Chapter 223 – 223 ⥤ Is This What You Call A Quincy?

Trouble had arrived.

Genryūsai’s expression darkened with uncertainty as his aged eyes fixed upon his wayward disciple’s attire.

Even if a thousand years passed, even if he fell into Hell itself, he would never forget.

This was the signature uniform of the Quincy from the Lichtreich. Though the design varied slightly, the unmistakable presence of Quincy Reiatsu left no doubt.

Only because it was Akira standing before him had he not already drawn Ryūjin Jakka and cut him down with a single strike.

Only because someone had previously told him of a similar blood-clad ability had he stayed his hand — otherwise, even his own pupil would not have been spared.

Quincy — the mortal enemies of the Shinigami!

The familiar uniform stirred memories of past wars in Genryūsai’s mind; killing intent surged as his violent Reiatsu began to rise.

Sensing the danger, Akira quickly shed the outer garment, revealing the 11th Division Captain’s haori and Shihakushō beneath.

Genryūsai and Kisuke: “…”

Silence fell over the 11th Division that night.

The sheer audacity of this person left Kisuke momentarily speechless.

If you knew this would happen, why not remove the outfit before returning?

With a helpless sigh, Kisuke, well-acquainted with his Captain’s antics, could only conclude he had deliberately returned dressed this way to show off. It was just his misfortune to run into the Captain-Commander.

Watching the familiar figure of his troublesome disciple, Genryūsai’s lips twitched several times before suppressing his rising anger and questioning in a deep voice:

“What on earth is going on? Why… why are you wearing…?”

Akira grinned awkwardly, attempting to formulate a convincing explanation while Kisuke frantically signaled with his eyes from the side.

“Well, actually, it has to do with Hell.”

Under his master’s commanding gaze, he explained the entire sequence of events, carefully omitting Aizen’s involvement to spare the old man’s feelings.

Instead, he shifted the blame to Kisuke, feeling not an ounce of guilt about throwing him under the bus.

Kisuke: “?”

As the story unfolded, Genryūsai’s expression cycled through anger, doubt, relief, and concern.

Watching from the side, Akira found himself thoroughly impressed. He hadn’t expected the old man to be such a master of facial expressions. With skills like those, he could make a living as a street performer if he ever retired.

Sensing his disciple’s irreverent thoughts, Genryūsai let out a cold snort, and the room’s temperature spiked sharply.

“I see now. Your constant fishing in Hell angered it, leading to a battle with the Jailer of Hell, Kenpachi Kuruyashiki, which caused the First Level’s collapse.”

Akira nodded quickly.

“Then Mimihagi decided to enter Hell, using the Divine Eye’s power to repair the damage while working with you to strip Hell of its power. When you disagreed with this plan, you transformed yourself into a Quincy and infiltrated the Wandenreich to retrieve the Soul King’s left hand as Mimihagi’s replacement.”

Akira nodded again, his face beaming with admiration, “As expected of Yama-jii! Your wisdom is second only to mine. You’re truly the strongest when it comes to understanding!”

Genryūsai’s face darkened as he roared, “You reckless fool! This is madness! A Shinigami pretending to be a Quincy to infiltrate their headquarters — what were you thinking? Do you want to force this old man to bury his own disciple?!”

Akira muttered under his breath, “If he stresses any more, the rest of his hair will fall out.”

Boom!

Watching his Captain crash through the floor, leaving a human-shaped dent, Kisuke felt a rare satisfaction but maintained a neutral expression, barely containing his emotions.

He could only think to himself: Serves him right.

Climbing out of the pit, Akira shook his slightly dazed head, appearing completely unharmed — much to Genryūsai’s frustration.

This brat’s skin had grown even thicker. No wonder he acted so recklessly, pushing boundaries without hesitation.

“Well, you see…” Akira mumbled, “I only went undercover because I was absolutely confident. Between my experience with the Tsunayashiro Clan, my unmatched acting skills, and flawless disguise… I didn’t feel nervous at all, even facing Yhwach himself.”

Hearing this quiet grumbling, Genryūsai took a deep breath, suppressing his urge to slash some sense into his rebellious disciple.

You call infiltrating the Tsunayashiro family undercover work? Poor Anzai must be rolling in his grave!

Fighting to contain his anger, he stated plainly, “Quincy and Shinigami are fundamentally different. They belong to separate races, with differences in combat styles and Reiatsu. A Shinigami infiltrating the Wandenreich is like lighting a bonfire in the darkness. Perhaps you can fool them for a short time, but eventually, they will discover the truth. When that happens…”

Before Genryūsai could finish, deep blue, branch-like patterns appeared on Akira’s exposed skin. Spreading his fingers wide, he gathered an immense amount of Reishi from the air, instantly forming a long Heilig Bogen that radiated sharp energy.

A Heilig Pfeil materialized slowly. Drawing the bow, he took aim.

The old man instinctively tightened his grip on his cane. His pupils contracted as tangible killing intent surged wildly, shaking the building.

For a brief moment, he believed a Quincy from the Wandenreich had disguised themselves as his disciple. Yet the familiar, clueless expression in Akira’s eyes was something no one could replicate.

At the last moment, Genryūsai suppressed his urge to attack.

Kisuke clicked his tongue in disappointment. Seeing his Captain in trouble was more satisfying than a paycheck.

Unfortunately, the Captain-Commander hadn’t lost his mind enough to strike down his own disciple.

“You, come with me.”

“Okay.”

“And you!” Genryūsai cast an icy glare at Kisuke, who had been watching gleefully from the sidelines.

Clearly, in his eyes, the 11th Division’s Lieutenant had become a corrupting influence on his disciple.

Meeting that gaze, Kisuke’s heart skipped a beat as dread crept in.

Trouble. Once again, that fool of a Captain had dragged him into this mess!

Kisuke weighed his options, considering whether to throw Aizen under the bus as well. After careful thought, he decisively abandoned the idea.

If he did, he’d offend both Akira and Aizen. Dealing with one was barely manageable — adding Aizen would seal his fate. He’d likely end up stabbed seventy-two times in the back and left for dead.

Shuddering at the thought, Kisuke decided to keep quiet.

⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬

The desolate back mountain of the 11th Division.

After years of torment by a certain individual, it could no longer be called a mountain — it was a wasteland. In the distance, the outlines of other division barracks could barely be seen on the horizon.

It was far too vast.

“Kid, take out that Reishi longbow from before.” Genryūsai spoke in a low voice, “Attack me with it.”

“Alright.” Akira drew his bow and nocked an arrow. With a lift of his hand, a Heilig Pfeil shot through the air.

⤫ Himmelspfeil ⥤ Heaven’s Arrow! ⤬

Watching the azure beam rapidly approach, Genryūsai’s expression darkened slightly. He opened his large hand and caught the Reishi arrow with precision.

He sensed it briefly. Yes, this was a genuine Heilig Pfeil, unmistakably a combat technique of the Quincy.

Having killed so many Quincy, he prided himself on understanding them.

“Continue.” To verify his suspicions, Genryūsai didn’t hesitate to make himself a live target.

⤫ Sturmregen ⥤ Storm Rain! ⤬

In an instant, arrows rained down like a storm.

Under the azure sky, a faint haze appeared, and the surging Reishi descended like a flood breaking through a dam.

Caught within the attack range, Kisuke’s expression shifted. Without hesitation, he cast a Bakudō, enveloping himself in protection.

⤫ Bakudō #73: Tōzanshō ⥤ Inverse Mountain Crystal! ⤬

He had no intention of falling victim to some unknown area-of-effect attack.

Observing the tide-like assault, Genryūsai remained unfazed. His left hand released the cane, pointed forward, and began chanting a Kidō incantation.

⤫ Hadō #88: Hiryū Gekizoku Shinten Raihō ⥤ Flying Dragon-Striking Heaven-Shaking Thunder Cannon! ⤬

A deafening roar erupted as a bright blue beam of light, crackling with destructive electricity, obliterated everything in its path.

The countless Heilig Pfeil disintegrated, dissolving back into Reishi and dissipating into the air.

Genryūsai stood silent before the wreckage.

None understood the Quincy better than he did, and this knowledge now filled him with conflict.

After centuries of regarding the Quincy as mortal enemies of the Shinigami, he found himself facing an ironic twist — his final disciple had become one.

Yet he clung to a faint hope. Perhaps this was just another of Akira’s unique abilities. His troublesome disciple had always possessed a gift for creating miracles; maybe this was simply his latest feat.

“Show me your full power.” Genryūsai commanded, then added after a pause, “The Quincy’s.”

Akira’s face split into a wide grin. He tore off his Captain’s haori and deftly tied his Shihakushō around his waist, revealing his muscular physique.

The old man’s eyelid twitched.

Did this fool parade around the Quincy stronghold dressed like this too? He might as well have written ‘I am a Shinigami’ across his face!

⤫ Schrift: W ⥤ Sacred Letter: The World! ⤬

Deep blue and dark red markings materialized across his flawless physique, radiating an overwhelming aura.

Kisuke’s breath caught.

A monster!

Before the scared man’s pupils could fully contract, Akira had already burst forth. He stepped onto a platform of condensed Reishi, instantly materializing before his master.

“Teacher, watch out.”

“This old man needs no warning from a junior!” Genryūsai scoffed, his fist already clenched and flying forward.

Boom!!

Their fists collided like clashing planets. A visible shockwave erupted, rippling patterns spreading outward from the impact. The earth exploded for miles around, sending towers of brown-grey dust skyward.

Akira’s arms swung back, muscles shifting and bones grinding. The markings on his skin writhed as an enormous amount of Reishi gathered in his fists.

A demonic grin spread across his face.

⤫ Blutstil: Renzoku Futsū no Panchi ⥤ Blood Style: Consecutive Normal Punches! ⤬

{T/N: Yes, One Punch-Man}

In an instant, countless afterimages filled the battlefield. Violent gales erupted in waves, tearing through the surrounding terrain.

Unwilling to be outdone, Genryūsai unleashed his Reiatsu, his garments shredding away. His fists blurred with matching speed, creating a wall of afterimages to counter.

The surrounding air rippled violently, teetering on the edge of collapse. A heavy, scorching atmosphere spread outward, suffocating in its intensity.

Seeing master and disciple lost in their duel, Kisuke sighed and used Shunpo to retreat. Staying would only lead to his defeat.

Their battle raged with fierce intensity. Each clash sent sparks flying, setting the ground ablaze.

Genryūsai noticed that while Akira’s fighting style remained familiar, subtle differences emerged under scrutiny.

Unlike Shinigami who drew upon their internal Reiryoku, Quincy harnessed external Reishi. The denser the surrounding Reishi, the greater their combat potential.

Here in Soul Society — a realm built of Reishi — Akira’s power manifested with extraordinary ferocity.

Yet his overall combat ability had diminished slightly. Without his Shinigami techniques, he fought like a warrior with one arm bound — his movements less fluid, his timing less precise.

Through this clash, Genryūsai confirmed that Akira remained his muscle-headed, troublesome disciple.

Relieved, he decided to end the fight. Seizing his moment, he drew his blade:

⤫ Ennetsu Jigoku ⥤ Hell of Scorching Flames! ⤬

A pillar of scorching fire shot skyward, engulfing his rebellious disciple who dared challenge the heavens.

Before Akira could escape the inferno, Genryūsai sheathed his sword, his racing heart steadying.

With newfound composure, he declared, “The test is over. I now believe your identity. And Kisuke Urahara, you’re coming with me.”

Before his disciple could respond, the old man appeared beside Kisuke in a flash of Shunpo, seized him by the collar, and with one powerful stomp, transformed into a streak of fire that soared into the sky.

When Akira finally punched through the flames, all that greeted him was an empty, scorched landscape.

Akira: “?”

That old man had gotten clever! Snatching the advantage and fleeing — who had he learned that from?

Oh well. He’d humor the old child.

Akira shook his head, brushing the ash from his face. Now that the old man no longer questioned his identity, he could finally unleash his full power.

⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬

Seeing that Akira was still alive and kicking, Aizen finally relaxed.

The commotion from his battle with Genryūsai had been no mere show. Even several blocks away, the genuine killing intent within that Reiatsu was unmistakable.

He wondered if that foolish dog had truly defected to the Wandenreich — it would explain why the Captain-Commander had fought with such intensity.

“Speak.” Aizen set aside his experiment, arranged a tea table, and poured some tea, “I’m very curious about your activities in the Wandenreich during this time.”

Akira sat boldly across from him, grabbed the teacup, downed it in one gulp, and said with a proud expression:

“Not much, really. Just became the second-in-command of the Wandenreich!”

Aizen took a deep breath.

⤫⤬⤫

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