"Teacher, why not invite Junior Brother over today so Shunsui and I, as his seniors, can meet him?"
Yamamoto, who had just finished disciplining Shunsui, felt a stab of pain in his temples at his only well-behaved disciple's suggestion.
One Kyōraku was already exhausting; if the equally unruly Jay Censen met him, who knew what fireworks would explode.
Yet he couldn't keep them apart.
At least here, under his nose, Shunsui wouldn't spout nonsense to Jay.
If they met in private... Yamamoto refused to imagine it.
He gathered his Reiatsu and cast Bakudō #77: Tenteikūra, a wonderfully convenient communication Kidō often used to relay messages.
Aside from the intended recipients, others could only sense the Reiatsu's tremor, never the content.
"Boy Jay, come to the First Division at once; this old man will inspect your recent progress."
Jay, dozing off, heard Old Man Yama's voice beside his ear.
Thinking he'd been caught napping in class, he jolted upright.
Realizing it was only a Kidō message, he sat back down under Aizen's "you-must-be-an-idiot" stare.
"What fit are you throwing now?"
"Old Man Yama wants to test me."
Jay exhaled in relief—his dazzling talent had the old man wrapped around his finger.
"Then why aren't you moving? Aren't you afraid of offending the Captain-Commander?"
"Ah, you don't get it, Sōsuke."
Jay propped his right elbow on the desk, crossed his legs, wagged his left forefinger, and looked at Aizen with disdain.
"Have you ever heard of 'playing hard to get'? Right now, I'm the brilliant strategist Old Man Yama can't live without!"
Aizen's face twisted in bewilderment.
That strategist was brilliance bordering on supernatural; Jay was, at best, colossal stupidity disguised as wisdom.
"So you expect the Captain-Commander to beg three times before you go?"
"Precisely."
Jay lounged there showing off, confident the old man couldn't hear a word.
"This old man heard every word."
What the hell?!
Jay tumbled off his stool in fright.
The old man eavesdropped?
He was doomed.
"If you have complaints, you may voice them to my face in a moment."
Ashen-faced, Jay realized he'd overplayed his hand.
Who'd have thought the mighty Captain-Commander would stoop to spying?
He shot the stifled-laughing Aizen a glare and used Shunpo toward the First Division without pause.
Noting the slight refinement in Jay's Shunpo, Aizen sighed inwardly—it was infuriating how some people outpaced you.
They studied the same material, yet Jay mastered it faster and even improved it.
His new Shunpo conserved ten percent more Reiatsu while boosting speed by twenty percent.
So this is what it feels like to chase someone…
Aizen adjusted the glasses that hid his expression and sauntered out of the Academy.
No one sensed a student had vanished; to them, "Aizen Sōsuke" still sat obediently at his desk.
"What the—what demon shows itself in broad daylight?"
Sliding open the wooden door, Jay nearly jumped at the sight of a swollen, purple face sporting two black eyes.
"Ahem, Junior Brother, I'm Ukitake Jūshirō, and this is Kyōraku Shunsui—your Senior Brothers."
Jay studied the barely human Kyōraku for ages before matching him to memory.
So Old Man Yama still beat people like this?
Was he next?
He sneaked a nervous glance at Yamamoto; only when no blow came did he breathe.
The old man caught the gesture and snorted.
"This old man isn't so petty he'd quarrel with a brat."
Seeing Jay's awkwardness, the gentle Ukitake stepped in, drawing a small booklet and handing it over.
"Heh, first meetings call for a gift. We brothers have little to offer, so please accept my personal Kidō notes."
Jay accepted it with both hands, thanked Ukitake, then looked pointedly at Kyōraku.
"Sure shows how different people can be, wouldn't you say, Uncle Shunsui?"
The newly restored flippant uncle's mouth twitched—this junior was no pushover.
"Don't underestimate me; your Senior has prepared a grand gift. But first, how old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"I meant... are you of age?"
