Bleach: The Template System Chose Me, The Forgotten Kuchiki

At this point, Shiraha believed his strength had reached a level where he could decisively defeat most vice-captains, a conclusion drawn from the system's current template progress of fifty percent, which had already granted him physical mastery and spiritual capabilities beyond any average seated officer. While he still felt a measurable distance remained between himself and a fully-fledged captain—especially those with vast combat experience and deep reservoirs of Reiatsu—he speculated that an additional ten percent might be sufficient to bridge that gap.

Nevertheless, matching individuals like Ichimaru Gin or his own brother, Byakuya Kuchiki, who stood as paragons of Shinigami refinement, precision, and raw pressure, required far more than brute power or technique. He would need his template progress to exceed eighty percent, unlocking latent traits and enhancing his foundational core, before he could realistically consider standing among them.

As this thought faded into the deeper layers of his consciousness, Shiraha stood motionless outside the Sealed State chamber, arms crossed in calm composure while a faint buzz of spiritual energy and movement echoed behind him. His instructor, having noticed his lingering silence, approached with a look of quiet confusion.

"Student Shiraha, everyone else has gone inside to choose their sealed state. Why are you still waiting here?"

"I already possess a Zanpakutō," Shiraha answered without hesitation, offering a serene nod while tapping the cane sword resting lightly at his waist. "I only came to observe what the sealed state vault looked like, since I've never seen it before."

His voice bore no arrogance, only composed courtesy, though inwardly, he had already detached from the moment. The sealed states held no significance to him, given that his current Zanpakutō was neither sealed nor basic. It had already formed a bond with him, already awakened something unique. His visit was purely for the sake of completing the check-in task from the system.

A glance passed between the instructor and the two Stealth Force guards stationed at the door, who shared the same unspoken reaction: observe? What could a blind man possibly hope to see inside such a place? The irony did not escape them, but neither of them spoke, respecting Shiraha's family name and composure.

Without allowing any note of skepticism to color his tone, the instructor nodded, his professionalism intact. "Very well. Since you've already received your Zanpakutō, feel free to head over to the dojo and prepare for your Kendo lesson. The rest of the class should finish their selections shortly."

Though his words remained courteous, a subtle hint of regret shaded his expression. Shiraha, the unprecedented genius who had broken the Academy's centuries-old spiritual power test record, should have stood as a symbol of Seireitei's future. But in the instructor's mind, that potential had been chained by blindness, as though the soul had been given wings only to find them wrapped in fog.

"Understood, sensei," Shiraha said evenly, before turning toward the path that led to the Academy's main training dojo.

Earlier, the teacher had already outlined the day's schedule—once students chose their sealed states, they would begin formal Kendo instruction—so Shiraha, unconcerned by the slight change in order, decided to arrive ahead of the others and make use of the time to explore his newly gained power.

The dojo stretched out wide before him, a clean, reinforced hall with polished floors, bamboo racks, and dozens of humanoid training dummies made from high-density ironwood and reiatsu-tempered steel. No students had yet arrived, and the Kendo instructor was nowhere in sight. He assumed the others were still deep inside the Sealed State vault, immersed in selecting their future partners.

Standing alone in the silent space, Shiraha took a slow breath, closed his sightless eyes, and activated the latest ability he had earned from the system—weightlessness control. This time, he consciously avoided drawing on his full strength. Experience had taught him caution; the last thing he wanted was to reduce the entire dojo to rubble with a careless surge of gravity inversion.

He focused his intent on a specific patch of ground, precisely one meter across, directly ahead of him. A quiet hum began to vibrate through the air. The earth trembled, and a jagged section of stone—cylindrical in shape, nearly a meter wide and over five meters long—tore itself free from the ground with startling violence, propelled upward by the absence of gravity.

It ascended rapidly, smashing through the air above with a roar, and within seconds, the slab had vanished into the sky beyond the rooftop's open ventilation grids, climbing to an altitude of nearly a thousand meters. Through his advanced Observation Haki, Shiraha tracked every detail of its flight, and when satisfied, raised his hand gently.

Gravity returned.

The monolithic stone plummeted in a controlled descent, falling straight back into the pit from which it had emerged. Upon contact, it fit itself back into place perfectly, its fractures aligning down to the smallest grain of dust, leaving no indication it had ever been dislodged.

