Chapter 95 – 95 ⥤ This Grudge Will Be Remembered

Akira was well familiar with the Ikkotsu (Single Bone) technique — it had left quite an impression on him.

A single punch from this technique could split mountains and rivers, proving too powerful even for Espada-level Arrancar to withstand.

The memory was crystal clear in his mind. Genryūsai, with his Ryūjin Jakka still sealed, had nearly destroyed Wonderweiss with one punch. When he unleashed Sōkotsu (Double Bone) at full power, he’d instantly obliterated his opponent into nothing.

Though Wonderweiss had traded his intelligence and speech for tremendous power — enough to rival an Espada — the old man had still destroyed him in an instant.

Such was Genryūsai’s overwhelming might.

As he himself had once said: How had he managed to serve as Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 for a thousand years?

Simple — in all that time, no stronger Shinigami had emerged.

While a technique’s effectiveness largely depended on its user, this fact alone spoke volumes about Ikkotsu’s power.

Akira had long awaited learning it.

“How do I learn it?” He eagerly stripped off his clothes, tying his new Shinigami uniform around his waist, “Will we spar like before?”

Genryūsai’s face darkened at the sight.

This habit of stripping before every fight — where had he picked that up? And such rash behavior would surely cost him dearly one day.

“First, to the training hall.”

Master and apprentice walked single file down the division barracks corridor. The division members, busy with their work, paid them no attention.

Akira’s apprenticeship in the 1st Division was common knowledge now, with word spreading throughout the Seireitei. The Division’s elite members, having witnessed such scenes weekly, had grown accustomed to the sight.

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The spacious, bright training hall gleamed before them.

New floorboards stretched out in an orderly pattern, simple yet dignified.

Akira sat cross-legged, looking expectantly at the old man before him.

“Through our days of sparring and learning, many of your weaknesses have been corrected, yet new problems have emerged.” Genryūsai stood with his hands behind his back, maintaining a master’s bearing, his deep voice commanding natural respect, “From analyzing your battle with Shiraki, while your combat experience is passable, your fundamentals remain sparse, showing distortions in both awareness and execution.”

As he spoke, he extended his right hand, fingers spread wide before clenching with terrifying, imperceptible speed. The air in his palm exploded, stirring up a violent gust.

“Against opponents of equal strength, you can overwhelm them with your Spiritual Body’s advantage. But when facing a true combat expert, victory becomes uncertain.”

Akira’s brows furrowed slightly, not quite agreeing with these words.

But eyeing those fists the size of clay pots, he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Your talent isn’t bad.” Genryūsai continued, ignoring the youth’s change in expression, “You possess a tough Spiritual Body, Captain Unohana’s Death Sword style, the Shin’ō Academy’s basic techniques, and the Shihōin clan’s secret Hakuda style — though that last one doesn’t suit you at all. Remember, the Shihōin clan leads the Onmitsukidō, their combat style focused purely on assassination.”

“Of course, mastering in months what takes most Shinigami years or decades speaks volumes. You’ve learned these skills for combat, and judging by performance alone, you’re certainly qualified — even excellent.”

At this point, Genryūsai paused, studying Akira’s expression carefully, concerned the boy might grow complacent from the praise.

Only after seeing no particular reaction did the old man continue with relief.

“Your current state is like wearing borrowed clothes and shoes — though they fit, there’s still a psychological gap. You might not have noticed before, but now that you’ve truly entered Genryū and mastered both Kaen Hōsha and Atsuryoku Sōsai techniques, I think… you must have sensed something isn’t quite right?”

Akira fell silent for a moment.

As expected of someone who’d lived for thousands of years — one glance was enough to spot his problem.

Though subtle, the sense of discomfort was unmistakable. In battle, these issues would cause him to make mistakes.

Had it not been for these deficiencies, he could have lasted five more minutes against Senjumaru.

Genryūsai had hit the nail on the head.

The Shihoin clan’s secret Hakuda style and their methods complemented each other perfectly, shaping their members’ Spiritual Bodies in distinct ways.

