Omniverse: The Martial Artist

"So… you're telling me Captain Unohana just slashes you—and that's how you gain a deeper understanding of healing Kido?"

Aizen looked at Hao with a strange expression. "You're… addicted to getting cut?"

"What nonsense are you spouting? Who the hell gets addicted to having their heart slashed open with lightning-speed precision?!"

Hao was speechless. To prevent Aizen from getting the wrong idea, he'd just explained the real reason behind his private sessions with Captain Unohana—and made Aizen swear to keep it secret.

After two months of getting to know each other, Hao at least felt confident that Aizen was tight-lipped enough not to spread anything.

"But I've heard that after class, people in the Kaidō room can always hear someone yelling, 'Please, Sensei, one more time!'"

Aizen said this expressionlessly.

Hao's face froze. "That's just me wanting to improve faster… Wait, where the hell are you even hearing this stuff?!"

Aizen glanced calmly around the classroom. "Honestly… is there anyone in Shin'ō Academy who hasn't heard it by now? It's one of the Seven Great Mysteries of the school."

"What? This place has Seven Mysteries?!"

Hao was stunned again. Weren't things like that only a trope in the modern human world's middle or high schools? Ghost stories and creepy rumors?

But you're Soul Reapers—how are you into this stuff too?!

"Of course. Didn't I mention it before?"

Aizen listed them with the utmost seriousness: "The blood-stained bamboo swords in the equipment storage…

The Asauchi that disappears at midnight…

The dormitory air losing reishi after dark…

The mouse that bleeds endlessly…

The vanishing rice in the midnight cafeteria…

The staircase that changes floors by itself…

And finally—those strange sounds coming from the Kaidō room after class."

Hao slapped a hand to his forehead. He was honestly impressed with these Shin'ō Academy students. Gossip really was universal—human or Soul Reaper, no one seemed immune to this kind of mischief.

And he really wanted to complain—of these so-called "Seven Mysteries," wasn't Aizen himself responsible for a few?

The whole "reishi disappearing in the dorm after dark" thing—clearly that was your doing, Mr. Overachiever!

"Hao, about the rice that disappears in the midnight cafeteria…"

Before Aizen could even finish, Hao raised a hand and said in one breath, "Absolutely wasn't me."

After that little side story, the two finally quieted down and began focusing on resonating with their Zanpakutō. Well, Aizen was only pretending—he'd already mastered his Shikai long ago.

As for Hao, his time at Shin'ō Academy these past two months had been extremely fruitful. Besides his general improvements across multiple combat disciplines, he'd also learned a bunch of new skills.

Like the advanced flash step technique Utsusemi, which he won off Yoruichi in a duel.

The advanced Kaidō he learned from Unohana.

And of course, various Bakudō and practical Hadō spells from Kido class.

His healing skills had become especially impressive. These days, all Captain Unohana had to do was cut him—he could handle the healing part himself. Though he still needed to work on his speed.

For instance, if he received a fatal wound running from his left shoulder to his waist, he could now heal it in just ten minutes.

If he joined the Medical Division as a support unit, that would be more than enough.

But the problem was—he wanted to use Kaidō in combat.

And for that, his current speed was far from sufficient. At the very least, he needed to be able to instantly recover from light injuries, and heal serious ones in just a few breaths.

As for fatal wounds? He wasn't too concerned.

No matter how fast he got, if someone could deal a fatal blow to him, chances were he wouldn't be able to turn the situation around anyway.

Ideally, Hao wanted to train Kaidō to the point where it could heal severe injuries in the blink of an eye.

That would be genuinely valuable in a real fight.

But for now… that goal was still far off.

And with the limited time he had in this world, he doubted he'd ever reach that level.

Of course, his current training wasn't pointless. Hao had already reached the stage where Kaidō could be used in actual combat—he could heal bodily injuries quite quickly.

As for Reiryoku cultivation, it wasn't that Hao was slacking or goofing off. He simply didn't want to become someone who only had flashy stats but no real skill.

His master had once told him:

He did have a kind of "numeric beauty" when it came to stats—but that only made him superior compared to the average person. If he relied solely on brute strength and big attacks, he'd eventually suffer when facing real experts.

That's why the study of martial techniques was his top priority.

He had already grasped the method of Reiryoku cultivation—he could train that anytime.

But if he missed out on the rare opportunity of getting top-tier skills for free at Shin'ō Academy, that would be a real waste.

More importantly, after analyzing the nature of his mission, he suspected that if he wanted to "speedrun" his time at Shin'ō Academy, he'd eventually face some kind of special assessment.

The examiner would definitely have higher spiritual pressure than him, but wouldn't necessarily rely on that advantage to suppress him.

So the most important thing for Hao right now was to improve his overall combat technique.

That said, he would ask Captain Unohana to be a little gentler with him going forward.

Since his Kaidō had reached a proficient level, there was no longer any need for those after-class "guidance" sessions to be so brutal.

This way, he could conserve some stamina—and go all out with nighttime training again.

Hao lowered his eyes to the Asauchi resting on his knees. For the past two months, he had attempted to resonate with it every day—yet had failed every single time.

He didn't think it was because his "Reiatsu" level was too low, or because he lacked the talent to communicate with a Zanpakutō.

It felt more like… something was strange in the depths of his soul.

He'd tried to look inward—tried to peer into his soul—but what he saw was an endless, swirling void of purple-black, like staring into an abyss.

Once, when he focused deeply, he felt himself falling into that abyss. And he could've sworn he heard horrifying howls echoing in his ears.

"Sōsuke… what was it like when you first heard your Zanpakutō's voice?"

After thinking it over, Hao decided to consult Aizen.

"The voice of my Zanpakutō?"

Aizen opened his eyes. In truth, he hadn't been meditating for resonance at all—he'd been refining his spiritual pressure.

"The Zanpakutō's voice is the voice of our soul," he said. "I can't really remember what mine said the first time."

Hao didn't believe for a second that Aizen had forgotten. He probably just didn't want to share something that personal.

So Hao changed tactics.

"Was your Zanpakutō speaking in human language? Was its voice calm or violent? Gentle, or terrifying?"

Aizen gave Hao a strange look.

"Zanpakutō are a reflection of one's own soul. Unless you harbor deep self-loathing, they rarely show hostility to their wielder.

As for whether it speaks a human language… Hao, don't tell me you're not human?"

"Of course I'm human."

Hao's face darkened slightly. He understood what Aizen was getting at.

Under normal circumstances, a Zanpakutō would speak the same language as its wielder.

After all, the spirit of the blade is born from the soul of the user—so their linguistic framework should be the same.

Even if Hao knew multiple foreign languages, the blade speaking one of those would still count as "human speech."

But what shouldn't happen… was the blade speaking something completely incomprehensible.

And yet—that's exactly what troubled him.

In those terrifying, growling echoes… he also faintly heard some indistinct whispers in a language he didn't understand.

"Hao… do you hate yourself?"

Aizen, sounding like a trained psychologist, asked the question seriously—trying to help Hao analyze his own soul.

Hao fell silent.

His mind drifted back to the life he'd lived before arriving in this place called "Terminal Space or Endspace."

He'd been an orphan, no parents since infancy. He was raised by his master—and in this life, there were only two people he truly cherished.

His master.

And his senior disciple sister.

But they were both dead now.

They died right in front of his eyes