Chapter Two: I Am Him

In summary, no matter what I say now, this is how things stand—I can’t go back, so I might as well settle down and stay here for the time being.

“Sigh… fate really does like to play games…” The young man let out a sigh. Based on the information in his mind, he came to a rather helpless conclusion.

Shunsuke Jakube, the lieutenant of the First Division—once powerful, yet ultimately a side character who faded into the background. That is who he was now.

However, at the moment, he was only the young Jakube who had just mastered Bankai. In other words, there were still several thousand years before the main storyline would even begin…

Fortunately, he’d always been interested in the Soul Reaper manga and kept up with its updates. Otherwise, discovering he was Jakube might have made him burst into tears and die on the spot.

“Huh? What’s this? This guy is actually planning to meet Shigekuni Yamamoto tomorrow?”

The young man—or rather, Jakube now—gaped in astonishment. He knew that Jakube held immense respect for Yamamoto, even beyond what most people could understand, but wasn’t this a bit much? To have just mastered Bankai yesterday, rest for only a day, and then challenge that ridiculously powerful old man?

Even if Yamamoto a thousand years ago wasn’t quite as formidable as he later became, he was still far beyond what a junior like Jakube could hope to match.

“…What kind of absurdity is this?” Jakube continued searching his memories for anything useful, but the results left him very disappointed.

In his eagerness to impress Yamamoto, Jakube had focused all his attention on his Zanpakuto. While he had mastered slashing, the most basic of the Soul Reaper’s four arts—hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, flash step, and demon arts—the other three were far from captain-level proficiency.

“What a terrifying thing, this kind of obsession…”

It had to be said, Jakube was a rare genius in the Soul Society, mastering Bankai within a single month—a feat seldom achieved by anyone but the protagonist Ichigo himself.

Yet Jakube also noticed a crucial flaw—this man had failed to uncover the true power of his Zanpakuto’s Shikai.

Gonryomaru, the only lightning-type Zanpakuto in all the Soul Reaper stories, should have been unmatched in both explosive force and speed. But Jakube’s blind reverence for Yamamoto meant he rarely fought, and his rush to master Bankai left him oblivious to the real strength of his Zanpakuto’s Shikai. That, in turn, led to his downfall—stripped of Bankai, he was obliterated in an instant by a Quincy.

For a Soul Reaper who had lived thousands of years, he should have been able to hold his own against captains with his Shikai alone, even if not quite at Yamamoto’s level.

Moreover, Gonryomaru, like Hyorinmaru, could control weather—meaning Jakube could create battlefield conditions perfectly suited to his style. Used properly, even Hyorinmaru might not have stood a chance against Gonryomaru.

“In any case…I have no intention of being as much of a failure as he was.” Jakube glanced at the Zanpakuto by his side, narrowing his eyes slightly. “But before anything else, there’s one thing I really ought to confirm…”

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“Lord Yama!”

The quiet around the private academy was suddenly shattered by this shout, and it didn’t seem as though the speaker intended to stop any time soon.

“Lord Yama!”

“Shigekuni Yama!”

“Hm?” A stern-looking middle-aged man turned his head. His eyes were sharp yet kind, his bearing both steady and formidable. A long scar shaped like a slash marked his forehead; his mustache was so thick it nearly covered his mouth, and though his face bore the traces of age, there was no one in the Soul Society who dared underestimate him.

For he was Shigekuni Yamamoto. That alone commanded respect.

“Hey! Don’t call me ‘Yama’!” Yamamoto shouted loudly at the young man running toward him. He had no idea who had first coined the nickname, but everyone seemed to use it so naturally. In the Soul Society, his given name was hardly known—everyone just called him Yama.

“My apologies…” Damn it… Is it really necessary to bow or kneel every time you apologize? Why is everything in Japan so troublesome?

Jakube knew the scene called for him to kneel—just as in the manga—but he simply couldn’t bring himself to kneel before a Japanese man. He respected Yamamoto, but kneeling was something he could never do.

So, Jakube just scratched his head, looking a bit awkward.

“You again! Haven’t you learned your lesson? Back to bother me once more?” Yamamoto was at his wit’s end with this persistent young man.

“Well… it’s a bit embarrassing…”

“So, what are you actually here for? You’re not even one of our students, yet you wander around almost every day! I’ve told you, I don’t need an attendant!”

“I’m not here to be your attendant! I came to ask you to make me your right-hand man!” The words tumbled out instinctively, without a second thought.

Was his respect for Yamamoto so deeply ingrained it had become a reflex? Jakube complained inwardly.

“If that’s the case, you should join my school—become a disciple, and you’ll naturally be my right-hand man!”

“No! Disciples only copy you, Lord Yama! A true right-hand man would make up for whatever you can’t handle yourself!”

“…”

Yamamoto said nothing, but a vein was starting to throb on his forehead. He was reaching the limit of his patience with this youth’s twisted logic.

“And besides…” Jakube smiled lightly. “I haven’t come every day—this time, it’s been a month.”

He felt a measure of pride as he continued, his smile broadening. “As per your instructions a month ago, I’ve returned having mastered Bankai.”

“!”

Yamamoto was taken aback. A month ago? He had only said that out of annoyance, yet this young man had actually done it? To master Bankai in a single month—what kind of talent was this…

“Oh? In that case, try to defeat me with your Bankai.”