In contrast, Akira’s habit of stripping for battle clashed with the Shihoin clan’s style — such incompatibility was natural.

This went beyond mere stylistic differences. It encompassed countless subtle details: height, weight, limb proportions, stride length. Adapting everything to suit oneself would take three to five years at least.

Even with Akira’s advantages, this would demand considerable time and effort.

His strikes and fighting techniques were borrowed from Unohana, Yoruichi, and Genryūsai. Even the Celestial Reaper Style, while somewhat unique, still rested on the Academy’s fundamental principles.

Nothing was truly his own — just techniques he’d seen others use and attempted to replicate. To make them his, he’d need to invest time.

“I understand.” Akira sighed resignedly, “I’ll try to avoid using it from now on.”

Genryūsai shook his head, “Actually, this old man has a better method.”

“Do tell!” Akira perked up.

“It’s simple.” The old man’s bald head swayed side to side, producing bone-chilling cracks. His tone carried a hint of pleasure, his mouth curling into a slight sinister smile, “The best way to correct mistakes isn’t to patch them up. It’s to use overwhelming, unstoppable force to utterly destroy them — like a tilted building. Tear it down and rebuild, and all problems will be corrected!”

“…”

So after all that grand explanation, the old man just wanted an excuse to beat him up.

Clearly, Genryūsai thought his student had been having too easy a time lately and needed more intensive training.

Though the reasoning was sound, Akira couldn’t shake the feeling that there was quite a bit of personal grudge mixed in.

Seeing no objection, Genryūsai removed his upper Shinigami uniform and tied it at his waist, revealing a fearsome, scarred body that emanated a fierce and dominating aura.

Very well — another mark for the old man in the grudge notebook.

As Akira took his stance and prepared himself, Genryūsai’s fingers loosened then tightened, unleashing surging waves of scorching wind. Breaking from his usual pattern, the old master attacked first!

In an instant, that aged face appeared before him, followed by a fist the size of a clay pot.

Akira’s pupils contracted, but before he could react—

BOOM—

The nightmare began!

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Hours later, the dojo lay in complete ruins — not a single floorboard remained intact across its once-spacious grounds.

The walls were riddled with holes, resembling a massive sieve.

Akira lay spread-eagled among the rubble, eyes vacant, his only movable right hand instinctively raising to cast Kaidō on himself.

In contrast, Genryūsai stood nearby, looking perfectly relaxed with merely a light sheen of sweat on his forehead — completely unscathed.

Despite using all his strength, Akira hadn’t managed to inflict even a scratch.

Though thoroughly beaten, the results were exactly as intended. As the old man had said — if a house is built crooked, tear it down and start over.

Over the course of the afternoon, Genryūsai had systematically demolished all of Akira’s bad habits. If not for his exceptionally strong Spiritual Body, he might have shattered to pieces.

His combat awareness had been completely rebuilt, forging him into an entirely new person — though he looked absolutely terrible on the outside.

Throughout the brutal training, Genryūsai had demonstrated the power channeling method and Reiatsu flow of the “Ikkotsu” technique, patiently explaining and analyzing while delivering his devastating strikes.

This fighting style merged Spiritual Body strength with Reiatsu — the stronger these two elements, the more destructive power it could unleash.

It seemed tailor-made for Akira.

Yet with his current foundation, he couldn’t execute it perfectly. Forcing it would only result in injuring himself while damaging the enemy.

Genryūsai approached the ruins, pulled out the buried youth, casually dusted him off, gave him another shake, and after confirming nothing was permanently damaged, promptly tossed him back to the ground.

“We’ll need to repeat this type of lesson every few days.”

His first words nearly made Akira lose his composure — one session had almost destroyed him, and a few more might force him to start completely over.

“Of course, that’s only if you develop new bad habits. Regarding the details of Ikkotsu, if there’s anything you don’t understand, come ask this old man anytime, but don’t try anything reckless. Your performance today wasn’t bad, so I’ll overlook your previous mistakes.”

Akira slowly formed a question mark.

When had he made any mistakes? This old man clearly just had it out for him!

