In one of the Central Prison's training halls.
The boy sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, his Zanpakutō laid flat across his knees. A faint halo of Reiatsu shimmered around him as if he were in meditation.
Genryū · Blade Meditation.
It was a special method Yamamoto had taught him. Compared to the basic blade meditation from the Academy, this advanced version helped a Shinigami calm their mind more quickly and enter a state of absolute stillness.
Communicating with one's Zanpakutō was itself a form of training.
Naraku usually used blade meditation to fill his idle time. Once he'd rested enough, he'd throw himself back into practice—either swordsmanship or Hakuda.
Ever since the Araki disaster, he'd suddenly run out of things to do.
Just as Nishikawa had said, Soul Society didn't have crimes happening every day.
It was like all the rebels had gotten word at the same time—they vanished deep into the far reaches of Rukongai, without a trace.
With no criminals to chase, street-roamer Naraku Sora had become extremely lost.
So these past few days, he'd been holed up in the Central Prison dōjō training.
As for Shutara Senjumaru's earlier suggestion about "investing" in Shihōin Yoruichi—he'd be lying if he said he wasn't tempted.
But then he thought about it. The power struggles of the Five Great Noble Houses weren't something someone like him could step into yet.
With his current stats, he could get away with bumping into high nobles. But the Five Great Houses?
One misstep and he'd end up exactly like the Araki clan.
Crushed into paste.
You have to forge your own steel before you hit anything—that truth never changes.
Otherwise, if he ever came up against a truly nasty criminal and couldn't win, how was he supposed to "suppress" them—let alone reap the rewards of [Justice]?
Once blade meditation ended, Naraku turned and began working on the power he'd discovered in his inner world.
The perfect fusion of Kidō and swordsmanship.
More accurately, it had been Unohana's guidance that sparked a new idea for him.
Swordsmanship wasn't just swinging a blade.
It was about pouring your perception and will into your Reiatsu, and through absolute control, using your movements to "pull" that Reiatsu and unleash ten, or even a hundred times the usual destructive power.
Kidō was the same.
The control method was different, but the principle was similar.
And that was all that really mattered.
Naraku didn't know nearly as many spells as Aizen, and probably fewer than some long-time seated officers—but what he did know, he knew to a ridiculous degree.
Because—
Other people's Kidō had been gained through sweat and grind, their foundations uneven and shaky.
His Kidō was injected straight in by the System—perfectly solid from the ground up.
The difference was obvious.
He still opened with Tsuzuri Raiden. Jumping arcs of lightning crawled across his blade with a sharp sizzle.
Naraku focused on the changes in the reishi, then tried to use his own understanding to release what Unohana had taught him—
Swordsmanship.
Countless reishi particles resonated, overlapping like a massive net, focusing and—
Shattering all over the floor.
The result wasn't great.
At least, not on the first try.
In his inner world, Naraku's "new" fighting style had really just been Kidō in a different wrapper.
At the instant of the cut, he used the Zanpakutō as a medium to discharge Kidō's destructive power.
It was basically turning the chant time of a spell into the draw-and-swing motion of swordsmanship.
Like some "holy knight" canceling Metorikuraito's charge time by throwing his shield—without reducing the power of the move, and even firing it off faster.
The downside of this style was obvious: his ceiling was still limited by the spell's cap.
To break that limit, he'd have to take another path.
Naraku didn't get discouraged. If anything, he was more fired up.
After all, failure is the mother of success.
If he failed enough times, success eventually had to be born.
Once, twice, three times…
Naraku threw himself into attempt after attempt, seemingly tireless. Every time he failed, he'd stop and pinpoint the problem.
If this were the Academy era Naraku, he might have already given up.
But with his enhanced growth potential, everything about him had improved—including his ability to comprehend.
Graduating from the Academy with top marks had already proved he was a bona fide genius.
With his base pushed even higher, his talent was now equal to—if not surpassing—those prodigies whose names were recorded in Soul Society's history.
In the middle of countless failures, Naraku seemed to catch a flash of fleeting insight.
As his understanding of both swordsmanship and Kidō deepened, he slowly began to get it.
The reishi in his body was pulled by an invisible force—seized, dragged, and drawn into his arms, then into his hands.
Visibly—
Red circuit-like patterns flickered to life across his fingers and palms.
When he clenched his hands, Naraku clearly felt Kidō Reiatsu and sword Reiatsu merging into something subtle and indistinguishable.
In that instant, all his failed attempts flashed through his soul at once, and a powerful wave of dizziness crashed down on him.
At the crucial moment, Naraku leaned on the will he'd forged under Shutara's "training" and forced himself to stay conscious, holding the fusion steady.
The once-wild reishi now lined up like obedient hounds, the chaotic surges of Reiatsu flowing like water—shifting and folding together into a new form.
Until, finally—
They collapsed.
The glowing circuits on his hands broke apart and vanished.
Did I fail?
Naraku asked himself as countless fragments of thought churned and then fused into one clear idea.
Without a hint of hesitation, his Reiatsu surged out again.
Gone was the clumsy awkwardness. Naraku's will sat firmly above the reishi, molding them freely into exactly what he wanted.
And just like that—he did it in one go.
Looking at the fresh patterns glowing on his hands, feeling the power roaring beneath his skin, Naraku couldn't help grinning.
His world-shaking genius had finally paid off!
Driven by the new technique, his Reiatsu spiked, climbing rapidly toward its limit.
Naraku gripped his sword. The red lines across his hands lit up, two entirely different Reiatsu types blending together and bursting into radiant light.
He drew the blade.
Lightning flared—endless arcs exploding outward as reishi violently crossed and collided, painting a blade of pure annihilation that carved toward the sky!
It was as if sound itself had been cut.
A single blinding white line flashed across the space above the dōjō and vanished.
The next second, a deafening blast shook the entire Central Prison barracks.
Blazing lightning danced wildly along the ceiling. The massive training hall shattered and collapsed, and the clouds on the horizon were simply erased.
Thunder rolled over the barracks, echoing overhead as countless Shinigami stared toward the source of the disturbance, wondering if some layer of Hell had just erupted.
In her office, Shutara Senjumaru looked up at the sky. For a moment, surprise flickered across her delicate face—but it quickly turned into a proud smile.
"Truly worthy of being my little idiot."