Chapter Seventy-Seven: Torment

“So you dare to boast... Just don’t end up crying later,” Ichigo retorted, struggling to speak as he gradually adapted to the pressure of Chōjirō’s spiritual energy.

“What a stubborn brat. Well then…” Chōjirō couldn’t even be bothered to finish his sentence. He charged forward, swinging his blade down toward Ichigo’s head.

“Let me teach you a proper lesson!”

Clang!

It was a casual strike, nothing serious, and to Ichigo now it was hardly anything at all. He pushed Zangetsu forward, easily blocking Chōjirō’s attack.

“Guh...” But Ichigo hadn’t expected that this not-so-burly man’s casual leap and swing felt much heavier than Kenpachi’s blows; his arm tingled with numbness from the force.

“Heh, what’s with that look? Just a simple jump attack and you’re already struggling?”

“No way… It just caught me off guard…” The boy protagonist refused to bow his head.

“Is that so? That’s wonderful.” Bullies like him—my favorite, Chōjirō thought.

He pressed harder, forcing the tip of Ichigo’s blade down to the floor.

Smack.

Ignoring the sharp edge of Zangetsu, Chōjirō stepped on the blade, pinning Ichigo’s movements with sheer strength. With a twist, his zanpakutō swept from below, whistling toward Ichigo’s head.

“Ugh…”

If Ichigo didn’t dodge, his head would surely be sliced in half.

Biting his lip, Ichigo released one hand from the sword, letting his body drop with the motion. Chōjirō’s blade only managed to shear off a bit of his hair.

Having evaded a fatal blow, Ichigo braced himself with one hand on the ground and kicked at Chōjirō’s ribs. No matter who it is, a solid blow to the ribs will always create an opening. If it doesn’t, it’s not that your opponent is too strong—it’s that you’re too weak.

Chōjirō, well aware of this principle, grabbed Ichigo’s ankle with his other hand and flung him aside with force.

“Ichigo!”

Rukia tried to rush forward in concern, but Hanatarō Yamada stopped her.

Ah, worthy of Squad Four—so sensitive to spiritual pressure and physical shifts, Chōjirō quietly praised Hanatarō.

The battle between him and Ichigo had reached the level of Captain-class combat. In terms of spiritual pressure and presence, it was far beyond what ordinary soul reapers—seated officers included—could withstand. Especially after spending so long in a cell built from spirit-suppressing stone, to suddenly endure such intense spiritual pressure would surely overwhelm her. Stopping her was a wise move.

But Hanatarō, you meddle too much. I’d rather see if that stoic-faced one would step in.

!

While he mused on the sidelines, Ichigo had already rushed forward, swinging his blade once more.

“You recover rather quickly…” Chōjirō glanced at Ichigo out of the corner of his eye, then 'casually' angled his blade toward him.

It was a casual move, yet it was perfectly positioned to block Ichigo’s strike.

“It’s not over yet…”

Ichigo sidestepped Chōjirō’s blade and slashed again.

“At least you’re persistent…” Chōjirō shifted his blade slightly, blocking Ichigo’s attack once more.

!

“But your strength is sorely lacking.”

Bang!

Chōjirō swiftly pressed his palm against Ichigo’s face, pinning him to the ground.

Thud!

The force of that blow was tremendous—not only did it crack the floor of the corridor, but blood also spurted from Ichigo’s head.

Clang… Thud!

He tossed his sword up, caught it in reverse grip, and then drove it forcefully into the ground right beside Ichigo’s scalp.

“… You’ve got good eyes.”

He looked at Ichigo, whose gaze still burned with fighting spirit. Chōjirō raised his head slightly, his tone teasing.

“But you should realize just how vast the gap between us is. Are you still refusing to surrender?”

“Tch… You talk too much…”

The protagonist grinned defiantly, ignoring the agony surging through his body, his eyes locked unwaveringly on Chōjirō’s face.

“I haven’t rescued Rukia yet…”

“That’s why you’re so naïve.” Impatient, Chōjirō cut him off and tossed him aside once more.

“You don’t even know what it means to ‘give up’…”

Chōjirō gripped his yet-unreleased zanpakutō tightly and unleashed a sword pressure toward Ichigo.

“Just die now!!”

Crash!

!!

The vacuum blade pressure shattered with a crisp sound a few steps from Ichigo, splintering like glass. Amid the shards, two slender objects flickered and danced in the air.

“What is that…”

Even with the combined strength of Ukitake and Byakuya, neither sensed anyone interfering in the battle. If the intruder’s strength didn’t exceed theirs, there was only one explanation—

The intruder was so fast that even they couldn’t react.

Looking back over the history of the Soul Society, there was only one person capable of such a feat—

“She finally shows herself.”

Chōjirō narrowed his eyes. When was their last meeting? Perhaps a hundred years ago.

“Yoruichi.”

The newcomer: former Commander-in-Chief of the Stealth Force, Head Captain of the First Division of the Punishment Corps, and ex-Captain of Squad Two—Yoruichi Shihōin.

Snap… Swish.

Yoruichi’s two slender ropes fell to the ground, their sharp tips held in her hands.

“Long time no see, you pretentious old man.”

Though a century had passed, Yoruichi still greeted Chōjirō with cheerful boldness.

“I told you to call me the dashing gentleman. At least drop the ‘pretentious’ bit. After all these years, your temperament hasn’t changed at all.”

Even in front of Shigekuni Yamamoto, Chōjirō rarely felt so helpless. Whenever he saw Yoruichi, he was utterly at a loss.

A century ago, Chōjirō had often visited the Shihōin estate and hatched a scheme to shake heaven and earth—

The Yoruichi Training Plan.

The idea was to raise Yoruichi into a gentle, demure beauty—soft as water, alluring as a fox. Paired with her stunning, fiery physique, she’d become a siren who brought ruin to nations.

Unfortunately, soul reapers weren’t a world of Chōjirō’s creation; not everything could go his way.

After a decade of being called ‘pretentious old man’ by Yoruichi, Chōjirō decisively abandoned that plan.

Fate truly is preordained…

Chōjirō gazed skyward in contemplation.

Ahem, back to the matter at hand.

“My, my, I thought after a hundred years you’d have forgotten all that, but clearly you remember it well. What’s this, do you still pine for me? Hmm? You perverted pretentious old man.”

Yoruichi flashed a sly smile, arms crossed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Flustered by her teasing, Chōjirō instantly lost his composure, practically flipping the table.

“Take that brat and disappear at once! You damned catwoman!!”