Chapter 41: Rectifying Rukongai

Yamabuki Haruto snapped awake from meditation, hand clutching his neck, sweat dripping down his brow.

One strike… I couldn’t even block one strike!

And worse—his Zanpakutō’s ability wasn’t about speed at all. He realized now: the reason his spirit refused to reveal her name wasn’t stubbornness—it was because his own reiatsu, even at vice-captain level, wasn’t strong enough to wield her true power.

“Brother Yamabuki, are you alright?” asked Sasakibe Chōjirō, looking concerned. “You look terrible! Should I call a healer?”

Haruto waved him off. “It’s fine. I was communing with my sword spirit, and then—she slashed me. That damn girl…”

Chōjirō blinked, his expression twisting. Being cut down by your own Zanpakutō spirit? He really wanted to know what kind of relationship existed between his brother and his sword.

“Wait—why are you back so soon?” Haruto frowned. “Shouldn’t you still be training in the dōjō? Don’t tell me you’re slacking off.”

Chōjirō tilted his head. “Brother Yamabuki, did you forget? This afternoon we’re patrolling Rukongai. You said yourself we need to improve security there.”

“…Oh. Right. I did say that,” Haruto admitted sheepishly.

“Fine. Go get ready—we’ll set off together.”

Rukongai had always been chaos incarnate. Souls of every kind ended up there after death, and while districts near Seireitei had some order, the further out you went, the more violent it became.

Especially in places where ruffians ruled, robbery and murder were part of daily life.

Improving security had been on Haruto’s mind for some time, but with so few people under his command, he could only make small moves. For now, he’d use these patrols to keep order—and toughen up his recruits.

Half an hour later, Haruto stood at the training ground. Beside him were Sasakibe Chōjirō and three fresh recruits.

“Forget training today,” Haruto said. “I’ll take you to patrol. When you’re full Shinigami, you won’t just guard Seireitei—you’ll also be responsible for keeping Rukongai safe. Today, you’ll experience it firsthand.”

The five of them headed straight for the most infamous part of Eastern Rukongai: the Zaraki District.

If the other neighborhoods were rough, Zaraki was a battlefield. Corpses in the street, blades drawn at every glance, fights starting just because someone didn’t like your face.

The three recruits went pale at the sight of broken bones scattered across the ground.

Haruto, even if his stomach twisted, forced himself to look calm. Can’t let them see me flinch now.

Not long after, a group of bandits blocked their path.

“Oi, brats. Hand over your food and those fancy swords,” sneered a burly thug. His grin widened as his eyes fell on Chōjirō. “And that little one—we’ll boil him down. Broken bones fetch a good price for rice!”

Chōjirō froze, shrinking behind Haruto.

Only for Haruto to smack him forward. “What are you scared for? Go fight him! If you lose, I’ll deal with you myself when we get back!”

Chōjirō’s voice cracked. “Brother Yamabuki…”

But Haruto ignored him.

The nearby hooligans gathered in excitement, forming a circle. Bets were already being shouted.

To Chōjirō’s horror, Haruto was the first one tossing coins.

“Brother Yamabuki!” Chōjirō trembled. “I thought your unreliability was just an act, but you’re really betting on me getting killed?!”

The three recruits stared at their instructor like he’d grown horns.

Haruto only smiled. “Small gambling for joy, big gambling ruins the body. Place your bets, everyone.”

“I say five moves!”

“Three moves!”

“He’s holding a blade—he might last ten.”

Haruto jingled his purse. “I bet my little brother kills him in one move!”

The gangsters roared with laughter. This bean sprout? One strike? Impossible!

Chōjirō’s knees knocked together. “Brother Yamabuki… aren’t you expecting too much?”

Haruto grinned. “Chōjirō, if I lose money because of you… I’ll kill you myself.”

With no choice, Sasakibe Chōjirō drew his Zanpakutō.

“Pierce the heavens—Gonryōmaru!”

Lightning flashed, blinding. The next instant, the thug collapsed, throat pierced clean through.

The crowd was stunned. No one had even seen the exchange.

Haruto calmly stooped to collect the winnings. Too easy. Division Fourteen handling thugs like these? No challenge at all. At least I made money.

He opened his pouch—and a pile of soybeans spilled out.

“Oh… my mistake,” he said innocently. “Forgot to bring real coins today.”

The gangsters froze. Then their eyes gleamed.

Free money?

Every blade in the crowd came out at once.

“Perfect. I like it when they rush in,” Haruto said, smiling like a devil. “Students—show me what you’ve got!”

Chaos erupted. The rookies, fresh from harsh training, found themselves cutting down the ruffians with ease. Bodies hit the dirt one after another.

The survivors scattered, fleeing in panic.

But Haruto wasn’t done. With his squad in tow, he marched on to the next district—using the same trick again and again, baiting out the thugs with soybeans and gambling, then smashing them flat.

And slowly, the recruits realized…

Their instructor might be brilliant. Or he might be completely insane.