CHAPTER 53

A thick silence hovered over the battleground, distorted by the warped perspective imposed by Hirako Shinji's Zanpakutō, Sakanade. Akira , caught in the dizzying vortex of reversed directions, stood motionless, refraining from drawing his blade.

Shinji, already within striking range, made his move.

Shunpo—

A flash of movement, quicker than a blink. His blade tore through Akira 's abdomen with a guttural shlick, the steel sliding cleanly through flesh and spine. Blood should have followed. Pain should have overtaken him. Instead—

Nothing.

The blade emerged from Akira 's back like a phantom blade piercing smoke.

Shinji leaned close, whispering into Akira 's ear, voice cold and triumphant.

"Let this be a warning, Akira Sōsuke. You overestimated yourself. That's what happens when a little lion thinks he can bare fangs at the captain of the Fifth."

But as he pulled back, ready to step away and confirm his victory, he caught sight of the expressions outside the Eight-Fold Barrier. Unohana Retsu, Shiba Isshin, and Chōjirō Sasakibe… all three stared at him with mixed reactions—amusement, confusion, even pity.

Then came the shrill voice of Sarugaki Hiyori.

"Shinji, you idiot—that's not a real blade!"

His blood chilled.

He staggered a step back and looked down. There, in his hand, his Zanpakutō—Sakanade—was embedded in Akira 's stomach, yes… but there was no blood, no spiritual response from the blade, no feedback. Instead, a stream of dark mist poured silently from the wound, curling like smoke into the air.

Akira 's eyes were serene.

"Is this the great ability of the legendary Sakanade?" he asked softly. "How disappointing. I expected more."

Shinji reflexively yanked his arm back. But before he could gain distance, Akira 's hand reached forward—to grab his wrist.

Only… it wasn't forward. He'd forgotten the effect of Sakanade. His hand moved backward, slamming his own elbow into Shinji's ribs by accident. An awkward moment—but telling.

"Still caught in your own ability," Shinji sneered. "You might be strong, but you're no different from anyone else when under Sakanade's inversion. Every instinct you rely on—parry, dodge, step forward—is reversed. You'd need to overthink every move just to survive, and that's too slow in real battle."

His voice turned mocking.

"For someone like you, whose swordsmanship relies on subconscious perfection, this world is your prison. While you think, I slash."

He spun his Zanpakutō in a loose grip, satisfied. This was over.

But Akira … smiled.

"You've made a mistake, Captain Hirako. You assumed I was still under your spell."

The words were calm, but a chill ran down Shinji's spine.

Akira suddenly reversed his hand—correctly this time—and extended it palm-first toward Shinji. At the center of his palm, a black spiral shimmered, dense and suffocating.

"Kuroimizu. (Dark Water)"

A terrifying suction force surged from the void in his palm. It wasn't just spiritual pressure—it was a gravitational phenomenon. Air warped around it. Reiatsu bent unnaturally. The Kidō barrier, reinforced by Shiba Isshin himself, buckled under the pressure, deforming like soft steel under hammer blows.

Shinji's body was pulled toward Akira , weightless and helpless.

Bakudō? Hadō? Shunpo?

Too late.

Too heavy.

Even breathing became difficult. His limbs felt like they were trapped in stone.

"I… I still have time!" Shinji's thoughts raced. "His attacks must be reversed in this realm. If he tries to strike, the delay will give me a moment—a chance—to counter!"

That hope vanished the moment his body flew directly into Akira 's grip.

His feet dangled.

And then he saw it.

His Zanpakutō, once released, now hung at his side—sealed. No circular guard. No scent. No inversion.

"What?! Where's… Sakanade?"

He looked over his shoulder.

Nothing.

Just the unremarkable blade of a sealed Zanpakutō.

"Did you just now realize it?" Akira asked coldly. "I, too, have a Shikai."

He raised his own blade with his free hand, identical to the one Shinji had failed to pierce moments ago. He plunged it into Shinji's gut—mimicking the very move Shinji had attempted only seconds before.

Shlick—

This time, it was real.

Shinji gasped as steel tore through his midsection and exited from his back. Blood gushed, mouth and abdomen simultaneously.

"You… sealed it…?" he croaked.

Akira nodded, voice quiet but grave.

"Yes. Your Sakanade is no longer in Shikai. I forcibly returned it to its sealed state, along with every metaphysical connection your soul had to its power. At this moment, you are like a trainee in Shin'ō Academy—uninitiated, powerless."

Shinji's face twisted in disbelief.

He wasn't a Hollow. He didn't have Aizen's regenerative gifts. He was just a Shinigami, a man of flesh and blood and bone.

"This… is impossible…" he whispered.

Outside the barrier, Unohana's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.

Isshin narrowed his eyes, muttering, "That ability… to directly suppress the connection between soul and blade…"

Even Sasakibe, normally composed and silent, clenched his fists beneath his sleeves.

A collective shudder passed through the 600-plus Shinigami who bore witness. For a Shinigami, Zanpakutō are not just tools—they are extensions of the soul. To sever that bond, even temporarily, without destroying the weapon outright, was akin to godlike mastery of Reiatsu manipulation.

"He sealed a captain's Zanpakutō Shikai… with one technique… with one hand…" someone murmured.

Akira still held Shinji in the air like discarded cloth.

"You said earlier—'there is no person in the world who can reverse instinct in battle.' You were right. But that's why I didn't reverse mine—I rewrote the rules of the battle itself."

He dropped Shinji unceremoniously. The Fifth Division captain crumpled to the ground, coughing blood, his spiritual pressure flickering like a candle in a storm.

"You don't belong at the head of this Division anymore," Akira said. "And soon… you'll understand why Aizen never truly needed Sakanade on his side."

Unohana took a step forward then, her voice low but edged with warning.

"Enough, Akira . If you kill him, there will be no return."

"I don't intend to," Akira replied calmly. "But the old order ends now."

From the dust and gravity, Shinji wheezed.

"You… monster…"

Akira didn't answer. He merely turned his back and sheathed his blade in a whisper of steel.

In that moment, every captain, vice-captain, and foot soldier present came to the same conclusion.

This wasn't just the rise of a new power.

It was the beginning of a new era in the Soul Society.

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