"Everyone, huh? Well, I'm part of 'everyone,' too so that means I should get a share, right?"
Urahara Kisuke chuckled and reached out casually, hand halfway to the bento box Shihōin Yoruichi had brought. But his smile froze midway.
Yoruichi's golden eyes fixed on him, sharp as a blade. Her expression clearly read: 'Touch it and lose a hand.'
"…So 'everyone' just means Akira, huh," Urahara mumbled, retracting his hand with exaggerated care.
It wasn't worth risking his genius hands the same ones destined to craft the Hōgyoku—for a single boxed breakfast.
"Thanks."
Akira glanced toward Yoruichi, who was sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. But the moment he caught her eye, she quickly turned away. A slight smile tugged at his lips as he opened the lunch box.
Inside were neatly arranged servings of tamagoyaki, seared beef slices, steamed purple sweet potatoes, and a chilled carton of spirit-rich milk.
Though simple in appearance, every ingredient was a form of spiritual food. The reishi density was remarkable clearly drawn from the refined diets of the Four Great Noble Houses. Regular consumption would steadily strengthen spiritual pressure.
"How is it?"
Yoruichi asked with an air of forced nonchalance.
"I'd rate the food a ninety-seven," Akira said after chewing the tamagoyaki thoughtfully, "and I'll give the remaining three points for the sentiment behind it."
"Snort. You better," Yoruichi sniffed, her nose tilted upward.
"You know who made it, right?"
"I've been cooking for myself lately. Made too much, so I thought I'd bring some over next time, too."
As she turned away again, her words proud, Akira spotted the subtle smile she tried to hide.
"Student Urahara, if you haven't eaten yet, I actually still have breakfast here," Aizen said smoothly.
"And everyone else as well. I brought enough. Please help yourselves it'd be wasteful to throw it away."
Not wanting anyone to disturb Akira's breakfast or more likely, his moment with Yoruichi Aizen moved toward the entrance of the dōjō and opened the sliding door.
Stacked just outside was an astonishing mound of boxed breakfasts.
Urahara's jaw dropped. "You're that popular already, huh?"
"If the Shin'ō Academy had both a strength ranking and a popularity ranking," Shiba Kaien said, similarly stunned, "you two brothers would top both lists easily."
"You could climb that list too," Tenbei said sincerely.
"If you revealed your Shikai to everyone like Aizen did."
Kaien raised his palms defensively. "Please no. If Uncle Isshin found out, he'd skin me alive."
The Shiba family, like most noble clans, regarded their Zanpakutō's true abilities as confidential. While Aizen's openness had earned admiration, it was the exception not the rule.
"What are you all standing around for?" Aizen asked again, gently but insistently.
"Help yourselves. It won't taste as good once it's cold."
After a moment's hesitation, glances were exchanged then Urahara Kisuke stepped forward to take a box.
That small gesture broke the silence. Tōsen Kaname followed, then Komamura Sajin, Shiba Kaien, and eventually, even Byakuya Kuchiki still rigid in posture walked up to retrieve a bento of his own.
For the first time, he accepted something not as a Kuchiki, but as a fellow student.
The humble meal did something remarkable.
As they sat down and ate together, chatting quietly in twos and threes, the usual distinctions between nobles and commoners, geniuses and underachievers, began to blur. Classmates who had only nodded stiffly in passing now laughed and shared food like old friends.
It was undeniable around a shared table, even Soul Society's rigid lines of class and pride faded into something warmer.
At this moment, the relationship between everyone could best be described as performing a seamless triple jump a steady progression from distant nods, to casual conversation, to shared laughter around a meal.
However.
When everyone finished eating, only five minutes remained before class was scheduled to begin, yet the substitute instructor Captain Shiba Isshin was still nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Teacher Isshin gone?"
"Uncle's not the kind to just vanish like this!"
"Something's off."
The bell rang across the academy grounds, echoing through the dojo, but there was still no sign of Shiba Isshin. Even Captain Jūshirō Ukitake, who often oversaw the class in his absence, didn't appear. Unease crept in, and glances were exchanged among the students.
Just as Shihōin Yoruichi considered using Shunpo to investigate, the sliding doors of the Mao Kendo Dōjō opened with a wooden creak. A tall figure in a long-sleeved white haori stepped in with a lazy grin and shoulder-length blond hair swaying.
"Sorry to keep ya waitin'."
"First time meetin' all of you, huh? Name's Hirako Shinji. I'll be subbin' in for Captain Isshin today."
"Due to illness, he's unable to attend, so I'll be teachin' you lot a lil' somethin' about the way of the sword."
With that easygoing drawl and hands tucked into his sleeves, Hirako Shinji strode casually across the polished floor, his sandals clicking faintly.
Akira's brows twitched.
Substitute… for a substitute teacher?
Had the Spiritual Arts Academy's staffing situation gotten this dire?
"To help everyone understand the principles of kendō more intuitively," Shinji continued, "I'm gonna need a volunteer."
His eyes roamed across the students until they locked onto a specific figure.
"You. Handsome brown-haired guy with glasses."
"You're famous around here, y'know. Helped your classmates out by demonstratin' your Zanpakutō ability, didn't ya? I hear you're always eager to assist."
"Bet you won't mind helpin' the teacher out either, right?"
He didn't even hesitate. His gaze went straight to Sōsuke Aizen.
"Tch." Akira narrowed his eyes.
From the moment Hirako Shinji entered, he had been unsure but now, there was no more doubt.
This man was targeting Aizen directly.
And that made sense.
In the original timeline, even when Aizen concealed his abilities behind layers of false humility, Hirako had instinctively distrusted him. Now, with Aizen no longer hiding his brilliance openly demonstrating his Shikai, subtly commanding attention it was inevitable he'd attract suspicion even earlier.
Which led to this.
Before they even graduated from the Spiritual Arts Academy, Hirako Shinji had already arrived.
"Sensei Shinji, it would be my honor," Aizen replied, his tone perfectly courteous.
Yet behind his square-framed glasses, a flicker of icy calculation passed through his eyes.
His smile was warm, but it no longer quite reached his gaze.
"To me," Shinji began, walking slowly, "kendō is one thing: a horizontal and a vertical line."
"I stand. You lie down. That's the way of the sword."
"Student Aizen, in the spirit of practical instruction, I'll be needin' ya to be my opponent for a live demonstration."
At this, Shinji's lips curled into a twisted half-smile.
"Just remember go all out. Treat me as your enemy. Come at me like you intend to kill."
"'Cause I got a lil' bad habit. Once I draw my sword, I don't really know how to stop."
"If ya don't give it your all, odds are… you'll get cut down anyway."
With that cryptic warning, Hirako reached for his Zanpakutō, his hand hovering just above the hilt in a relaxed, almost lazy fashion.
To the untrained eye, he looked like he was just putting on a show.
But Aizen, standing opposite him, immediately recognized the truth.
A storm of murderous intent surged forward subtle but undeniable rolling out from Shinji like crashing waves. The dojo's atmosphere changed instantly. Every student felt it: the shift from mock combat to something deadly.
Clang.
A sharp sound rang out as a blade left its sheath.
Cold light flashed across the kendo hall, flooding the room with killing intent so intense it made the skin crawl.
And then
A gleam of steel, wrapped in terrifying pressure, shot straight toward Aizen's throat.