Bang!
A deafening crack echoed through the ruins as fists collided, spiritual pressure erupting in a storm of raw force. The sheer power behind the blow made even seasoned combatants flinch.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, dispersing the dust like thunderclaps rolling across the battlefield.
The massive arm of the charging Hollow—its fist the size of a millstone—froze mid-motion.
Then, with a sickening crack, the grotesque appendage fractured. Blood—black and thick with spiritual corruption—sprayed violently from the rupture.
A gasp escaped from the gathered low-level Hollows, their monstrous eyes wide with disbelief.
The enormous creature, once towering like a siege engine, burst apart as if pierced by a barrage from a Captain-level Kidō.
Boom!
Chunks of spiritual flesh and bone rained from the sky, the mutilated body collapsing like a popped balloon.
The sight stunned the remaining Hollows—beings that had clawed their way through the slums of the 80th district of Zaraki. Now, they trembled. Some even staggered backward, their instinctual bravado crushed by a single blow.
"Run! Get the hell out of here!"
Canglan, the rogue Plus who had fallen into hollowfication, howled in panic.
It was only now he realized—the drunken youth before him wasn't some harmless noble brat. He was a monster in human skin.
Before the mob could scatter, Kuroba surged forward. His steps were shaky, yes, but his aura blazed like a wildfire.
A twist of his waist. A drunken pivot. His spiritual pressure spiked—unrefined, wild, but immense.
Bang!
A Hollow nearly four meters tall was flung into the air like a rag doll, colliding with several others.
The chain reaction ended in a spray of blood and fragmented masks as the group slammed into the remnants of an abandoned wall.
Another boom.
More Hollow viscera painted the street red. The earth itself quaked under the carnage.
To Rukia, it was like witnessing a scene from the Hellverse. A lone youth, not even wearing a Shihakushō, yet radiating a killing intent more terrifying than most Seated Officers.
She finally understood—
Kuroba wasn't bluffing. His strikes were heavy. Not just in strength, but in consequence. He didn't just kill. He obliterated.
"You… don't come any closer! I'll kill you!"
Canglan's bravado shattered into hysteria.
Despite his massive build—now over ten meters from a partial Hollow transformation—he could feel the crushing weight of fear.
Kuroba, swaying, yet inexplicably closing the gap faster than a Shunpo step, bore down on him.
Cornered, Canglan's expression twisted with desperation. He roared and brandished a massive blade—an improvised cleaver forged from spiritual debris.
"Little brat! If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!"
With that, he roared—his corrupted soul igniting with a sinister red glow.
Muscles bulged. Skin tore. Veins lit up with cursed energy as he attempted a suicidal Reiryoku Overload, a forbidden move used by corrupted Pluses to achieve a final surge of strength.
The blade—easily the size of a building door—descended like a guillotine.
Rukia's eyes widened.
She was about to intervene—
But Kuroba simply burped.
Then, without looking, he turned and flung his empty sake jug.
BOOM!
The jug tore through the air like a guided missile. It collided with the descending blade mid-swing.
Crack!
The massive sword shattered like glass.
The jug didn't stop.
Bang!
The projectile struck Canglan square in the face.
His head exploded—bone and blood vaporizing on contact. The rest of his bloated body collapsed backward, like a felled giant.
The dust hadn't even settled when the surviving Hollows scattered like panicked birds.
And then—silence.
The wind howled through the desolate streets of the 80th District. A graveyard of the fallen, painted in crimson.
Rukia stood still, processing everything.
She had seen many types of battle: graceful sword duels, tactical Kidō clashes, brutal hand-to-hand fights.
But nothing like this.
This wasn't refined. This wasn't trained.
This was pure, chaotic, unrestrained violence.
The kind of power that makes one wonder: how the hell does someone this drunk fight like a Kenpachi?
Just when she thought it was over—
"Rukia… hic… are you okay?"
Kuroba turned to her, grinning stupidly.
Rukia, dazed, slowly nodded.
This drunkard had just one-shot a fully manifested Hollow overlord with a wine jug.
She had no idea whether to scold him or invite him to the 13th Division.
A figure shunpoed in and landed firmly on the battlefield, stirring dust with his arrival.
He swept a quick glance at Rukia, confirming she wasn't critically injured, before frowning slightly.
"Rukia… why does your fighting style feel like it's rubbing off on those Eleventh Division maniacs again?" he asked, tone half-exasperated.
Then his gaze fell on the scattered remains of the slain Hollow.
"Wait… that was the evil spirit Canglan, wasn't it? You took him out? Huh. Guess you really have been leveling up behind my back."
Although the Soul Society had enjoyed relative peace for a while, any appearance of a mutated Hollow like Canglan in the outer districts of Rukongai—especially the violent 80th District—drew immediate attention from patrol squads and ambitious Shinigami. After all, in such times, defeating a notable threat was a rare chance to earn merit—and for lower-ranking Shinigami, even a step toward promotion.
"Renji? Why are you here?" Rukia asked, a mix of surprise and relief in her voice.
Abarai Renji, her childhood friend and now Sixth Seat of the Sixth Division under Captain Kuchiki, gave a half-smile. His spiritual pressure easily dwarfed hers, and his presence immediately eased her tension.
"I bumped into Captain Kuchiki while I was off-duty," Renji explained. "He said you were assigned patrol duty near North Rukongai's District 80, so I came to check on you."
"Captain Kuchiki is here too…?" Rukia's face stiffened slightly. "Onii-sama?"
A shadow passed overhead. Byakuya Kuchiki, clad in his noble captain's haori, appeared on the remains of a broken wall, gazing down calmly from above.
He spoke, voice cool and clear. "Did you do this?"
Unlike Renji, Byakuya could immediately discern the residual traces of spiritual pressure and energy flow from the scene. His sharp eyes noticed the damage pattern, spiritual remnants, and suppressed reiatsu.
"Captain Kuchiki, of course that was all Rukia's doing," Renji said with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "She's been training hard—"
Byakuya cut him off with a calm but piercing gaze. "Rukia. Did someone assist you just now?"
His tone remained flat, but the implication was unmistakable. "Your own spiritual pressure remains, but it's faint. You clearly didn't use Shikai. Yet the battle was already over. You should not falsify merit. As a Kuchiki, carry yourself with dignity."
Rukia's throat tightened. Shikai?
Only now did it occur to her—caught in the chaos, she hadn't even considered activating Sode no Shirayuki. She'd fought purely on instinct and had been overwhelmed from the start.
"No, Captain… I didn't defeat them," she confessed, bowing slightly. "It was… Shiba Kuroba. He destroyed the Hollow with a single blow."
Her voice faltered at the memory of Kuroba's wild, almost drunken fighting style. She'd tried to come up with a better way to describe what she'd witnessed—but no poetic phrasing came.
"He… blew it up. With one punch."
Silence.
Renji blinked. Even Byakuya's expression froze momentarily—an almost imperceptible twitch in his brow.
"…One punch?" Renji echoed. "What the hell kind of Kido is that?"
From anyone else, Rukia would've suspected sarcasm. But Renji and Byakuya both knew her character well. She was not prone to exaggeration—let alone fabricating such a ridiculous detail.
If she said it was one punch, it had to be true.
And that made it all the more absurd.