked about Akira.

Damn you, Kisuke.

"Fine!" she snapped.

Yoruichi stepped forward and vanished.

But this time, she split.

One became four.

Four identical Yoruichi figures—each stepping in different directions using subtle vibration dispersal, a Shihouin footwork secret meant to confuse even advanced trackers. Not even flash clones—actual multidirectional misleads using her signature move:

Shunshin: Utsusemi (Cicada Shell).

She used the special breathing and skin-shedding trick to misdirect Akira's senses. All four were identical—no Reiatsu, no footprints, no staggered movement.

"Let's see you read this!"

Akira didn't blink.

He smiled.

Of course he recognized Utsusemi. It was one of the most visually iconic steps from the original manga—used by Yoruichi during her confrontation with Soifon.

But unlike Soifon, Akira wasn't chasing phantoms.

He stood still.

Then, precisely as the real Yoruichi moved in from above, Akira's body twisted—not in fear, but in acknowledgment. A motion that reoriented his shoulder like it dislocated, rotating past her strike and snapping back with kinetic snapback like a spring.

Their blows nearly met—but passed like currents.

"You… countered Utsusemi?"

Yoruichi stared, still airborne. She hadn't touched the ground.

Akira's voice was calm.

"I only know one of your four secret Shihouin footwork moves."

Yoruichi blinked.

"…You what?"

"I know Utsusemi. The rest? Unrecorded. But I'm not here to mimic them."

"I'm here to surpass them."

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