Toshio Perspective
The familiar sll of polished wood and chalked grips hit the mont I stepped into the kendo hall. The place was already buzzing—sixty two new recruits cramd the room with a hum of nervous energy, their chatter bouncing off the rafters. My arrival, apparently, did not go unnoticed. Conversations shifted, voices dipped, and more than a few pairs of eyes landed on like I’d just walked into center stage.
My reputation had apparently grown in the months since last school year.
Front and center, I spotted two familiar faces—Murayama and Katase, standing together with shinai resting casually against their shoulders. Their uniforms were filled out a little better, their stances a little sharper. Both looked genuinely happy when they caught sight of .
"Toshio-senpai!" Murayama called, waving with the kind of enthusiasm she didn’t bother disguising. Katase smiled just as warmly, raising a hand in greeting.
"Hey, you two." I walked over, slipping through the crowd of recruits. "Been a while. You both look like you’ve been training hard."
"We have," Katase said, grinning. "Murayama’s been nagging about my footwork all sumr."
"Because it needed work," Murayama shot back, mock offense written across her face. Then she looked back at , her tone softening. "It’s good to see you again."
"Yeah. You as well, Murayama."
Before the mont stretched too long, one of the third-year girls stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. "Wait—you all know each other?"
"Of course," Murayama answered, straightening a little. "We all went to the sa dojo before Toshio started high school. We’ve been friends since then." She glanced at as she said the word friends, her eyes shimring with sothing I didn’t quite recognize.
The whispering started instantly, rippling through the gathered recruits. The gossip mill at Kuoh was alive and well. I sighed inwardly. This school didn’t miss a chance to speculate about anything remotely resembling romance.
Still, my eyes flicked to the group as a whole. Almost all girls, save for two boys lingering near the back. They didn’t exactly scream athlete. More like they were here for the sa reasons Issei would’ve been proud of—naly, an appreciation for the kendo uniform’s aesthetics rather than the art itself. An idea began to form.
I clapped my hands once. "Alright. Janken (rock, paper, scissors) you two." I pointed at Murayama and Katase. They exchanged quick glances, then held out their fists. Rock, paper, scissors. Murayama won with paper over rock. Katase rolled her eyes but smiled.
"Murayama, you’re up. Show how much you’ve grown."
We stepped onto the sparring floor. She donned the normal protective sparring gear. I didn’t bother. The rest of the recruits circled instinctively, eager to see how this would play out. Murayama squared her stance, determination flashing in her eyes.
"Why am I not surprised you’re not wearing gear," Murayama said amused. I simply gave a small shrug.
"Prove to that I need it." That seed to light a fire in her eyes, or at least what I could see of them.
"Toshio-sensei is so cool!" I heard from a second year off to my right.
A third year brought my dedicated shinai. It was a darker brown than the rest of them. I held it loosely to my side and squared my stance toward Murayama.
"Ready?" I asked.
Murayama nodded sharply.
"Challenger ready? Defender ready? Haji!" A different third year called out. A girl with a modest, lithe fra with long dark hair. She had claid the role of sparring ref last year.
As soon as her hand ca down, Murayama launched forward with impressive speed, for her age anyway. Her first strike ca in a clean diagonal cut toward my shoulder—faster than I rembered from our dojo days, more confident too. I sidestepped and let the bamboo whistle past my ear, close enough that I felt the displacent of air.
"You’ve gotten better," I said, pivoting to face her as she recovered. "But you’re still telegraphing."
She didn’t waste breath on a response, instead flowing into a thrust aid at my chest. This ti I caught the strike on the side of my blade and redirected it, using her montum to guide her past . A few of the watching recruits gasped.
"Toshio-senpai is so fast," soone whispered.
Murayama spun back toward , breathing harder but eyes bright with determination. I could see the calculation in her stance. She was studying my movents, looking for patterns. That was new too.
Her next combination was more complex: a feint high followed by a real strike low, then imdiately transitioning into an overhead cut. I parried each with minimal efforts and movent.
