The Sword's Breath

"Don't stare at me like that. It's scary, Commander."

Soi Fon's gaze was weak, but it still held a trace of sharpness.

The ever-strong-willed Soi Fon trembled, but Dōsan gripped her hand tightly.

"I still owe you for two meals. Leave the rest to me."

Two meals?

Come to think of it, wouldn't eating over a thousand pieces of sushi make you burst?

With her face buried against Dōsan's chest, Soi Fon suddenly smiled. She didn't know why, but when she had seen the bewildered Dōsan back then, he had seemed to remind her of her former self.

Pursuing that elusive bond, searching for the meaning of her existence.

In an instant, a heart that had been cold for fifteen years grew hot again, and she wanted to tease the little fellow.

Just as that person had once done to her...

Still, should she say this was only to be expected of a boy even Matsumoto had acknowledged while drunk?

After Ōmaeda came back that time, hadn't he sung the praises of Dōsan, whom she had never met?

Come to think of it, she had ended up like this today because that Ōmaeda had suggested something about teaching Dōsan Shunpo.

Chuckling to herself, Soi Fon relaxed and passed out in Dōsan's arms.

Unlike the girl captain, whose thoughts were running wild, Dōsan faced a far more serious situation.

His chances of winning were close to zero, and escape was even more impossible.

The girl captain's injuries also needed urgent treatment.

Things couldn't have been worse.

Yet Dōsan wasn't as desperate as one might expect. He wasn't even all that nervous.

It was a little uncanny.

He was listening.

Listening to the breath of the sword in his hand, to its heartbeat.

"Oh dear, I missed."

Gin Ichimaru smiled without a trace of apology, rubbed the back of his head, and slowly put away his sword.

"Tch, you're terrible!" Pink Hair scoffed, shooting him a sidelong glance.

Everyone had seen it clearly.

No, Tachikawa, who was perhaps the weakest of them, might not have quite understood. Gin Ichimaru's strike had taken no more than an instant, and yet, in that infinitesimal interval, Dōsan had drawn his blade and deflected the strike slightly, saving Soi Fon's life.

Not only that, he had used the Spiritual Pressure of a Seated Officer to alter the trajectory of a Captain-level attack.

Even if only slightly.

But an achievement like that could no longer be simply attributed to strength.

Gin had experienced it firsthand. Dōsan Hanyū really did possess some kind of special ability.

"That's right, Fifth Seat Tachikawa," Gin agreed with a smile instead of getting angry.

As he bantered with Tachikawa, Gin also discreetly observed Aizen.

What exactly had made him so certain that Dōsan Hanyū would follow Soi Fon?

And had he anticipated that Dōsan Hanyū would block his lethal strike?

Ever since Dōsan arrived, Aizen had worn a thoughtful expression and a faint smile. He looked polite, but no one could tell whether he was actually listening.

Gin had never seen that expression on Aizen before.

"Tch."

In all her life, Tachikawa had suffered more setbacks with Gin than anywhere else. This time, however, she paid him no mind for once. Her voice turned seductive. "But if your sword could carry a deadly poison, combined with your sword, you could achieve a different kind of one-hit kill."

Poison a Zanpakuto? You really dared to say that!

"Ah, yes, yes, yes," Gin agreed with a smile.

"I suppose a simple-minded fellow like you, whose limbs aren't well developed either, would have trouble understanding." Tachikawa gave him a disdainful glance.

"Kisuke Urahara's research topic is the fusion of Shinigami and Hollows, Mayuri Kurotsuchi's is Modified Souls, and mine is Zanpakuto modification."

With his back to Aizen and Tachikawa, Gin opened his eyes slightly, then replied flatteringly in his normal tone, "That really is amazing."

"Of course, I don't have a Bankai-level Zanpakuto to experiment on yet." Tachikawa's pink cowlick bobbed as she rubbed her little hands together. In an immensely seductive voice, she said, "I can provide you with a poison that kills in one hit!"