Given the difference in their strength, he could only add another mark in his grudge notebook against this bald eagle.

One of these days…

“There’s one more thing.” Genryūsai changed his tone, his expression becoming much more serious, “Do you remember when you were almost assassinated in the 32nd District?”

Akira looked blank, trying hard to recall, then after a moment said, “Ah yes, the rebel army’s assassination squad, those despicable cowards who ambushed me when I was exhausted…”

Genryūsai fell silent.

You call that exhausted?

This old man beat you for an entire afternoon and you’re still full of energy, yet you claim exhaustion after killing two Hollows that weren’t even Menos Grande?

“Actually, after you left, the Twelfth Division sent multiple teams to investigate why Hollows appeared there. Another group of men in black appeared, clearly there to silence witnesses. This makes this old man suspect the Hollows’ appearance might be connected to the rebels.”

Akira listened with great interest, even forgetting about his bruises, “And then?”

Genryūsai shot him an exasperated look and continued, “The Seireitei forces suffered heavy casualties, but the rebel assassination force was completely wiped out. The Onmitsukidō launched an investigation into the matter. Based on the traces left at the scene, there may have been a third party present. Judging by the Reiatsu alone, their strength was at least at the Lieutenant level.”

Akira pondered thoughtfully.

So the investigation had uncovered an uncontrolled variable: 12th Division forces, rebel forces, and an unknown force. Beyond that, there were the nobles’ power struggles and civil wars between rebel factions.

Even without external enemies, the Soul Society was already in complete chaos…

“Just recently…” Genryūsai said gravely, “There have been disappearances in the 32nd District — both Shinigami and civilians. Similar Reiatsu traces were found in the areas where the missing people had been active. This old man had originally planned to put Kyōraku in charge, but he has an urgent mission, and Ukitake is bedridden and unable to fight. So…”

His gaze fell on the bewildered youth.

“Since you have nothing better to do these days, why don’t you investigate this matter?”

Akira’s eyes widened, “Me?”

Has the old man finally got senile, asking an 11th Division member to handle delicate investigative work?

“Is there a problem?” Genryūsai’s elderly voice carried an imposing air without a trace of anger, though his demeanor suggested one word of refusal would bring down that pot-sized fist.

“Very… well…” Akira took a deep breath and reluctantly accepted the mission.

The old man had been genuinely dedicated in teaching him. If he kept only taking without giving anything in return, he’d feel guilty.

Since Genryūsai had entrusted him with such an important task, it meant the old man truly considered him one of his own.

Treat me with sincerity, and I shall respond in kind.

“Don’t forget to visit the Fourth Division first.”

Just as Akira had barely regained enough mobility and was shakily preparing to leave the dojo, Genryūsai’s voice called from behind.

“Have Captain Unohana check you over, to ensure there’s no internal damage…” The elderly voice gradually faded until it could no longer be heard.

Turning to look back at the empty dojo, Akira’s lips curved into a slight smile, as if thinking of something pleasant, and his departing footsteps became a bit lighter.

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4th Division, Coordinated Relief Station.

After Akira reported in, Unohana set aside her work to examine him.

In the ward, he lay weakly on the bed, telling the gentle healer about the bald eagle’s misdeeds and his new mission.

As expected, Unohana was familiar with the situation.

“The Twelfth Division members who were sent that day returned behaving strangely — claiming with excitement that they had discovered their potential and grown stronger. They even submitted transfer requests to join the Eleventh Division.”

Akira’s mouth twitched at this news. He could already imagine the outcome.

Transfers weren’t granted by mere requests — they required passing tests and approval from both Captains.

A group of researchers trying to fight a bunch of brutes with strength? They’d end up with their brains bashed in.

Unohana smiled gently as she turned Akira over on the bed. With her slender, fair fingers, she applied special ointment to his bruises, spreading a cooling sensation across his skin.

The effect was remarkable. His bruises visibly faded, and even the muscle soreness diminished considerably.

“If you’re investigating this matter…” She said softly with a gentle smile, “You might want to check North Rukongai’s 54th District first. There might be some clues…”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep