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Chapter 275 B
🕑 Added 2025-03-02 16:00:14 +0000 UTCChapter 275
2-in-1 chapter:
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Marenoshin Ōmaeda felt uneasy.
He knew very well what his son’s capabilities had been. When Marechiyo first arrived at the Eleventh Division, he was just a run-of-the-mill academy graduate. Calling him “ordinary” was practically a compliment. Among the four basic skills—Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, Kidō—he could only manage halfway decent Shunpo compared to those his age. Everything else was subpar at best.
On top of that, Marechiyo’s will to fight was practically non-existent. Raised in comfort and privilege, he defaulted to fleeing from danger. Even being scolded repeatedly did nothing to change that.
Although Marechiyo’s bearing seemed different now, stepping into a head-on clash with Zaraki Kenpachi—someone even Marenoshin tried to avoid—still felt far too extreme. Kenpachi was a true beast; how could his fool of a son possibly stand up to him?
Marenoshin badly wanted to drag his son back, but seeing that Kaelith had no intention of stopping them, he couldn’t overstep. So he simply kept an anxious watch on the fight.
Yet as he observed, he realized something was off. His son really had changed.
In the training grounds, Marechiyo stood firm, both hands gripping his Zanpakutō. Darting here and there with Shunpo, he looked for brief openings in Kenpachi’s frenzied attacks. On several occasions, he was a hair too slow—Kenpachi’s jagged blade gouged long wounds in Marechiyo’s flesh, staining his black Shihakushō a dark red.
Then, after narrowly dodging a heavy downswing, Marechiyo ramped up his speed and roared:
“Hrraaah!”
His Zanpakutō swung in a broad silver arc, slicing across Kenpachi’s chest. The savage strike ripped through Kenpachi’s uniform, opening a gash near his chest. Marechiyo immediately withdrew, drawing his sword back as blood welled from the wound, leaving a thin red line.
Spectators erupted in cheers:
“Nice one, Marechiyo!”
“He actually landed a hit on the Vice-Captain!”
“Well done! Go for another slash!”
Hearing their shouts, Marenoshin felt touched. What supportive comrades!
Even though Marechiyo had barely nicked Kenpachi, they still cheered with genuine enthusiasm. It was obvious why his son’s progress had shot forward.
He was in the middle of that thought when the same crowd started yelling:
“Vice-Captain, you gonna take that?!”
“Finish him off, sir!”
“Don’t let him walk away from this!”
Marenoshin blinked. …Maybe these squad members were a bit too enthusiastic.
Meanwhile, Marechiyo’s expression had grown grim. Kenpachi’s assaults were getting fiercer, showing zero mercy just because Marenoshin was watching. In fact, if Kenpachi ever started going easy for such a reason, Marechiyo would be the first to worry he’d been replaced by a doppelgänger.
Under that relentless pressure, Marechiyo’s range of movement kept shrinking. Shunpo offered extra speed but wasn’t real teleportation; solid swordwork could still cut off routes and corner him. If this kept up, he’d lose before long.
Time to switch tactics.
He gripped his Zanpakutō and shouted:
“Crush him—Gokei Tou!!”
A flash of light transformed his blade into a long, chain-linked weapon ending in a massive spiked flail. Marechiyo’s fingertips glowed briefly as he swiped them across the chain, then he swung the heavy head of the flail at Kenpachi.
It hurtled forward with devastating force. Kenpachi merely tilted his head to evade, his expression unchanging as he raised his sword.
That’s it, Marechiyo thought, I’m done for. Gokei Tou needed distance to be effective. Once the flail head flew off, the wielder was practically defenseless at close range. One casual strike from Kenpachi’s sword could end the match right there.
And indeed, Kenpachi brought his blade down with a bored air—
Screech!
“Hnnngh—!”
Gritting his teeth, Marechiyo crossed the chain in front of him, catching Kenpachi’s downward slash.
“Vice-Captain! I’m not going down that easily!”
Kenpachi glanced at him. Was he trying to buy time by tangling Kenpachi’s sword with the chain? Pointless stalling. Kenpachi kept pressing down, lifting his right foot for a vicious kick aimed at Marechiyo’s stomach—enough to send him flying off the platform.
