BLEACH: DRINKING MAKES ME STRONGER

  "It's him. He must have done it."

  Kurotsuchi Mayuri stood still, sheathing his Zanpakutō with a click. His golden eyes locked onto Kuroba with burning scrutiny—Kuroba, who stood there feigning innocence as if none of this chaos had anything to do with him.

  For Mayuri, a man obsessed with knowledge and control, nothing was more infuriating than the unknown.

  But to a scientist like him, it was also the most intoxicating challenge.

  "Unraveling the unknown, one layer at a time... That's the only true pleasure," Mayuri murmured under his breath, the corners of his lips twitching with manic delight.

  From the surrounding crowd, whispers spread like wildfire.

  "Tch, Captain Kurotsuchi looks like he's falling in love. That's how I stared at the goddess of the Fourth Division the first time I saw her."

  "You wish. That look is pure obsession. I'm telling you, I'm never joining the Twelfth Division if I can help it."

  "Hah, as if they'd let you in. You'd sell your soul to work with the Tech Bureau if they gave you half a chance."

  The muttering students annoyed Mayuri so much that a vein twitched on his forehead.

  Their snide commentary and unfiltered gossip grated on him—his reputation, his scientific credibility, being mocked like this in public… all because of that brat.

  Kyoraku Shunsui, observing the whole scene from the sidelines, gently patted the hilt of his Zanpakutō, Kyōraku. He cast Mayuri a rare look of sympathy—though faint amusement glinted in his lazy eyes.

  I was going to give Kuroba a lesson myself, Shunsui mused, but now that Mayuri's involved, I'd better not ruin the show.

  Still, this chaos made his head ache. For a Shin'ō Academy assessment to attract not only a stoic Kuchiki brother, a vengeful childhood friend, and now two captains attempting to interfere—one a deranged scientist and the other a mischievous drunk—it was turning into a circus.

  And just when Shunsui thought it couldn't get worse—

  "Enough."

  A sharp, thunderous voice boomed from the doorway.

  The atmosphere instantly froze.

  Students stood stiffly, breath caught in their throats. All eyes turned to the elderly figure entering the hall.

  His long beard flowed like fire, and the flame-insignia of the First Division fluttered from his haori.

  Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto.

  The strongest Shinigami in history. The Commander-General of the Gotei 13.

  A living legend rarely seen outside the 1st Division barracks—and yet, here he was, appearing in person for a student's assessment.

  The weight of his presence alone silenced the crowd.

  Kuroba again... Shunsui internally sighed. This kid's causing ripples in every pond he touches.

  Yamamoto's gaze swept the room, pausing on the broken, sparking remains of the spiritual pressure measurement device.

  Shunsui scratched his head and gave a lazy grin. "Sōtaichō… you honor us. Don't mind the mess—it's just a little misunderstanding. The assessment itself went fine. Captain Kurotsuchi here personally verified the candidate's results. Ten-take spiritual pressure, rare potential..."

  He trailed off, hoping to defuse the tension.

  And to fulfill a certain promise—a promise involving some stolen thousand-year-old sake and a very insistent old man who insisted Kuroba deserved a chance.

  Mayuri narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

  "...Hmph," Mayuri finally exhaled with clear reluctance. "Even if my machine was damaged, the data I collected prior to its failure supports the claim. The result is accurate. As a scientist, I must pursue truth—no matter the cost."

  His golden irises glinted as he shot a cryptic look at Kuroba. "Even if it means sacrificing everything to obtain it."

  The air went still again.

  Until—

  "There, see? He's definitely into him."

  That one whisper made Mayuri visibly twitch. His hand moved to his Zanpakutō again.

  But with a glance at Yamamoto, he refrained from drawing it.

  Grimacing, he backed away, his interest in the "specimen" temporarily restrained by dignity—if barely.

  He will be mine to dissect... later.

  As for Yamamoto, his expression remained unchanged. But inside, even he was intrigued.

  The testing device was beyond repair—but not before it had registered levels of spiritual pressure that rivaled some lieutenants.

When he learned from Kuchiki Rukia that Shiba Kuroba had displayed signs of exceptional hand-to-hand combat skill (hakuda), Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni began to suspect that he had underestimated this particular piece on the board.

Later, upon receiving the report on Kuroba's spiritual pressure from Abarai Renji, the Head-Captain took further action. In order to better observe and ultimately control this potential asset, he quietly instructed Kyōraku Shunsui to provide certain "conveniences" for Kuroba—subtle measures to allow him to bypass typical restrictions and advance more quickly through the Academy's hierarchy.

However, what Yamamoto hadn't anticipated… was that he had still underestimated the boy.

According to the report, the spiritual pressure he'd unleashed—recorded at level three during the incident—surpassed even what was shown by Hitsugaya Tōshirō, a once-in-a-generation prodigy.

If properly trained, Kuroba might well surpass that benchmark in time.

Glancing at Renji, Yamamoto analyzed both the detailed report and Renji's honest reaction during the event. There was no sign of fabrication—Renji, a dependable officer of the Sixth Division, had clearly been shaken by what he'd witnessed.

"Did I misjudge this boy again?"

"Could he be consciously suppressing his spiritual pressure?"

Yamamoto narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied Kuroba, who now stood alert and sober despite the earlier drunken disturbance. The more he thought about it, the more confident he became in his analysis.

There was another layer to this—one that troubled the commander.

This 'pawn' might not be as easy to control as expected.

Yet rather than alarm him, the possibility seemed to spark a quiet interest in Yamamoto's stern, battle-scarred heart.

After all, the first phase of his test had gone off without a hitch.

If only Kuroba knew that the Head-Captain had been observing him as a carefully-placed piece in a much larger game, and that his seemingly chaotic rise was part of a deeper plan, he'd likely curse the old man to the heavens:

"Damn you, Yamamoto! You're turning my life into a bloody play."

But of course, Kuroba had no idea how far Yamamoto's calculations reached—or how dramatic the old man could be when pushing a promising soul toward its breaking point.

"Ahem… Oy, Old Man Yamamoto," Kyōraku Shunsui finally coughed as he felt the Head-Captain's scrutinizing gaze brush past him. "Everyone's waiting on your word. Shouldn't we get the exam back on track?"

Despite his usual laid-back demeanor, a cold sweat ran down Shunsui's spine. He hadn't forgotten what it meant to be in the presence of the most powerful Shinigami in history. If Yamamoto became displeased, the consequences might well include being reduced to actual ashes.

Everyone else in the hall turned to Yamamoto as well, awaiting his decision.

Meanwhile, Kuroba rubbed the bridge of his nose, still piecing together what he remembered from his drunken state. Now that the haze had lifted—and with the help of his system-assisted memory—he understood the entire sequence as if he'd been watching it from the outside.

It wasn't a pleasant recollection.

Still, now fully aware of what had happened and how far things had escalated, Kuroba stood straight and waited for judgment, determined to face whatever consequences lay ahead.