You Are Strong, Sir, but My Art Style Is Above Yours!

Once one learned the true name of their Zanpakuto and achieved Shikai, most of their attention would go toward developing its abilities.

Iori was an exception. First, he believed the combat system of Zanpakuto, Hakuda, Kido was already quite comprehensive. Properly developed, it would provide tremendous support. If he relied solely on his Zanpakuto, then should he encounter an incompatible opponent, he could be countered and defeated.

Don't believe it? Just look at Enel next door~

Since he had the Perfect Shinigami talent he'd mooched off Aizen, he might as well develop across the board instead of becoming lopsided!

Second, for Iori, this seemingly simple, tedious training that did not bring much immediate improvement was actually extremely cost-effective, because—

Zheng!

The bamboo sword came down once more, but this time, the whistle of air it split was exceptionally clear and cool, as though a real blade had cut through the gap in the wind.

"Whew..."

Iori slowed his movements and exhaled a breath of hot air, a flicker of pleasure appearing in his eyes.

He could feel it... This body was, without a doubt, slowly yet steadily growing stronger!

Many people felt something similar after intense exercise. Even a shut-in who rarely left home might go for a run once in a while, get carried away by the exhilaration, and think his stamina was pretty decent. In reality, though, most of it was merely an illusion.

The human body had tremendous plasticity, but it could not be changed overnight. It required accumulated nourishment and training, and only long-term persistence could bring obvious changes.

Iori was no exception. His strength had not come overnight either, and like anyone else, he needed to train. The difference was—

His rate of growth was far faster. At this moment, he truly was a little stronger than before!

The increase was small, but completely real!

This was because of his catalog. Though it could not make someone level up on the spot like in a game, the attributes gained from collecting CGs could be developed as "potential," giving Iori an abnormal rate of improvement. Even the most ordinary training could equal several days, or even weeks, of another person's hard work in a single day.

The same applied to spiritual pressure. Before reaching the Art Style Value cap, there would be no obstacles whatsoever. In the original story, Aizen had needed to study the Hogyoku after reaching the limits of his growth in order to break through the shackles of the Bleach system. Iori, however, was naturally unrestricted. In a sense, his talent surpassed even that scheming boss.

Physique, spiritual pressure, Zanpakuto, Hakuda, Kido... Even if he did nothing and simply let nature take its course, Iori could become a Captain-level expert—and one with no weaknesses.

But that was still not enough. To truly climb to the peak, following the rules would not do. He needed something extraordinary that no one else could match.

Even with all his attributes maxed out, he still could not beat certain gimmick monsters—for example, Old Man Yamamoto, who had been cut in half by Yhwach...

Iori knew very well that, setting aside other worlds, within Bleach itself, the most reliable way to gain a unique trump card was to acquire a broken Zanpakuto.

However, Iori had some reservations about the predecessor of a Zanpakuto—the blank katana that served as a vessel for the blade's soul, an Asauchi...

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

Ivan did not become satisfied with such minor progress. The steady sound of Suburi continued to echo through the empty dojo.

Even setting aside the utilitarian motive of increasing his strength, Iori himself enjoyed empty swings. Clearing his mind and letting his body constantly shift between tension and relaxation made him feel incomparably at ease. His mood brightened along with it.

Perhaps because of that, a smile unconsciously curled across his lips as he trained.

Whoosh—

At one moment, his movement abruptly stopped. The bamboo sword's trajectory was cut off against all reason, without even an inch of unnecessary motion. This complete control over the blade in his hand was what swordsmanship called composure.

Several figures of varying builds appeared at the dojo entrance. Under the moonlight, all that could be seen were their plain martial arts uniforms. Their heads, however, were entirely covered by black cloth sacks, leaving only their eyes exposed.

Iori lowered his wooden sword and glanced toward the entrance, unconcerned. He turned and took a towel from the clothing basket by the wall, wiping the sweat from his neck. Then, simply tugging at the chest of his training uniform, he slipped out of it, revealing muscles that were not particularly bulky but were remarkably well-proportioned.

"Whew~ That feels much better." Stretching his neck, the boy casually put the bamboo sword away and took down the specially made wooden sword used for combat training.

This kind of wooden sword was nearly as hard as steel and even heavier than a real blade. The academy instructors had specially commissioned them to train students.

Iori took the one he usually used. For identification, the words "Toyako" had been written on its hilt.

When he turned back for another look, the boy was strangely disappointed: these masked men were not using real swords either.

What a shame. According to academy rules, for such dishonorable sneak attacks, if they had used real blades, then life and death would be left to fate. Even if he killed every last one of them, no one could say anything—though whether he would face retaliation afterward was another matter.

"One, two, three... Only six? Aren't you underestimating me a little too much? Well, six will barely do."

"This guy... He's just putting on an act!"

"No matter how much you talk, you aren't leaving today!"

"Aizen, give up. Don't think about stalling for time. No one is coming to save you. We deliberately waited until this hour to come out. If you want someone to blame, blame yourself for being stupid enough to stay here alone so late."

The leader was clearly very confident. To successfully "hunt" Iori, he had specifically invited five skilled men. Some excelled at swordsmanship, while others specialized in Flash Step or Hakuda. Individually, they certainly would not be a match for people like Iori or Shojiba, but working together, they did not believe Iori could escape.

"Hmph, don't worry. We won't take your life. A hand or a foot, and six months in bed should be enough."

"Six months?" Iori narrowed his eyes. "That's letting you off too easily."

"What did you—"

"A Bleach's greatest reliance, aside from their Zanpakuto, is Zan, Haku, Ho, and Ki."

Ignoring him, Iori continued on his own. "Take Flash Step, for example. It is high-speed movement too fast for the naked eye to follow. If you have confidence in your reaction speed, you can move directly to your opponent's side—"

Whoosh!

The masked leader only saw a blur before his eyes. A white figure flashed beneath the hazy moonlight, and then his chin took a fierce blow. His mind instantly went blank, his feet left the ground, and his entire body flipped backward!

"—Like this."

A light breeze swept past everyone. Iori stepped forward and drew from his waist with an Iaido technique. By the time the others reacted, their leader's chin had already been cracked open.

"Bastard!"

"So fast!"

"Everyone be careful, this guy—"

Iori's gaze was icy. Though he stood amid the enemy formation, he remained calm and composed. He turned sideways to evade an incoming wooden sword, and with an inexplicable twist of his left hand, he caught hold of the other man's wrist.

Like the bite of a venomous snake, his arm became a tough rope in that instant. The sudden pull spread through the man's entire body. The one being grabbed had no idea what had happened before he lost his balance and was dragged along.

Body Reversal!

Bang!

Like a failed backflip, the masked man was slammed onto the ground flat on his back.

Then the white sock soaked with sweat came down, and Iori gave the man another kick just as he tried to lift his head.

—Hakuda, a technique that subdued enemies with martial arts, commonly used in battles where capture rather than killing was the objective.

After waiting a moment, just as several other wooden swords came crashing down toward his head, the boy instantly vanished from where he stood.

"Continuous Flash Step—I only mastered it a couple of days ago."

Iori recalled fooling around with Aizen Souyuki, an almost imperceptible smile at the corners of his lips. Even so, the movements of his hands remained swift.

Smack!

With a casual swing and no particular technique, relying purely on strength and sword speed, he snapped a wooden sword head-on. The strike did not lose momentum, sweeping into the other man's chest and making him drop to his knees in pain.

That one blow nearly knocked the breath out of him!

"Got him!"

After Iori had knocked down three people in succession, one of them finally found an opening. He raised his wooden sword behind Iori, clearly intending to use Tangzhu to strike straight down onto Iori's head.

But Iori, facing away from him, cast a disdainful sideways glance. With a shake of his shoulders, he turned just enough to evade the forceful gust of wind coming at him.

"Nani!"

What do you mean, "nani"?! Don't act like this is such a surprise!

If you were going to sneak attack, could you at least be professional about it? What was with shouting beforehand?

But thinking about it, warriors were a strange breed who shouted "Heavenly Punishment" even when carrying out assassinations, so perhaps it was not surprising.

The other man was still stunned when Iori calmly raised a hand toward the hollow just beneath his sternum—

White Lightning!

Without an incantation, an electric current immediately coursed through the man's entire body. The intense stimulation paralyzed him from head to toe. He let out a strangled groan, trembled for a moment, then collapsed limply to the ground.

At that moment, Iori suddenly spun around, crouched, and nimbly rolled to the side. A ball of fire streaked past him, sending a searing pain across the skin of his arm.

It turned out that one of the masked men on the edge of the melee had been silently preparing Kido the entire time. His proficiency was clearly not low; he had finished the chant in such a short time. His accuracy and casting speed, however, were somewhat lacking.

When Iori charged back toward him, the man was visibly flustered. He swung his wooden sword futilely, while Iori had already flashed in front of him.

"Thrust!"

Destructive Art No. 1: Thrust!

The wind pressure released from Iori's fingertips was compressed into a nearly tangible impact, raising transparent ripples as it sent the man—curled up like a shrimp—flying three meters away.

"Lastly, there's Kido, advanced spellcraft that uses spiritual pressure to trigger phenomena."

"No... Impossible!"

Although one person remained standing unharmed and the man Iori had knocked down with Hakuda had gotten back up, both were trembling all over. They could barely hold their wooden swords. Watching their "highly skilled" companions be taken down within a few breaths had completely crushed their fighting spirit.

"You're only a second-year... Just a commoner! How could you possibly use Spell Discard Chant? Even we haven't mastered that technique!"

Hearing that, Iori gave them a puzzled look. "You make it sound like you're all that skilled. Forget Spell Discard Chant—you haven't even used basic swordsmanship or Flash Step."

"..."

The masked men were left speechless, then flew into a rage out of embarrassment. "Isn't it because you shameless bastard launched a sneak attack?! If we'd been prepared, how could we have been defeated so easily without even getting to use our specialty techniques?!"

Shameless? Was six against one somehow righteous?

Besides, they actually called that a sneak attack... These guys were rather innocent.

Iori was rendered speechless by them, but he could not be bothered to argue. In his eyes, these people were nothing more than human-shaped targets that could talk.

Cruel Smile

Since these masked men had dared to come looking for trouble, they must have been confident in their skills. They certainly were not as proficient as Iori in Zanpakuto, Hakuda, Kido, but they probably had some ability.

What a pity. There was an enormous gap between theoretical scores and actual combat...

If Iori had not regularly sparred with Yuki and occasionally been provoked in daily life, he would not have performed so well in real combat.

So, attributes alone were useless. They still had to be turned into real combat power!

"This time, you got lucky! Let's go!"

After speaking words that left Iori utterly unable to refute them, the remaining two helped up the most seriously injured companion, apparently planning to end things there.

"Huh?" Iori looked at them in surprise. "Who said you could leave?"

"...What do you mean? Do you still dare attack us?!"

The masked man was utterly fearless. "We are—"

"Is it really a good idea to say that?"

Iori impatiently cut him off, smiling without warmth. "You wouldn't want people to know your family name—as a loser."

"..."

The man froze for a moment before suddenly realizing something. Though his expression could not be seen, it was probably extremely ugly.

"Let me guess. You originally intended to teach me a lesson. Even if I reported it to the instructors and the Thirteen Court Guard Squads afterward, your faces were covered, so there would be no concrete evidence. In the end, I would be unable to do anything to you and could only swallow my anger."

After saying that, Iori paused. Seeing that none of them refuted him, he could not help showing a mocking expression.

"Did you really never consider the possibility of 'failure'?"

"..."

"The Thirteen Court Guard Squads are, bluntly speaking, an organization that worships strength. If word got out about today—if people learned that a group of children from prestigious families had ambushed a young boy, only to end up all injured... I'm sure your families would feel immensely honored, wouldn't they?

Those of you with brothers or sisters should be careful. If it were me, I certainly would not hand the family estate over to such useless heirs."

"You... What exactly do you want?!"

The leader, whom Iori had knocked down at the very start, had actually regained consciousness long ago. He had merely kept playing dead out of sheer humiliation. Now, hearing this, he could no longer restrain himself and shouted at Iori. Yet no matter how he sounded, there was a hint of bravado masking fear.

It had to be said that the so-called prestigious families of Seireitei came in different ranks.

The Four Great Noble Clans, which had existed since the Primordial Era and had even served the Soul King—everyone knew there were five Four Great Noble Clans—were naturally the most exalted. Generally, they did not interfere with Seireitei's normal order.

Then came the various noble houses, large and small. Though they possessed reputation and heritage, they ultimately could not stand apart. They had to depend on the Four Great Noble Clans or the Thirteen Court Guard Squads to survive.

They would strive to secure seats within the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. If a Captain-level powerhouse emerged from their family, they could ensure their house would not decline for at least two or three centuries.

Finally came the upstart families, born from commoners who had relied on martial strength to rise through the Thirteen Court Guard Squads and eventually gain a foothold. These families lacked deep foundations. Once they lost the support of strength, they could easily fall into decline.