Unohana Retsu quickly learned from the squad member who came to report exactly what Nobu had stirred up—a sparring match between Fourth Division and Eleventh Division.
It was, admittedly, unexpected.
But she just as quickly guessed what he was trying to accomplish.
After a moment's thought, she rose from her desk and left the office.
When she arrived at the open-air training grounds, she saw a crowd of Fourth Division members ringed around the edges, and in the center—locked in combat—were Nobu and Madarame Ikkaku.
The onlookers parted immediately to make way for their captain.
"Captain," Isane said, worry plain on her face.
"Quite lively," Unohana murmured softly, her smile gentle.
"Captain, do you think what Nobu's doing…" Isane asked, "isn't a problem?"
Unohana's smile remained. "Why would it be a problem? It's rather good, I think."
Isane let out a quiet breath of relief—then her worry shifted to the man in the ring.
She knew very well that while this "Third Seat" of Eleventh Division was ranked below vice-captain on paper, Ikkaku's true skill was already at vice-captain level.
And not just him—every top-seat officer in Eleventh Division was formidable.
A clear example was Seventh Division's current vice-captain, Iba Tetsuzaemon—once Eleventh Division's Fourth Seat.
If this were an ordinary friendly bout, she wouldn't care about winning or losing.
But this was happening on Fourth Division's home ground. Nobu had set the stage himself—if he lost, it would look bad.
"The fight's fierce," Unohana remarked.
In the ring, Ikkaku's assault on Nobu was dense and relentless; Nobu, in turn, was only blocking and dodging.
"What's this? This isn't like you!"
Ikkaku was going all out, Zanpakutō blurring into countless afterimages, his face alight with a near-feral grin.
It looked like Nobu was pinned down, unable to break free. The clash of their blades threw out sparks in a ceaseless rhythm.
"I just want to see," Nobu replied evenly, "whether you've improved since last time."
Ikkaku snorted and leapt high into the air.
"Extend, [Hōzukimaru]!"
The spear came crashing down from above. Nobu sidestepped, and the spot where he'd stood caved in with a shallow crater.
Swinging his long weapon, Ikkaku sneered, "So you're not striking back this time—can't find an opening?"
Pacing lightly, Nobu spun his sword in a lazy flourish. "Last time, you didn't talk this much."
Two minutes had passed since the match began, yet neither had drawn blood.
Ikkaku set himself to attack, then said suddenly, "Let me see it, then."
"See what?"
"That move you used to kill a Menos Grande."
Nobu chuckled. "That's not something I use lightly—it's for enemies."
Ikkaku didn't believe it for a second. After their last spar, he'd made it his business to dig up what he could on Nobu, even watching the footage of his fight with the Menos. He knew full well Nobu hadn't gone all out back then.
"Enough with the weird rules—just use it!"
Even as the words left his mouth, he charged again, attacking in wide, open arcs, pressing Nobu back with the spear's reach.
"If you don't use it now, you won't get the chance!"
Then—
Nobu's blade knocked the spear aside in what seemed like the lightest of touches. But the shock that surged back through the shaft nearly tore it from Ikkaku's hands.
His heart lurched; he tightened his grip—only for Nobu to lunge in that instant, point aimed straight for his chest.
Startled, Ikkaku jerked backward, feet driving hard against the ground, his retreat a touch clumsy.
Nobu didn't press. When Ikkaku steadied himself again, a sheen of sweat was already glistening on his smooth head.
With this guy, you can't let your focus slip for even a moment.
That strength—where did it come from? Ikkaku stared at Nobu's lean frame and found no answer.
If he had power like that, why let himself be driven back all this time?
Is he toying with me?!
As the thought spun through his head, he saw Nobu slowly slide his blade back into its sheath.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"You wanted to see it, didn't you?" Nobu's voice was unhurried.
At that, Ikkaku's grin spread wide, edged with something close to madness.
"Here I come!"
He spun his spear, then burst forward with a shout.
His reiatsu flared to its peak, a visible edge of reishi sheathing the weapon. Each pounding step sent up bursts of dust from the ground.
His breath beat in time with Hōzukimaru's rhythm, heart pounding to its song. Grit hung suspended in the air under the shock of his reiatsu, each grain catching the glint of the wild light in his eyes.
Nobu still stood motionless before him—yet Ikkaku could almost see him, sword drawn, in the prelude to a strike.
Grinding his teeth, Ikkaku used shunpō to slip past to Nobu's other side, spear high, a blue arc trailing a mist of reishi in its wake.
—Bang!
Nobu drew and caught the blow on the back of his blade. The impact rang out like a bell.
A strike poured with almost everything Ikkaku had—and Nobu hadn't budged an inch. Cold prickled in the Eleventh Division man's chest.
Sparks leapt. Nobu shifted his grip, his next swing smashing into the spear and knocking Hōzukimaru aside with that same crushing force.
Before Ikkaku could think, Nobu's foot snapped up into his open guard, driving square into his chest.
Thud!
Ikkaku was hurled back. He twisted midair to land without disgrace—but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nobu's blade sheathed once more, his left hand upright on the scabbard, his right palm resting on the hilt.
That stance...
In the space of a breath, the sword flashed like thunder from its sheath, a crescent of compressed reiryoku splitting the dust that hung over the grounds.
Every floating grain froze mid-fall, limned with a chilling light.
Stumbling as he landed, Ikkaku swung Hōzukimaru up in front of him, as if to block the attack head-on.
The incoming strike filled his vision. His heartbeat seemed to stop. Sweat prickled his skin as every hair stood on end.
I can't take this. I'll die.
But his legs felt as heavy as lead—or perhaps, in that fraction of an instant, there was no time left to evade.
Whoosh
The sword pressure crashed over him, wind whipping hard enough to tear at his shihakushō. The cloth snapped and flared; he screwed his eyes shut against the gale.
When it finally stilled, warmth bloomed on his scalp—a tiny cut from flying gravel carried in the slash.
He was alive.
Nobu stood where he'd been, smiling faintly.
Ikkaku's heart was still racing.
He could say for certain—that was the strongest taste of death he had ever felt.
He held back again…
"You—"
Ikkaku had only begun to speak when Nobu's gaze flicked away, sensing something.
[Unohana Retsu]
[Affection Level: 10]
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