This Is Mercy

This Is Mercy

"Real Sword Practice refers to an Exchange Blows conducted with real blades."

"In the distant past, people were skilled at using this method for fair and impartial contests and duels. After all, only between life and death was there equality."

"Though this custom had declined by now, it had also developed other forms."

"That was, using real blades to make both sides take things more seriously, allowing them to focus far more intensely than during training."

He was constantly instructing him.

As a teacher alone, Aizen truly lived up to the word "responsible."

But now was hardly the time for a lesson!

As he listened to Aizen's explanation, cold sweat kept breaking out on Arima Shizuya's brow.

No, no, no...

No matter how I look at it, there's no way I can beat Aizen.

If it were a Wooden Sword, I could at least force myself to stay calm. But now we're using real blades. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

Arima Shizuya's heartbeat accelerated uncontrollably, and even his palms began to sweat.

Naturally, such a reaction could not escape the other man's notice.

Aizen's smile remained unchanged. With the tip of his blade pointed downward, he continued pacing with steady, unhurried steps.

"Shizuya-kun, are you nervous?"

Wasn't that obvious?! "That's right, you should be nervous. No... rather, that is the normal reaction."

Aizen stopped pacing and began walking toward Arima Shizuya at an unhurried pace.

"After all, it is your first time coming into contact with the real thing. Such a reaction is perfectly normal."

His tabi rubbed against the Kendo Hall's wooden floorboards. Who knew how much sweat had seeped into them over the years, yet they had been impeccably maintained.

They gleamed with a smooth, oily sheen.

"The mere sight of something this sharp makes people instinctively recoil. Fearing injury, fearing blood... those are normal reactions as well."

"After all, few people are born warriors."

"Most need to be selected and trained afterward before they can gradually adapt to such things."

Closer. Closer still.

Aizen's words were more than sounds. They seemed to carry a faint breeze as they wrapped around Arima Shizuya.

"Do you know, Shizuya-kun? Every year, one-sixth of the new students are forcibly eliminated at the end of each month."

"It is not because their academic performance is poor, but simply because they cannot accept the existence of blades."

"They hesitate and waver. Even the lightest weapon becomes as heavy as a thousand tons in their hands, until they can no longer lift it."

His soft voice flowed like water. Amid those quiet, peaceful murmurs, Aizen had already arrived before Arima Shizuya.

The boy watched as the other man raised his blade, turned its edge, and held it beside his neck.

Nervous...

No, it was more accurate to say that something invisible was crushing him.

Arima Shizuya found it difficult even to breathe. It felt as though someone had seized his throat, twisting his expression into a grimace.

His body began trembling uncontrollably, like a mouse before a wildcat, as if facing its natural predator.

He could not make out the other man's expression.

Aizen's glasses reflected the harsh white light, giving off an utterly emotionless air.

What is this??? It was as if something invisible had tightly bound Arima Shizuya's body, driving him nearly mad.

"See? This is the weapon you and I share."

He pressed the weapon in his hand inch by inch toward Arima Shizuya's neck.

Though it had not yet touched his body, waves of sharp pain had already pierced straight through his skin.

"This is a Masterwork Blade: bloodthirsty, savage, utterly devoid of emotion."

"Thus, when wielding it, mercy is most forbidden. There can be no hesitation, either."

"Shizu... no, Arima Shizuya. This is a battle for survival, the finest opportunity to prove your worth."

Though Aizen spoke in an apparently calm tone, Arima Shizuya felt the invisible pressure growing ever stronger.

Gulp...

Even the air seemed to twist.

Fine sweat dripped from his eyelids, sliding down bit by bit before finally seeping into Arima Shizuya's eyes.

The stinging was unbearable, but he could not dodge. He could not yield even the slightest bit...

Because his instincts were telling him—

He absolutely could not retreat now! If he showed fear, revealed even the slightest trace of weakness... the weapon hanging over his life would fall without mercy and take everything from him.

"What is it? Why have you not reacted? Have you already accepted your miserable defeat?"

"Surrendering before battle is the act of the weak. Arima Shizuya, are you truly such a feeble and useless person?"

"If so, then your life will be mercilessly taken from you someday. Rather than letting some faceless strangers ravage you, I would rather bury you with my own hands."

"Arima Shizuya, remember this well..."

"This is mercy."

The instant those words fell, the restrained sense of danger erupted completely! Like floodwaters released from a broken dam, emotions surged out in an instant and filled Arima Shizuya's chest.

