Soul Society, Squad Five Barracks—Training Grounds.
Sssht!
A blade split the air—and the front of Ichigo's gi. He'd jerked back in time, but when his feet hit the ground a spray of blood still blossomed across his chest.
He ignored the pain, forced his breathing steady, and locked his eyes on the two figures trading places in a blur ahead of him.
Sparks bloomed in the air like rain striking a pond—too many to count. Steel rang on steel in a rolling peal that rattled the heart. The reiatsu sloughing off from their clash had torn the training field to pieces.
For ordinary officers, the fight might as well have been happening on a different timeline—another dimension entirely.
One of the figures went flying.
Ichigo launched himself forward without thinking, trying to catch the opening and strike the one still standing.
"Haa…"
Shinomiya's face was slick with sweat, heart drumming like a war taiko. Every muscle and bone in his body ached; more than a few cuts had gone to the bone. The sustained, high-intensity exchange had driven his body to its limit.
He decided he was done.
He stepped aside, sat down, slid his Zanpakutō back into its sheath, then grabbed the water jug they'd prepared. Half of it went over his head. The rest he downed in a single pull.
The moment he finished, there was a thud. Ichigo crashed at his feet and skidded to a stop.
"…"
Shinomiya calmly picked up Ichigo's canteen and poured it over his face.
"G—cough! What the hell, man!"
"You looked like you weren't getting up. Consider it… targeted assistance. Effective, no?"
"Ever heard of a normal way to help? A normal way!"
Spluttering, Ichigo rolled over, snatched the canteen back, and chugged. "Hah… back among the living."
"That's enough for today."
Aizen strolled over, composed as ever. Unlike the two in practice gear, he wore a captain's uniform with his Zanpakutō in hand—polished, imposing. Even the aftertaste of his battle aura pricked at the heart like needles.
Ichigo's fingers twitched toward his hilt on reflex. Shinomiya's body tensed as well.
Pure instinct. Their bodies recognized a lethal threat.
"Thank you for putting up with us, Sensei… You're chasing Gin in secret and still sparring with us."
"It has been a little taxing. Your progress is simply too fast. If I don't draw on my real strength, it doesn't train you at all. A good problem to have, I suppose. Half a month has already gone by in a blink; our window is narrowing."
"Yeah."
Shinomiya squinted toward the Sōkyoku Hill.
Ten-plus days since Central 46's notice. In that time, he and Ichigo had trained under Aizen almost nonstop.
Leaving themselves ragged was no longer an unusual outcome.
"Done!"
Ichigo wiped sweat away with the back of his hand, satisfied with the result. Shinomiya tested his arm. The gash that had nearly severed his tendon was gone—no scar, only a lingering weakness.
Why this hell-camp could keep going day after day without crippling them came down to one thing:
Ichigo.
Unohana's guidance had been dead on. Taking real wounds in real exchanges had piled up experience for Ichigo; his Kaidō grew more deft by the day. He could close a deep cut in seconds, and still have the bandwidth to patch Shinomiya on the fly.
They were back on their feet and ready to go again tomorrow.
Even Aizen, who'd first suggested Ichigo specialize in Kaidō, had been impressed. "Fast" didn't cover it anymore.
Technique was one factor; the other was raw fuel—Ichigo's swelling spiritual pressure. On top of that, some Quincy-borne instinct—"Blut"—seemed to help with healing from the inside out.
"At this rate, I'm worried Captain Unohana is going to yank me into Squad Four… Shinomiya, if that happens, you'd better think of something."
As proud as Ichigo was of his Kaidō, the thought of Unohana's kindness plus Squad Four's mandate gave him a headache. He'd already promised Ukitake he'd join Thirteen.
Not for any grand reason—Division Thirteen handled purification duty in the World of the Living. Vice-captains didn't do routine posts, but "field inspections" were always an option, right?
"Just tell her you don't want to. With your Kaidō, she couldn't kill you if she tried."
"That's not the kind of endorsement I wanted! I asked for a plan that doesn't involve knives."
"Why not ask Sensei?"
Ichigo glanced at Aizen.
"In this case… why not ask Captain Ukitake?" Aizen mused. "He's your future CO. He won't ignore your problem."
"Fair."
Fair—but the way these two tossed the ball back and forth made Ichigo feel like the odd man out.
Aizen didn't stay long. Gin needed watching. Paperwork, too—he couldn't dump everything on Hinamori. Otherwise her "death" would look too much like burnout.
…Which, actually, doubled as an alibi.
"'Overworked vice-captain goes out to clear her head and gets lured into a trap.' Pitiful, infuriating—people get angry, and angry people don't think. Sensei gives her letter the right literary polish, and—"
"Do you hear yourself? This is starting to sound like we're plotting to topple Seireitei."
Shinomiya shrugged. "We already crossed Central 46. In a sense, what's the difference?"
He clapped Ichigo on the shoulder. "Worry about your Bankai. Thanks to Sensei driving me into a corner again and again, my soul's stared down extinction often enough that my reiryoku keeps spiking. Day drills, night 'meditation'… Stage One, materialization, is nearly done."
"Heh. Mine's done."
Shinomiya's "brush with death spikes power" theory worked, which was why they trained like this. Grinding technique alone was a luxury they didn't have time for.
"That said… I don't feel weaker than Byakuya. I might even last a while against Unohana. But against Sensei? Not even a sliver of hope. Pure one-sided suppression."
"And it's only when he bares killing intent that we feel close enough to death to break through. That's the only reason I could finish materialization this fast."
"Stage Two—subjugation is where I've hit a snag, though."
"Why not ask Sensei while he was here?"
"I… don't want other people to know. You, though? Different."
Shinomiya cocked an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me like that! I mean you can summon… things no Shinigami should. You said they're European monsters, remember? We might actually speak the same language here."
"All right. Talk."
Ichigo sank his blade into the dirt, exhaled. "Last night, I went into my inner world during blade-meditation…and met a Hollow that looks exactly like me."
"…Which one?"
"A Hollow! Did you forget what a Hollow is? Mask, twisted shape, hunts souls—Hollow!"
"Except yours didn't have a mask, or a twisted shape, or go around hunting souls. So why are you sure he's a Hollow?"
Shinomiya's look turned… complicated.
-------
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