"Ah!"
Rukia let out a crisp cry, turning her clenched fist into a palm, slicing forward like a sharpened blade.
Her opponent twisted to the side and flipped his arms, trying to reverse the tide and regain control of the battle.
But Rukia's deep violet eyes flared with determination as she whispered:
"I won't lose to someone like you… not in front of Brother Moyu."
White Hits Technique – Swift Grabbing Waves!
Her palm slashed sideways like a diving swallow, cutting through the air with shocking speed.
Her petite frame evaded the incoming strike, and in one fluid motion, she raised her elbow and launched her palm toward her opponent's throat.
The speed left no room for reaction.
Boom!
Her strike landed cleanly on the opponent's neck. A single hit—swift, brutal, effective.
The opponent collapsed.
Rukia Kuchiki, victory.
Your White Hits observes others in battle. You comprehend the essence of Swift Grabbing Waves. Skill power increased by 30%.
"Swift Grabbing Waves…"
Moyu muttered to himself. "A basic White Hits form."
"Still, that was unexpected."
"Just by watching, my comprehension of cultivation advanced…"
Rukia walked up to him, joyful from her win. With her hands behind her back and her head tilted, she beamed.
"Brother Moyu, how did I do?"
She looked like a child eager for praise, anticipation written all over her face.
"So-so."
Moyu answered flatly, not even lifting his gaze.
"When your opponent countered the fourth time, if you had dropped your right leg by three more inches…"
"You would've won much earlier."
His feedback came from a precise, almost surgical angle—showing his unmatched observational skill.
For someone who barely watched the match, noticing something so subtle was remarkable.
But Rukia's cheeks puffed up in protest, like an angry goldfish.
"Hmph… Brother Moyu, you're always so—"
Before she could finish, a familiar voice cut in.
"Haha! Moyu, I didn't expect you to be this strong!"
Abarai Renji stepped in, laughing as he patted Moyu's shoulder with no restraint.
"Come with me to Rukongai to train sometime. It'll toughen us both up—and push us toward becoming true Shinigami!"
A spark lit up in Renji's brown eyes.
"Idiot Renji…"
Rukia clenched her fists, furious.
If Moyu hadn't been here, she would've pounded that pineapple-red head into the floor.
Couldn't he read the mood?
Moyu, meanwhile, simply waved off the suggestion.
"Appreciate the offer."
"But I prefer to train alone."
A joke, really.
There was no real "cultivation" going on.
If he had any true cultivation talent, he wouldn't have the personality of a professional salted fish.
Yes—his laid-back character had to be the result of low talent.
That must be it.
Definitely.
Moyu would never admit he was a salted fish by nature.
That was a matter of dignity.
The White Hits match came to a close under the joint evaluation of the instructors from both classes.
Moyu didn't care about victory or class prestige.
Honor meant little to him.
But the next class on his schedule did catch his interest.
"Hm… calligraphy class, once a week…"
He rubbed his chin in thought.
How exactly should he deal with that particular calligraphy teacher?
---
Calligraphy Classroom.
Aizen stood on the podium as the students filed in, his usual warm smile on his face.
"Today," he said softly, "we'll be studying the calligraphy style of the Qinglian School."
"The core principle of this form is…"
Your comprehension of calligraphy has been greatly enhanced by listening to Aizen Sōsuke's lecture. You have grasped the essence of Qinglian School's calligraphy. Appreciation increased by 180%.
While Aizen's true motives remained a mystery—especially given their divergent paths—there was no denying his skill.
His command over calligraphy surpassed nearly every other Shinigami in Soul Society.
Talent was one thing, but his effort made the difference.
It's often said that one percent of talent outweighs ninety-nine percent of hard work—but in this world, Aizen embodied both.
---
"That concludes today's lesson."
Aizen gently lowered his gaze, addressing the class with his usual calm.
"I encourage all of you to practice outside class, and absorb the essence of this style."
Then his voice shifted.
"Moyu-kun, please stay behind. I have something to discuss with you."
Moyu's heart jumped slightly.
"…Hiss—"
"So it's come to this…"
He followed Aizen out of the calligraphy room, unsure of what to expect.
They entered a quiet office in the Spiritual Arts Academy.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room.
Aizen's glasses caught the light, concealing the subtle shift in his gaze.
He set down the pen in his hand and looked up, meeting Moyu's eyes.
Neither spoke.
The silence stretched—thick, tense, unreadable.
Finally, Aizen broke it.
"Moyu-kun."
His voice was low, measured.
"After graduation… come to the Fifth Division."
"I'd like you to assist me there."