The battle fervor Nobu had initially felt was largely diminished by Madarame Ikkaku’s ridiculous “tiptoe dance.”
Once Ikkaku finished his strange routine, he appeared quite pleased with himself, but noticing Nobu’s speechless expression, he instantly grew annoyed. “Hey! What’s with your face?”
“Nothing, just… your dance was pretty special,” Nobu answered half-heartedly.
Ikkaku snorted coldly. “Of course! That was my meticulously choreographed ‘Tiptoe Dance’!”
Nobu helplessly drew his Asauchi. “Are we sparring or not?”
Hearing this, Ikkaku’s eyes sharpened, immediately adopting a fighting stance.
“Kid, you’re really asking for it now—don’t blame me!”
Despite his official rank as Third Seat, Ikkaku’s strength unquestionably matched that of a lieutenant. In fact, after mastering Bankai in the future, he would refuse a captain’s seat, willingly remaining as the Eleventh Division’s Third Seat.
Both stood with their swords drawn, facing off in tense silence. The atmosphere in the kendō dojo grew heavy.
Ikkaku’s breathing gradually slowed as he fixed his eyes on Nobu. His narrow gaze was fierce, yet after scrutinizing for several moments, he couldn’t detect a single opening in Nobu’s stance.
Nobu stood perfectly still, blending seamlessly with his surroundings—like a figure in a painting.
What the hell’s up with this guy? Ikkaku thought in confusion.
In the instant Ikkaku was distracted, the “painting” abruptly came alive. Nobu burst forward as if stepping directly out of the image, his blade boldly slicing toward Ikkaku’s face.
Ikkaku’s pupils shrank sharply as he swiftly raised his sword to block.
CLANG!
The metallic clash resounded loudly. A tremendous force erupted, sending Ikkaku flying backward.
Standing to the side, Ayasegawa Yumichika, who’d been watching calmly, widened his eyes in surprise.
Only after sliding back several meters did Ikkaku finally regain his footing, feeling stifled frustration deep in his chest.
Nobu stood precisely where Ikkaku had been moments earlier, a faint smile curving at his lips.
“Madarame-san, carelessness comes at a cost.”
Ikkaku braced himself with his sword and let out a long breath.
“You little brat!”
The speed and strength of that strike were absolutely beyond anything an ordinary Shin’ō Academy graduate could muster. No wonder Shiba Kaien specifically asked him to spar with this kid. Initially, he’d thought Kaien had some grudge against Nobu and just wanted him to teach the brat a lesson.
Now, it seemed the opposite was true—had Kaien been worried about losing to this kid himself?
The initial setback didn’t anger Ikkaku; rather, it stoked his fighting spirit further.
“Kid, let’s go again!”
Grasping his sword with both hands, Ikkaku charged fiercely at Nobu.
His attacks were fierce and wild, seemingly reckless and without technique, yet each strike concealed deadly intent.
As the Eleventh Division’s Third Seat, hailing from the chaotic districts of Rukongai, Ikkaku had never received formal kendō training. Every move he used was refined through brutal, life-and-death battles.
Nobu smoothly parried strikes left and right, then swiftly withdrew half a step to exploit an opening. His wrist twisted gracefully, his blade flashing diagonally, narrowly missing Ikkaku’s face, sending chills down his opponent’s spine.
Missing his first slash, Nobu quickly transitioned into a downward strike. Ikkaku blocked horizontally, blades grinding together with sparks flying.
Gritting his teeth, Ikkaku shoved away Nobu’s blade and attacked again with wide, powerful sweeps.
But Nobu effortlessly sidestepped at close range, slipping into every blind spot between Ikkaku’s attacks.
Has he seen through my moves?
The moment this thought crossed his mind, a flash of cold steel appeared, causing Ikkaku’s pupils to constrict sharply.
Whoosh!
The sound of the blade cutting air whistled past Ikkaku’s ear. It didn’t touch him, yet the icy intent was unmistakable, almost freezing Ikkaku’s breath and heartbeat in that instant.
Ikkaku stood frozen, unable to move.
With leisurely ease, Nobu withdrew his blade. His expression was playful as he turned away, walked a few steps, then turned back toward Ikkaku.
“Madarame-san, shall we continue?”
Ikkaku snapped back to reality. Had Nobu not pulled back that strike, his head would be rolling on the floor.
“Ikkaku…” Yumichika called out worriedly from his position near the dojo wall.
Ikkaku was unquestionably strong. His rank in the Eleventh Division, a battle-focused squad, was entirely due to genuine combat prowess. Following his captain into countless deadly battles, he had never backed down, even against stronger opponents.
But Nobu was different!
As mentioned earlier, Ikkaku’s swordsmanship was purely battle-hardened—seemingly crude yet extremely effective. The Eleventh Division recruited Shin’ō Academy graduates each year, and through them, Ikkaku had experienced firsthand the stiffness of academy-taught techniques. It wasn’t arrogance; he genuinely believed that formal kendō was overly rigid and predictable.
But now it seemed that the issue wasn’t with the kendō techniques—it was the students who were lacking.
This Tachikawa Nobu before him also had traceable, systematic moves typical of academy swordsmanship, even in his variations. Ikkaku didn’t find them overly impressive, yet every attack Nobu made precisely targeted the flaws he exposed!
It was as if his opponent had a supernatural insight into his weaknesses.
This realization sent chills through Ikkaku. It felt like he wasn’t facing someone whose swordsmanship was superior, but rather someone who’d completely seen through his entire fighting style!
“Madarame-san,” Nobu spoke again, wearing a relaxed, casual smile. “Our spar isn’t limited to swordplay alone. You’re welcome to release your Zanpakutō, you know.”
Ikkaku snorted. “I don’t need your reminder. I’m not the type to hold back out of pride. Kid, do you even have a Zanpakutō?”
Nobu smiled pleasantly. “That depends on whether Madarame-san is capable of forcing me to release it.”
Among lieutenants, Ikkaku’s strength certainly wasn’t weak. Unfortunately for him, his fighting style was completely countered by Nobu.
“You’re damn arrogant!”
Ikkaku swiftly snapped his Zanpakutō and its sheath together, calling out, “Extend, Hōzukimaru!”
His weapon flashed with brilliant light, transforming into a long spear with a red tassel at its end.
After releasing his Zanpakutō, Ikkaku’s aura instantly intensified, sharper and filled with renewed confidence.
Seeing this, Yumichika silently thought, It’s gotten to this extent? This Tachikawa Nobu…
Suddenly, something occurred to Yumichika. He vaguely recalled hearing a rumor some time ago—about a Shin’ō Academy student who had slain a Menos Grande single-handedly.
And if he remembered correctly, that student’s name was Tachikawa Nobu!
—
This is a fan translation of 限制级死神 by 易安z. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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