BLEACH: DRINKING MAKES ME STRONGER

The huge test hall fell into a brief, inexplicable silence.

The arrival of Kurotsuchi Mayuri, the captain of the 12th Division and director of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute, immediately shifted the attention in the room to the drunken figure standing at the center.

Aizen Sōsuke's expression flickered slightly. But almost as quickly, he regained his usual warm, deceptive smile and said politely,

"Captain Kurotsuchi, you're too kind. The Fifth Division is merely fulfilling our support role. We wouldn't dare question the authority or precision of the Technology Development Bureau."

He turned his eyes briefly toward the examinee, then added with feigned concern,

"I only voiced that thought out of worry that the other students might misinterpret the situation and that classmate Kuroba might suffer unwarranted suspicion."

Aizen then stepped back gracefully.

"Since Captain Kurotsuchi is willing to speak on the matter, I believe all doubts have been laid to rest."

In truth, within the Seireitei, Aizen only considered a few people to be unpredictable variables. Among them, the most difficult to anticipate was the erratic and brilliant Kurotsuchi Mayuri.

Kurotsuchi was a madman veiled in science, a figure who blurred the line between genius and psychotic obsessiveness. His loyalty to the Gotei 13 was tenuous, ruled more by curiosity and experimentation than duty.

Watching Aizen retreat, Ichimaru Gin instantly grasped the shift in posture and calmly returned to his seat with a wily smirk. The game had changed—now they'd simply watch the outcome unfold.

Kyoraku Shunsui exhaled softly, relaxing slightly.

"Captain Kurotsuchi," he said with deliberate calm, "since you're stepping forward to verify the result, can we take Shiba Kuroba's assessment as valid?"

The situation had taken many twists—far more than Kyoraku liked. What he desired now was to quickly conclude the assessment per Captain-Commander Yamamoto's orders.

But seeing Mayuri's phosphorescent green eyes rove over Kuroba like he was cataloguing organs, Shunsui tensed again.

"A splendid experimental subject," Mayuri muttered with unsettling delight. "Even Ashisogi Jizō is humming with anticipation. I'll slice him open first as a sign of respect!"

With a grotesque smile, Mayuri unsheathed his Zanpakutō and swung directly at Kuroba.

The sudden violence froze both Shunsui and Zaraki Kenpachi, who had been watching from the sidelines with mild interest. Neither had expected Mayuri to act so abruptly—again proving he followed no rational protocol.

The distance was too short. Even for captains, there wasn't enough time to stop the blow.

Clang!

A sharp metallic clash rang out through the hall.

This time, Shiba Kuroba didn't stagger like a drunkard. His right hand flashed upward with impossible reflexes and caught Ashisogi Jizō mid-swing, stopping the captain-level attack with his bare hand.

The entire hall fell silent.

Even Aizen's subtle smirk faltered.

To catch a released Zanpakutō—especially Mayuri's—barehanded, and without visible injury, was a feat that even most captains couldn't claim.

And this was supposed to be a drunken academy student?

Worse still, the alcohol-induced bubble at Kuroba's nose popped as he blinked, his body now radiating clarity.

"Ahhh... what a good nap." Kuroba stretched, yawning. "Guess it's time for the exam?"

The system prompt still echoed in his head, shaking off the last remnants of intoxication. Just minutes ago, he'd been in the prison block, testing his unarmed combat against nearly a hundred convicts. Originally, he had planned to knock them all out for training.

But seeing how overwhelming their numbers were, he had instead turned to sake as a strategy.

Now, standing clear-headed and calm in the hall, the contrast between then and now left the entire crowd stunned.

It didn't add up.

They couldn't reconcile the image of the staggering drunk with the composed fighter now before them.

Even among the eccentricities of the Gotei 13, this was unprecedented.

"Y-you brat! You were faking it?!" Kyoraku finally exploded, his voice betraying his frustration.

He had just spent considerable effort shielding Kuroba, only to find the boy fully capable and apparently toying with them.

"Huh? Captain Kyoraku?" Kuroba scratched his head, faking confusion. "Oh wow… this is the test hall? I guess I really was drunk."

He turned to Mayuri, his tone casual but cheeky.

"And you must be Captain Kurotsuchi. You really do look… intense in person. Just like the rumors. But the way you just swung at me makes me wonder… were you trying to dissect me while I was asleep?"

Now fully sober, Kuroba's memory was returning rapidly.

Yet despite being at the center of this escalating situation, he looked completely unbothered. It was a masterclass in feigned innocence—and blatant shamelessness.

Kuroba reached back for the Zanpakutō at his waist, mimicking Kurotsuchi Mayuri's earlier motion, intent on cutting it hard to demonstrate his point.

Before he could act, Kurotsuchi Mayuri chuckled darkly and raised a pale hand, halting Captain Kyoraku with a casual gesture.

"Fufufu… You've got some nerve, brat," Mayuri sneered, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "To provoke Captain Kyoraku into such a state—truly, an accomplishment."

He tilted his head slightly and added in a mockingly cheerful tone, "But you must have forgotten one small detail. My Zanpakutō is not something to be trifled with like any common blade. Ashisogi Jizō has undergone extensive personal modifications."

He tapped the Zanpakutō lightly with his fingers. "Its hilt is coated with a refined neurotoxin. Even the briefest contact will induce numbness, followed shortly by full-body paralysis. A delightful sensation—like being both intoxicated and suffocated at once."

The implications caused murmurs among the surrounding Shinigami. As the Captain of the 12th Division and Head of the Research and Development Bureau, Kurotsuchi Mayuri was infamous for his grotesque experiments and unpredictable behavior.

Kuroba's expression stiffened. "Wait… So you were serious? I thought you were just messing around."

Quickly, he released the sword he had been gripping. The blade—which should have remained firm—sagged limply in his hand like a strand of overcooked mochi. The sight was both bizarre and unsettling.

All around the test field, shocked silence reigned.

"Don't get cocky," Kyoraku Shunsui interjected with a frown, keeping his distance. "That's clearly a property of Captain Kurotsuchi's Zanpakutō. You'd best examine yourself quickly if you value your limbs—or your life."

He shot a wary glance toward Mayuri, whose unreadable expression didn't provide any reassurance.

Kuroba glanced down at his hand. No visible signs of paralysis… yet. But the unsettling sensation of creeping numbness was unmistakable.

Could it be...?

Yet Mayuri remained eerily calm.

In truth, even Mayuri was surprised. He had not expected his Ashisogi Jizō to soften so dramatically upon another's touch without being activated. Discreetly, he issued mental commands to the blade through his hidden neural link. Slowly, the softened weapon began to regain its original rigidity.

The sluggish recovery of the blade, however, did not go unnoticed. A few of the younger female students watching from the sidelines turned red, their minds evidently jumping to less appropriate conclusions.

One of them whispered a little too loudly, "Captain Kurotsuchi's sword... Could he be into that kind of thing…?"

The comment was met with a loud crack as Mayuri stomped the floor with rage.

"You uncultured imbeciles! My research transcends such puerile interpretations!" he roared, nearly foaming at the mouth. "This is science! Not some vulgar display of perversion!"

Even Kyoraku, despite the tension, couldn't suppress a chuckle behind his sleeve. "Now, now… let's all calm down. No need to dissect anyone… yet."