I have to fight. I have to struggle, or I'll die. I'll be taken from, until there's nothing left...

I have to resist, but... but what am I supposed to do...

His teeth were nearly ground to pieces.

At that critical moment, Arima Shizuya felt every pore on his body open. His right hand dropped reflexively.

In that moment of despair and confusion.

It closed around the hilt of his Asauchi.

He drew his blade.

Clang...

A crisp ringing sound came first, followed by an earth-shaking roar.

Boom!!!

Fukai Senda was responsible for managing access to the Kendo Hall, recording all manner of information, and submitting regular reports.

He had been reclining in a homemade rocking chair, basking in the warm afternoon sun as he took a small sip of freshly brewed tea.

Today was another peaceful—

His thoughts never finished forming.

A deafening explosion suddenly erupted behind him.

The surging blast of wind and dust tore apart wooden boards and equipment, even lifting a living man weighing over a hundred catties straight off the ground.

Fukai Senda let out a strange cry as he twisted himself in midair. Yet he failed to react in time and tumbled miserably more than ten meters away.

Huh? Huh?? Huh???

What the hell happened? Did a Hollow invade Soul Society? Or did someone bring something flammable and explosive into the Kendo Hall?

Gah! Either way, this is a huge problem! In a single instant, he had already come up with over a hundred excuses to shirk responsibility.

His gaze immediately fixed ahead. Raising his right hand to shield his face, he shouted at the students gathering around him.

"Don't just stand there! Hurry and get others to help! There's trouble at the Kendo Hall!"

Passing messages verbally was a rather primitive method, but there was no helping it... no one present seemed proficient in Kido.

They could not even use Tenteikūra to send a message!

Fortunately, before the chaos could spread, Fukai Senda's gaze pierced through the gradually dispersing dust.

He saw two figures standing within.

That was...

His focus reached 120% as he strained to see what had happened inside.

Fukai Senda gave it everything he had! At last, he saw clearly!

A man in black robes stood with both hands hanging calmly at his sides.

His short brown hair was slightly curled, and his build was lean and thin.

Yet after seeing the man's condition, Fukai Senda could not help drawing in a sharp breath.

A wound...

A horrifying wound.

It began at his lower abdomen, crossed half his body, and extended all the way to his shoulder.

It was as though he had taken a terrifyingly brutal kesa-giri head-on. Even onlookers felt their teeth ache at the sight.

The standard black robes of a Shinigami had been completely torn apart. The wound that had cut into flesh was of unknown depth, and blood that made one's heart tremble was now seeping out.

Aizen Sōsuke.

His glasses had flown off somewhere.

Several splatters of blood stained his neck and face.

Even so.

Aizen Sōsuke still wore an exceedingly strange smile.

His hands hung at his sides, and he made no move to resist. He even seemed pleased about something.

What is he smiling about? I-I don't get it! Isn't this way too terrifying?! Then, as Fukai Senda's gaze passed through the fully dispersed dust, he finally saw the other hidden figure.

The other person was kneeling on the ground.

His long black hair was tightly tied behind his head. One knee touched the floor, his left hand supported his body, and his right hand tightly gripped the Asauchi.

His body heaved rapidly and desperately.

As though he were gasping for breath, as though he were rejoicing over having survived a disaster.

Arima Shizuya.

The hair across his forehead was soaked with sweat, clinging completely to his face.

The boy's eye sockets were slightly sunken. His mouth hung half-open as he trembled uncontrollably, breathing and desperately grasping at the thing called oxygen.

He looked faintly weak, helpless as though he might collapse at any moment.

Yet even so.

Aizen still chuckled softly as he crouched down and extended his right hand toward Arima Shizuya.

Gurgle.

The movement tore at his wound, and blood surged out, soaking his clothes in an instant before gathering at the edges and flowing downward.

It fell.

Drip...

"Shizuya-kun, congratulations. You have won the chance to survive."

"And remember this well, remember it completely..."

"Remember how it felt when you swung your blade just now, because this is the power to struggle."

Arima Shizuya wanted to say something, but in the end, his eyes rolled back.

He fainted on the spot...

Fukai Senda witnessed everything.

His mouth hung slightly open. He stammered for a while, but could not utter a single word.

Though he was already a Squad Member and lacked talent, he was by no means at the very bottom.

At this moment, he finally understood.

That had not been an explosion.

It had simply been Spiritual Power released outward, forming a turbulent current.

Spiritual pressure.

In that single instant, it had bloomed without restraint.