"Captain Zaraki, this matter has nothing to do with Shiba Kuroba..." Rukia said urgently.
Zaraki Kenpachi let out a low laugh as he sheathed Renji's Zanpakutō. "You saying this mess has nothing to do with that brat?" His wild smile twisted further. "Don't joke. Who else here could flatten a hundred prisoners before even becoming a Shinigami?"
He stepped forward, his spiritual pressure flaring briefly, pressing the air down like a storm. "But to be fair... knocking out that many guys before setting foot in the Academy? That ain't something ordinary folks can pull off."
"As for that busted holding cell? Heh. I was planning to scrap it anyway. Now that it's gone, I've got one less thing to worry about."
Zaraki turned, starting to walk off before glancing back. "Today's Shin'ō Academy enrollment. If you're planning to take him, better move fast. Miss it, and he waits a year."
Rukia's tension eased a bit—Zaraki wasn't going to pursue the matter.
But still, something nagged at her.
"Captain Zaraki," she asked hesitantly, "you keep speaking on Kuroba's behalf. Is it because of your connection with Vice-Captain Kaien Shiba?"
She bowed slightly. "If so... thank you. On Kaien-dono's behalf."
Zaraki scratched his head, face twisting in annoyance. "That guy? The soft-hearted Vice-Captain of the 13th? Don't lump me in with that kind of weakling."
Rukia froze. In her heart, Shiba Kaien was the man she admired most—the one who once saved her life and taught her what it meant to be a Shinigami.
Anyone else speaking like that would've earned a sharp rebuttal. But facing Zaraki's overwhelming presence, even Rukia couldn't find the words.
Zaraki chuckled. "I ain't protecting that drunk. I just think he's interesting. Might be worth chopping up later." His spiritual pressure flared again, only for a second. "I wanna keep the good toys inside Seireitei."
"A drunk worthy of fighting you? That's hardly a compliment," Renji muttered, still frustrated.
"If he impressed you by flattening some weak mutant hollow, you're gonna be let down."
He gestured toward Kuroba's wrist. "Check that spiritual pressure detection bracelet."
Back when Renji graduated from Shin'ō Academy, he was proud—he had solid scores and even got into the 5th Division under Aizen. But after clashing with Aizen's ideals, he transferred to the 11th, a move seen as a demotion for an upstart with ambitions.
He had clawed for strength ever since. Under Ikkaku's brutal training, he had even achieved Bankai. But Zaraki had never once acknowledged him.
Now this drunken no-name had caught Zaraki's eye after a single skirmish.
"I saw three-take spiritual pressure when he was first admitted," Renji said firmly. "Yumichika was there. He can confirm it."
"Huh? Three-take?" Ikkaku muttered, turning over the device on Kuroba's wrist. "Well, it ain't three anymore."
The screen blinked red, the number 9 flashing.
Renji and Rukia were stunned.
They had trained in the Academy, where reiatsu was clearly ranked—five-take to qualify, six-take to stand out, seven and eight for geniuses. But nine-take?
Only Hitsugaya Tōshirō had reached eight-take at entry. He attained nine-take only after manifesting his Zanpakutō and awakening his Shikai before graduation. That feat alone had him labeled a once-in-a-century genius.
But Kuroba… hadn't even enrolled yet.
"That's impossible..." Rukia whispered.
Ikkaku frowned, scratching his bald head. "Maybe the monitor's busted? Could've been fried during the fight."
The strength of spiritual pressure—reiatsu—is one of the most fundamental indicators of a Soul Reaper's might.
At least, that was how Madarame Ikkaku saw it. And among all the captains in the Gotei 13, there was no spiritual pressure more oppressive and violently raw than that of Kenpachi Zaraki.
"Haha, if you want to know whether that number's real," Kenpachi chuckled, eyes gleaming with bloodlust, "just cut him down and find out."
The grin on his scarred face wasn't playful—it was the kind that preceded carnage. Ikkaku instinctively tensed, and Yumichika's expression tightened beside him. Something felt off.
Before any of them could react, Zaraki's hand was already on the hilt of his Zanpakutō.
Clang!
The blade screeched against its sheath as it was drawn, and at that moment, a suffocating wave of spiritual pressure erupted outward like a detonation.
It wasn't just pressure—it was killing intent, raw and undisguised.
The shockwave hit like a gale.
Rukia and the others stumbled back, forced to retreat several paces as their legs buckled slightly beneath the weight of the aura. Even for seated officers, this was oppressive.
Kenpachi raised his chipped, jagged Zanpakutō high above his head and brought it down with monstrous force.
Boom!
The impact shook the ground, but the blade stopped inches before Kuroba's forehead.
There he lay—snoring, blissfully unconscious, completely unaffected.
Everyone froze.
Even Kenpachi stared in stunned silence at the unresponsive figure lying before him.
"Under this level of spiritual pressure... his own reiatsu didn't even flinch?" Ikkaku muttered, beads of cold sweat sliding down his temple. "Could he really be just a 'level 3'?"
He used the standard term from the spiritual power classification system—three Tiers, barely enough to qualify for the Shin'ō Academy.
But anyone with spiritual potential would normally awaken in reflex, especially under Zaraki's killing intent. This was unnatural.
Renji stepped forward quickly, seizing the moment. "I told you—he only has level 3 reiatsu. If there were more, his body would've responded instinctively just now."
After all, a genuine spiritual powerhouse wouldn't remain dormant under Zaraki's pressure, no matter how drunk.
Kenpachi stared a moment longer… then withdrew his blade with a wide, amused grin.
"Heh... maybe he's just boring after all," he said, turning away. "Or maybe he's hiding something real deep. Either way, I'll cut him later."
As the others relaxed, thinking the chaos was over, a voice slurred from the floor:
"Tch... I'm the Great General of the Spirit King's Left Guard... You think I'd wake up from something that shallow? That swing didn't even carry bloodlust, just bravado... You amateurs scare too easy..."
Kuroba turned over and resumed snoring.
Everyone blinked.
Ikkaku glanced at Renji. "...Did he just talk in his sleep?"
Renji looked down, eyes twitching. "I'm... not sure."
Yumichika folded his arms. "This one's going to be trouble."