The outskirts of Fourth Division's barracks were unusually vast and open.

Although most of the Fourth Division members weren't known for their combat prowess, they still had designated training grounds of their own.

As night fell, lanterns began to glow one by one throughout the Fourth Division compound.

There were fewer Shinigami moving about, yet the ones present hurried as if time itself were chasing them.

Rest didn't seem to be part of their vocabulary.

---

Training Ground One.

When Shimo arrived, he was surprised to find that Training Ground One wasn't a conventional dojo building.

In front of him stretched a forest.

Beneath the night sky, the forest exuded a quiet, almost sacred tranquility.

But the occasional beastly howls echoing from within shattered that peace.

Shimo stepped onto the mossy forest path and walked deeper into the woods.

Towering trees encircled a massive clearing—and there, standing at the center, was Unohana, waiting in silence.

Moonlight poured down like water, cloaking her figure in a gentle glow. Her smile was serene, mirroring the light of the moon itself.

"Welcome to Fourth Division's Training Ground One,"

"Come—let me see the swordsmanship you speak so highly of."

Unohana sounded eager. So eager, in fact, that she didn't even give Shimo a chance for pleasantries.

As soon as she finished her sentence, her entire demeanor shifted.

From gentle healer to... hellish demon.

Killing intent radiated from her like a crashing wave.

Her pale captain's haori flared in an unseen wind, and at some point, her tightly braided black hair had come loose.

Her expression remained unchanged—but it exuded a bone-chilling aura.

Even though she hadn't released her spiritual pressure, the oppression she emitted at that moment was staggering.

Shimo furrowed his brows… then slowly relaxed.

"Limitless Sword—please guide me, Hana-ne."

In her battle-ready state, Unohana seemed not to notice the change in how Shimo addressed her.

Or perhaps she did, and simply chose to ignore it.

At this moment, she had only one purpose:

To fight.

The moment her voice fell, her figure vanished.

A suffocating wave of murderous intent slammed toward him.

Shimo's instincts flared—he spun and drew his Zanpakutō in reverse grip, intercepting a seemingly empty patch of air in front of him.

CLANG!

The sound of steel clashing rang through the night air.

Two Zanpakutō crossed in an X-shaped lock, held firm between them.

Unohana's stunning face was now mere inches from Shimo's.

They were close enough to feel each other's breath.

But Shimo couldn't afford to admire her beauty.

All of his focus was locked onto her movements.

As the original Kenpachi, Unohana's mastery of the sword was something few in history could ever match.

Unlike Zaraki Kenpachi's beast-like, brute-force style…

Unohana's Zanjutsu was like art.

An art born purely from the blade itself.

Swish—!

Shimo twisted his sword and brought it down in a slicing arc, forcing Unohana to briefly disengage.

Secret Sword: Light Snow.

His Zanpakutō shimmered and burst into a flurry of brilliant strikes—each one as delicate and lethal as winter snow—blanketing the entire battlefield in its presence.

Unohana's emotionless eyes flashed with a glimmer of joy.

"A style I've never seen before... does it have a name?"

Shimo replied with a smile:

"Ichito-ryu (One Strike Style)—born from Iaidō."

In response, Unohana raised her sword with one hand and slashed a graceful arc through the air.

A crescent-shaped blade of silver light lingered in the sky—so precise that now, two moons hung in the misty night.

Shimo's Light Snow ssems under her blade, their swords canceling one another out.

Beneath the cold moonlight, the snowflakes scattered into nothingness.

Shimo advanced.

Gripping his Zanpakutō with both hands, he charged toward the crescent moon above.

Ichito-ryu Style: Dream Residual.

This ultimate technique combined extreme speed with a single, undodgeable slash. It created a sword strike so fast, so precise, that it left no room for defense.

He thought this strike might finally pressure Unohana—

But atop that shining crescent, she met every blow with even greater speed.

His attacks, clean and sharp as they were, were all deflected.

"Swordsmanship without the essense of the sword itself is no different from blind slashing."

Unohana lowered her Zanpakutō across her chest. Around her, it was as if the very air bled.

Shimo said nothing.

He slowly sheathed his sword.

"Then I have only one move left."

He crouched slightly, eyes locked onto her.

His left hand rested on the scabbard, and his right tightly gripped the hilt.

Limitless Sword: Swallow Return.

The next instant, Shimo raised his arm high—light exploded from his sword, engulfing the entire training ground.

Even the moon in the sky—

Seems to be cleaved into two.

Shimo and Unohana passed each other.

Both stood perfectly still, backs to one another.

In the stillness of the forest, a cold wind blew across the field.

Unohana noticed—her loosened black hair…

A single strand had been cut away.

It drifted gently in the air before falling—

And just before it touched the ground…

A pale, clean hand caught it.

"Hana-ne… would it be alright if I kept this as a souvenir?"

Under the moonlight, Shimo's lips curved into a quiet smile.

This single strand of hair will be the flex material of century.

After all, Who wouldn't be terrified if they knew that this is the hair of one of the most horrifying criminal in Soul Society?

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