Your Excellency Is Strong, but My Style Is Above Yours!

Did you know that protagonist Ichigo Kurosaki learned Bankai in just a few days?

Did you know that a certain genius was hailed as the "Strongest Ice-type," the youngest captain in the Thirteenth Division, with a Zanpakuto said to rival Ryujin Jakka, yet got used as a punching bag to pad everyone else's record throughout the story?

And that was only in Bleach. Iori had not even brought up the Bald Demon King who trained for three years, the Strongest Genin whose talk-no-jutsu was invincible, or the low-ranking Saiyan warrior whose combat power soared from one hundred thousand to over a hundred million—those monsters!

These days, having cheats was nothing new. Judging strength purely by character settings was even more absurd. After all, some people could become the Time King and still get run over by a motorcycle...

Iori had long since realized that in this era where subverting tropes was all the rage, neither bloodline cheats nor destiny cheats were reliable. Only aura never went out of style!

Of course, some might bring up examples like Satoru Gojo, Chairman Ai, Garp, and Sasuke—characters with absurd settings and formidable strength who somehow always ended up fumbling.

But had they not seen characters like Levi, Tsugikuni, and Isshin Ashina? Even crippled, aged, or dying of illness, with their strength vastly diminished, they still made people feel they were invincible!

There was no other reason:

Once your aura reached a certain level, even the original author could do nothing about it!

As someone blessed by "style," how could Iori possibly be satisfied with merely being called a "genius"?

More than that, he would not stop at Bleach!

And if he truly settled for modest comfort, thinking of living peacefully the moment he gained a little strength... then, with his knowledge of the plot, that would be far too foolish.

Even in the early and middle stages, Captain-level fighters were often humiliated. Then, in the later stages, Yhwach appeared—an omniscient and omnipotent monster who slaughtered everyone the moment he showed up, fully capable of destroying the world. He was the sort that not even plot armor from the author could suppress.

In this perilous Soul Society, Iori had long decided on his ambition in order to protect himself and his family:

He would place "style" above Frost Sky itself!

Looks, chuunibyou levels, aura... call it whatever you wanted. Supreme style was the combat power that would never go out of fashion!

And since the first world he had landed in was Bleach, he would first set himself a modest goal:

Surpass Getsuga Tensho in sheer drip!

Just as Iori was, as usual, indulging in fantasies of a wonderful future, the noisy commotion in the distance made him frown.

"So noisy." The youth looked over in displeasure.

The faint smile on Yuki's face gradually faded as well, and she cast a cold, slightly annoyed look in that direction.

The siblings had reached the entrance of the Soul Reaper Academy near Byakudōmon, one of Seireitei's main gates. By rights, this was a place where disturbances were forbidden, yet someone still dared to make a scene.

Several upperclassmen dressed in white-sleeved kimono and loose black hakama had gathered by the entrance. They were split into two groups, four against one.

The unpleasant voices mainly came from the group of four. Their tones were aggressive as they surrounded a dark-skinned student, seemingly threatening him. Yet judging from his expression, he was unafraid. No matter how they pressured him, he remained utterly composed.

The siblings saw the scene, but their steps did not pause. They strolled past with leisurely ease, naturally drawing the others' attention.

"Huh?"

One gloomy-faced person sensed something and turned his head. The moment he recognized the newcomers, his expression changed. He was initially flustered, then forcibly composed himself, though a trace of fear lingered deep in his eyes.

"Tch... Fine, let's go!"

The other three noticed them as well after hearing this, but their gazes only swept over Iori before settling on Yuki. They quickly looked away one after another. Their earlier ferocity vanished, replaced by a hint of embarrassment.

You know them?

Iori looked at Yuki.

Yuki casually shook her head. No.

Perhaps she had seen them before, but Yuki had always treated people without talent or value as if they did not exist.

Before leaving, the leader shot Iori a hard glare. "Don't forget about tomorrow. Better sharpen your skills while you still can, Iori Aizen!"

With that, he led the other three away, fully revealing the student they had surrounded.

He was a dark-skinned young man with his eyes tightly shut, seemingly blind. Though his race differed from the mainstream of Soul Society, his features were not bad.

"So it really is you, Senior Tousen." Iori said, unsurprised. "Got into another conflict with someone?"

This man was Tousen Kaname, one of the future captains of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. For now, however, he was merely an ordinary Soul Reaper Academy student.

...He also had no idea how someone who could not see had managed to enroll.

Though Iori remembered the general plot, he did not know much about these characters' life stories. The original work had barely mentioned them, after all. He had no idea whether Tousen had entered the Spirit Art Academy at this point, or whether he had been Aizen's classmate in the Original Work...

But this was a world where even Aizen could become female. Why bother obsessing over whether every detail matched the Original Work?

"Good afternoon, Iori, Aizen."

Though blind, Tousen's other senses were keen. Even though Yuki had said nothing, he had noticed her.

"Did you just return from home? You must be tired. Thank you for what happened earlier. Otherwise, it probably would have dragged on for quite a while."

Tousen Kaname bowed to them. As an upperclassman, he had no need to be so polite to Iori, yet he remained humble and even used honorific language.

"You're too honest—that's why they dared to block you here. When dealing with people like that, you should teach them a lesson. Beat them up a few times, and they'll learn to behave."

Iori wore a teasing expression. "You know, outside the Spirit Art Academy, these nobles can't be touched. Only here can you openly 'spar' with them. You can't let an opportunity like that slip away."

"Heh, you jest, Iori... Violence cannot solve problems. It only breeds conflict and hatred." Tousen Kaname smiled serenely. "A friend of mine once said that mutual understanding between people was the most important thing."

"Tousen's friend must be a very gentle person. That is truly admirable. I hope I can become that gentle someday."

Yuki spoke softly with a smile, but a trace of mockery surfaced in her eyes. Clearly, what she thought was completely different from what she said.

Iori was far more direct. "I agree, but there are many ways to achieve mutual understanding. Communicating with fists is far more efficient than communicating with words!"

A conflict? Just beat the other person until they were thoroughly convinced.

Did they know how Confucius convinced people with "reason"?

Tousen shook his head with a smile. Though he did not quite agree with Iori, he did not argue.

Despite being blind, he ranked among the best of his peers. He was upright, helpful, and often defended bullied juniors and classmates, so he had offended quite a few people.

Among those he knew, the Aizen siblings were rare "good people" who possessed strength yet did not bully the weak. Thus, Tousen held a favorable impression of them both.

"By the way, that person said something about you preparing for tomorrow."

Tousen asked with some concern, "What is it? Can I help?"

"No, you can't help with this one. And it's nothing serious. I just need to be careful with how much strength I use."

Noticing Yuki's inquisitive look, Iori revealed a faintly amused smile.

"After all, crushing an ant while pretending it takes effort—that's quite difficult."

I'm Afraid I'll Accidentally Beat You to Death

Soul Society, Soul Reaper Academy, Thirteenth Division Dojo.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The sound of wooden swords colliding rang out, sometimes sparse, sometimes fierce. Reiatsu fluctuations clashed in secret, wrestling against one another like beasts. Then, after one full-force collision, the dojo fell into deathly silence.

In the vast, level dojo, students dressed in white training uniforms and loose black hakama sat in a circle, staring fixedly at the changes in the center. Every face was solemn, and some were even sweating.

At the center of all those gazes stood two swordsmen, one tall and one short. Neither wore any protective gear, and each held a wooden sword.

The taller one looked to be in his early twenties. His masculine, well-defined features carried a resolute air. His short buzz cut stood up like iron wires, and he had large hands and feet, long limbs, powerful muscles, and a well-proportioned waist and back. Beneath his brawny frame hid explosive power. Had he been in the World of the Living, he would have been born to serve as a military general.

In comparison, the other was far more "frail." He looked only thirteen or fourteen. Though his arms bore the lines of trained muscle, his height and weight were nowhere near the same class.

His only advantage might have been his looks—

The youth was strikingly handsome. Beneath slightly messy bangs were deep black eyes. His refined features were still youthful, yet he possessed a composure utterly at odds with his appearance.

The May sun shone brightly, carrying a scorching heat. It illuminated the youth's focused expression and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, irresistibly drawing the attention of the female students.

If it were Iori, dying beneath his blade would surely be as beautiful as falling cherry blossoms—all sorts of absurd thoughts emerged one after another.

At first glance, the two in the center appeared to be standing motionless like statues. But upon closer inspection, one could see their wooden swords trembling faintly with the quivers of their wrists. This was not from lack of stamina, but because they were like venomous snakes searching for a flaw in their prey.

Their feet took—or perhaps slid through—tiny shuffling steps. Bit by bit, they adjusted their relative positions and angles, continuously correcting themselves in response to the other's movements, never allowing the soles of their feet to leave the floor for too long.