I let her continue, blocking, parrying, testing her rhythm. Just so I didn’t seem supernaturally good at this (despite the obvious), I let her land a clean feint that "caught off guard", but in the end, I slipped past her guard and tapped her shoulder with a decisive strike.
She breathed hard, but her grin was fierce. "I almost had you."
"You’ve co a long way," I admitted. "I’m impressed. And I know Katase’s not far behind, knowing your rivalry." I turned to the gathered senior mbers. "So yes, they’re in."
The crowd imdiately complained, mutters rising about favoritism. I held up a hand.
"Fine. You want fairness? Here’s the test. Half of you spar Murayama, half spar Katase. If you can land just one clean hit out of three exchanges, you’re in. That’s the standard."
I looked back at the two girls. "You good with this?"
Murayama’s eyes lit with competitive fire. "Definitely."
Katase smirked. "Can’t wait."
The matches began. The recruits lined up, nerves evident, but determination carrying them forward. Murayama and Katase each held their ground with skill and confidence, cutting through challenger after challenger. In the end, only a handful managed to score a point, resulting in only 11 girls making it. A third of the girls didn’t even look like they’d held a shinai before. They were likely here, for , as much as it pained to admit.
To the delight of nearly all the girls watching, both of the boys were among the defeated—thoroughly dismantled by Murayama and Katase, who seed to put just a little extra effort into those particular matches. When the two collapsed, nursing both bruised pride and possible nosebleeds, I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was from the blows or sheer perverted overload.
I addressed the rest. "For those who didn’t make it, don’t give up. Go to my old dojo and train there. If you can beat soone of my choosing by midyear, you’ll get a spot. I want to see effort and dedication. This should result in skill."
The existing second- and third-years murmured appreciatively, a few openly praising the system. "That’s so fair, sensei."
The word hung in the air. Sensei.
Murayama drifted closer, cheeks pink. "They really think that highly of you here?" she asked softly.
Before I could answer, another mber chid in. "You don’t get it—Toshio-sensei pushes us harder than anyone, but he makes us better. We’d follow him anywhere."
The way Murayama and Katase looked at after that made scratch the back of my neck, unsure what to do with the weight of their stares.
A couple of third years ca up to .
"Sensei, we noticed you haven’t been wearing the uniform we got for you last year. Did sothing happen to it?" They had neutral expressions I couldn’t read. I hoped they wouldn’t be too disappointed.
"Ah, I ruined it training in the forest a while back. I know you all ca together to work on that, so I apologize."
"No sensei it’s okay! In fact," she pulled a box she had been holding behind her back. "We got you a new one. You’ve grown so anyway, so the old one wouldn’t fit you very well." She handed the box. I opened it without ceremony. The Shihakushō was exactly the sa as before. Just like Hisagi’s.
"Wow, thank you. All of you. I really appreciate this." I felt genuinely moved. Another novel feeling. If that keeps happening I’ll have an entire library.
"It’s the least we can do sensei! You’ve helped all of us improve so much!" Her smile was radiant.
"Hmph. I’ll make sure I don’t disappoint any of you then." I said with a small smile.
"Now then, let’s get on with practice. I have a new routine for us to follow this sester."
"HAI!" All of the girls announced in unison.
Before we got started, I changed into my new Shihakushō. It fit perfectly. Still weirded out that they got my asurents so exact. They hadn’t seen since last year...
By the end of practice, both Murayama and Katase were calling sensei too, the word rolling off their tongues with surprising ease.
I gathered everyone before dismissing them. "This year, I want at least five mbers to make it into the top twenty in regionals. That’s the goal. Train with that in mind."
No one argued. They didn’t need a reward—just the chance to earn my approval seed enough.
As practice wound down, I pulled Murayama and Katase aside. "Do you two want to go get dinner and catch up? Sa place we used to go after dojo nights. My treat."
Their eyes lit instantly. "Yes!" they said in unison. Both of their cheeks seed to gather heat as well.
The rest of the club erupted in envious whispers, jealousy thick enough to taste. I just shook my head. Kuoh Academy—the real battlefield wasn’t supernatural. It was gossip.
