BLEACH: DRINKING MAKES ME STRONGER

"If you fail to complete your training within three months..." Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni's voice echoed like thunder through the hall, "...then I will personally remove your head."

His words were heavy, final—laced with the authority of a man who had enforced law for a thousand years. After delivering his ultimatum, Yamamoto turned abruptly, the hem of his captain's haori snapping behind him. He did not wait for rebuttals. There would be none.

"Captain-Commander!" Lieutenant Sasakibe Chōjirō called out, hurriedly chasing after him. But he paused for a moment, casting a conflicted glance at Kuroba. The youth's unchecked spiritual pressure—rising like a geyser, rippling against the ceiling—was not something to ignore.

Chōjirō sighed. Being exceptional in the Gotei 13 isn't always a blessing.

Kuroba, now alone at the center of attention, scratched the tip of his nose and shrugged. With Yamamoto gone, the spiritual pressure that had been surging instinctively in response to danger began to withdraw, gradually stabilizing.

"Honestly..." he muttered casually, "three months sounds about right."

"Are you insane?!"

"I'd draw my Zanpakutō and cut you down right now if I had one!"

"Tomorrow at the entrance ceremony, when we're issued our Asauchi, let's team up and knock some sense into him."

"Count me in! Twelve-on-one sounds about fair!"

The gathered candidates burst into outraged chatter. Kuroba's calm arrogance had turned the atmosphere electric. Among recruits who expected to graduate in six years, Kuroba's three-month claim came across as either genius-level confidence—or sheer madness.

On this day, Shiba Kuroba became the most talked-about prodigy in the entire Shin'ō Academy.

A warm voice cut through the noise. "Haha... Kuroba-san, to provoke the Captain-Commander like that—you have guts." Aizen Sōsuke stepped forward, that same genial smile on his face. "But remember, raw power is only the foundation. Control, judgment, and restraint... those take time. Let's hope, for your sake, that Yamamoto-dono won't have cause to carry out his threat."

With a polite nod, Aizen turned to leave. But his mind was racing. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The confidential report he had intercepted—a report indicating Kuroba possessed Jūtake-level spiritual pressure—had shaken him.

If this brat enters the Gotei 13... it could interfere with the timetable.

Aizen's confidence remained intact, of course. He was certain he could deal with Kuroba... eventually. But now the game was no longer predictable. And Aizen disliked unpredictability.

Beside him, Gin Ichimaru flashed his usual fox-like smile, eyes narrowed to slits. "You're interesting, Kuroba-kun. I'll be watchin' you closely." His voice was soft, dangerous, before he turned and vanished with Aizen.

From the side, a booming laugh echoed. "You're strong, brat!" Kenpachi Zaraki slapped Kuroba hard on the shoulder. "If you live long enough, let's fight. I like breakin' people who think they're special. The 11th Division's always got room for maniacs."

Even Ikkaku Madarame raised an eyebrow. "That kid... might actually be worth swinging a blade at."

Meanwhile, Byakuya Kuchiki, who had stood silently throughout the commotion, turned on his heel without a word. Yet the sharpness in his narrowed eyes lingered. He'll be trouble, Byakuya thought, vanishing in a silent flash step.

From across the room, Mayuri Kurotsuchi finished reassembling a broken monitoring device, casting Kuroba a stare so intense it bordered on clinical obsession.

"...Specimen potential: high," Mayuri murmured to himself, letting out a giddy, unsettling chuckle. "Must dissect... metaphorically, of course… at first."

"Looks like you've made quite the impression," Kyoraku Shunsui said with a lazy grin, strolling up beside him. "Tell me, genius-kun... how does it feel to have half the Captains breathing down your neck?"

Kuroba exhaled and lightly patted Shunsui's shoulder. "Exhausting. I think I've earned a nap."

With that, he turned and left, hands in his pockets, unfazed by the storm he'd unleashed.

Behind him, a hall full of stiffened candidates and a bemused Shunsui stood in stunned silence.

This kid... is either suicidal or destined for something crazy, Shunsui thought.

Having unleashed Jūtake-level spiritual pressure, Kuroba was exempted from the written exams. His practical display had already marked him as a prodigy.

But with no Shiba estate in the Seireitei—after the clan's fall from noble grace—Kuroba wandered aimlessly. He had no place to return to that night.

Still, something in the way the wind moved through the academy walls reminded him:

Being a Shiba means standing tall, even when cast aside.

And if Yamamoto really tried to take his head three months from now… well…

He'd just have to survive long enough to prove he belonged.

Shiba Kuroba's solitary arrival in Seireitei was undoubtedly reckless.

"Ugh… I should apply for a place to stay soon," he muttered, sighing helplessly as he glanced around the unfamiliar streets. "Otherwise, I'll end up sleeping under an overpass—and Seireitei doesn't exactly have many."

With a resigned shrug, Kuroba mentally summoned his system interface.

Dionysus System

Host: Shiba Kuroba

Level: Drunkard – 500/1000

Reiryoku Classification: Jūzō-class Spiritual Pressure (Exceptional)

Zanpakutō: Unmanifested

Shunpo: Mastered

Hakuda: Ultimate Level

Kidō: Unawakened

System Technique – Hand of the God of Wine (Primary)

Zanpakutō Wine – Brewing Progress: 10%

The transparent interface hovered in his inner consciousness, a clean, faintly glowing page that only he could see.

Kuroba skimmed over the details quickly.

He had awakened from his drunken stupor with vivid memories and sensations—gifts transferred directly through the system.

His explosive rise to Jūzō-class spiritual pressure (a level comparable to seated officers or Lieutenants) had come from consuming the sacred Black Prison Sake—a potent brew he'd been forced to drink during a desperate brawl against hundreds of hardened inmates in the Nest of Maggots. The sake had torn through his spiritual limitations like wildfire.

As for his mastery of Shunpo, it had begun after secretly sampling a legendary thousand-year-old bottle from Kyoraku Shunsui's private collection—a bottle originally gifted to him by Yamamoto Genryūsai himself. A forbidden treasure passed down in the 1st Division's inner circle.

But even so, Kuroba couldn't help but scoff.

"Please… if that stuff gave me Shunpo mastery, then the system's wines are on another level entirely."

After all, system products couldn't be compared with ordinary items—they were divine-grade.

But what truly caught Kuroba's attention was the brewing progress under the Hand of the God of Wine technique.

Zanpakutō Wine – 10% brewed.

A wine that manifested as a Zanpakutō?

What kind of absurdity was that?

He blinked at the readout, dazed. In all his reading of Shin'ō Academy texts and family archives, he'd never once come across anything like it.

Yet here it was.

Does this mean that once the brewing progress hits 100%, I'll unlock a true Zanpakutō forged from divine wine?

An intoxicating series of thoughts swirled in his mind like aged sake.

But the question remained—how had the brewing even started?

Did it require battle? Meditation? More alcohol? Or… did it require interaction with other Shinigami?

Unfortunately, he wasn't a full-fledged Soul Reaper yet. Without an Asauchi from the Shin'ō Academy or formal Captain-sponsored induction, he had no direct path to experimenting with actual Zanpakutō resonance.

At least, not yet.