"By the Eleventh Division's custom—if you kill me, you won't be punished. On the contrary, you could take my place as the new Kenpachi. Ikkaku and Yumichika are witnesses. They'll vouch for you."
Zaraki Kenpachi's voice was low, rough. "Not a bad offer, is it?"
At the edge of the dōjō, Madarame Ikkaku and the other two were silent.
They knew Kenpachi's nature better than anyone.
And for Ikkaku and Yumichika, the man they respected most...
Their greatest wish was to die at his side in battle.
So for him to say this, to make such a decision, there was no possibility they would contradict it.
But Nobu only sighed softly and shook his head.
"Not a good one."
Kenpachi's voice rasped, dropping lower. "So… to you, I'm not worth dying under your sword?"
Nobu gave a small laugh. "Captain Zaraki, that's far too heavy a topic. This was supposed to be a spar, wasn't it? Besides—my sword stopped being a killing sword long ago."
He paused.
"Still, Captain Zaraki… you're the purest person I've ever met when it comes to battle. As a token of respect—please, lose beneath my blade."
"…"
Kenpachi's grip tightened on his jagged sword. The figure before him blurred—he moved on instinct, blade coming up to block.
Bang!
Steel met steel, bone vibrating under the impact.
Reiatsu waves surged outward.
Kenpachi's split lips pulled into a grin, blood running freely over a body already scored with wounds.
He saw it clearly—Nobu's speed wasn't so great that he couldn't follow it.
The man's reiatsu fluctuations weren't overwhelming either—simply too tightly contained.
Only when Nobu pressed the attack did Kenpachi realize—perhaps the gap between them wasn't so wide.
Maybe the reason he hadn't been able to cut Nobu was the man's Zanpakutō's ability.
But the thought had barely formed before a cold gleam shot straight for his face.
Kenpachi's pupils shrank. He snapped his sword up in a vertical block.
Edge screamed against edge, his jagged blade throwing sparks as Nobu's sword edge traced past his Adam's apple.
Swish!
Another slash, swift as lightning—
in his eyes it was just a single point of light, rapidly swelling.
He moved to raise his sword in a backhand riposte, but Nobu's blade was faster, plunging into the bone of his shoulder.
Blood fountained between their crossed weapons.
Kenpachi hadn't even felt the pain yet when ten more sword-shadows bloomed before his eyes.
Fast.
That sword was impossibly fast—faster than shunpō, faster than his senses.
He roared and swung in defiance, ignoring the screaming of his battered body.
Edges scraped in a shrill wail, steel clashed and spat sparks—he swung, but didn't know how many strikes he was blocking.
More columns of blood burst from his chest.
The jagged blade bent under the battering, curling toward the shape of a dying bow.
Shards of broken steel and bright blood mingled in the air, scattering into the beastlike glare of his eyes.
Shing—
Nobu's asauchi slid cleanly into its sheath.
Kenpachi saw it—and saw, too, the instant it came free again.
A growl rumbled up his throat.
He wanted to counter, but his body lagged, dragging him back.
And then—
A long, narrow streak of cold light rose from below.
The blood-mist before his chest split open. His organs were pierced through.
Everything in his vision began to fall away, bottom to top.
The world froze—no sound, not even the thump of his own body hitting the floor.
First, he saw Nobu standing, droplets of blood clinging to his blade—then the cracked, swaying rafters above.
Can't move…
The dōjō was still at last.
Until a single speck of dust settled onto Kenpachi's face... Yet it felt like a mountain falling, smashing pain through his body.
His eyes widened.
A breath stuck in his throat and refused to leave.
Hhh—
He sucked in sharply, then coughed hard, blood thick and sticky spilling past his lips.
Nobu walked over at an unhurried pace, stopping beside the man lying motionless on the floor.
His sword tip hovered above Kenpachi's chest.
A glow of spiritual power flowed out, sheathing Kenpachi's entire body.
Within moments, the pain receded like a tide, and wounds—every one from the fight—were gone without a trace.
Nobu flicked the blood from his asauchi and slid it slowly into its sheath.
Only then did Ikkaku and the others, who had seen everything, come back to themselves.
It was over.
The Captain… had lost, utterly.
"Captain Zaraki, are you planning to lie there forever?"
At Nobu's voice, Kenpachi's fingers twitched.
He reached for his sword, gripped it, and pushed himself upright.
Silence hung for a moment before he said, "You won."
"As expected."
His hair was in disarray, the wild ferocity from the fight gone, replaced by a calm, hard mask.
He opened his mouth as if to speak—then closed it again.
After a while, he asked, "You went to Fourth Division… for her?"
Nobu turned his head slightly toward him.
"You could say that."
"Have you fought her yet?"
"Not yet."
Kenpachi gave a quiet, amused snort, then stood.
The massive frame rose again before Nobu.
Even in defeat, none of his untamed spirit had dimmed.
He hefted the sword—now even more chipped—onto his shoulder.
He didn't ask whether Nobu would win.
That was between Nobu and that person.
Right now, he wasn't standing on the same level as either of them.
His eyes on Nobu grew colder, then—suddenly—he slid his sword back into its sheath.
A faint smile curved Nobu's lips.
"The spar's over. I should be going."
He looked up at the battered ceiling. "I assume I'm not fixing this, right?"
Kenpachi ignored him.
Nobu gave Ikkaku and Yumichika a small wave. "I'm off."
Pushing open the door, he found the courtyard outside already full of people.
Seeing him walk out without a scratch, their faces shifted with doubt and surprise.
They hadn't seen the fight—and didn't know the outcome.
No familiar faces among them, so Nobu simply walked through the crowd and out of the Eleventh Division barracks.
It was only after turning a corner that he let his body relax, one hand bracing against the wall as he exhaled a long breath.
His spiritual power was almost gone.
The fight had taken maybe half, but healing Zaraki at the end had drained the rest.
Kenpachi's reiatsu far surpassed his own; the density of spirit particles in his body was staggering.
Using Shigan to restore him had cost a frightening amount.
The last time it had been like this was when he healed Ukitake.
The fight itself hadn't been difficult.
A Shinigami's battle ultimately came down to reiatsu, but the enemy's level didn't affect him.
His Zanpakutō's ability was one that acted only on himself.
Kenpachi's style was nothing but close-quarters blade-work—a perfect match for Nobu's strengths.
Kenpachi was strong, yes but perhaps not even as troublesome as Tōsen.
[Kusajishi Yachiru]
[Affection: 30]
Nobu's gaze flicked over the system's display, his thoughts shifting.
A fight with Kenpachi and a gain like this—not a loss.
...
At that same moment, in the Eleventh Division barracks.
Not long after Nobu's departure, the dōjō collapsed in on itself with a thunderous crash.
Eleventh Division members rushed forward in alarm.
Only to see Zaraki Kenpachi standing unharmed among the wreckage.
Relief washed through them.
It was only a spar, they thought—probably pulled their blows.
No way the Captain would lose…
…But why were his clothes covered in sword-marks?
Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Kusajishi Yachiru came to his side.
"Captain!"
"Captain!"
"Ken-chan, did you have fun?" Yachiru asked brightly.
At her words, Kenpachi only gave a short, rough laugh and looked off into the distance.
"If only I could have made that guy bleed."