Strictly speaking, this was not a fair fight. One of them had studied swordsmanship for four years, was among the best of his peers, and was already preparing to graduate early.

The other had only entered the academy a little over a year ago. Not only did he lack experience, but he was at a tremendous disadvantage in height and reach.

Only those who had truly experienced combat understood the importance of a fraction of an inch, let alone when the gap between the two was already obvious.

Yet no student stepped forward to stop this unfair match.

There were two reasons. First, the challenger had staked the dignity of an upperclassman. Second, deep down, everyone believed this would be an evenly matched sword fight!

Just as Miyamoto Musashi had defeated Sasaki Kojiro through underhanded means yet was still praised by others, because against such a dazzling opponent, the challenger had to exhaust every ounce of courage and wisdom and make full use of every advantage to win!

At last, the taller challenger could no longer hold back:

When his "friends" had asked him to step in, they had only said that Iori was a rogue who caused trouble everywhere because he was good with a sword, and asked him to put the boy in his place.

But after exchanging several rounds, he could already say with certainty:

Those bastards had been talking nonsense!

If Iori truly were as they claimed, then he would surely be an impetuous brat. There was no way he could possess such cool, composed swordsmanship!

Still, this was not the time to pursue that matter. Ending this fight quickly was what mattered most.

Though they were in an unyielding standoff, he felt his movements gradually beginning to follow his opponent's, as though he were being led along. Perhaps it was only an illusion, but it still unsettled him.

Years of swordsmanship experience told him that at this moment, there was only one way to break the deadlock.

"Hah!!!"

The roar burst from his throat like winter thunder, making eardrums ache. The surrounding students tensed, their hearts contracting sharply, as if they had encountered a starving beast in the wild.

This was not merely a shout. It also employed a technique that used reiatsu to intimidate the mind. Had anyone else been in his place, they would surely have been unable to endure it—either panicking inwardly or striking out in haste!

But the youth disappointed his opponent. Even in the face of that imposing roar, the rhythm of his steps remained undisturbed. He was like the boundless ocean; no matter how one vented against him, no response could be drawn forth.

"Hah!!!"

Finally, with another roar, the tall student stopped probing. His spirit, energy, and focus merged as one, and he struck at the peak of his Sword Momentum.

High Guard: Kesa Slash!

Rather than choosing Tangzhu, the direct vertical cut from above, he used a Kesa Slash that slashed diagonally from right to left. This was not a strategic consideration, but simply because his opponent had no opening to exploit, forcing him to use the form he was most skilled in!

The heavy strike was so powerful that, for an instant, it seemed like a real blade. The union of momentum and form was flawless, as though blood would splash across the floor in the next moment!

At that instant, as if a frame had been cut from a film, the youth who moved second suddenly stepped forward without warning. His smaller body shifted slightly to the side, lowering himself as the wooden sword carrying fierce force swept down past his hair and sleeve. Holding his wooden sword at waist level, both hands gripped the hilt. Like a mantis hunting an insect, he calmly unleashed a lightning-fast strike—

Smack!

Low Stance: Reverse Wind!

The upward thrust seemed to rip open flesh beneath the ribs, spilling scorching organs and blood—

No, it was only an illusion!

The watching students sucked in sharp breaths. Enveloped by that oppressive momentum, they had nearly believed they were witnessing a bloody and brutal scene before their eyes.

"Urgh!"

Though it was not a real sword, the direct hit from the wooden blade still sent agonizing pain through the tall man. The cracking sound told him that his ribs had broken, but he did not concede. Instead, he clenched his teeth and forcibly suppressed the pain.

His hands made several rapid adjustments, and his wooden sword flickered like a nimble falcon. Then everyone heard three crisp sounds—bang, bang, bang—as the tall man used small deflecting blocks to ward off the young swordsman's follow-up attacks.

Judging by appearance alone, no one would have imagined that such a tall and imposing brute could wield such refined swordsmanship.

But those familiar with him knew that while he excelled at broad, powerful techniques, he had also trained in superb Wakizashi techniques. He was a rather subtle person.

Of course, this only slowed his decline. It could not completely stop the young swordsman—Iori Aizen's—assault.

There was nowhere left to retreat!

Tetsuzaemon Shojiba, born into a distinguished family, had already understood. If he could not launch a desperate counterattack, he would have no hope of victory.

"Hah!"

His practiced footwork coordinated with the force from his waist. He turned with accumulated momentum, shifting between toe and heel, instinctively changing into a sword form for a last stand.

His body twisted, but his momentum became even sharper!