Chapter 89: Extreme Showdown, First to First

The duel between Yamabuki Haruto and Unohana Yachiru had escalated into a savage spectacle, both fighters casting aside caution. Their combat had transformed from measured exchanges to a frenzied clash of blades. Haruto, now attuned to his body’s extraordinary resilience, abandoned defense except for his head and heart, his Zanpakutō flashing with radiant light as he struck relentlessly. If you can kill me, do it! his fearless approach declared.

Their blades met in a whirlwind of steel, each slash a desperate bid for supremacy. The shockwaves of their Reiatsu obliterated the remnants of the Central 46 Chambers, reducing nearby Seireitei buildings to debris. Shinigami observing from a safe distance stood frozen, awestruck by the cataclysmic display.

Yanagi Junrei, propped against a tree to recover, managed a bitter smile. “That kid Haruto… he’s reached this level in secret. Damn him for hiding it!” He shook his head, a mix of admiration and frustration at Haruto’s rapid growth.

Despite Haruto’s near-miraculous regeneration, Unohana’s Zanjutsu mastery outshone him. After a series of probing strikes, she adapted, targeting only his head and heart—the vital points he guarded. Both could read the flaws in each other’s swordsmanship, aware of their own weaknesses. The fight became a contest of Reiatsu and experience, where Haruto trailed the first Kenpachi significantly.

Victory tilted toward Unohana. Haruto’s body accumulated wounds faster than his regeneration could counter. A stray slash cut the tie holding Unohana’s braid, her hair falling loose as she laughed—a wild, bloodthirsty cackle that echoed like a demon’s call.

“I’ve seen the extent of your swordsmanship,” Unohana said, her voice alight with exhilaration. “Enough of this warm-up.” Her blade pierced Haruto’s defenses, slicing through his shoulder and shattering his scapula with a ferocious leap. Haruto’s counter grazed her cheek, drawing a two-inch gash, as he spotted a fleeting weakness in her stance.

Seizing the moment, Haruto lunged, but Unohana’s lips twisted into a sinister grin. Too late, he realized his error. Her blade flashed, severing his wrist, blood spraying as his hand hit the ground, still clutching his Zanpakutō.

“How?” Haruto gasped, reeling. “That was her flaw!”

Unohana’s eyes glinted. “A Zanjutsu master sees an enemy’s flaws and strikes them—first after being struck. But I anticipate your moves before your blade even stirs. That’s foresight.” Her tone was almost playful. “I predicted your prediction.”

Haruto’s shock gave way to realization. “That’s… absurdly precise! But if you can do it, so can I.” With his remaining hand, he summoned Reishi, forming delicate threads that reattached his severed wrist. Flesh and bone fused in moments, his Zanpakutō back in his grip, fully restored.

This battle was honing his skills at an alarming rate. Foresight is just instinct sharpened to perfection. His swordsmanship evolved with each clash, his ability to anticipate Unohana’s moves growing sharper.

“Keep going!” Haruto roared, charging forward. Unohana met him, her blade weaving a mist-like flurry, her Reiatsu erupting in a terrifying surge. Their clash razed everything within kilometers, the ground scarred by their spiritual pressure.

In minutes, they reached a state of mutual foresight, predicting each other’s actions with uncanny accuracy. Unohana’s heart raced—not from fear, but from shock. Haruto’s swordsmanship had surged from first-class to master level, nearly matching her own after centuries of bloodshed. His Reiatsu climbed, narrowing the gap with hers.

Then, Haruto’s blade vanished, striking from a blind angle—her own technique, mirrored perfectly after a single glance. Unohana retreated, blood seeping from a gash on her neck. She clutched the wound, her eyes a mix of fear and fascination. Who is this man? His learning wasn’t mere mimicry; it was mastery, fused into his own style.

Her body trembled—not with fear, but exhilaration. If I train him, he could surpass me. The thought ignited her soul. She raised her Zanpakutō, its form shifting into a massive, one-eyed manta-like creature. “Swallow, Minazuki!” she commanded, releasing her Shikai.

The creature hovered, spitting a viscous, healing mucus. Unohana caught it, applying it to her wounds. The gashes began to close, slower than Haruto’s regeneration but remarkable nonetheless. Haruto cursed himself for forgetting Minazuki’s dual nature—its healing was potent, but its combat form was a nightmare.

The one-eyed manta roared, charging at Haruto like a living mountain. He dodged with rapid Shunpo, weaving through its onslaught. Minazuki looped in the air, reverting to its sword form in Unohana’s hand.

“My wounds are healed,” Unohana said, her eyes blazing with excitement. “Let’s continue!”