Chapter 188 – 188 ⥤ Genryūsai’s Culinary Skills

“There’s no helping you.”

Akira shook his head with a wry smile, then reached out and tore apart his pristine Shihakushō, revealing his muscular upper body — his defined muscles a testament to raw power.

Before Yumichika could speak, the two launched into combat with fierce expressions, their battle even more intense than the earlier clash between Sajin and Ikkaku.

The bald warrior, still sprawled on the ground, gaped at the scene before him until a large furry hand whisked him away.

Division members cheering from the sidelines deftly operated the nearby metal platform. The ground cracked instantly as a new Kidō barrier emerged, enclosing the two combatants.

This was Kisuke’s practical solution. Knowing certain fighters never considered collateral damage, he had installed multiple Bakudō barrier release devices throughout the barracks to prevent excessive repairs.

The system was foolproof — even Akira could operate it with ease.

From the sidelines, Ikkaku leaned against Yumichika for support as they watched the brutal battle unfold, their jaws hanging open.

Zaraki, despite his treasured position, was being pummeled into the floor. Even with his golden Reiatsu blazing like wildfire, he couldn’t withstand the young man’s onslaught.

The madman grinned savagely, his beast-like aura unleashed, as he channeled his fierce presence through his jagged blade and slashed at Akira. The strike — one that would cleave an ordinary Shinigami in half — left merely a white mark on the Captain.

Steel clashed against steel.

After absorbing Zaraki’s strike, Akira countered immediately with his own slash.

The beast-like warrior, attempting to mirror his opponent, planted his feet and braced to take the hit head-on.

Then—

His exposed chest was instantly split open with a grotesque gash, thick hot blood spraying forth, filling the vast arena with an intense smell of blood.

Seeing this, Ikkaku rushed forward anxiously to stop the fight, but Sajin held him back, explaining in a gruff voice.

“Don’t worry, this is just Zaraki’s way of fighting. The Captain is showing restraint.”

Ikkaku’s eyes widened, and before he could protest, a savage roar erupted from the front.

Raw ferocity unleashed as instinct took control of the battle!

A fierce crimson gleamed in Zaraki’s narrow pupils as he raised his jagged blade from Akira’s shoulder, descending into madness. His chaotic sword techniques targeted vital points with wild precision.

Zaraki was born for battle, caring nothing for proper swordsmanship or dodging. Every movement served only to strengthen his attacks.

Blood soaked through his black Shihakushō, grotesque wounds covering his body. Though he appeared near death, his demon-like face bore a smile of pure joy.

This was how it should be! Only in battle could Zaraki truly feel alive.

How glorious!

Fighting this opponent, he could unleash his full strength without fear of killing him — pure, unrestrained combat.

Zaraki, who had lived countless years, felt the breath of life anew. Walking the razor’s edge between life and death, this perfect immersion was irreplaceable. His mind cleared of all thoughts save two:

One was to cut down the person before him, and two was—

To be cut down by the person before him!

“Haha, Captain, show me your full strength!” Zaraki’s golden Reiatsu surged into a tangible pillar of light, shooting skyward and dyeing the azure heavens.

Like the rising of a fierce sun.

Akira grinned, “Very well.”

With those words, his Zanpakutō spun through the air, plunging into the ravaged grass. The blade trembled ominously, as if conveying a warning.

Outside the barrier, Yumichika’s scalp tingled with fear. He couldn’t fathom why any Shinigami would willingly abandon their Zanpakutō during battle.

However, Ikkaku wore a thoughtful expression upon seeing this. Earlier, Sajin had beaten him the same way. Even the movements were identical to the young man’s, as if cast from the same mold.

Seeing this, Zaraki unleashed a ferocious smile and charged forward to deliver his final slash at Akira — like taking the last drag from a final cigarette. His fist broke through the air as his blade slashed downward. The thunderous sound engulfed everything, as if the whole world had fallen silent.

Then…

BOOOM!!

