Unohana stared in mild astonishment at the broken wooden sword in her hand.
"It's only been a day…"
Yet, Shimo's wooden blade had also splintered at the same moment, leaving little difference in timing.
"Looks like it's another draw," Shimo said with a smile, raising his fractured sword.
Unohana blinked in surprise, then gave a gentle smile.
"In sword, there is only victory or defeat. There is no such thing as a draw. Everyone's understanding of the sword is different. If you've won, then it is a win. You need not worry about my feelings."
Nearby, Shiba Kukaku pulled out a little notebook from who knows where, scribbling furiously inside it. Every so often she'd lift her head, her expression flashing with exaggerated realization.
"So that's how it is!"
After cleaning up the broken practice swords, Shimo walked over curiously.
"What are you writing in there?"
Kukaku spread the notebook open, and Shimo glanced at it—then unconsciously read aloud:
"'The type Shimo likes: gentle older-sister type, someone who restrains her movements and demeanor in daily life… Aim to emulate Captain Unohana as much as possible.'"
Before he could finish reading the next line, the temperature in the Fourth Division's training grounds suddenly plummeted to freezing.
Unohana froze in place.
Sensing danger, Shimo grabbed Kukaku's pale hand.
The suffocating spiritual pressure of the First Kenpachi surged across the training grounds.
Thankfully, Shimo had already dragged Kukaku far away by the time Unohana's spiritual pressure fully erupted.
Only when they reached the Sixth Squad's barracks did Shimo finally breathe out in relief.
"Why were you writing… that kind of thing in your notebook?" he asked, still bewildered.
Kukaku burst out laughing.
"Ha! Isn't it obvious? I'm just trying to become the type of person you like!"
At that, Shimo realized how different Kukaku truly was from others. Bold and unrestrained, she expressed emotions with the same vigor as she faced any challenge. Strong-willed, never bowing to setbacks.
And when she noticed the way Unohana treated Shimo differently, a spark of vigilance arose in her heart. She wasn't about to hand over her fiancé so easily.
The next morning, Shimo saw her dash off toward the central infirmary, leaving behind a declaration that she'd be back.
"Truly a woman who loves and hates with abandon…"
At this moment, the long-silent system chimed within Shimo's mind:
[New check-in task released. Host must report to the Eleventh Division and battle Zaraki Kenpachi.]
[Reward: The second ability of your Shikai.]
"What kind of check-in task is this? Report to the Eleventh and fight Zaraki? That's suicidal."
He mulled over it briefly, but after three minutes he gave up thinking altogether.
"Not like I'm someone who lives off brainpower anyway. The task has to be done no matter what."
Still, the promise of unlocking a second Shikai ability stirred his imagination.
But he needed a proper excuse to head to the Eleventh. As he pondered, a knock came at his door.
It was Rokushima Yusuke, vice-captain of the Sixth Relief Unit.
"Shimo-sama, the Eleventh Division is requesting your presence."
Shimo slid the door open, already intrigued.
"Oh? What's going on in the Eleventh?"
"Apparently a new recruit challenged for a seat… and was badly beaten by Madarame Ikkaku. His injuries are severe."
Yusuke didn't know the details—just the message.
Under Shimo's training, the Sixth Unit's methods had already drifted far from standard Fourth Division healers. They had become more like a combat support unit—healers who could fight on par with Eleventh Division soldiers. Shimo's true goal was to train them into warriors with regenerative capabilities rivaling Arrancar.
"Since Captain Unohana is away, Third Seat Kotetsu Isane must remain at the main infirmary," Yusuke explained. "So I came to report."
"In that case, let's go," Shimo said, tightening his sash, Zanpakutō in hand. With Shunpo, he vanished.
Eleventh Division Grounds
Unlike other barracks, the Eleventh's were simple: wide training grounds and dueling platforms reinforced by Twelfth Division devices to contain spiritual pressure.
By the time Shimo arrived, bloodstains were everywhere. On the dueling stage stood two figures.
One was Madarame Ikkaku—shaved head, muscular body covered in bleeding wounds, yet still grinning fiercely.
The other made Shimo raise a brow.
Red hair hanging loose, face marked by dark tattoos, Zanpakutō thrust into the ground as he gasped for breath.
Apparently Aizen had already reassigned him from the Fifth to the Eleventh. Too rebellious for Aizen's taste, Renji had been sent here to find discipline. But instead of laying low, his first act was to challenge a seated officer.
Confidence born of newfound strength had clearly swelled within him. Unfortunately, challenging the Third Seat right away was a reckless move.
Renji staggered, blood dripping from his jaw. His vision blurred, but a stubborn spark of will kept him upright.
"Kid, your will has my respect. This fight is over. But from now on, I'll give you more chances. If you can beat me, you'll earn the Third Seat—and the right to challenge Captain Zaraki himself!"
Renji managed a faint smile. Recognition at last… then collapsed, Zabimaru reverting to its sealed state.
Ikkaku, though battered, seemed unfazed. Most of his wounds were superficial.
"Bullying rookies, huh?" Shimo's voice came lazily from below the platform. "How impressive of you, Ikkaku."
The Third Seat twitched, ready to snap back—but upon seeing who it was, he swallowed his words.
"Oh, it's you again…" Original content can be found at novel⸺fire.net
"That's no way to treat the man who once saved your life."
Ikkaku's face darkened.
"Tch! You still bringing that up? Damn it… Fine! One of these days I'll save your hide, then we'll call it even!"
Shimo smirked. "For now, get Renji to the infirmary. If he bleeds out, you'll have more than trouble explaining."
Grumbling, Ikkaku slung Renji over his shoulder.
Shimo suggested establishing a permanent aid station within the Eleventh Division barracks, staffed by Fourth Division healers on rotation. Their reckless fighting demanded immediate medical attention more often than not.
Casting Kaidō, Shimo's healing light wrapped around Renji—and extended to Ikkaku as well. His level in healing arts rivaled that of the current Kidō Chief, surpassing nearly every healer save perhaps Unohana herself.
Just as the glow of Kaidō faded, a rough, gravelly voice cut through the air.
"Finally, you're here. Let's fight to the death!"
Kenpachi Zaraki loomed behind him, Zanpakutō already unsheathed, jagged-edged haori fluttering. His face radiated unrestrained hunger for battle.
From his shoulder, Yachiru Kusajishi peeked out excitedly.
"Shimo-chan! Careful, okay? Ken-chan's really happy today! Make sure you survive!"
Shimo's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Yachiru, how do you know I'll be the one to lose?"
His killing intent burst forth, intertwining with his sword—terrifying and suffocating. Ikkaku, still nearby, gasped for breath under the crushing weight.
"This monster… How has he grown this strong so fast?"
"Everyone clear out of the barracks!" Ayasegawa Yumichika barked, immediately evacuating the Eleventh's members.
In moments, the barracks were empty, leaving only two titans.
Zaraki stretched his arm, Zanpakutō pointing at Shimo, grinning wildly.
"Come on! Give me the fight I've been waiting for! I've searched everywhere for you!"
Shimo pressed his thumb against his Zanpakutō's guard—steel sang as the blade loosened in its sheath.
Golden spiritual pressure roared around Zaraki, shaking buildings and splitting stone.
At the same time, Shimo's condensed crimson spiritual pressure exploded outward, colliding against Zaraki's aura. Pressure waves rippled through the barracks, scattering rubble and tearing at the air itself.
"Hahaha! A strong opponent at last!" Zaraki bellowed with manic joy, swinging Nozarashi as the battle began.
The instant their blades clashed, a shockwave erupted, leveling buildings and unleashing spiritual energy in every direction.
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