Bleach: Stirring Up a Storm

”Your satisfaction means nothing to me,” Ishida replied coldly, drawing his bow with his left hand and firing another Reiryoku arrow at Kōe’s chest.

”Is that so?”

To his surprise, Kōe met the arrow with a simple punch. Ishida had never imagined someone like this existed—someone who could shatter his arrow with an ordinary fist, completely devoid of any Reiryoku fluctuations.

The smile vanished from Kōe’s face for the first time. Ishida tried to draw his bow again, only to find it impossible. A hand—one that looked as elegant as a sprite dancing across piano keys—was now clenched tight, landing squarely on his body.

It felt as if a bomb had detonated in his stomach. The impact scorched his internal organs, and a sickening crunch echoed in his ears, as though his bones were wailing in unison with him.

Kōe remained completely expressionless. No anger, no sympathy, no joy. The agonized screams ringing in his ears seemed like nothing more than the faintest breeze to him, something he had long grown accustomed to.

Before Ishida even had time to collapse, a kick to his chest sent him flying backward. The walls behind him were as fragile as glass, and there was no telling how many he smashed through.

Rubble crashed to the ground, and yellow dust filled the air. A dark silhouette gradually came into focus, like a giant eagle spreading its wings to snatch its prey from the earth.

Forcing himself to stay conscious, Ishida nocked another Reiryoku arrow onto his bowstring. However, before the hunter could strike, the giant eagle’s talons tore through the dust cloud, crushing the freshly loosed arrow into countless scattering motes of light.

His collar tightened, and Ishida felt the world spin wildly. By the time everything settled, he was suspended in midair. The only sensation left in his entire body was pain. His limbs hung limply, making him look like a tattered trench coat draped over a hanger.

Words like ”savage” or ”crude” could not possibly be associated with the man currently acting as his coat hanger. There was no sneak attack as he had imagined, nor the expected ruthlessness. This man simply crushed everything head-on. He never expected Kōe Shihouin to have such a combat style.

”If this Quincy pride you speak of is just baseless arrogance, then it’s a joke. I am stronger than you. Either admit your own weakness, or prove to me that your pride is actually useful. Otherwise, your guarantees are nothing but lies told to the weak, making them throw away their chances of survival for nothing.”

”Tell me, kid,” Kōe stared directly into Ishida’s eyes, asking word by word, ”Do you actually have the pride to guarantee it?”

”Heh... heh... I don’t... need... to prove anything... to you...”

Ishida replied haltingly. Listening to his faint, breathy voice, Kōe shook his head and executed a brutal shoulder throw, slamming him violently into the ground. ”I’m not very satisfied. That was much more forceful than your pride, wasn’t it?”

He couldn’t even muster a retort. No, if he could just control himself and keep the blood from welling up in his throat, Ishida wouldn’t have wanted to make a single sound.

”I’m so sick of you Quincies always running your mouths about honor and pride. You accomplish absolutely nothing, yet you always parade yourselves as the noble side. You claim to hate Shinigami the most, yet here you are, running off to save one. Oh, right, that orange-haired brat is a Shinigami too. So even your hatred is fickle, isn’t it?”

”I-Ichigo and Rukia are different from you Shinigami.”

”How are they different? You say that as if you know me, kid.” Kōe crouched down, grabbing Ishida by the hair and roughly yanking his head up. ”Lying there pointing fingers—I have no idea what you’re talking about. You can still stand up using Ransō Tengai, right? Don’t think you can just die the easy way. I am going to shatter your delusions, punch by punch, until you change your tune and admit your own pathetic nature.”

”Even if you don’t dare to stand up, I’ll drag you along and make you watch your comrades fall one by one, begging for mercy in agony. Let’s start with that orange-haired brat named Ichigo.”

If he said it, he would absolutely do it. At this moment, Ishida finally understood Yumichika’s words: no matter what bizarre thing this man did, it wouldn’t be surprising. Whether he wanted to kill or torture, he could just do it. Yet, he seemed to dabble in both without fully committing to either. Did he just want him to yield? It was completely impossible to fathom what he was thinking.

If he had to describe it, was this someone who took pleasure in destroying everything beautiful? No, looking at Kōe’s expression, Ishida didn’t think he was enjoying this. Perhaps he just wanted to see what it felt like in this moment?

An absurd man, an irredeemable wreck. This was all just too terrible...

It was truly terrible. Ichigo panted heavily, but this subconscious attempt to take in more air did nothing to improve his situation; instead, his body felt even heavier.

”Although any attack can grow stronger, theoretically, there is a limit to the number of times it can be used.”

Urahara had said this before. Based on Ichigo’s observations, Renji’s Zabimaru indeed fit this conclusion. Extending it counted as one strike, and it could attack twice while extended. After these three strikes, it would inevitably revert to its original form. That was the exact moment he would expose a flaw.

It had been like this the whole time. But when he seized that opening to launch an attack, Renji didn’t retract Zabimaru. Instead, he viciously slashed him again. If Ichigo hadn’t realized something was wrong and dodged to the side in time, his intestines would have likely been shredded.

”You’re very observant, but you didn’t observe closely enough. Why did Zabimaru suddenly gain an extra attack? There’s only one reason...” Renji said, as the Zabimaru in his hand lashed out toward Ichigo like a long whip covered in vicious spikes. ”It’s because I intentionally made it attack only three times!”

Theoretically, any attack had a limit to its frequency, but one first had to understand whether that limit stemmed from oneself or from objective external factors.

For example, a revolver could only fire six bullets at a time, but if you could only accurately fire three shots due to the recoil, then your attack limit was three.

First, you had to make sure your body could support you swinging the blade in your hand. Only then could you consider whether the blade was sharp enough, or if it was worthy of you.

Although Teacher Chōzuka was strict, his teachings benefited a person for a lifetime. It was because of this guidance that Renji had never given up on honing himself.

In the beginning, he could only make Zabimaru simply extend and retract, which equated to a two-stage attack. Later, through continuous training, the number of times he could sustain Zabimaru’s attacks in its extended state grew. Now, he could probably manage around fifteen strikes.

And that still wasn’t the absolute limit of what Zabimaru could reach.

At the same time, he also discovered that beyond a certain range, Zabimaru in its extended state would actually become a vulnerability. In those moments, choosing to retract it allowed him to react much faster.

*I have always been working hard, and I know exactly how much I can do, but...*

*I also know...*

*Where my limits lie, Teacher Chōzuka.*