BLEACH: DRINKING MAKES ME STRONGER

Three days later, in the early morning, the skies above Seireitei were just beginning to brighten.

Within the Thirteenth Division's training courtyard, the sharp cries of sparring echoed like morning bells. Shinigami trainees practiced their Zanjutsu and Hakuda forms, the rhythmic clash of wooden swords resonating against the still air.

Among them, a lone figure moved with striking precision—Shiba Kuroba.

He dodged fluidly, his wooden sword thrusting out like a lance each time, exploiting narrow angles with unexpected accuracy. Though the attacks came swiftly from the front, he moved as though anticipating them.

Whoosh!

A figure blurred in with Shunpō, disappearing for just a heartbeat before reappearing behind him. The wooden sword swung down toward Kuroba's back with clean execution.

Kuroba's lips curled into a faint smile.

He exhaled. Reiatsu surged from his core as his legs rooted into the stone floor like stakes. In one sharp pivot of his hips—like a coiled spring snapping loose—his entire body spun violently.

"Swordless Form: Tornado!"

BOOM!

Air exploded outward from his rotation. Spiritual pressure burst from the epicenter, sending wind whipping in every direction. The wooden sword descending upon him faltered midair before being flung away, its wielder forced back several meters.

The attacker—Kotsubaki Sentarō—recovered with practiced instinct, vanishing with Shunpō and reappearing more than ten meters away. His eyes widened with admiration despite himself.

"Pah pah—well done, Kuroba-kun," said Ukitake Jūshirō, approaching in his white haori, a warm smile on his face. "You're holding your own even against Sentarō. Your combat progress in just three days is commendable."

Kuroba quickly sheathed the wooden blade and bowed with respect. His sweat-soaked brow showed his effort.

"Good morning, Captain Ukitake. You flatter me. Sentarō-senpai is your acting lieutenant after all—he wasn't even being serious."

Over the past few days in the 13th Division, Kuroba had been placed under a strict prohibition against drinking. Not by formal decree—but largely because he was broke, and Kuchiki Rukia had taken it upon herself to hide even the cooking sake.

More than that, Kuroba had become determined to stabilize his strength. He didn't want to black out mid-fight anymore.

In those three days, he had focused entirely on two things: improving his Reiryoku control and secretly advancing the progress of the "Zanpakutō Wine" through his mysterious system. He'd found that touching the Zanpakutō of other Shinigami increased his brew's progress—strangely enough.

He'd managed to increase the brewing progress to 20%. Based on trial and error, he realized that:

Zanpakutō at the Shikai stage granted 0.5% progress.

Fully mastered Shikai, like Rukia's Sode no Shirayuki, gave 1%.

Exceptionally strong spirits—such as unique or rare Zanpakutō—gave even more, though he hadn't touched Ukitake's Sōgyo no Kotowari.

Still, reaching 100% seemed far away.

So Kuroba turned his attention to personal combat training. He applied modern knowledge from his past life to improve his Hakuda, Zanjutsu, and Reiatsu techniques simultaneously. The tornado technique he'd just used was something he'd improvised—his own nod to a certain green-haired captain who mastered destructive close-range combat.

The move lacked lethal power, but it was more than enough for sparring.

"Kuroba, you're too humble," Sentarō said as he wiped the sweat from his brow and lowered his sword. "In just three days, you've developed a practical fighting style. I almost wonder if you were pretending to be a beginner when you arrived."

Outwardly, he smiled. Inwardly, he was gritting his teeth. A part of him hated that a "drunken freshman" could push him back even once.

"I really wasn't lying, Sentarō-senpai," Kuroba replied, bowing again. "If I had more time, I'd love to continue learning from you. But I'm truly grateful for your guidance."

He glanced toward the east. Today was the entrance ceremony for the Shin'ō Academy. More importantly—it was the day of the Asauchi assessment. If he passed, he would officially become a student. If not…

The brewing of the Zanpakutō wine system might stall completely.

Sentarō, folding his arms, laughed. "When we first met, Kuchiki-san told me you were arrogant. Now I think she misjudged you. You've shown nothing but respect for your elders. I'm starting to believe you might go far. Though of course—I'll still rise faster than you!"

As the co-third seat of the 13th Division, Kotsubaki Sentarō shared the position with Kotsubaki Kiyone—a unique arrangement stemming from their constant rivalry and inability to decisively surpass one another.

Though both held the same rank, Sentarō was far more ambitious when it came to securing the vice-captaincy.

After all, his father, Kotsubaki Ryōmon, had served as the vice-captain of the 7th Division over a century ago. Known for his exceptional swordsmanship, Ryōmon's legacy had long cast a shadow over his son, pressuring Sentarō to live up to the same high expectations.

This lineage instilled in him a fierce drive—more than anyone else in the division—to climb the ranks.

However, that ambition was constantly checked by the legacy of another: Shiba Kaien, the former vice-captain of the 13th Division. A prodigy who graduated from the Shinō Academy in a single year and quickly rose through the ranks, Kaien left behind a towering reputation. His strength, charisma, and approachable nature had set a new standard for all who aspired to fill his shoes.

Because of this, the bar for becoming vice-captain was set impossibly high.

This time, Sentarō volunteered to spar with Shiba Kuroba, hoping to emulate Kaien's approachable mentorship style. Deep down, he hoped this would burnish his image—presenting him as a leader in the mold of the beloved Shiba Kaien.

"Pervert!"

"Monster!"

"Genius!"

"Such a well-mannered and polite young man!"

"..."

One after another, members of the 13th Division called out their colorful impressions.

Over the past few days, Shiba Kuroba had sparred with nearly everyone in the barracks, earning both admiration and disbelief.

The labels "pervert" and "evildoer" were tossed around, but mostly in jest—they couldn't deny the raw talent he displayed.

After all, everyone knew Sentarō was a trained swordsman, a seasoned Soul Reaper. Kuroba, in contrast, was just a freshman. He hadn't yet attended a single official class at the Shinō Academy, and he didn't even have a Zanpakutō.

And yet, he was holding his own in combat.

That kind of instinctual battle sense? It bordered on the unnatural.

Off to the side, Rukia Kuchiki sat on a bench, fists clenched, her expression dark.

"Hypocrite... big liar..." she muttered between gritted teeth.

She'd made a vow three days ago to put this man behind her, to stay focused on her own path.

And yet, there she was—unable to look away.

In her eyes, Shiba Kuroba was a walking contradiction. Charming in public, but suspiciously evasive and mysterious in private.

"Hehe… Rukia, you still haven't calmed down, have you?" said Ukitake Jūshirō, smiling gently as he approached.

She glanced at him in mild surprise.

"You may not be able to see Kuroba-san for a while," Ukitake continued. "Today is the Shinō Academy entrance ceremony—and the Hazama assessment."

He paused, watching her expression shift.

"If he passes, Kuroba-san will be staying on campus from now on."

He glanced at the wooden sword still lying beside her.

"These past few days, I've noticed your curiosity about Zanpakutō," he said softly. "Would you like to see mine?"