"Just say it—are you prepared to cover the damages?"
Akira ignored Shiba Isshin's teasing tone, his expression unchanging.
"Well, fine," Isshin said with a dramatic shrug, waving a hand as if it were no big deal. "If you do somehow break the Kidō target, I'll cover it myself. My treat."
Bold words, underpinned by full confidence. After all, in his eyes, such a thing simply wasn't going to happen.
At least—not yet.
Sure, Akira was absurdly gifted, but even with another few months of training, Isshin wouldn't expect him to reach that level.
Certainly not now.
"It's generous of you, Isshin-sensei. I'll take you at your word."
Akira nodded politely, then stepped forward before Isshin could reply.
He raised his right hand, pointing his open palm at the reinforced Kidō target standing thirty meters ahead.
"Hadō #73: Sōren Sōkatsui."
(Twin Lotus Blue Fire, Crash Down!)
As each syllable echoed across the training field, the spiritual pressure around Akira surged sharply.
The spiritual particles in the air vibrated violently—drawn toward his hand like iron to a magnet.
And when the final syllable—"kudakero" ("crash down")—was spoken, an intense, radiant blue flame erupted from his palm, brighter than lightning.
The temperature spiked instantly. Air shimmered.
Then—
A twin-helix column of searing blue Reiatsu shot forward like a comet, tearing through the air and smashing into the Kidō pillar.
BOOM.
The detonation cracked like a thunderclap, the shockwave knocking back dust and debris.
Blue flames engulfed the target, crackling violently.
The Kidō stake, long known to endure even Kidō in the No. 70-class range, trembled as spiderweb fractures began appearing across its surface.
Constructed with spiritual steel alloy laced with sekiseki stone, it was supposed to withstand even semi-chanted Kidō from vice-captains.
And yet—here it was.
Shaking. Splintering.
"No way—!"
"Was that really Hadō #73?!"
"And he cast it without a chant?!"
Shiba Isshin's mouth hung open.
He suddenly regretted making that big declaration about covering damages.
"Oh my God."
"I'm not hallucinating, am I?"
"That was Sōren Sōkatsui—Hadō #73, cast without an incantation!"
"And it was still that powerful!"
"Is he… is he the reincarnation of the Soul King?!"
The spectating students were dumbfounded—slack-jawed as they stared at the still-burning Kidō stake.
Many had only begun learning Kidō that month. For them, even Hadō #4: Byakurai required full chanting and focus.
And yet, Akira had skipped past dozens of spell levels… and invoked a high-tier Hadō like it was child's play.
"When did this happen?"
"He's only been practicing Kidō for what, two days?!"
"This is beyond genius. This is…"
"A monster."
From the shadows under the shaded canopy, a group of senior observers stood silent.
Shihōin Yoruichi, Urahara Kisuke, Tsukabishi Tessai even they looked momentarily stunned.
Their expressions said it all: Akira had already crossed into territory reserved only for the elite of the elite.
"…He's already reached that level?"
Aizen Sōsuke muttered under his breath, adjusting his glasses as his mind raced.
"I suppose I'll have to raise my standards. From now on, even chantless Hadō #58: Tenran won't suffice…"
His eyes glinted, catching the reflection of the dying blue fire.
The gap between Hadō #58 and #73 was more than just a numerical jump.
To most Kidō specialists, every 10 levels marked a qualitative threshold—a completely new category of power and Reiatsu control.
Going from #58 (Tenran) to #73 (Sōren Sōkatsui) was like jumping from lieutenant-level to captain-class Kidō mastery.
To cast a spell of Hadō #70 and above without incantation—and retain full power—was something only the most powerful Shinigami could manage.
Even among the captains of the Gotei 13, few could pull it off.
Aizen mentally reviewed the known masters:
Unohana Retsu, with her terrifying spiritual control.
Shutara Senjumaru, of Division Twelve's precursor.
Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō, both born of noble blood and veteran war experience.
Kuchiki Ginrei, head of the Kuchiki Clan and master of traditional Kidō arts.