A deafening roar erupted as the magnificent impact transformed into waves, spreading amid the rumbling. Unrestrained aftershocks tore up the ground, sending black earth surging skyward.

The fierce, blade-like winds carved into the Kidō barrier, rippling out in layers.

Through Kisuke’s precise calculations and with the assistance of Kidō Corps’ Kidō Gran-Chief Tessai Tsukabishi, the 11th Division barracks possessed the strongest defensive barrier in all of Seireitei.

Even if the two combatants were Genryūsai and Akira, Kisuke was confident it could withstand the first wave of impact.

The fist, burning with deep purple flames, shattered the jagged blade in Zaraki’s hand and collapsed his scarred chest cavity without resistance.

The sound of breaking bones made the two observers’ gums ache and scalps tingle. Though they had experienced many battles, none had been as wild as this clash between Akira and Zaraki.

What was even more astounding was Ikkaku’s situation. Since his defeat at Zaraki’s hands, he had trained relentlessly, wishing for more than twenty-four hours in a day to hone himself. Yet even so, he couldn’t keep up with the madman’s pace or reach his level.

Now this fearsome warrior lay thoroughly beaten and unrecognizable, crashed to the ground, unable to rise.

Cheers erupted throughout the barracks as the men let out excited shouts.

“As expected of Captain!”

“Oh oh, Supreme Commander, we adore you!”

“The King is invincible!”

Looking at Zaraki lying on the ground appearing near death, Akira offered sincere praise.

“Not bad, much stronger than before. At this rate, you’ll soon see my true strength.”

Hearing this, Zaraki showed an ugly grin, “When that day comes, I’ll definitely cut you down.”

Akira grinned back, “I look forward to it!”

Their gazes clashed in mid-air, their fighting spirit materializing into an almost tangible force.

Soon, several large men came forward, skillfully carrying away the blood-covered Zaraki. These battles had become routine — every time he challenged the Captain, Zaraki would be beaten until he couldn’t take care of himself, sometimes to the brink of death.

Yet he still relished it, seeking any excuse to challenge Akira whenever the fighting urge struck.

The 11th Division had grown accustomed to this spectacle.

Watching Akira approach, Yumichika managed a faint smile on his pale face.

He struggled to reconcile the kind-faced young man before him with the person who had just brutally beaten Zaraki. If not for the fresh bloodstains on his Shihakushō, he might have dismissed the entire scene as an illusion.

“Captain, what are the requirements to join the Eleventh Division?”

While Yumichika hesitated, Ikkaku spoke up with his potentially life-changing question. His expression was determined, his eyes gleaming with admiration for the 11th Division.

Akira’s lips curled into what he considered a friendly smile.

“The Eleventh Division stands on two pillars: loyalty to superiors and righteousness to friends!”

Ikkaku’s eyes lit up.

Could there be any place more suitable for him? The answer was clear — the 11th Division was his perfect paradise!

Without hesitation, he chose to join the 11th Division.

As his inseparable friend, Yumichika had no choice but to join as well, despite the 11th Division falling far short of his aesthetic standards.

Having gained two more capable Officers, Akira’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

As the 11th Division grew stronger by the day, the time to overthrow the Old Man’s tyranny drew ever closer!

⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬

“Fool!”

A deafening roar echoed through the 1st Division, followed by an explosion of flames like the scorching sun, instantly burning half the room to ashes.

The old man and young man wrestled shirtless in the dojo, their wild Reiatsu surging like an ocean. Shocking waves pushed outward, sending wooden boards flying, crumbling walls, and making the Kidō barrier ripple in waves.

“Without my permission, you dare venture into the Dangai!” Genryūsai glared at his unworthy disciple, using anger to mask his shock.

How long had it been since he’d last fought this kid? Yet his strength had shown such explosive growth. Even his ability to absorb power couldn’t explain such ridiculous progress.

“Slander, absolute slander!” Akira remained stubborn, his back muscles knotted as he unleashed all his strength to resist the old man’s full suppression.