After kendo club, we walked to the diner together. I quietly enjoyed Murayama and Katase’s banter.
Their cheerful conversation reminded of those earlier days at the dojo, when we were all younger and the world seed much simpler. Back then, my biggest concern had been perfecting my form, not fighting demons or navigating supernatural antics. There was sothing comforting about slipping back into that dynamic, even if only for an evening.
The diner hadn’t changed much since our last visit. Sa vinyl booths, sa faded nus, sa ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead. The waitress recognized us imdiately.
"Well, look who’s back! The three musketeers!" She winked at . It surprised that she rembered us. "The usual table?"
"Yes, please," I replied with a nod. I led the way with the girls following .
She led us to our corner booth by the window, the one we’d always claid after grueling training sessions. I slid in first, and to my mild surprise, both girls squeezed in on either side of rather than sitting across. The booth suddenly felt much smaller than I rembered.
"So," I said once we’d ordered, "tell what I’ve missed. How has the last year been?"
"Mostly training," Murayama admitted, sipping her water. "That or school."
"My father insisted I keep up, making sure that I dedicated myself to the craft. He doesn’t like it when people only give half efforts. He was impressed with how much I’d improved after you left the dojo."
Katase nodded eagerly. "Sa here. We even practiced together twice a week at the park."
"That’s good to hear," I said, genuinely pleased. "The dedication shows."
"What about you, Toshio-sensei?" Katase asked, her voice taking on a softer quality when she used the title. "What did you do all sumr?"
I carefully considered how much to share. "Training, mostly. So independent study."
"Fighting demons?" Murayama whispered, leaning closer.
I nearly choked on my water. "What?"
"Oh don’t mind her," Katase started. "Whenever she has free ti, she plays this action RPG called Diabolus 2. Apparently you go around killing demons or whatever." Well that was a relief. For a second there...
"It’s SUCH a fun ga. Using fantasy style swords to kill demons and demon bosses. Have you heard of it?" Murayama practically had stars in her eyes. It sounded, inspired, and eerily familiar.
"Can’t say that I have, but maybe you’ll have to show soti." Her face grew even more excited, if that were possible.
"Toshio-sensei please don’t get her start-"
"Of course! I would love to! I’ve been looking for soone to play with since SOBODY," she gave a quick glare to Katase, "won’t play with ."
"If I get a free mont I’ll let you know," I chuckled. Then they looked at strangely.
"What?"
"You laughed," Katase started. "You should do that more often." She gave a warm smile.
"Should the situation call for it. Or you could always try to be funnier." Murayama almost did a spit take while taking a drink of her water. Katase’s face had traces of a blush. I smiled to myself. I really think Akeno is having a bad influence on . I didn’t mind.
"I’m hilarious," Katase huffed, crossing her arms. "You just never noticed before."
I couldn’t help but smirk at that. "My apologies for the oversight."
Our food arrived shortly after—beef bowls for Murayama and , chicken katsu for Katase. The familiar sll brought back mories of countless post-training als, our bodies aching and spirits high. We fell into an easy rhythm, talking about kendo techniques, school gossip, and the upcoming regional tournant.
"So," Murayama said between bites, her voice dropping slightly, "you’ve been hanging out with the Occult Research Club a lot, right? What’s that about?"
I asured my response carefully. "They’re friends. They’re a little odd, but so am I. So I guess we clicked."
"Odd is one way to put it," Katase muttered, then caught herself. "Not that there’s anything wrong with them! Gremory-senpai and Hijima-senpai are both amazing. And Kiba-senpai is super cool (and handso)," I heard her mumble that last part. "It’s just..."
"Just what?" I asked, genuinely curious about their perspective.
Murayama leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against mine. "They’re just so... intense. Like they’re from another world sotis."
If only she knew how accurate that assessnt was.
"Plus," Katase added, poking at her rice, "Hijima-senpai is always all over you. It’s a little..." She trailed off, cheeks flushing.
"Obvious?" I supplied.
"I was going to say ’forward,’" she corrected, "but yeah."
