She was the First Generation Kenpachi, Unohana Yachiryu—master of all known schools of swordsmanship across the world of the living and the Soul Society.
And there were only two things in existence that could stir her soul beyond reason.
Combat—the blood-soaked dance of life and death.
Kendō—the purest expression of destruction through discipline.
What she had witnessed just now… was both.
The sword technique that had shattered her blade and body moments ago was not simply violence—it was Ultimate Swordsmanship, a concept she had spent millennia chasing.
Her breathing was ragged, her stance broken, and blood dripped from her shoulder—but her gaze glowed like a fanatic's. Her obsession consumed her like wildfire.
"That sword just now…" she began, voice trembling not with fear but euphoria.
"Eight swords in one," Akira replied before she could even ask. His tone was calm, but the ground beneath his feet still trembled with residual spiritual pressure.
"Eight swords in one…" she repeated softly.
How absurd. How glorious.
"Amazing," Unohana whispered, half to herself. "With your own strength, you have surpassed the Eight Thousand Styles that I painstakingly gathered over thousands of years—the culmination of every sword school in existence…"
She rolled the name on her tongue again: Eight Swords in One.
A technique so primal and final it made her Eight Thousand Styles seem like a child's kata.
Gradually, she pushed herself to her feet, trembling slightly, but retaining her dignity.
"I must admit," she said with a breathless smile, "in the realm of kendō, among all the Shinigami I've ever faced… none surpass you. Not even me. Not even the Captain-Commander himself."
It was the highest praise she had ever uttered.
And she meant every word.
Despite her wounds, despite the defeat, her expression was that of a woman drunk on ecstasy. A bliss that only came from true battle—battle that transcended life and death.
"Akira Sōsuke…" Her voice softened. "I, Unohana Yachiryu—First Kenpachi of the Gotei 13—acknowledge you as the strongest."
A title she had never bestowed on another. Not even Zaraki.
Yes, she had faced beings more powerful than herself—she had tasted defeat.
She had been forced into submission by Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, who wielded Ryūjin Jakka, the oldest and most fearsome Zanpakutō. That defeat birthed the Gotei 13, and she took on the role of the 11th Division's first captain.
She had later faced a younger Zaraki Kenpachi in the Rukongai—an unrefined beast of Reiryoku who scarred her chest and awakened her long-dormant bloodlust. She yielded the name "Kenpachi" to him and took up the name "Retsu," hiding herself as the gentle Captain of the 4th Division.
But in kendō—the path of the blade itself—she had never once been defeated.
Until now.
Facing Akira, her swordsmanship was utterly overwhelmed.
"Your sword tonight was chosen by the gods. It favors you… to grant you the title of the strongest kenjutsuka in the Soul Society. I'm overjoyed. In that fleeting moment of clarity, I too saw something—an inspiration: the 'Way of the Sword: Ten Thousand Swords Return to One.'"
Unohana's eyes widened. That was not a technique—it was enlightenment. A level beyond even the Eight Swords. Her lips parted in awe.
"Strongest?" Akira smiled faintly. But he didn't seem moved.
The recognition, the title, the reverence—it meant nothing to him.
His mind was elsewhere.
His thoughts were consumed by the satori, the flash of sword insight that struck him during the clash: Ten Thousand Swords Return to One.
Compared to that, being called "strongest" was trivial.
Beside him, Aizen Sōsuke chuckled quietly. Of course he understood.
To the Gotei, the name "Kenpachi" was the pinnacle of brute combat.
To Akira, however, being strongest in all six areas—Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, Kidō, Reiatsu, and Zanpakutō—was the true goal.
That was the Hexagonal Perfection.
"Why do you look so indifferent?" Unohana asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
"Would you rejoice over something that was inevitable? Or obvious?" Akira replied without looking at her.
Her breath caught. "I see. Then your ambition lies not in kendō alone."
She understood now.
Akira sought absolute mastery—a unity of all disciplines. To wield every aspect of the Shinigami arts to their apex.
A silence settled between them, deep and heavy.
Unohana was still reeling from the revelation. Akira, meanwhile, was immersed in refining the feeling of Wanjian Guizong, sensing its edge at the back of his mind like a forgotten name about to be remembered.
"…The sword just now wasn't your final technique, was it?" Unohana asked quietly. "There's more. I felt it. There's still a grander scene behind it."
A pause.
"But it seems this duel must end here."
She looked up at the fractured Kidō barrier and the hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. Her voice carried a hint of longing—and bitter resignation.
"For me, battles like these are fatal temptations," she confessed. "Worse than any drug."
Akira's answer came like a distant bell. "People die."
"For those of us called Kenpachi," Unohana replied, "death is the only fitting destination."
"There is no death more beautiful than one met at the summit of the sword."
"But…" she closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, "today is not the day."
There it was—the true Unohana. Not the healer. Not the gentle medic of Squad 4.
But the terrifying villain she had once been—the most ruthless killer Soul Society had ever produced. Suppressed only by Yamamoto's will and her own need for order.
Akira nodded. "If the day comes, I will honor that wish. I will cross swords with you again. And I will make sure it is a true ending."
His words were not spoken lightly. For the First Kenpachi, only death in battle was redemption.
Unohana's expression brightened with joy, as if he had proposed to her. Her eyes glittered with the thrill of a promised death.
It wasn't madness. It was clarity.
"Aizen Sōsuke," she said suddenly, turning to the observing youth.
"There's one more matter."
"Though I was defeated tonight in kendō, though I would normally yield the name 'Kenpachi' in surrender… I cannot."
Her tone dimmed.
"Centuries ago, I already relinquished that name. To a child who bore the same wild fire I once had."
"He wounded me. Deeply. Though I did not use Bankai, I still lost."
"The title of Kenpachi, and the seat of the 11th Division… are no longer mine to give. They belong to Zaraki Kenpachi now."
A shadow passed over her face. Guilt. Perhaps regret.
She had let go of her blade for too long, hidden behind kindness, redemption, healing.
And tonight, the sword had punished her for it.
JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 30+ CHAPTERS
Patreon.com/Kora_1