[Congratulations to the Host for attaining the "Excellent" rank in Swordsmanship!]
At first glance, swordsmanship might seem like one of the four foundational combat disciplines—alongside Hakuda (hand-to-hand combat), Hoho (footwork), and Reiatsu control—rather than a refined, specialized art. But for Akira, it had been his most glaring weakness.
"If my swordsmanship has truly reached the 'Excellent' tier… then even an average Gotei 13 captain wouldn't stand a chance against me in a pure blade-to-blade duel."
He knew his limitations all too well. His usual strategy relied on overwhelming force—blasts of searing golden light, explosive applications of his Gomu Gomu no Mi: Thunder variant, and devastating ranged assaults that turned battlefields into craters. But those were all long-range tactics. In close quarters, aside from his elite Hakuda skills, his swordsmanship had barely scraped past "competent."
"Even with my elemental body granting near-perfect defense… what good is that against someone who channels raw spiritual energy into every strike?"
His concern wasn't baseless. Take Kurosaki Ichigo, for example—future wielder of Tensa Zangetsu, who could sheathe Getsuga Tenshō's black crescent energy around his blade, amplifying each slash into a soul-rending cleave. That kind of technique could bypass elemental defenses as easily as paper.
But now? That final flaw had been sealed.
A torrent of instinctive, battle-honed swordsmanship knowledge flooded his mind—stances refined over centuries, feints perfected by legendary warriors, cuts that split atoms and reiatsu alike. Akira exhaled, a slow, satisfied smile curving his lips.
"Hah… I should rest. Let this settle in overnight."
He turned back toward his quarters, already imagining the quiet of his futon—when a sudden, monstrous spike of Reiatsu ripped through the night sky. Fast. Hungry. Closing in.
"Hmm?"
Without hesitation, he activated Kenbunshoku Haki—his perception sharpening beyond spiritual senses alone.
"Zaraki Kenpachi…? I didn't think he'd show up this soon. It's barely past midnight."
Ah—but today was the day Kenpachi had promised their fight. And if there was one thing Akira knew about the 11th Division captain, it was this: once Kenpachi wanted a battle, nothing stopped him.
"Guess there's no avoiding it."
His brow furrowed. Kenpachi's strength was terrifying—but this was the perfect chance to test his newly honed blade skills. Still… if he let that mad dog sprint through Seireitei unchecked, the Sixth Division barracks would be rubble before dawn.
Decision made.
Akira raised his hand. Golden light swirled into existence, coalescing into the radiant form of his Zanpakutō—Excalibur, the Sword of Oath and Victory.
Energy gathered at the tip, blazing like a fallen star.
"Ex—calibur!"
A beam of pure, condensed light erupted skyward—silent for a heartbeat, then detonating outward with the force of a supernova. The night split in two. Windows rattled across Seireitei. Captains bolted upright in their beds. Even the Kido Corps paused mid-incantation.
Miles away, Kenpachi Zaraki saw it coming—a slash so fast it outpaced sound itself.
He didn't dodge.
He grinned.
"Good! That's more like it!"
His Reiatsu exploded outward like a wildfire given sentience, a golden inferno wreathing his body in raw, primal power. Eyes wild with bloodlust, he met the beam head-on—not with a block, but with a roar and a swing of his own.
BOOM!
The shockwave tore through the heavens, shaking Seireitei to its foundation.
A violent explosion tore through the night sky, sending shockwaves rippling across Seireitei.
The blast was deafening—impossible to ignore—and roused even the deepest sleepers from their slumber.
Among those most startled were Captains Shunsui Kyōraku and Jūshirō Ukitake, who had been sharing a quiet drink atop the Thirteenth Division's barracks.
Ukitake blinked, his eyes wide as he stared at the massive fireball blooming over the compound. "Wait… was that Akira and Zaraki?!"
They exchanged a single, urgent glance before vanishing in twin bursts of shunpo.
By the time they arrived, a crater yawned where Kenpachi Zaraki had been driven into the earth.
From the rubble, Zaraki slowly rose to his feet, rolling his broad shoulders as if shaking off nothing more than a stiff breeze. A wild, bloody grin split his face.
"Tch… That actually hurt."
Ukitake and Kyōraku stood frozen. They had just witnessed it—Zaraki had taken Captain Akira's full-force attack head-on, without blocking, without dodging. Just raw, unfiltered impact.
"Did he flood his reiatsu outward to blunt the strike?" Kyōraku murmured, his usual laziness gone, replaced by sharp analysis. Even so, astonishment colored his voice. Only someone like Zaraki—whose spiritual pressure bordered on monstrous—could afford such a reckless defense inside Seireitei itself. And yet, even his overwhelming reiatsu hadn't fully negated the blow. For a split second, he'd been stopped.
That alone spoke volumes about Akira's power.
"Shh."
As if summoned by their thoughts, Akira appeared—silent, precise, his arrival marked only by the faintest whisper of shunpo.
The moment he saw the two captains, Ukitake's expression tightened. A cold knot of dread coiled in his gut.
"Wait—you're not seriously thinking of fighting here, are you?!" Ukitake called out, stepping forward. "Captain Akira, Captain Zaraki—please! This is the Thirteenth Division's grounds! Take this elsewhere—"
He never finished.
Zaraki let out a thunderous roar. "Who cares what you say?! The fight's already started!"
With a feral grin, he raised his zanpakutō and charged, cleaving the air with a brutal downward slash.
CLANG!
Akira met the blow with a gleaming blade—its edge radiating an almost holy light—and the collision sent a shockwave blasting outward. Sparks exploded between them, and the very air trembled under the force of their clash.
"Hahahaha! Your reiatsu's insane! This is fun!" Zaraki cackled, launching into a storm of wild, unrestrained strikes.
Akira didn't flinch. Blade met blade in a blinding exchange—steel screaming, reiatsu flaring, the ground fracturing beneath their feet with every step. Walls crumbled. Trees splintered. Dust choked the air.
"You two…" Ukitake began, raising a hand—
—but Kyōraku laid a calm hand on his shoulder, shaking his head with a weary sigh. "Give it up, Jūshirō. Zaraki doesn't even listen to the Head Captain."
He meant Yamamoto Genryūsai—the very embodiment of Gotei 13's authority.
Ukitake exhaled, shoulders slumping. "…Right." All he could do now was minimize the damage. He raised his voice. "At least stay clear of the infirmary!"
Kyōraku tilted his hat, watching the duel with narrowed eyes. "Who do you think'll win?"
Ukitake hesitated, then said, "Zaraki. I reviewed Akira's combat records yesterday. His strongest technique needs a charge-up period… but Zaraki dominates in close quarters. He won't give him a single opening."
Kyōraku nodded slowly. In his mind, the moment Akira's opening strike failed to drop Zaraki, the outcome was all but decided.
But as they watched, their certainty began to fray.
Their expressions shifted—not from confidence, but from disbelief to outright shock.