Murayama’s chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. "Are you and Hijima-senpai... you know?"
I raised an eyebrow. "No, I don’t know."
"Dating," she clarified, her voice barely above a whisper despite no one being close enough to hear.
"No," I said simply. "We’re just friends."
"Could have fooled ," I heard her mumble. She didn’t know I had enhanced hearing basically all the ti now.
But now that she said that, I suppose it does look that way... Dating her does sound kind of nice...
"And Gremory-senpai?" Katase asked, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.
I felt a twinge in my chest at the ntion of Rias, the recent distance still difficult to deal with. "Also just friends."
Both girls exchanged a glance I couldn’t quite interpret. Relief? Skepticism?
"What about you two?" I asked, turning the tables. "Anyone caught your interest at Kuoh?"
Katase nearly choked on her water. Murayama’s face went red enough to rival Rias’s hair.
"N-no one in particular," Murayama stamred.
"Definitely not," Katase agreed too quickly.
Katase took off her headband to readjust it. Her bangs flopped forward.
"Hey wait a minute, let see that," I told her. She tilted her head in confusion but handed her headband. I put it in her hair while keeping her bangs down. Her blush grew atomic.
"I think that suits you better. You should wear your hair like that," I suggested. Murayama leaned over.
"Hey Katase that looks so cute! I totally agree!" she cheerfully added. Katase stared at her hands in her lap.
"Thanks, Toshio-sensei," she seed to struggle out.
"You can just call Toshio like before whenever we’re not in club you know. Sa goes to you Murayama." Getting called sensei in public felt weird for so reason.
I decided to show rcy and changed the subject. "So, about that regional tournant. Which of you is going to place higher?"
Forgetting the probable embarrassnt, that sparked an imdiate competitive debate between them, the earlier tension dissolving into familiar banter. I sat back, enjoying their animated argunt, letting their voices wash over . It was nice to see them again. They were good friends. But I don’t think I could ever be with them.
They weren’t part of the supernatural world, and they didn’t deserve to be dragged into it and its dangers. They also seed a bit immature for . Despite my physical mind currently at 17 (apparently I missed my birthday a few days ago), I still had the mind of soone much older. But Akeno and Rias on the other hand...
My interest in sothing more than friendship had begun to grow. I’m sure I had a certain Zanpakutō spirit to thank for that.
"You okay Toshio? You’re zoning out." Murayama nudged with her elbow.
"Yeah, just thinking about girls." I didn’t realize how that sounded until I saw their weirded out looks.
"Ah, sorry. Thinking about our earlier conversation about romantic interests. I’ve never given it much thought up until now." This caused them both to look away and blush again.
Oh, they probably think...
"That’s okay, Toshio," Murayama started chuckling awkwardly. "So you have any cool new Kendo moves to show us?" Odd dodge of conversation, but I wasn’t complaining.
We finished dinner shortly after, then parted at the normal intersection.
"I’ll see you both at school and at club."
"Can’t wait!" Murayama shouted while walking backwards.
Despite us all having dinner together not too long ago, it still seed nostalgic. At least, I think that was the feeling I identified.
XXX
Toshio Perspective
The weekend after school started, I found myself where I always gravitated when there wasn’t kendo practice—the forest clearing. The familiar hush of leaves in the canopy, the soft earth beneath my shoes, and the lingering sll of moss and wood made it feel like a second ho. The place had long since beco my preferred training ground. Kuroka was in her usual spot, lounging atop her earth pedestal I created like a queen of indolence, tail swishing with lazy confidence. She of course, had her daily filling of my homade chocolate.
I exhaled, flexing my right hand, index finger extended. Today wasn’t about sword drills or cultivation. It was about an itch that had been nagging since I’d started thinking more about what was possible with Reiryoku. Bleach had given the first taste of the concept—the elegance and power of Kido. And among them, Byakurai—Hadō #4, Byakuya Kuchiki’s favored spell. The image of him raising a finger and unleashing a sharp bolt of lightning had always stuck with . It always seed useful, efficient, and powerful.
And cool as hell. Most importantly, unlike normal magic, a spiritual attack that could burn both body and soul. At least that was my running theory.
For all my experinting with magic, the system never changed what it was at its core—mana constructs that I fed Reiryoku into. The frawork was still magic. Byakurai, though, was sothing different. My instincts told it was pure Reiryoku technique, bypassing the translation layer of magic and hitting the essence directly.
"Hadō number four, Byakurai." I recited the incantation, every syllable crisp thanks to Perfect mory. I could still recall the exact cadence from the ani episode, as if it were etched in my skull. The words rolled off my tongue and for the first ti I felt my Reiryoku strain against its channels in a different way. Not the smooth funneling of energy into a magic circle, but a rough current battering against the walls of my body. It was like trying to fire a bullet through a clogged barrel.
I raised my finger, focusing, willing the Reiryoku to sharpen and condense. The energy sparked, a faint hum running down my arm—but nothing left my fingertip. Frustration curled in my chest. It wasn’t impossible. I knew it wasn’t. It just... felt like the boundary of flesh was holding it back. Maybe if I were in a spirit body, like a shinigami, the technique would flow more naturally. Here, in this hybrid state, it was like trying to run while dragging a weight.
"ow."
I glanced sideways. Kuroka was staring at , head tilted, ears twitching, the picture of feline judgnt. To her, I probably looked insane—chanting incantations, pointing dramatically into the air, waiting for a lightning bolt that never ca. She’d likely never heard of this ’spell’ before, and from her perspective I was probably trying out so long-forgotten magic formula. Her narrowed eyes said as much.
"Don’t look at like that," I muttered. "This is research."
The attempts piled up. Twenty tries. Thirty. Forty. Each one ended with the sa frustrating sensation of Reiryoku swelling, pressing, then diffusing without form. My fingertip tingled, sotis even ached from the tension. Still, I kept going. On the forty-ninth attempt, sparks danced. Tiny, sharp, electric blue sparks snapped off the edge of my index finger, vanishing as quickly as they ca.
I froze, then smiled faintly. Progress. Not the full Byakurai, but a whisper of it.
The curiosity blood imdiately. If I couldn’t yet replicate it purely as Kido... could I fake it through magic? With a sigh, I sat cross-legged on the clearing floor, rolling my shoulders. I began constructing a circle in my mind, layering geotric inscriptions with intent. The translation of Reiryoku into mana constructs was delicate work, but Perfect mory served well. Line by line, I replicated the structure I thought Byakurai should take. Lightning condensed into a directed spear, bound through a stable matrix. It was clunky compared to the raw elegance of true Kido, but it had shape.
Three hours later, sweat beading on my forehead, the circle stabilized. I raised my hand again, the arcane diagram flaring before . The bolt snapped forward, a sharp lance of pale-blue lightning that cracked against a distant tree trunk, leaving a smoking scorch mark. The force of it pushed back against my arm. It didn’t seem like the powerful lightning bolt I rembered in Bleach. But the system chid regardless.
{New Skill Unlocked!: Magic Byakurai (Tier 2): A ’pale’ imitation of the real thing, this bolt of lightning has reduced piercing power, but will shock the target.}
...
The system’s got jokes.
The information of how to perform the skill slotted into place. A magical imitation of the real thing, fueled by Reiryoku but bound by the limitations of the magic system. Decent, but not what I was truly after. Still, it was a step. A proof of concept at least.
The sky had darkened while I worked. Distant cicadas had begun their evening chorus. I sighed, brushing dirt off my pants. "Guess that’s enough for today."
Kuroka flicked an ear at , unimpressed by my hours of muttering and gesturing. I walked over, scooped her off her pedestal, and tucked her against my chest. Her purr started up instantly, as if mocking for needing her approval after playing sorcerer’s apprentice all afternoon.
"Let’s go ho, Ku-chan."
I stepped once, channeling energy into my legs, a small sigil forming under the ball of my foot, and the world blurred. Shunpo carried us back toward the quiet safety of my house, the lingering spark of blue lightning still tingling at my fingertip. I wasn’t done trying. That’s for sure.
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