"Compared to Kendo, I am inferior to you. Compared to Reiatsu, I am also inferior to you. And compared to Hakuda, I am still inferior to you."
"But when it comes to Shunpo… I have confidence."
A smile curled across Shihouin Yoruichi's lips. Her golden eyes gleamed with anticipation as she stepped forward, vanishing in an instant. The second she moved, the air itself trembled. The trademark sonic boom of the Shihōin clan's legendary speed technique echoed across the rooftop.
"This is the third of the 'Four Maples,' Kongō Shun Shō. Try to keep up, Akira."
Like a streak of lightning, she reappeared behind Akira, one hand reaching to clamp down on his shoulder. Before her fingers could make contact, however—less than ten centimeters from his body—the air rippled and burst with golden brilliance.
A sharp hum of spiritual energy followed.
Six golden rods of light materialized around her. But they didn't stop at six. Each rod split, fractal-like, multiplying into sixty golden shafts of Kidō light. Then, almost mechanically, they wove together into an impenetrable net. It encased Yoruichi from every angle—top, bottom, front, and back—without leaving a finger-width gap.
"B-Bakudō #61: Rikujōkōrō? But this isn't normal—there's ten of them?!"
Yoruichi's voice was sharp, shocked. Her lithe body was frozen mid-movement, surrounded by a radiant prison of Kidō. She struggled slightly, testing the bounds of the spell—but they were unyielding. Her spiritual pressure flared reflexively, but the Bakudō held firm.
"You… Aizen—I mean, Akira—when did you master Kidō to this level?" she asked, baffled. "This isn't even pseudo-chant. It's something else entirely!"
Still standing with his back to her, Akira finally turned, his expression calm as the net of golden light reflected in his eyes. He glanced briefly at the Spiritual Arts Academy below—students scrambling to comprehend the battle unfolding in the sky—and then spoke flatly.
"Isn't it written clearly in the Kidō Taizen? Pseudo-chant is just a training wheel. Once you understand the spiritual formula behind Kidō, replicating it without incantation becomes a matter of understanding, not memory."
"That's not the issue!" Yoruichi snapped, eyes wide. "Anyone can attempt a pseudo-chant, sure—but this is Rikujōkōrō! A high-level Bakudō! You cast it ten times, simultaneously, without a chant, and with no loss of power or control?!"
To her, it was like watching a prodigy twist the laws of Soul Society.
"Even captains can barely maintain one high-level Kidō without incantation. Most of the time, when they abandon the chant, the spell's power drops drastically. Or worse—they lose control and it backfires."
"I didn't use pseudo-chant," Akira corrected.
"What?" Yoruichi blinked. "Then what was it?"
"I abandoned the re-sing."
"The… re-sing?" she repeated, confused. "I've never heard of such a technique in the Kidō records. Where did you learn it?"
"I didn't," Akira said plainly. "I created it."
Yoruichi's jaw dropped.
First, he had created a unique kendo style powerful enough to pin captain-class combatants like Hirako Shinji to the wall with one strike. Now, a new Kidō technique?
The creation of any new Kidō typically took centuries. The greatest spells in the Soul Society's arsenal—like Hadō #90: Kurohitsugi or Bakudō #81: Dankū—were developed by generations of Kidō Corps researchers. Even Tessai Tsukabishi, the former Grand Kidō Chief, hadn't casually invented high-level techniques. It required experimentation, calibration, and often collaboration with the Gotei 13.
But Akira?
"You've only been practicing Kidō for… what, ten days?" Yoruichi muttered in disbelief.
"Eight," Akira corrected.
"Are you sure you're a Shinigami?" Yoruichi asked, staring at him as if she were staring at a Hollow disguised as a human. "Same spiritual structure, same six-year education—how the hell are you doing this?"
Akira didn't answer. He simply tilted his head slightly, as if to brush off the question like an annoying breeze.
The truth was far more complicated.
He couldn't exactly tell Yoruichi that after defeating Unohana Yachiru—the original Kenpachi—during a silent duel under the moonlight, something had changed within him. The Way of the Sword bowed to no one anymore. It no longer sought dominance. It demanded it.
And Kidō? It was the last frontier left unconquered. Kendo had already become arrogant and unruly, practically dragging his body into training halls on its own. If his swordsmanship had its own will, then surely his Kidō should answer too.
So he did what no one else dared: he dissected the underlying logic of three existing techniques—abandon chant, pseudo-chant, and dual-casting—and forged his own path.
"Let me explain it simply," Akira said, finally. "Pseudo-chant lets you skip the chant using formulas and approximation. Dual-casting allows for two Kidō spells to be layered and released together, following strict structural compatibility rules. Re-sing uses multiple Kidō in a sequence to mimic simultaneous casting—but sacrifices power and precision."
"And your… re-sing abandonment?" Yoruichi asked warily.
"It removes the chant completely. Not skips—removes. The spell structure is embedded directly into the spiritual circuits of the caster. No lag, no conversion, no friction. As soon as the name is spoken, it activates."
"That's—!" Yoruichi began.
"Insane? Impossible? That's what the old Kidō Corps would say." Akira's tone was calm. "But I discovered that if you isolate the spiritual resonance and embed the Kidō core formula into your Reiryoku flow, you can replicate even complex Kidō without an incantation. Not only that, I can stack them—two, four, ten at once—and none lose power."
"Stacking spells like bricks?" Yoruichi muttered. "That's not Kidō… that's divine craftsmanship."
The golden net surrounding her shimmered slightly.
"You used six-stick light prison ten times simultaneously… and you're still standing there like you didn't expend a drop of energy."
"I did expend energy. Just not as much as you'd expect," Akira said with a slight smile. "My Reiatsu control is more efficient than most Kidō specialists. I optimize each casting based on need, not tradition."
The implication was staggering.
Each instance of Rikujōkōrō required not only expert control of spiritual particles, but also deep knowledge of binding principles, target locking, and execution delay. Most Shinigami struggled to cast a single #61 even with full chanting.
Akira did ten, unchanted, flawlessly.
Yoruichi exhaled slowly. "You're not just a swordsman, then. You've become a threat on every front. Hakuda, Shunpo, Kido, and Kendo."
He looked at her, expression unreadable. "A complete Shinigami. That's what I aim for."
"You're beyond that already…" she murmured.
But then, Yoruichi blinked—and the spell binding her suddenly shattered. She had bent slightly during her speech, aligning her limbs just enough to find a micro-gap in the formation. With a crackle of golden light, she vanished.
But Akira didn't flinch. His gaze followed her motion effortlessly.
"If you're done testing me," he said calmly, "why not tell me the real reason you're here? You're not an Academy instructor."
Yoruichi reappeared behind him, arms crossed.
"No," she admitted. "I'm not. But Urahara Kisuke and I have been watching you. Ever since you defeated Unohana, your name's been echoing through the Seireitei."
"And you want to see for yourself."
"I did," she said. "And now I believe it."
Akira looked away, toward the horizon, his tone turning distant. "Belief isn't necessary. Understanding is."
Beneath the setting sun, the two vanished from sight—leaving behind only a sky laced with fading golden lines, proof that the rules of Soul Society were no longer unbreakable.
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