Deep purple flames and crimson fire intertwined in the dojo, causing the surrounding temperature to rise uncontrollably.

While resisting Genryūsai’s tyranny, Akira desperately tried to recall recent details, attempting to find where he might have slipped up.

Those who knew about this were only Aizen, Kisuke, and Mayuri.

His brother wouldn’t betray him — he was confident of that. Kisuke had the heart of a thief but not the guts, and besides, he was too busy with other research projects to inform on him. As for Mayuri, that was even more impossible. That guy was completely absorbed in his own sleep project.

Just as he was deep in thought, the old man’s Reiatsu exploded, pushing back Akira. Then he pulled out a handful of grayish-white fabric from his waist sash.

“Hmph, I never slander others. Boy, what do you think this is?” With a shake of his large hand, he revealed a damaged haori with the large characters “十一” written on it.

{T/N: 十(10) 一(1). Japanese and Chinese numbers are quite easy to understand.}

Akira looked closely, furrowing his brow, “Seems somewhat familiar.”

Genryūsai’s breath caught, and he roared, “Fool, I’m asking you, where is your Captain’s haori?! Could this possibly be someone else’s haori?”

Akira muttered quietly, “Maybe it’s Captain Ukitake’s haori…”

Genryūsai took a deep breath, trying to suppress his rising blood pressure.

But after several attempts, he found it was futile. Then, the old and young resumed their brawl in the ruined dojo.

⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬

When Akira sat in the tea room with a bruised face, Genryūsai had already vented most of his anger.

Yet amazement rose in his heart. No one understood this foolish disciple better than him — just recently, he hadn’t needed much strength to defeat the boy.

Now, in the blink of an eye, even without using Ryūjin Jakka, he couldn’t easily suppress Akira. This rate of progress exceeded anything he’d seen in thousands of years.

Throughout Soul Society’s history, no one had ever shown such remarkable growth.

“Tell me, what were you doing in the Dangai?” Genryūsai used Ryūjin Jakka to heat a pot of tea, and while lifting the teapot, he pulled several sweet potatoes from under the table and placed them on top.

The flames danced, roasting the skins.

“The Dangai, um, Dangai…” Large beads of sweat formed on Akira’s brow as he desperately searched for a plausible excuse.

Being an honest person who rarely lied, he found himself at a loss for words.

“If you can’t think of anything, then don’t.” Genryūsai shook his head helplessly, “Let’s have tea first.”

He wasn’t trying to restrict Akira needlessly — the Dangai, as a special realm separating the three worlds, was incredibly dangerous. Even the 12th Division researchers who regularly observed it rarely lingered there.

Once lost, one might never return. Worse still, encountering a Kōryū or Kōtotsu could spell doom even for Captain-level Shinigami. One misstep, and they would be devoured without a trace.

Fortunately, although this foolish disciple lacked brains, his luck was extraordinary.

Since he didn’t want to talk about it, Genryūsai decided to let it be. The boy was safe — that’s what mattered.

While lost in thought, Akira quietly reached out, snatched a sweet potato from the intense flames, and skillfully peeled it before taking a small bite.

The golden flesh was sweet and delicious, soft and tender with steam filling his mouth. Even though he was accustomed to Aizen’s excellent cuisine, he had to give this a thumbs up.

“As expected of Soul Society’s Strongest Shinigami, you’re truly the master of roasting sweet potatoes!”

Genryūsai accepted the praise contentedly, then took another sweet potato and began peeling it.

“Tomorrow is the wedding of the Kuchiki family’s eldest son. I’m quite busy lately, so go in my place.”

Akira looked up, asking in surprise, “Sōjun Kuchiki?”

⤫⤬⤫

T/N: If you want more Chapters like this, check out my Patreon! Take a look at my other translations too, you might like them!

For just $1 you can access all the extra content, and descriptive images, costs only $2!

That’s it and happy reading! (-‿◦)

/mrblackwing

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep