BLEACH: DRINKING MAKES ME STRONGER

Bang!

A drunken figure staggered into view, barely maintaining balance as he appeared five or six meters away from Rukia Kuchiki.

His steps crisscrossed—left over right—as if walking through a storm. The crowd parted instinctively, eyes drawn to the chaos that followed.

Before anyone could react, he tripped forward, seemingly by accident, and lunged toward Rukia with a wild kick.

At first, Rukia's face contorted in confusion—then surprise—before suddenly sharpening into alertness. Something was wrong.

The figure grew larger in her eyes—fast.

She raised her hands reflexively, covering her mouth just in time.

Boci!

A crisp smack echoed—the sound of lips brushing the back of her hands.

The would-be kiss had been intercepted. Her red lips were safe—barely.

Abarai Renji, watching from the sidelines, paled. Then, unexpectedly, he sighed in twisted relief. That was the kiss he had dreamed of giving Rukia for decades—but the one she almost received was from someone else.

"Why, Rukia, are you trying to kiss me? Don't hide it... Let love burst forth like a firework!" the drunkard slurred, loud enough to silence the test field.

This time, he even called her by name.

Shock rippled through the crowd, but the drunkard—Shiba Kuroba—wasn't done.

He tossed his wine jug behind him, caught it deftly with his right toe, and raised both arms dramatically. Before anyone could stop him, he seized Rukia's hands and pried them apart.

In that instant, her lips—soft, cherry red—were fully exposed to him.

A breath of fermented wine reached her nose. Her body tensed.

And then—boom—a rush of raw spiritual power surged from within her, uncontrolled and overwhelming.

She staggered, not from embarrassment, but from the intensity of the reiatsu boiling within.

It was happening—a breakthrough.

For five long years, she'd been stuck at the same level, unable to stabilize her spiritual pressure enough to cast even basic Hadō without an incantation. But now, the smell—no, the sensation—of Kuroba's spiritual energy had disrupted her bottleneck.

"Almost… Almost!"

The phrase slipped from her lips subconsciously.

But to everyone watching—it meant something very different.

To them, it looked like Rukia—the victim—was growing... receptive.

Worse still, Shiba Kuroba, the obvious offender, acted like he was the desired one.

Even Kurotsuchi Mayuri would have needed several brains to comprehend the mess this was becoming.

Byakuya Kuchiki's face darkened.

His family's dignity, already marred by Rukia's status as an adopted noble, was being publicly disgraced. Now, his sister's lips—symbols of her honor—were being made a spectacle of.

Abarai Renji's knees buckled. He coughed up a mouthful of blood from sheer emotional trauma.

Even captains Aizen and Ichimaru Gin, both usually composed and cunning, had subtle changes in expression.

This incident was no longer just a disturbance—it was a dangerous variable.

Too much had already gone wrong today.

Aizen's plan, meticulously arranged from behind the scenes, was crumbling. First, Kuroba's unpredicted strength—his ability to destroy a corrupted spirit with a single blow—was troubling enough.

But now this?

Aizen had originally intended to test whether a Shiba could serve as a pawn—or a corpse. Now, it seemed Kuroba might spiral out of control entirely.

And that, ironically, made him interesting.

Still, a backup plan remained: provoke Kuchiki Byakuya.

If Kuroba went far enough, Byakuya would eliminate him without hesitation. A perfect clean-up.

"Kuroba, stop! Just—stop talking!"

Kyoraku Shunsui had already dashed forward, eyes wide with panic.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—

Byakuya moved.

Not walked. Not ran.

He disappeared.

A flawless Shunpo.

Faster, colder, sharper than before. Byakuya was no longer a noble captain—he was an executioner.

His hand touched the hilt of Senbonzakura.

The air chilled.

"Scatter—"

Kyoraku's instincts screamed. He unsheathed his own Zanpakutō in one fluid motion, intercepting the strike with a clash of steel and reiatsu.

His hat flew off from the impact.

The spiritual pressure clashed like thunder.

This was no longer a school exam.

It was the edge of war.

Ding!

Two figures suddenly appeared before Kyoraku Shunsui, their arrival as silent as ghosts.

One was the dignified and stern Byakuya Kuchiki. The other, to everyone's surprise, was none other than the battle-hungry Kenpachi Zaraki.

"Move aside, Kyoraku," Byakuya said coldly, his eyes burning with restrained fury. "This shameless man is a disgrace to noble blood. I will personally end him."

Kyoraku sighed, tilting his hat slightly. He knew this was going to be trouble the moment Yamamoto-Genryūsai tasked him with overseeing today's test.

Byakuya clenched his jaw, regret thick in his heart.

He regretted allowing sentiment to cloud his judgment—remembering Rukia's bond with Kaien Shiba, he had shown leniency and agreed to let Shiba Kuroba take the entrance exam for the Shin'ō Academy.

But now? Now it felt like he had handed his sister over on a silver platter.

If only he could turn back time—he would've refused fifty thousand times.

"Captain Kuchiki," Kyoraku said with forced calm, "this is the Shin'ō Academy test hall. Drawing your blade here violates protocol."

Byakuya didn't budge. The noble captain—usually the epitome of control—was visibly losing composure.

Kyoraku glanced at Kuroba, then at Rukia, whose expression was unreadable. With an awkward chuckle, he tried to defuse the tension.

"Come now... Rukia didn't seem too opposed. Maybe it was love at first sight?"

Byakuya's spiritual pressure spiked in response.

"Kyoraku Shunsui. I will kill you too."

The air itself trembled under the weight of his reiatsu, pressing down on the room like a storm front.

Meanwhile, the drunkard at the center of the chaos—Shiba Kuroba—tilted his head lazily toward Byakuya, eyes half-lidded.

"Oi, brother-in-law," he slurred, "got more wine? One more kiss for Rukia might help her unlock shikai."

Byakuya's eye twitched.

Kuroba turned toward Kenpachi Zaraki and—without hesitation—grabbed the sake flask dangling from his waist.

"Oi! Brat! Don't touch that!" Zaraki barked. "I just poured fresh sake into that one!"

Kenpachi had recently discovered something strange about that particular wine flask: the aroma alone stirred the reiatsu inside his body. He suspected there was something unusual—maybe even spiritual—about it.

After running dry, he'd tried refilling it with the cheap swill he usually drank, hoping to replicate the effect. He hadn't even had time to test it before rushing to the test hall to back up Kuroba and beg Yamamoto for leniency.

Now the damn fool had stolen the flask. Again.

"This is my wine flask," Kuroba said, wobbling a few steps forward in a stance that vaguely resembled Shunpo footwork—but probably wasn't. "Look! My name's right there."

He pointed at the side, where, ironically, Kenpachi had scratched ZARAKI into the surface just a few days earlier to prevent exactly this situation.