These were the rare few who could abandon chants on high-level Hadō and still maintain more than half its power.
If it cracked, it would certainly cost money to repair—but even then, it would still be far cheaper than completely destroying it.
"After all… it's only Hadō #73," Akira muttered, eyes narrowed slightly in self-assessment.
"Unless my Reiatsu were doubled from its current baseline—power equivalent to the Eighteen-Carra Strike Strength standard used by the Kido Corps—there's no way I could destroy that stake."
"…But Bankai could manage it," he admitted quietly.
Watching the fractured Kidō stake still standing, Akira frowned, a subtle crease forming on his brow.
There was a sliver of dissatisfaction in his expression.
He had only enrolled in the Shinō Academy three days ago.
In that time, he'd merely progressed to the point where he could cast Hadō up to No. 73 without incantation.
That's all.
Just chantless Hadō in the high 70s. Only that.
"My Kidō… has been a bit neglected lately," Akira reflected. "Maybe it's time I shift my focus to Zanpakutō progression. After all—Zanpakutō are the soul of a Shinigami."
["That's unfair!"]
["I never said that Kidō was the strongest art!"]
["Also, for the record—I have NOT been slacking off. I've been training silently this entire time. Unlike your Zanpakutō, I don't shout about it every five seconds. If you have hands, you can chant!"]
His Kidō spirit grumbled through his mind with sharp indignation.
Akira chuckled silently as a smile briefly touched the corners of his lips.
His recent meditations had allowed him to observe the behavior of his internal abilities more closely, giving him a clearer sense of each one's power level and temperament.
Roughly summarized:
Zanpakutō held a dismissive attitude toward physical combat, Hakuda, Hohō, and even Kidō.
Kidō was irritable and proud, insisting it should be on equal footing with Zanpakutō.
Kenjutsu was stubborn, constantly declaring its supremacy in life-or-death battle.
And Reiatsu—the quietest of the group—preferred not to speak. It simply trained, day after day, seeking no attention… but intending to stun the world when the time came.
In essence, everyone wanted to be number one.
Getting Kidō to act was simple—just whisper that Zanpakutō could do something it couldn't.
Sure enough, Akira had barely finished thinking about redirecting his focus to Zanpakutō when Kidō refused to stay silent.
Whether it was a sudden combat-induced breakthrough or long-hidden progress finally being revealed, he didn't know.
What he did know… was that in that moment, Hadō #78—Zangerin (Cutting Flower Wheel)—erupted from his palm.
On the other side of the field, Shiba Isshin had just begun exhaling in relief, grateful that the reinforced Kidō stake hadn't been destroyed.
But then—he heard Akira's calm voice ripple across the grounds.
"Hadō #78: Zangerin."
Isshin's head turned slowly.
Rigidly.
As if resisting what he already knew was coming.
Akira's fingers came together, palm slicing downward as he formed a blade-hand seal.
A silver-blue arc of concentrated Reiatsu slashed outward through the air—like a radiant crescent moon cleaving through space.
The slash collided with the Kidō stake's core with pinpoint precision.
CRACK.
The spiritual steel core—already riddled with fractures—let out a dry, final groan.
A clean line of Reiatsu carved through its spine.
A moment later, the entire Kidō stake split cleanly in two.
As the halves hit the ground, they shattered like brittle glass, reduced to thousands of gleaming fragments.
"He… gave up the chant again," Isshin murmured.
"Even Hadō #78?"
"That kind of power… isn't inferior to most seated captains."
His face twisted.
Equal parts admiration—and despair for his wallet.
Three days.
It had only been three days since Akira first touched Kidō.
And now?
He had reached a level rivaling captains of the Gotei 13—Shinigami who had trained for decades, if not centuries.
Isshin was forced to accept a harsh reality in that moment.
The difference between Shinigami and Shinigami… was greater than the difference between a Shinigami and a stray dog.
He didn't even want to imagine how far Akira could go in a year.
Scratch that.
Even ten months was overkill.
What about one year?
No—one year would be enough.
The results… would be unthinkable.