"What a shame. It seems you don't intend to abandon my beloved Commander," Gen Kiji remarked regretfully.

Not only had Dōsan given no thought to his fate should he be defeated.

At this moment, he even felt a little resentful toward the man before him for constantly calling her "Commander." He really wanted to know the girl captain's name.

"Brat, you'd better hold my beloved Commander tight." Gen Kiji drew his Zanpakuto and ran his tongue hard along the blade. Bright red blood dripped from his tongue down the edge. "If you let your guard down for a moment, I'll kill her immediately!"

"Now then, hold on tight." Gen Kiji raised the hilt of his sword over his shoulder, then slammed it hard into the ground.

"Crush, Heavy Kill!"

Boom! With Gen Kiji at its center, the ground began to cave in, cracking like a spiderweb around his feet.

The Zanpakuto, synonymous with Shinigami.

Something both distant and close to Dōsan.

Dōsan held the dying Soi Fon in one arm and a broken Asauchi in the other hand.

Though the Shiba siblings' training had taught Dōsan the basics of swordsmanship,

in modern Shinigami combat, swordsmanship had become less and less important.

I really must be crazy.

Dōsan smiled bitterly, finding his own behavior inexplicable. Instead of using perfectly good Kidō, he insisted on holding a broken Asauchi.

But when he gripped the sword in his hand, Dōsan really did feel an inexplicable sense of reassurance.

Besides, with both his Spiritual Pressure and combat experience so far behind his opponent's, turning the tables with Kidō was nothing more than a pipe dream.

Giving Dōsan little time to react, Gen Kiji used Shunpo and slashed at his face with his sword.

His Shunpo was quite good, but such a straightforward attack?

Dōsan raised the broken blade behind him. Cold light flashed, and he sliced open Gen Kiji's arm.

Blood gushed out, but Gen Kiji grinned viciously and hacked his short, ancient-gray blade into the air beside Dōsan.

"Pfft..."

Soi Fon, already unconscious from her severe injuries, suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood, her condition worsening further.

Dōsan had clearly been careful enough. The blade had not touched Soi Fon; in fact, it had been quite far from her.

"Hey, hey, young man, it seems you're not strong enough to play the hero and save the beauty!"

Damn it.

Dōsan bit his lower lip hard. He had little experience fighting Shinigami to begin with, and this was his first real fight against one who knew how to release a Zanpakuto.

Dōsan had never imagined that a Shinigami's attacks could be so bizarre.

"Vibrations?"

A strike against the air would also damage the air nearby.

It was an extremely troublesome skill. With his Shunpo inferior to his opponent's, there was simply nowhere to hide.

"Second strike." Ryō Genshi was as smug as a cat playing with a mouse. He assumed the same stance and charged straight at him again.

This time, Dōsan didn't dare meet the attack.

Holding Soi Fon in his arms, Dōsan used Shunpo to retreat.

"I can't allow that."

Ryō Genshi smiled mockingly and used Shunpo himself, appearing in front of Dōsan.

His Spiritual Pressure overwhelmingly superior, and as a former Fourth Seat of the Second Division, his Shunpo better than Dōsan's as well, Ryō Genshi appeared in front of Dōsan in a flash.

He hadn't even changed his attack.

He could dodge it, but...

Dōsan had never stopped using Kaidō, but Soi Fon's condition had clearly worsened after being caught in the vibrations just now.

If she took another hit like that, his half-baked Kidō would have trouble keeping her going.

Using Shunpo again, Dōsan avoided a direct hit from the blade.

And just as before, Ryō Genshi's sword slammed into the air.

This time, Dōsan turned sideways and blocked it with his back.

A tremendous wave of vibration instantly reduced the flesh on Dōsan's back to a bloody mess.

He staggered and nearly fell to the ground.

"Now for the third strike."

The same smile, the same movement, the same head-on charge.

This time, Dōsan had lost his earlier composure, but his gaze remained sharp. Around his body, an unusual gray mist of Spiritual Pressure began spreading outward like waves.

[Call my name]