According to the information from "Bleach: Prelude to the Stray Stars", Hotaru Kanisawa was the senior of Renji Abarai, Izuru Kira, and Momo Hinamori at the Shin'ō Academy.
She was in the same sixth-year class as Shūhei Hisagi and Aoga. During their graduation examination, she led the Special Advancement Class – First Year, Class One to the Human World for practical training.
However, that training session was turned by Aizen into a brutal testing ground for his experimental subjects. As a result, Hotaru Kanisawa was pierced through the chest by the claws of a gigantic Hollow capable of hiding its spiritual pressure.
Although Aoga was seriously injured, he survived. Afterwards, because of Kanisawa's death, he developed a deep fear of death. He transferred from a combat division to become a member of the Fourth Division, and every month he would visit Kanisawa's grave to pay his respects…
While she was alive, Hotaru Kanisawa secretly admired Shūhei Hisagi. But Hisagi only had one goal in mind—joining the Ninth Division and serving Kensei Muguruma, the man who once saved his life.
Only after Kanisawa sacrificed herself did Hisagi realize how deeply he had hidden his love for her. After graduating, he fell into despair and lost his previous outlook on life.
Later, Hisagi encountered the blind Kaname Tōsen and learned from him the creed:
"One who does not fear the sword he carries has no right to wield it."
With renewed determination, Hisagi joined the Ninth Division, where Tōsen served.
On the other hand, Aoga had always secretly loved Kanisawa, but he never dared to confess his feelings before her death. After recovering from his injuries, he would visit her grave every month to mourn her…
When Fūjin Taichi recalled all this, a sudden realization struck him.
He was in the same class as Shūhei Hisagi.
Which meant that six years later, he would also encounter that horrifying graduation test.
"Holy shit…"
"Holy freaking shit!"
The moment Fūjin Taichi realized he would eventually step into Aizen's near-death slaughterhouse, cold sweat instantly poured down his face. He didn't even bother wiping it away.
He waved his hand and hurried off.
Judging from the direction he took, Fūjin Taichi had no intention of returning to the dormitory. Instead, he followed the path beside Little Mirror Lake back to Dojo No. 34.
Then he lit an oil lamp in the darkness.
Under the dim yellow light, he continued to swing the Asauchi in his hand again and again, repeatedly practicing the Divine Dream One-Sword Style taught to him by the white-clothed swordsman.
"Whoosh—"
After an unknown amount of time, the temperature suddenly became scorching hot.
It felt as if Dojo No. 34 had suddenly dropped into the Flame Mountain, surrounded on all sides by boiling magma.
"This… is my Jinzen (Blade Meditation) space?"
Fūjin Taichi held the Asauchi with both hands and stared in shock at the surroundings.
He found himself standing on a barren island, where not even a blade of grass grew.
The blazing sun hung high in the sky without a single cloud in sight. The ocean surrounding the island had turned into endless magma.
Driven by violent winds, the burning magma repeatedly slammed against the dark reefs, producing thunderous roaring sounds.
The heat was suffocating.
There was not the slightest breeze.
The thick, sticky air felt like freshly boiled water, forcefully pouring down his lungs with every breath.
Meanwhile, the sun scorched the earth. The soil on the ground had been heated to extreme temperatures—stepping on it barefoot produced puffs of white smoke with every step.
"Holy shit!"
Looking at the unbelievable scene before him, Fūjin Taichi exhaled hot air and asked a question from the depths of his soul:
"Is this Flame Mountain, or is this my inner Zanpakutō world?!"
"Rumble—!"
Naturally, no one on the empty island could answer his question.
The white-clothed swordsman had long disappeared.
But as Fūjin Taichi looked at the roiling red magma beneath the island, he suddenly seemed to understand something.
"…Is that you? Akainu?!"
"No... my name is..."
The voice of the white-clothed swordsman echoed beside Fūjin Taichi's ears.
It sounded both near and far at the same time—floating and indistinct, making it impossible to determine its exact location.
"Stop playing mysterious tricks! Just tell me—your real name!"
Fūjin Taichi's voice wasn't loud, and with thunder and wind mixed in, it was almost impossible to hear.
Yet the other party heard it clearly.
"My name is…"
"Did you leave your vocal cords at home or something?! When you say your name, can you speak louder?!"
Now that Fūjin Taichi had basically confirmed his suspicions, he spoke bluntly and repeatedly pressed the white-clothed swordsman for his true name.
"My name is…"
When the swordsman reached the point of saying his name, his voice suddenly faded away again.
It seemed like he had said it.
Yet it also seemed like he hadn't said anything at all.
This appeared to be a common problem with Zanpakutō spirits:
When revealing their names, they always act mysterious and secretive—playing tricks.
Even though they're weak as hell, they still shamelessly claim that the master isn't strong enough to hear their voice.
Some act coy, refusing to reveal their true names.
Some pretend to be aloof and only say half of their names.
And some simply play deaf and mute, letting their masters die without ever revealing anything.
If all of this is truly a necessary condition for Shinigami to obtain their Zanpakutō power—
Then why didn't Aizen's Kyōka Suigetsu have so much bullshit?
And when Ryūjin Jakka first appeared, did it arrogantly point at Genryūsai Yamamoto's nose and start cursing him out?
