Chapter 36: Fight to the Death, Young Ones

Fifteen days.

That was how long the two rookie squads had been under Yamabuki Haruto’s… unique brand of training.

In that time, they’d fought two full squad battles, each side claiming one victory. Their zanjutsu, hakuda, and kidō had all sharpened under pressure, but Haruto knew the truth: drills alone did not forge warriors.

Soldiers were tempered in real combat, with blood and fear as the whetstone.

That morning, Haruto walked into the training ground without his usual barked orders. Instead, he had every recruit surrender their wooden swords.

“No more toys today,” he said, tossing a look across the ranks. “From now on, you fight with real blades.”

Two students brought out racks of unsealed Asauchi—training-grade Zanpakutō, still waiting to be imprinted with their owner’s soul.

For many recruits, it was their first time holding a true sword. A ripple of excitement and apprehension went through the group.

“Today,” Haruto continued, “we’re not doing sparring matches. We’re going to a battlefield.”

A murmur swept through the ranks—half excitement, half fear.

“There’s been Hollow activity in Northern Rukongai, District 3. You’ll hunt them. I will not step in unless absolutely necessary. Teams of five. Bring me the corpse of a Hollow, and you pass today’s assessment.”

Northern Rukongai was a rough place—Hollows lurking at the edges, lawless swordsmen and thieves prowling the streets.

Two girls in one squad drew the leering attention of some local ruffians. Most kept their distance when they saw the Shinigami numbers, but a few bold fools decided to make a move.

They didn’t last long.

Half a month of Haruto’s brutal drills had turned even the weakest recruit into something dangerous. The would-be kidnappers were beaten to the ground and dragged before the instructor.

“Instructor, what should we do with them?” asked Fenghara, the strongest recruit in the group.

Haruto’s eyes went cold. Ever since the incident with Hana—one of his trainees abducted weeks ago—he had no patience for such scum.

He drew his Zanpakutō in one smooth motion. A flash of steel, and the man’s head hit the dirt.

Gasps and muffled screams rippled through the rookies.

“Next time you meet someone like this, deal with them the same way,” Haruto said, flicking the blood from his blade. “No need to ask me.”

The warm, almost brotherly image some held of him shattered in an instant.

“Five per squad. Hunt your targets. Return before dark with proof. Fenghara—you go alone.”

She smirked. “Understood.”

When the recruits dispersed, Haruto pulled a small pellet from his uniform—a piece of Hollow bait—and tossed it high. It burst, releasing a faint spiritual lure. He’d measured it carefully; enough to draw small fry, not enough to overwhelm the rookies.

One by one, Hollows emerged from alleys and rooftops, drawn toward the spiritual scent.

The rookies quickly learned that fighting a Hollow was nothing like sparring in the yard. The erratic movements, the killing intent, the raw hunger—it shook them. Fear dulled their movements, made them sloppy.

But fear didn’t last forever.

Once they grasped the truth—either you kill, or you die—they began to fight as they’d trained. Coordination emerged. Kills were made.

One squad returned first, battered but alive, hauling a Hollow corpse. Fenghara arrived soon after, alone, dragging her own kill without so much as a scratch.

As the day wore on, more teams limped back. Haruto treated the worst injuries with kaidō, but smiled faintly—most had fought better than he’d expected.

Then… dusk came.

Only one squad had yet to return.

Haruto closed his eyes and extended his senses. Five distinct spiritual pressures… then, suddenly, four.

His eyes snapped open.

“Fenghara, take everyone back to the barracks,” he ordered before vanishing in a burst of shunpo.

He found them minutes later—bloody, exhausted, two Hollow corpses at their feet. One girl lay on the ground, her chest pierced clean through by a jagged white bone blade, eyes closed, barely breathing.

Haruto’s jaw tightened. This was exactly the scene he’d hoped to avoid.

“What happened?” he demanded.

A trembling boy choked out, “We’d finished the mission… we were heading back… then a Hollow came out of nowhere. Reiko… she—”

Haruto knelt beside her, assessing the wound. Half the Hollow’s bone blade was still embedded in her, protruding from her chest. She had minutes—maybe less—before the light went out of her eyes.