As the bandages were finally untied, Shiba Kuroba's snoring seemed to intensify—as if liberated from spiritual suppression.
It became a full-blown symphony of chaotic rhythm.
The previously lively hall fell into an abrupt silence.
Most had come expecting to witness a touching moment—a determined examinee overcoming adversity with unshakable willpower.
But reality struck hard.
"Wait… is he not actually injured?!"
A voice cracked through the silence, echoing the dawning realization shared by many in the room.
All eyes fell upon Kuroba, lying comfortably on the stretcher. Aside from the rum-flushed face and rhythmic snores, he looked… fine.
"Hiccup... Wife... start with my feet when you massage… don't touch my chest… I can't handle the temptation…"
His slurred voice, steeped in the stench of alcohol, shattered the illusion completely.
The image of indomitable spirit had just been annihilated.
Kyoraku Shunsui, who had been helping to unwrap the bandages, felt ten thousand metaphorical blades stab his soul. So that's why Rukia warned me...
He'd been ready to offer Shiba Kuroba special consideration, maybe even push him through quietly—he had even skipped his mid-morning sake for this. Now, he wanted to unsheathe his zanpakutō and cut down this disgraceful drunkard on the spot.
"That bastard tricked us!"
"Drunk during the Shin'ō Academy exam?! What a joke!"
"I was seriously moved by his 'strong-willed' story earlier… Now I feel like an idiot."
"He doesn't even respect the test! Just disqualify him already!"
The hall erupted into angry voices, chaos boiling to the surface.
If Kuroba had been sober, he'd probably have shouted back, "Your grandma's the strong-willed cripple!" But instead, he remained dead to the world, blissfully unaware.
In contrast, Rukia and Abarai Renji were fully awake—and mortified.
Even Kyoraku, who'd tried to play it off cool, was trapped. His reputation was tied to this mess now. He had tried to pull strings, and the puppet was too drunk to dance.
He glanced at the bottle hanging on his hip, then looked toward Ise Nanao.
She gave a small shake of her head.
This plan's dead in the water.
As a lifelong drunkard, Kyoraku Shunsui had never imagined that being drunk could cause this much public humiliation. Now he understood.
"Haha…" Ichimaru Gin's narrow eyes curved even more as he spoke with amusement. "I must say, this young master of the Shiba clan is... quite something. He managed to blow apart a Hollow with a single punch—and yet shows up here drunker than Kyoraku-taichō. Impressive... but hardly captain material."
He turned coldly toward the crowd.
"I propose we revoke his qualification. Someone like this doesn't belong at the Shin'ō Academy."
The crowd stirred again—Gin had said what many were thinking.
But this time, it wasn't just grumbling. It came from the mouth of a captain.
"Captain Ichimaru," Aizen Sōsuke interrupted smoothly, sipping his tea, "I think you're being a bit hasty."
He set down his cup gently.
"This year, the Shiba family's candidate was approved by Captain Kuchiki himself. Disregarding that decision publicly might not be the most… tactful choice."
His warm tone contrasted sharply with Gin's barbs.
"Besides, a single moment of drunken foolishness doesn't negate potential. What if this boy has spiritual pressure akin to Shiba Kaien's? Losing such talent over formalities would be a great loss to the Gotei 13."
The atmosphere tensed—Aizen had subtly invoked not only family honor, but legacy.
Gin smiled wider but said nothing.
Silence returned… until a thunderous voice broke it.
"No need for an exam," came a growl from the entrance.
All eyes turned.
Zaraki Kenpachi walked in like a living fortress, spiked hair looming, reiatsu crackling faintly like a stormcloud waiting to burst.
"I like this brat," Zaraki said bluntly, eyes narrowed with amusement. "Anyone who gets drunk before a fight and still smashes a Hollow? That's my kind of crazy."
"I'm taking him into the Eleventh."
The room fell still. Not only had a captain interrupted an exam, he'd overridden the entire process.
Exception-based recruitment wasn't unheard of—Kenpachi himself had joined without ever attending the Academy—but endorsing someone this way, during public trials, sent a message.
This boy wasn't a joke. He was dangerous.
And possibly worth the chaos.
The whispers shifted tone. No longer mocking, they brimmed with uncertainty.
Was this Kuroba guy... someone special after all?
"Captain Zaraki, you're as reckless as ever," Ichimaru Gin said with a lazy smile, his eyes narrowing to slits. "But even for someone like you, admitting an unqualified recruit into the Gotei 13—especially the 11th Division—without the approval of Captain-Commander Yamamoto... that's a bit much, don't you think?"
Gin casually produced a thin document from his sleeve. "Oh, by the way, I almost forgot. I'm here as a representative of the Third Division's intelligence and support unit. I happened to be present earlier today when this guy—" he pointed lazily at Kuroba—"took down what some thought was a Menos-class Hollow."
He flipped open the file, revealing a chart and reiatsu readings. "As per protocol, we ran a spiritual pressure analysis using the standard monitoring kido. Unfortunately, the result showed his spiritual pressure is equivalent to San-Zhū—three bamboo sticks. That's not even close to the threshold for Shin'ō Academy entry, let alone Gotei 13 enlistment."
Gin's voice remained light, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "So, technically, he doesn't meet the qualifications for any Division. Not even your Eleventh."
Kyoraku Shunsui sighed heavily from the sidelines, one hand holding his straw hat while the other gripped his sake jug. "First Zaraki, now Gin… can't a man just enjoy his day with a drink?" he muttered.
He glanced at the data scroll, then back at the snoring, barely-conscious Kuroba. Even someone with Shunsui's clout couldn't openly override spiritual pressure standards on a whim—not with Central 46 and Yamamoto Genryūsai looming over them.
Before anyone could speak, a slurred voice cut through the tense air.
"Of course I'm not going to the Eleventh Division," Kuroba muttered, stirring. "I want to stay in the Thirteenth Division... with my wife."
The courtyard fell dead silent. Even Gin paused mid-smirk.
The word "wife" echoed like a dropped blade.
Every captain present instantly understood who he meant. The earlier drunken ramblings, the massage comment, the foot fetish implications—all now recontextualized into a single horrifying conclusion.
Rukia Kuchiki.
Renji Abarai snapped.
"You bastard! We went out of our way to bring you here for the entrance exam, and you pull this crap?!" he shouted, stepping forward furiously. "Captain Zaraki was willing to vouch for you—Kenpachi!—and now you disgrace that? I'll drag you out myself!"
But just as Renji lunged, Kuroba moved with drunken precision. He flipped upright with the limp grace of a dead fish springing back to life.
His nose twitched. "...That scent..."
He turned and reached directly toward Shunsui's waist sash, his fingers expertly snatching the sake gourd.
"Ahhh... now we're talking," Kuroba exhaled, popping the cork. "Didn't expect good sake in a place this stiff. Today, I drink. Wife! Warm it for me!"
He guzzled a mouthful, his words slurring again, completely unaware that Rukia's expression had turned thunderous—and that Renji's spiritual pressure was beginning to spike ominously.
The captains stood in awkward silence. Shunsui took a long sip of his own, muttering, "This is going to be one hell of a paperwork day."