"You brat! You sent one of our Eleventh Division guys flying in two moves!"
Madarame Ikkaku slammed his cup onto the table and burst into laughter.
"He's been sulking in the barracks ever since! Aiming for a seated position this year, and then bam—flattened by a student!"
Iba Tetsuzaemon leaned back with a crooked grin.
"You owe that guy two bottles of decent sake at least. I'll personally deliver them for you."
Ikkaku squinted at him.
"Deliver them? You mean drink them!"
The private room erupted into laughter.
Eleventh Division Culture
When Ikkaku and Iba had first sensed Sombravida's spiritual perception spreading across the tavern, their instincts had immediately flared.
Eleventh Division reacted first.
Always.
But upon realizing it was the blind Academy student, and after confirming his identity, tension dissolved into curiosity.
And curiosity quickly turned into drinking.
Now, several rounds later, both seated officers were comfortably drunk.
Ikkaku leaned forward.
"When you graduate, you're coming to the Eleventh Division."
Sombravida raised his cup slightly.
"That's quite the early recruitment."
"You've got the right eyes," Ikkaku said with a smirk.
"I don't have eyes."
Iba snorted.
"He means the right spirit."
Ikkaku jabbed a finger at him.
"And we're fighting when you graduate. No excuses."
"I'll lower my spiritual pressure to match yours," Ikkaku added boldly.
Iba immediately slapped him on the head.
"Idiot! If you hold back and lose, you'll embarrass the division!"
Ikkaku scoffed.
"I don't lose."
Sombravida chuckled lightly.
"When I graduate and pass selection, I'll come find you both. We'll fight properly. Then we'll drink properly."
Iba grinned broadly.
"That's what I like to hear."
Before leaving, Iba had already paid the bill.
Eleventh Division pride.
Seniors treat juniors.
Sombravida did not argue.
But before leaving the tavern, he quietly purchased two jugs of sake and left them with the owner.
"For when they return."
A debt remembered is a bond strengthened.
Back to the Academy
By the time Sombravida returned to Seireitei's Academy grounds, he had already expelled the alcohol from his body through controlled reiryoku circulation.
The scent was gone.
His step steady.
"Tsukishiro-nii! Where were you?!" Nakai rushed toward him anxiously.
"I walked the streets and ate," Sombravida replied calmly.
"You disappeared for hours!"
"Yu," Sombravida said gently, "you don't need to escort me everywhere. I memorize spatial flow through spiritual pressure. Once I've walked a route, I won't lose it."
Nakai stiffened.
"It's my responsibility."
Sombravida studied him briefly.
Determined.
Sincere.
"Then focus on improving," Sombravida said simply. "If you fall too far behind physically, even duty becomes difficult."
"I won't fall behind!" Nakai declared.
Sombravida smiled faintly.
Zanjutsu Class
The kendo dojo buzzed with disciplined tension.
Today's lesson: Zanjutsu fundamentals.
The instructor began with:
Proper grip alignment
Blade trajectory efficiency
Hip rotation for force transfer
Maintaining centerline stability
Unlike human sword arts, Shinigami Zanjutsu emphasized:
Reiryoku flow through the blade.
Even in sealed state, a Zanpakutō responds to spiritual pressure control.
Sombravida listened carefully.
His prior experience with Hollow combat and human martial systems gave him adaptability, but Soul Society's system focused heavily on reiryoku harmonization with the blade.
Different philosophy.
Valuable nonetheless.
After instruction came sparring.
Sombravida did not need to search for a partner.
Momo rushed toward him immediately.
"Big brother! Fight me!"
She looked confident.
Sombravida nodded.
"Alright."
Sparring
They stepped to the center.
Bamboo swords in hand.
Momo adopted proper stance:
Low center of gravity.
Two-handed grip.
Blade raised.
Sombravida held his loosely in his left hand, tip lowered.
Right hand relaxed behind his back.
"Coming!" Momo shouted.
She struck downward.
Sombravida sidestepped.
No counter.
Horizontal sweep.
Sombravida stepped back.
Upward slash.
He tilted his head and finally parried.
The collision reverberated sharply.
Momo overcommitted slightly.
Sombravida rotated his wrist and redirected her blade off-center.
Her balance shifted.
Sombravida tapped her chest guard lightly.
"Check."
Momo puffed up immediately.
Again.
This time, Sombravida spoke while defending.
"Don't squeeze the hilt so tightly."
Clang.
"You're using too much shoulder strength."
Clang.
"Control comes from hips and core."
Momo adjusted.
Her strikes grew cleaner.
Faster.
More economical.
Sombravida began applying pressure.
Not overwhelming.
Just enough to test.
"On a battlefield," Sombravida said calmly between exchanges, "you don't aim to overpower. You aim to create openings."
Clang-clang-clang.
"If your opponent's spiritual pressure is overwhelmingly higher, direct clashes are useless."
Clang.
"Force them to misstep."
He shifted angle abruptly.
Momo stumbled slightly.
Sombravida stepped behind her and hooked her collar lightly, lifting her just enough to destabilize.
"Flexibility wins fights."
"Put me down!" she protested, flailing lightly.
He set her down.
She surrendered, flushed.
Real Combat Philosophy
Sombravida knelt to her level.
"Zanjutsu isn't about wide swings. It's about center control. Your reiryoku supports your blade, but technique determines efficiency."
He demonstrated a short, controlled cut.
Minimal motion.
Maximum line precision.
Nearby students began gathering.
Whispers spread.
"That's Hinamori Tsukishiro."
"He knocked an examiner down during assessment."
"Look at his blade control…"
The instructor finally approached.
"You two. Enough."
He corrected Momo's grip and shoulder tension.
Then turned to Sombravida.
A pause.
"Continue."
That was all.
The instructor wasn't blind.
Sombravida's style didn't strictly follow Academy form — but every movement targeted structural weaknesses.
Awkward angles.
Unstable balance points.
Precise force redirection.
It wasn't textbook.
It was battlefield experience refined.
The instructor understood one thing clearly:
He had nothing to teach this student yet.
Better instructors would handle him later.
For now—
Let him grow.
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