"Same thing."
Kyōraku gasped—truly the pupil surpasses the master—and leaned in with a conspiratorial wink.
"Senior Brother is taking you to a great place tonight—guarantee you'll love it."
"Oh? What place? Should this old man come along too?"
Kyōraku Shunsui turned his head mechanically to find Yamamoto already standing behind him and felt life lose all meaning.
He closed his eyes in resignation and braced for another beating from the Old Man.
"If you dare act like that scoundrel Kyōraku, I swear you'll end up the same way."
After a hypocritical three-second prayer for Kyōraku's soul, Jay solemnly assured Yamamoto.
"Enough. I told you today is for reviewing your recent progress—get ready."
The disciples followed Yamamoto to the underground training field of the First Division: an endless space purpose-built for high-intensity drills.
His cane tapped the ground, and an invisible barrier sealed the area.
"Show me everything you've mastered. I hope you surprise me."
Without moving a muscle, Yamamoto now felt nothing like the decrepit elder of moments before; his aura alone was a sword thrust at the sky.
The moment an Asauchi cleared its sheath, Jay was in front of Yamamoto, the blade crashing down with such speed that Kyōraku and Ukitake, watching from the side, flinched.
No wonder the Captain-Commander is teaching him personally—this talent is monstrous.
Yamamoto deflected the Asauchi with his left hand alone while his right hand sent the cane stabbing like a viper at Jay's throat.
Jay planted his blade in the ground, pivoted, and whipped his left leg at Yamamoto's side.
"Fool!"
Yamamoto roared, released the cane about to be kicked, and caught Jay's leg in an iron grip.
For a war-hardened Shinigami like him, Jay's moves were riddled with openings; against an equal, he might dominate, but here he was about to star in the Soul Society equivalent of a brutal beatdown combo—except he'd be the one slammed.
"Ugh—ahhh!"
Jay lay sprawled on the ground, eyes shut, mouth agape, groaning in defeat.
The gap was just too wide; the road to invincibility still stretched far ahead.
"Enough. I already held back."
Recalling the brief exchange, Yamamoto had all he needed to gauge Jay's level.
"Your Shunpo differs from the Academy's—did you modify it?"
Cane retrieved, Yamamoto reverted to the frail old man of everyday life.
At the nod of confirmation, he gave a satisfied grunt: the boy's experience was lacking, but his potential was undeniable; refining Shunpo to suit himself at this stage spoke of a bright future.
"Jay Censen, will you formally become my disciple?"
"I know this forces you to declare a side in Soul Society's turmoil, but I swear that as long as you wish it, those sordid struggles won't touch your life."
The question didn't surprise Jay; Aizen had already analyzed it for him.
He bore no dislike for Old Man Yama—just a few extra hassles.
Worst case, he could ask Sōsuke to lop off Central 46; that's what happened in the original story anyway.
Mind made up, Jay bowed in formal apprenticeship.
In outsiders' eyes, the label had been stamped the moment Yamamoto summoned him; sealing it changed little.
"Excellent. Come every third day, and I will teach you all I know."
All three disciples were stunned—Yamamoto intended not merely to pass on his legacy but to groom Jay as the next Captain of the First Division.
"Teacher, that hardly seems proper."
Glancing at his Senior Brothers, Jay felt he ought to show modesty.
But Yamamoto, immovable, left only the words: "Rest easy—until I die, I won't bind you overmuch," then departed.
"Haha, good Junior Brother, thank you! Now I can slack off with complete peace of mind."
Kyōraku threw his head back and laughed, clapping Jay on the shoulder.
Heaven had eyes—he was finally free of the Captain-Commander's expectations; from now on, he could roam at leisure while his little Junior Brother fended for himself.
The ever-kind Ukitake looked at Jay with sympathy.
"Don't worry, your Senior Brother will help you."
Jay stood there, wanting to weep at the bright yet pitch-black future ahead.