As dusk settled over Rukongai, the marketplace remained crowded. The residents of West Rukongai were no strangers to disputes; soon, a ring of onlookers formed around the argument.
At the center stood Sombravida.
A simple wooden staff rested in his hand — something he had picked up from the roadside. Though his eyes were covered by a black blindfold, the oppressive sharpness radiating from him made the surrounding souls instinctively step back.
On the ground, the clothing merchant clutched his twisted leg, groaning in agony.
"Big Brother…" Momo tugged at Sombravida's sleeve from behind, guilt written across her face.
"Momo, step back," Sombravida said evenly.
The merchant began shouting hoarsely, "He assaulted me! Someone call the patrol!"
Sombravida did not react.
He knew the Gotei 13 patrol rotations. At dusk, shift transitions created brief gaps. Even if Shinigami arrived, it would not be immediate.
Sombravida stepped forward and pressed the wooden staff lightly against the merchant's forehead.
"You consumed my goods and refused fair exchange," he said calmly. "Do you wish to continue this, or shall we resolve it properly?"
"A deal! I'll make the deal!" The merchant's voice trembled.
"Originally, one squirrel for two sets of clothing. Fair value. Now you attempt to reduce it by half."
"N-No, three sets! Take three!"
Sombravida tilted his head slightly.
"Four."
The merchant froze.
"You wasted my sister's afternoon and made her cry. That inconvenience has value."
The wooden staff tapped lightly against his temple.
The merchant swallowed. "Four… fine. Four."
Sombravida turned his head slightly.
"Momo. Select two for us. One for Tōshirō. One for Grandma."
Momo hesitated.
"Big Brother… is this right?"
Sombravida exhaled quietly.
If he were still a Hollow, the shop would already be rubble.
But this was Soul Society.
He had to remain measured.
"Two sets, then," he said after a pause. "We are not thieves."
Momo hurried to choose the garments.
Sombravida crouched again, lowering his voice so only the merchant could hear.
"This is a warning. Rukongai is not lawless simply because you have minor noble backing. Seek treatment. And remember the lesson."
When Momo returned, Sombravida immediately grasped her wrist.
They left at once.
Behind them, once they had cleared the market's perimeter, the merchant's rage resurfaced.
"You brats! Just wait! My connections—"
A black blur sliced through the air.
Crack.
The wooden staff struck his mouth from a distance, drawing blood.
Sombravida did not even turn around.
Precision control.
Decades of battle experience did not disappear with reincarnation.
They ran until the marketplace noises faded.
"Huff… Big Brother… that's enough…" Momo panted.
Sombravida slowed to a walk.
"You need stamina training."
Momo looked up at him, confusion replacing fatigue.
"Big Brother… your control over spiritual pressure… how is it so refined? You've only been in Soul Society a short time."
She was right.
Even seasoned academy students struggled with controlled release, yet Sombravida could compress, project, and suppress with unnatural precision.
"Talent," Sombravida replied lightly.
He did not elaborate.
Truthfully, it was not talent.
It was experience with manipulating chaotic Hollow reiryoku, now adapted to structured Shinigami reiryoku circulation.
The two were different — but not entirely incompatible.
"Will that merchant seek revenge?" Momo asked quietly.
"Perhaps," Sombravida answered. "Then we avoid that street for three months. Focus on preparation for the Shin'ō Academy entrance exam. Once we enter the Seireitei system, civilian intimidation becomes irrelevant."
Momo nodded.
After a pause, she asked, "How do people become nobles?"
Sombravida smiled faintly.
"Marry one."
"B-Big Brother!"
She flushed red instantly.
"I was joking."
Momo clenched her fists.
"I don't want to rely on nobles. I'll become a Shinigami. A strong one. I'll change Rukongai myself!"
Sombravida looked at her with quiet approval.
Ambition.
Conviction.
Very Hinamori.
"Yes," he said softly. "Become strong enough that no one dares exploit the weak again."
She beamed.
Then her expression grew serious again.
"Big Brother… why do you want to become a Shinigami?"
Sombravida glanced at the fading sun, then the rising moon.
His answer did not leave his lips.
Not yet.
"First, we pass the exam," he said instead. "Then we talk about reasons."
After dinner at Hitsugaya's house, Sombravida borrowed watermelon seeds and returned home.
Then, once night fully fell, he headed back into the forest.
This time, his objective was clear.
Food.
Reiryoku density required intake. His compression ratio demanded more than normal souls could consume. Based on rough calculations, he would need two to three times the combined intake of himself, Momo, Tōshirō, and Grandma to approach saturation.
Compression increased stability — but required supply.
He moved through the forest blindfolded.
Deliberately.
He needed to abandon reliance on vision.
Spiritual perception had to become instinct.
Compared to yesterday's failed attempt at replicating Sonído-like movement, tonight he achieved partial success.
By redirecting reiryoku along structured Shinigami pathways rather than Hollow-style explosive bursts, he managed a short-distance burst step.
Slower.
Less destructive.
But functional.
"Shattering Slash won't translate," he muttered. "And ranged release like Cero is impossible without sufficient output."
Shinigami techniques required refinement and channeling — not violent discharge.
He considered the principle behind Getsuga Tenshō: reiryoku compressed into the blade, released along its trajectory.
Possible.
But his current output was insufficient.
He lifted the watermelon knife experimentally.
Then lowered it again.
"I need a proper blade."
Just as he settled against a tree to rest—
Huff.
Hah.
Huff.
Rhythmic exhalations.
Controlled.
Not animal.
Sombravida's eyes opened instantly.
He suppressed his spiritual pressure and advanced silently.
Through the trees, he saw him.
A blond youth.
Refined posture.
Practicing repeated vertical and diagonal cuts against a wooden stake.
The stance was disciplined.
Not academy-issued.
Not standard Shinigami attire.
Likely minor nobility from Seireitei.
Practicing in secrecy.
Sombravida narrowed his eyes.
The repeated kiai would drive prey away.
Unacceptable.
He adjusted his blindfold, stepped out of the shadows, and coughed lightly.
"Who's there?" the blond youth snapped, turning sharply with blade raised.
Sombravida tilted his head.
"Shouldn't I be asking you? You are frightening away my game."
The youth hesitated, noticing the blindfold.
"…Your eyes?"
"What? Never seen a blind man before?" Sombravida replied coldly.
In truth, he had already assessed the youth's reiryoku output.
Moderate.
Unrefined.
Manageable.
More importantly—
The blade in his hand was standard Seireitei-forged steel.
Balanced.
Properly tempered.
Exactly what Sombravida needed.
And for the first time that night, Sombravida felt genuine interest.
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