Just then, Kenpachi sensed something off. He reflexively glanced back. At some point, the flail head had begun to return in a tight arc. Thanks to Marechiyo’s constant shouting, Kenpachi hadn’t noticed the noise behind him until it was almost too late. By the time he saw it, the spiked ball was already nearly upon him.
Boom!
The iron ball nailed Kenpachi in the back. Even with his thick skin, he felt that impact. Taking the chance, Marechiyo used Shunpo to slip free of Kenpachi’s sword and regain open ground.
Kenpachi turned, gave him a feral grin, and muttered:
“Interesting… So you can remotely manipulate the flail head after it’s let loose? Kinda reminds me of Big Bro’s weapon.”
Breathing heavily, Marechiyo smiled in return.
“It does. In fact, I developed this Kidō technique based on how Big Bro’s Zanpakutō works.”
Upon hearing that, the spectators exchanged glances of realization.
“So that’s it—I remember seeing Marechiyo release his Zanpakutō before, and there wasn’t any glowing on his hands. Turns out he’s using Kidō?”
One Shinigami—who’d sparred with Marechiyo a few times—shouted in surprise.
Marenoshin looked at Kaelith. “Kaelith, you taught him that?”
Kaelith shook his head. “I’m not that good at Kidō.”
Off to the side, Isshin Shiba spoke up. “Lieutenant Aizen helped. At first, Marechiyo tried developing the spell on his own but kept failing. I suggested he talk to Aizen—everyone knows Lieutenant Aizen can do just about anything. Three days later, Aizen had a brand-new Kidō formula ready for him.”
Isshin sounded proud at the mention of Aizen’s name.
Marenoshin was startled. Sōsuke Aizen… He knew the man’s name: the Fifth Division’s Vice-Captain, widely regarded as a rising star. But most people associated him with “Kaelith’s inner circle,” not as a brilliant mind on his own.
Who would’ve guessed he could whip up such a high-level Kidō in just three days?
Meanwhile, Marechiyo continued to fight with all his might. Although his strength was nowhere close to Kenpachi’s, he refused to give up. Only after nearly five minutes of intense struggle did Kenpachi knock him down with a flurry of blows, sending Marechiyo sprawling off the platform, battered and bleeding.
Marenoshin rushed forward to help, but a crowd of Eleventh Division members got there first:
“Healers! Over here, quick!”
“Hang in there, Marechiyo—here, have some water!”
“Good job! You really represented the Fourth Squad with pride!”
“Show me some moves later, okay?!”
They surrounded him, all grinning and cheering. Seeing his son with new comrades who genuinely cared made Marenoshin pause, then smile quietly.
“You foolish boy,” he murmured. “You’ve grown up so much…”
Kaelith walked over, flashing a broad grin. “So? How do you feel about your son now?”
“More than satisfied,” Marenoshin said softly. “I’m proud of him. I never expected him to change this much… If I died tomorrow, I’d have no regrets.”
Then another thought struck him, and he turned to Kaelith.
“Kaelith, those squad members earlier mentioned something about a ‘Fourth Squad.’ What’s that?”
“Oh… that’s something Aizen set up. For easier organization, he grouped everyone into thirteen small teams, each led by a Seated Officer,” Kaelith explained. “Kenpachi commands Team One, Komamura leads Team Two, Tōsen leads Team Three…”
As Kaelith went on, Marenoshin grew increasingly uneasy. Zaraki Kenpachi, Komamura Sajin, Tōsen Kaname—each one a powerhouse Vice-Captain who could pass for a Captain. This “thirteen teams” arrangement was practically a brand-new Gotei 13 under Kaelith’s command.
Breaking into a cold sweat, Marenoshin decided it was best not to think about it. After all, if Captain-Commander Yamamoto hadn’t intervened, then there was no reason for him to meddle. He valued his life far too much to pry any deeper.
When the excitement died down, he walked over to Marechiyo. The Division’s makeshift “healers” had already patched him up; the injuries wouldn’t stop him from moving. Marenoshin suspected they’d formed a mini Fourth Division here as well—why else call them a “treatment team”?
