BLEACH: DRINKING MAKES ME STRONGER

BOOM!

The crumbling tower sent sand and dust surging outward in violent waves.

The massive gash cleaved through the structure before them, and everyone who witnessed it felt a chill surge up from the soles of their feet. The sheer force behind the strike left no room for doubt—this wasn't some fluke.

All eyes turned to Kuroba, now encircled once again. Fear glinted in their pupils. Even the bravest among them dared not breathe too loudly.

From this moment on, they swore never to provoke that drunken maniac again.

And above all… never talk to him when he's drunk.

Words, with someone like him, could easily be misunderstood—and before you knew it, you'd be fighting for your life.

Truly, a shortcut to death.

"You bastard… You ignored a captain's direct order and attacked a fellow candidate. Do you think the rules of Shinō Academy are beneath you?"

Tōshirō Hitsugaya's voice was ice-cold as he stepped forward, once again gripping Kuroba's wrist.

But inwardly, shame gnawed at him.

He remembered clearly—how in that crucial moment—he had flinched.

No. To the onlookers, he had run.

To retreat before a lower-ranked drunk freshman… It was humiliating.

He, the child prodigy, a captain of the Gotei 13, had just been humiliated in front of the entire Academy.

Worst of all, Hinamori Momo had seen it.

To be shamed before her—his childhood friend and… someone more than that—was a pain worse than any wound.

"What now? You mean to ask whether I really slashed him?"

Kuroba's voice slurred lazily, and the killing intent around him dissipated like mist.

"Of course I did."

He tilted his head, clearly intoxicated.

"I think I cut him lightly… three or four times?"

"Wait, no… maybe six or seven?"

"Ah, forget it. Let's just say eight!"

He grinned, baring his teeth.

"You're delusional," Hitsugaya snapped, trying to regain control of the room. "Drunk and hallucinating. That beast, Aoi Dai, was barely scratched—thanks to Captain Zaraki's intervention."

He needed to steer everyone's attention away from his own disgrace—to bury the fact that he had retreated.

And maybe—just maybe—he could regain some shred of dignity in Hinamori's eyes.

But just then…

"Look! Aoi-san… he's bleeding—badly!"

The shout tore through the silence like a blade.

All eyes swiveled toward the collapsed wreckage where Kenpachi Zaraki still stood.

There—beneath Zaraki's foot—was Aoi Dai.

Or what was left of him.

His robes were shredded, revealing deep lacerations—over a dozen of them. Some were so deep they exposed bone. Blood pooled beneath his body and soaked through his clothing.

A wave of unease rippled through the crowd.

Even the more arrogant candidates swallowed hard.

Was this what they called… asking to borrow a blade, only to be drowned in it?

"Medic squad! Where's Fourth Division? We've got a critical on the ground!"

Yachiru Kusajishi popped up from Kenpachi's shoulder, waving cheerfully.

"Hey, little Kuroba, we meet again! That slash just now—I didn't even catch it!"

Her innocent, childlike voice contrasted sharply with the carnage at her feet.

The tension in the room reignited.

Even Tōshirō, still trying to suppress his shame, couldn't stop himself from replaying the moment in his mind.

The slash had clearly been intercepted by Captain Zaraki—hadn't it?

So why was Aoi Dai in such a horrific state?

"I get it now."

Zaraki Kenpachi's gravelly voice rolled across the hall like thunder.

"That strike of yours… it wasn't just one cut."

His eye gleamed with a manic light, his bloodlust unmistakable.

"You swung once—with a big swing—and hid dozens of smaller cuts inside it. Real clever. Fast enough that most people didn't catch it. But I did."

Zaraki's lips curled into a wild grin as he hoisted his Zanpakutō onto his shoulder.

"You're interesting. Got tricks. That kind of swordplay… makes me want to chop."

He stepped forward.

With each thudding step, the air thickened. Reiatsu leaked from him like a rising tide.

In that narrow corridor, the spiritual pressure alone was enough to make several bystanders stagger.

Kyoraku Shunsui, watching from a distance, rubbed his temple with a weary sigh.

A drunk with cutting precision, a genius captain with a bruised ego, and now Zaraki wants to fight? Great.

Now there was a true battle maniac on the field.

Only the Soul King knew what kind of sparks would fly between these two.

Thinking about the chaos that could erupt, Kyoraku Shunsui sighed helplessly and adjusted his straw hat.

"Alright, enough," he said, tone light yet firm. "Old man Yamamoto's on his way. You all better behave before you get roasted in more than one sense."

He turned to the disheveled figure lounging against a broken pillar. "Kuroba-kun, take a break for now. I'll share a drink with you later."

"Drink?" Kuroba blinked blearily. "I don't like drinking. Bad for the body. My wife doesn't like it either."

The pungent aroma of sake still clung to his robes, drifting with every word he spoke.

A heavy silence fell over the crowd.

Who was the one that downed half a gourd of Shunsui's private stock earlier? Who went on a drunken rampage and cut three towers clean through?

Now he had the audacity to preach about moderation?

Even Aizen Sōsuke, the master manipulator with a mask of calm serenity, twitched slightly.

His usually composed hands clenched for a second behind his back, and for just a brief moment, a crack in his polished demeanor appeared.

From behind, a drawling voice interrupted.

"My, Captain Aizen… your heart's a little unsettled, isn't it?"

Ichimaru Gin stepped out from the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits, his ever-present smirk curling wider.

"That guy caused this much havoc… and you almost lost your cool? That's rare."

He gave Kuroba a look, as though sizing up a new species.

"To make such a mess in the Senzaikyū training space and still come out with all his limbs… impressive. Unpredictable too."

Behind Gin, a solemn voice followed.

"Captain Aizen… what exactly transpired here?"

Kaname Tōsen emerged, posture rigid, face forward as always, eyes unseeing yet unwavering. His loyalty to Aizen was absolute—at least for now.

If only he knew how that would end.

From another corridor, the heavy footsteps of Komamura Sajin echoed, the canine-faced captain striding forth with his massive frame.

"I heard a disturbance. So, this was the cause? A new recruit managed to trigger such chaos?"

His gruff voice was tinged with awe.

Then, from the shadows near the wall, Mayuri Kurotsuchi's reedy voice piped up.

"Hmhmhm… all of it has been recorded by the surveillance system, of course. If I may, I'd like to requisition this subject. Dissecting him while alive—preserving the pieces across multiple containment vats—might yield fascinating results."

The painted captain's yellow eyes glowed with morbid curiosity as he grinned at Kuroba.

Facing this sudden lineup of elite captains, the examinees standing nearby were stunned into silence.

Had they counted correctly?

One by one, captains from nearly every division had appeared in person.

Was this even still a test, or had they stumbled into a battlefield for monsters?

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