No one had seen, and Shiraha confirmed as much by scanning the area through his spiritual perception, which had now extended to nearly ten thousand meters in every direction.

With his surroundings secure, Shiraha withdrew his cane sword, shifting his stance fluidly. Though blind, his instincts guided him with unerring accuracy. Recalling a specific attack pattern from Kurosaki Ichigo's combat footage during the Hueco Mundo invasion, Shiraha swept his sword forward in a practiced arc, his voice low but firm.

"Getsuga Tenshō."

A surge of dense spiritual pressure erupted from his blade, forming a wide, deep purple crescent-shaped slash that shimmered with concentrated energy. It expanded rapidly as it roared across the dojo, its sheer power distorting the air in its path. The slash widened beyond ten meters in diameter, and everything in its trajectory—wood, stone, or metal—split in clean, precise halves.

The polished training floor cracked and collapsed under its weight, and every iron puppet arrayed along the far end of the hall shattered or disintegrated upon contact. When the energy dissipated, it had left a gaping, smoldering trench nearly a hundred meters long, with twisted fragments of shattered targets scattered across the scorched terrain.

Shiraha, after assessing the destruction with a single sweep of Observation Haki, allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. He hadn't pushed the attack to its maximum capacity, only barely tapped into the strength granted by his system's swordsman-level skillset, and yet the results spoke for themselves. Had he chosen to go all out, the entire structure of the dojo would likely have collapsed beneath him.

Sheathing his blade with a smooth motion, he leaned against the far wall to rest, content to wait until the others arrived.

Moments later, footsteps echoed from the entrance, accompanied by a familiar voice.

"Yo, Shiraha-san, sorry for the wait!"

It was the instructor, arriving with the rest of the special class. Each student now wore a sealed Zanpakutō strapped proudly at their side, faces bright with excitement and curiosity.

Shiraha rose to meet them with a polite nod, but as the instructor stepped into the room and surveyed the devastation, his expression rapidly shifted to one of shock.

"What… happened here?"

The dojo was in ruins. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor. A jagged trench stretched down the center like a wound in the earth. The practice puppets lay obliterated, their parts strewn across the floor in ruinous disarray.

"I was just here earlier," the instructor muttered in disbelief. "Everything was fine this morning."

The students, too, stared around in awe and confusion.

"Is this really the same dojo?"

"Did a captain pass through here while we were away?"

"Was there a Hollow intrusion or something?"

The murmurs grew louder until the instructor turned his gaze toward Shiraha, his voice cautious, uncertain.

"Shiraha-san… this wasn't you, was it?"

Scratching his head with mild embarrassment, Shiraha answered truthfully. "Apologies, sensei. I was waiting here for class to begin and tried out some of my new abilities. I didn't expect the dojo to be this fragile. If needed, I'll personally compensate the Academy for the damage."

He hadn't realized the building would respond so poorly to his casual warm-up.

The instructor, clearly overwhelmed but attempting to maintain composure, raised his hands in a hasty gesture of dismissal. "No, no. There's no need. Accidents like this are part of the training process, and... well, your case is clearly unique. No one is blaming you."

Even before the sentence finished, the students erupted in awe-struck chatter.

"Wait, Shiraha did all of this alone?"

"I thought a seated officer had trained here!"

"Look at that trench! It sliced through everything in the room!"

"If our Kendo instructor sees this, he's going to have a heart attack."

Before the moment could spiral into further excitement, the system in Shiraha's mind activated once again, displaying a new prompt:

> New Check-in Task: Travel to Karakura Town in the Human World. Bury one wandering soul.

Time Limit: Six Months

Reward: Fujitora's Template Progress +10%

Another directive. Another milestone set before him.

As gravity rippled faintly beneath his feet in response to his rising spiritual energy, Shiraha lightly rested his hand on his Zanpakutō's hilt. The path ahead was clear. If he wanted to ascend further, he would have to move between worlds.

Karakura Town.

A place where the living and the spiritual converged.

Perhaps it was time for the Soul Society to witness just how far a blind prodigy could go when fate gave him the power to rewrite his own destiny.