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Chapter 276: A Lesson
Kotetsu Isane led her squad forward.
Scattered stools and overturned benches lined the path -- clearly there had been a large audience here not long ago. Most of it had since evacuated in a fairly disorderly fashion, but that was completely normal. It happened every year.
The reason was simple.
If someone at Isane's level, a competent vice-captain, felt the urge to back away when faced with reiatsu of that scale, you could hardly expect anything different from ordinary squad members.
And this particular response was instinctive rather than rational -- even Isane, who had experienced this before, still felt herself hesitate. That wasn't something experience fully corrected.
New members joined every year. New members fled every year. That was the cycle.
Thinking about it in those terms, standing here as someone who had been through it before and judging the ones running wasn't really a position she was entitled to take. She lowered her head, pressed her lips together, and kept moving.
Threading through the overturned furniture, she came to a stop behind a cluster of figures and called out clearly.
"Captain-Commander, sir! Vice-Captain of Squad 4, reporting in."
Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni.
Compared to fifteen-odd years ago, the old man had not visibly changed in any meaningful way.
If there was one thing to note, it was the purple windproof shawl he had added to his usual appearance. An outer layer for outdoor occasions. Elderly people caring about staying warm was perfectly reasonable.
"Good. Get moving and help with the injured."
He glanced back at her briefly, his manner noticeably more relaxed than it would have been in a formal setting.
Which was, after all, accurate to experience. Over the years, Isane had come to understand that outside of meetings and other important occasions, the Captain-Commander was actually a fairly approachable old man. There were apparently even stories about him personally making sweet roasted yams for Squad 1 members who worked through the night.
That was probably urban legend. No witnesses could be produced.
With his approval, Isane gave a small nod and shifted her attention to the other side.
To Yamamoto's immediate right, Unohana Retsu was seated, watching the scene below with focused interest.
She was her own captain. But there was clearly no opening to speak with her right now.
Unohana's attention was fully occupied, so Isane didn't try. She simply looked in the same direction.
And found herself staring into a pit.
Right.
The tournament ground itself was a specially prepared site -- carved out and reinforced in a designated isolated section of the Seireitei. Wide enough to contain roughly five football fields, the space gave two motivated individuals plenty of room to do whatever damage they were capable of.
But as previously established: reiatsu release at that scale came with all kinds of secondary effects. Without precise containment, chain reactions were inevitable.
Which was why a barrier had to be built around it.
As Isane was working through that thought, Kyoraku Shunsui, seated a little further along, spoke without turning his head.
"So the setup this year is confirmed stable?"
It was phrased as a simple confirmation. No edge to it, by any plain reading.
But certain sets of ears apparently received it differently. The current Director of the Research and Development Bureau and Captain of Squad 12, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, made an audible sound of irritation.
"The sealing apparatus was reinforced and modified by my own hands. Even under sustained attack from a hundred captain-level opponents in a short window, I can guarantee the barrier holds."
Having stated his position, he apparently felt it still did not adequately convey the depth of his technical expertise.
He continued.
"And for that matter, the incident last time was entirely the result of you people ignoring the Research and Development Bureau's recommendations and using the barrier division's work, putting your faith in Kido rather than actual technical capability! You all--"
"All right, all right, we're sorry, we're sorry. Please stop."
The grievance was audible.
In practical terms, a barrier of this level of refinement, produced by an organization that had continued developing its methods over the decades, would give even Yamamoto some trouble to force through in a direct assault. As tournament containment it was more than appropriate.
Ukitake Jushiro accepted a warm cup of water from someone nearby, took a small sip, and then watched as a figure came flying out of the arena and had to turn away with a sigh.
"Lost again."
Abarai Renji skimmed along the ground, tumbling multiple times, rough enough that his Zanpakuto Zabimaru was knocked clean out of his grip. He pushed his head up from the ground, blood running from the corner of his eye, face full of frustrated defiance.
Before he could say anything, the figure that had launched him came bursting through the dissipating haze with a wide, savage grin.
Zaraki Kenpachi.
His uniform was visibly torn, blood smeared across it in multiple places -- though it was not immediately clear whether it was his own or belonged to the various opponents he had been working through.
"Ha! Get up! A man like you has got to have more left in him!"
A vicious flying kick connected with both of Renji's raised arms.
The impact sent him arcing through the air like a fired projectile, spinning, until he hit the barrier's inner edge and dropped. The brief moment where he might have kept fighting was gone. His head tilted, and that was that.
Zaraki came after him with the blade anyway, until another figure stepped into his path and placed one hand firmly against his chest.
"He's lost. It's over."
Komamura Sajin, iron bucket helmet and all, planted himself where he stood and did not move.
His role as tournament referee was one he had taken with complete seriousness from the beginning.
Zaraki seemed to process the situation slightly after the fact.
He tilted his head, looked past Komamura's shoulder at Renji lying on the ground with his eyes rolled back, and clicked his tongue.
"Again? Has this guy made any progress at all in the past year?"
He stepped back.
Then turned to look up at the audience above.
Both arms spread slightly, voice carrying easily to the stands.
"Anyone else?! Is there nobody here worth fighting?! Vice-captains, captains -- come down and have a go!"
This was, at this point, also a fixture of the annual event.
Five years running.
Because captain-level figures generally didn't descend into the arena, most of the actual matches were vice-captain and seated officer level. Which meant Zaraki had, in most years, swept through without significant resistance -- effectively the predetermined closing act.
As for Abarai Renji.
The fighting spirit was absolutely real. The results, in this specific context, were also consistent: one more year of feeding Zaraki wins and padding his record.
Was this going to be how this year ended too?
"Weren't there some other people who hadn't shown up yet?"
While the assembled audience was sitting with that thought, one figure in the stands rose quietly.
"I'll go down." A pause. "And ask for a lesson."
Kuchiki Byakuya rested his right hand on the hilt of his Zanpakuto and spoke in a tone that carried no particular heat.
"My useless vice-captain has been on the receiving end of this for years now. At this point, I find myself curious to see exactly what level this well-known Zaraki-seated-officer is actually operating at."