“Father…” Marechiyo murmured, looking a bit awkward.
Marenoshin merely smiled and placed a large hand on his son’s shoulder with a solid slap.
“Well done, Marechiyo. I’m proud of you. You’ve truly become a Shinigami who can stand on his own.”
Surprise flashed across Marechiyo’s face, followed by a shy twist of his lips. He’d grown up getting scolded constantly, always compared unfavorably to his brothers who lazed around as much as he did. He had wondered more than once if his father disliked him—maybe that was why he’d been thrown into the Eleventh Division in the first place.
Then one day, while talking to Kaelith about it, Marechiyo had complained: “My father’s always singling me out. How could he possibly care about me?”
Kaelith burst into laughter. “Idiot. Isn’t it obvious? Not only does your old man not hate you, he’s downright doting on you!”
Marechiyo refused to believe it. “If that’s true, why does he pick on me more than my brothers?”
Swirling his drink, Kaelith explained: “Because he expects you to succeed him. The Ōmaeda Family is built on wealth, sure—but they still need someone strong enough to command respect. Until now, that’s been your father. But he won’t stay young forever. So he’s searching for the one who’ll inherit everything. You might be a slacker, but out of all his kids, you’re the only one with any promise at all. Of course he’s going to push you harder, so you can someday keep the family standing.
“It’s just like my teacher,” Kaelith continued. “He puts on a strict, grandpa-like face for everyone else. Only around me or Kyōraku Shunsui does he show his more ‘volatile’ side. Does that mean he hates us? Obviously not. It’s just another way of saying he cares.”
At the time, Marechiyo found it half-convincing. Sure, it sounded plausible regarding his father—though he wasn’t so sure about the Captain-Commander’s motivations. Maybe that “love” came with some complicated extra feelings.
Marechiyo smiled at his father now.
“Don’t worry, Father. I understand. I’ll do my part for the Ōmaeda Family. I, Marechiyo Ōmaeda, won’t ever disgrace the Eleventh Division’s name!”
That evening, the Eleventh Division threw a farewell feast for him. Everyone off-duty gathered in the courtyard, lighting bonfires, eating, and drinking under the open sky while Kaelith laughed and toasted them from his beast-pelt seat.
The following morning, Marechiyo Ōmaeda of the Eleventh Division officially left his post.
…
In the first light of dawn, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto entered a small courtyard and spent an hour diligently training with his Zanpakutō. Once finished, he took a bath, then stepped into his study to practice calligraphy.
He opened the door only to find a certain young rogue snoozing on the floor. Yamamoto’s brow twitched, annoyance flaring.
Why was that brat napping in his study?
He scanned the room in case anything valuable was missing. Everything seemed in place—except there were a few extra sheets of paper on the desk. Walking over, he stooped to read them.
They contained a completed piece of calligraphy: “Xiaoyao You.” The elegant prose exuded majestic flair and boundless vision, written in a firm, upright hand. On first glance, Yamamoto might have pictured the writer as a calm, ambitious soul—steady and dependable.
He read it again, feeling a vague sense of pleasure. Who’d have thought the boy would sneak in late at night just to produce something like this? Surely it would’ve been easier if he’d simply asked. Yamamoto would’ve let him write as much as he wanted. What an oddball.
Shaking his head, Yamamoto set his walking stick aside. Inside that cane, Ryūjin Jakka glowed with warmth, raising the room’s temperature so the fool sleeping on the floor wouldn’t catch a cold.
The moment Ryūjin Jakka began releasing heat, Kaelith opened his eyes. Spotting Yamamoto standing there, he flashed a grin.
“Morning, Sensei.”
“Mm.” Yamamoto gave a curt nod, his attention still mostly on the calligraphy.
Kaelith sat up, crossing his legs and tugged a captain’s haori out from under him.
“If you like it, Sensei, I could write more for you over the next few days—whatever style you want, just say the word.”
At those words, Yamamoto suddenly tensed, frowning in suspicion.
“You punk… you didn’t get into some huge trouble again, did you? And now you want me to fix it?!”
