CHAPTER 12

Looking at Rukia's blushing face, Abarai Renji felt like he was losing his mind.

Still, despite his awkwardness, the intoxicating aroma radiating from Kuroba was impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, he gave the drunken youth a stiff bear hug.

But then Rukia's next words nearly made Renji question everything.

"Renji, focus. Can't you feel it? It's… different."

Renji stiffened. But the moment he focused inward, his expression changed.

No… not just different. His entire body felt lighter—refreshed.

His pores seemed to open up, and his spiritual power, normally rigid and combative, flowed smoothly through his limbs. Operating his reiatsu felt almost frictionless, like warm water through a pipe.

In fact, for a brief second, he felt an inexplicable urge to cling to Kuroba like a damn koala.

"Oi, Renji, knock it off," Madarame Ikkaku barked. "It's gross watching a grown man hug a drunk like that. Captain Zaraki's already got the wine jug, so let go already."

Ikkaku rolled his eyes and gave Renji a sharp look. Just minutes ago, Renji had been wary of even touching Kuroba. Now he was practically glued to him.

This must be the so-called True Fragrance Law—something too powerful for anyone to resist.

Still, Ikkaku's focus wasn't on Renji's behavior—it was on what Zaraki Kenpachi now held in his hand.

That wine jug.

The moment Kenpachi brought it to his nose and took a deep whiff—

BOOM!

Kenpachi's spiritual pressure erupted without warning.

A deafening crack split the air as the pressure burst out like a tidal wave. Rukia, Renji, and even Ikkaku were pushed back several steps.

And then—snap—the eyepatch.

Kenpachi's reiatsu-sealing eyepatch, made from a special reiatsu-consuming material by the Research and Development Department, was torn apart by the sheer force of his uncontrolled spiritual pressure.

Ikkaku's expression turned serious. "Run," he barked. "That eyepatch suppresses most of the captain's power. If it's broken—then things are about to get real bad."

As Zaraki stood there, almost intoxicated just from the scent, he tilted the jug back and poured the remainder down his throat.

"…Gone?"

He stared at the empty jug, stunned. That lingering high—that razor-edge feeling of a breakthrough—evaporated. His mind snapped back to reality.

Just a bit more, he thought. A little more and that bottleneck he'd hit for years—his stagnating combat growth—might've shattered. The kind of clarity few fighters ever touched was just within reach.

But now? Empty.

A sharp void clenched in his chest. It felt like spiritual blue balls.

He briefly considered waking Kuroba up the Kenpachi way—with a fist to the face.

But… no. He was still a captain, and captains had composure.

After a dry chuckle, Zaraki licked his lips, then slowly closed his eye, suppressing the unrestrained reiatsu that had nearly swallowed the area.

Then, staring down at the unconscious Kuroba and the empty jug, a crooked grin spread across his face.

"This brat… isn't simple. That wine? Better than anything that old lush Kyoraku's ever brewed. He's just made the list—people I must kill one day."

He turned to Renji, who was still trying to process what had just happened.

"Renji. You and Rukia, take the kid to the Shin'ō Academy assessment. Ikkaku will handle the rest."

"I've got a feeling this kid won't disappoint me. And that report to old man Yamamoto? Leave it to me."

Hearing this, Renji finally broke his silence. "Captain Zaraki… about that. I've already handed the assessment report to Captain-Commander Yamamoto. It's already in his hands. The recorded reading was… Sanzhū."

"Sanzhū?" Zaraki blinked, then waved his hand dismissively.

"Doesn't matter. I don't care if it's Sanzhū or even Ichizō. If he fails the test, I'll bring him into the 11th Division anyway. I want to beat the truth out of him myself. And if Yamamoto has a problem, I'll go explain it to the old man directly."

"Now move."

Seeing Zaraki Kenpachi's massive hand wave dismissively as he turned away, his mouth curled into a cruel smile. Despite the brutality of his actions, he left with a parting vow to protect Kuroba, who remained in the 11th Division barracks—after thoroughly pummeling Kenpachi in a drunken brawl that no one had expected him to survive, let alone win.

Rukia's expression held a trace of bitterness as she glanced down at Shiba Kuroba, unconscious in her arms.

This kind of "special treatment" from Captain Zaraki… was it a blessing, or something to pity?

First Division Barracks.

The wide, imposing courtyard of the First Division was unusually quiet.

Kyoraku Shunsui strolled into the central hall, dressed in his trademark pink haori over a flowered kimono, lazily shaking the sake jug in his hand.

"Old man Yamamoto, calling me over in such a rush… Don't tell me it's about that kid again?" he asked as he casually took a seat.

Without opening his eyes, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni leaned slightly on his cane and gestured to his lieutenant.

Chojiro Sasakibe stepped forward and handed a document over to Kyoraku.

"This is the report submitted by the 11th Division," Yamamoto said calmly. "As well as the account given by Kuchiki Rukia, who was present during the incident. Read it."

Kyoraku flipped open the file, scanning through the evaluation notes with mild interest. But when his eyes landed on the name, he paused.

Shiba Kuroba

Zanjutsu: Unknown

Kido: Unknown

Hoho: Unknown

Hakuda: Suspected Excellent

Reiatsu Level: Sanbō (Three Rods)

"Hakuda… excellent? But his reiatsu's only at Sanbō level?" Kyoraku raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that… highly irregular?"

He tapped the file with a finger, frowning thoughtfully.

"Even during my early years at the Shin'ō Academy, I've never seen such an imbalanced profile. High-level hand-to-hand with such weak reiatsu? That can't be common."

Chojiro nodded. "Kuroba was intoxicated during the incident and is currently being held in the Forbidden Spirit Room. His reiatsu level was tested using the black seki stone. While not perfectly accurate, the deviation shouldn't be too large."

"As for the 'Excellent Hakuda' entry, that's based on Kuchiki Rukia's testimony—she reported that Kuroba destroyed a soul-mutated hollow with a single punch."

Kyoraku blinked. "One punch… destroyed a mutated hollow?"

He tilted the sake bottle back, took a sip, and exhaled slowly.

"Well… if Rukia's account is reliable, then I suppose that's worth noting. To blow apart a creature that resilient, especially one with modified soul composition—that's no small feat."

He set the jug down with a dull thunk.

"But… I assume the real reason you called me here wasn't just to discuss some drunken genius's physical capabilities, was it?"

Yamamoto opened his eyes at last, sharp and grave.

"You're correct," the old captain said. "I granted the Shiba family an exception to test this child, not out of sentiment—but to lure out the hand behind recent disturbances. The reappearance of soul-mutated hollows… it echoes the incidents from over a hundred years ago."

He paused.

"Zaraki pursued the escaping entity. But when he reached the outer districts… it had vanished without a trace."