In Fūjin Taichi's opinion, the more useless a Zanpakutō is, the more it loves to run its mouth.
Just like those people in the Human World who are poor yet overly arrogant:
When facing weak masters, they act pretentious and demanding.
When facing strong masters, they kneel down and start licking boots.
Clearly, Fūjin Taichi had no intention of indulging a Zanpakutō spirit like that.
So he pointed at the yellow soil beside his feet and said calmly:
"If you don't want to say it, then write it down. I won't make things difficult for you."
"Shing!"
A thin, sharp blade suddenly pressed against Fūjin Taichi's lower back.
As if the moment he annoyed the other party again—
His body would be stabbed straight through.
"Yo? My friend!" Fūjin Taichi noticed the sword tip pointing at his back, yet he remained as steady as a mountain. With a teasing tone he said,
"So what, you planning to kill me?"
"Name…" the white-clothed swordsman said coldly.
"I've called it at least ten thousand times every day… It's you who can't hear it."
"The clouds in the sky have already cleared, and the sea has receded. Isn't it time to tell me your true name?"
Fūjin Taichi slowly turned around and looked at the swordsman before him—who had now changed into white robes with a red cloak. Calmly, he said:
"If it really doesn't work, you can just write the name down."
"Shing!"
The red-cloaked swordsman sheathed his blade and said without even looking at Fūjin Taichi:
"If you still cannot hear my voice, then stop staying here. Go back."
"Go where?"
Fūjin Taichi glanced at him sideways and replied arrogantly:
"This is my territory. If anyone's leaving, it's you. Unless you tell me your name, I'm not going anywhere."
"Are you truly confused, or just pretending?" the red-cloaked swordsman turned back and looked at him.
"There is an ancient and terrifying power inside Seireitei that has been suppressing me.
It seems its owner is the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13, captain of the First Division—
Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni."
"You mean Ryūjin Jakka? The Zanpakutō known as the strongest fire-type?"
Fūjin Taichi suddenly understood.
No wonder he had never been able to hear his Zanpakutō's voice—so it was that old geezer Yamamoto secretly messing things up?! Damn it!
"The strongest fire-type, huh…"
The red-cloaked swordsman suddenly raised his right hand and firmly grabbed the Asauchi in Fūjin Taichi's hand. His eyes filled with burning battle intent.
Then he stared at him seriously and said:
"Taichi… my true power… I'm afraid you might not be able to handle it."
"Oh?"
"I… do not belong to this world. Yet I am willing to compete with Ryūjin Jakka for the title of the strongest." The red-cloaked swordsman looked back at Fūjin Taichi and continued: "Do you still not understand?"
I understand! I definitely understand!
Fūjin Taichi secretly rejoiced.
Since ancient times, there had always been the saying:
"In literature there is no first place, but in martial arts there must be a second."
Since Ryūjin Jakka claimed the title of the strongest fire-type, it was only natural that another fire-type Zanpakutō spirit, like the red-cloaked swordsman, would want to challenge it.
But there was one small problem…
Are you really sure you can beat Ryūjin Jakka?
The red-cloaked swordsman still held tightly onto the Asauchi, his eyes glowing intensely.
"So… do you still want to know my name?"
"Isn't that obvious? If I didn't want to know your name, why the hell would I be standing here chatting with you like we're performing a comedy skit?"
Fūjin Taichi said bluntly: "But let me say something ugly first! Don't think you're so impressive just because you're acting all high and mighty here. Outside, there are plenty of Shinigami who could wipe the floor with you!
Not to mention Ryūjin Jakka and the same-attribute Engetsu—there's also the illusion-type Kyōka Suigetsu, the poison-type Ashisogi Jizō, the pure-slashing type Nozarashi, the ice-type Hyorinmaru,
the water-type Nejibana, the aesthetic-type Sode no Shirayuki, the beautiful-blade type Senbonzakura, the dog-type Tenken, the music-type Suzumushi, the multi-form Benihime, and the cheat-type Zangetsu…"
"…."
The red-cloaked swordsman said nothing.
But his face darkened even more than the sky itself. Clearly he had been angered by Fūjin Taichi's words, yet he didn't bother wasting time arguing with him.
"So… stop putting on airs! Hurry up and tell me your name!"
"As you wish…"
The red-cloaked swordsman suddenly tightened his grip on the Asauchi.
Instantly, bright red blood slowly flowed across the blade, staining it crimson.
"Holy—! You—"
"Shut up! Call my name!"
In that instant, it felt as though an electric current surged through Fūjin Taichi's entire body.
Trembling, he shouted out the name:
"Nirvana, Hōō (Fire Phoenix)!"
"Clang—!"
A phoenix formed from orange flames soared into the sky.
The scorching air was instantly purified. The thunder gradually faded, and the magma around them calmed.
The once barren island—covered with broken swords and shattered blades—suddenly became filled with vast forests of phoenix trees (paulownia trees).
Green grass spread beneath them, and wildflowers bloomed everywhere.
Among the large fan-shaped leaves on the trees hung clusters of trumpet-shaped phoenix blossoms.
When a warm wind blew through, their fragrance filled the air—refreshing and soothing to the soul.