The force in Zaraki Kenpachi’s strike could have split mountains and shattered stone.
Reiatsu surged with the fall of his jagged blade, and from the point beneath his feet, cracks spider-webbed outward through the floorboards. Even the roof beams of the dōjō trembled under the impact, shaking down a haze of dust.
And yet—when that chipped blade struck Nobu’s shoulder, it was as if it had lodged there.
The serrated edge bit against his skin, but could not sink so much as a hair’s breadth.
“Is that all the strength Captain Zaraki has?”
Kenpachi heard the calm voice in front of him, and his already narrow pupils contracted further.
Nobu still stood there, shihakushō hanging open, not a mark on him.
Even where the sword pressed into his shoulder, not a single tear in the skin.
More dust drifted down from the rafters.
Nobu caught some in his palm, then brushed the rest from his clothing.
Before he could speak again, Kenpachi roared, hauling the blade high and slamming it down once more.
This was him, putting everything into a single strike.
For the instant that ragged blade fell, even the roiling reiatsu around him seemed to freeze.
It was so thick, so oppressive, that Ikkaku and Yumichika, standing at the edge of the hall, found their breathing constricted.
Both stared, eyes wide, fixed on the two in the center.
But that blow—meant to cleave through everything—
was stopped cold, caught in Nobu’s upraised hand.
Pak.
Only then did the shockwave come, tearing away from them in all directions, rattling the hall, splintering planks, the whole building groaning under the force.
He caught it… bare-handed…
Ikkaku and Yumichika’s hearts shook, eyes frozen in disbelief.
“I’ve heard that the eyepatch Captain Zaraki wears is a special item from the Shinigami Research and Development Institute—made to absorb reiatsu,” Nobu said evenly, one hand still gripping the other man’s Zanpakutō.
The light in Kenpachi’s eyes dimmed into something harder. “And what of it?”
“Captain Zaraki thinks his spiritual pressure is too strong, so he looks for ways to hold it back?”
“…”
Nobu’s mouth curled faintly, a dry laugh escaping. “And the bells in your hair—those are just so your enemies can track you in a fight, aren’t they?”
Kenpachi’s gaze sank, voice rasping. “What exactly are you getting at?”
Nobu’s other hand went to the hilt at his waist.
Slowly, he drew the asauchi, point leveling at Kenpachi’s chest.
“I just think Captain Zaraki’s confidence really is something beyond the ordinary.
What—has your sword cut down so many weaklings that it’s given you an illusion of invincibility?”
The tip pressed against his chest.
With a small push, blood welled down the blade.
“I was born in the Zaraki District too. I know exactly what it’s like there. Before I became a Shinigami, more than a few died by my hand. And from the look of it, Captain Zaraki… your blood is no redder than theirs.”
Kenpachi ripped his blade free in an instant, slashing for Nobu’s head.
Shing.
But his strike cut only through a lingering afterimage.
Behind him came the soft tread of shunpō, and the whisper of steel leaving its sheath.
“Yaksha Shankū!”
Kenpachi spun sharply, and his skin crawled, before him, a wave of sword-pressure so dense it was nearly solid was bearing straight down.
The slash sheared past his shoulder, gouging through the dōjō wall in a long, narrow wound.
BOOM!
Wind roared from nowhere, whipping toward him, setting the bells in his hair ringing madly.
Kenpachi stood unmoving, but from his shoulder blood sprayed in sheets.
His massive frame wavered, as if about to fall—but with a twist of his sword, he steadied himself.
A glance at the spreading pool on the floor; the sharp, bone-deep sting in his shoulder.
“So that’s your sword?” His rasp sounded again.
“That slash—if you’d aimed at my body, I’d have been cut clean in two, wouldn’t I?”
Nobu’s expression was steady. “Probably.”
“Incredible,” Kenpachi muttered, low and restrained.
“Looks like that brat Ikkaku was telling the truth.”
He suddenly lifted his head, eyes locked on Nobu, mouth stretching into a grin wild enough to twist his features.
“Then why didn’t you aim at my body?”
He raised his sword, pointing it at Nobu. “What are you holding back for?”
“I don’t have any blood feud with Captain Zaraki, do I?” Nobu replied evenly.
“But a fight—doesn’t it only feel good when it’s to the death?! I told you, only one of us walks out of here today!”
As he spoke, Kenpachi lifted his injured arm.
The movement tore pain through him, sharp enough to make him gasp—and yet that pain only deepened the excitement in his eyes.
With that same arm, he ripped the eyepatch from his face.
Then, just as roughly, he tore away the bells from his hair, snapping strands as they came loose.
He stood with hair hanging wild, blood streaming from half an arm,
expression nothing but madness and savagery, head lowered so that shadows hid his face—
like a demon from the deepest pit.
Nobu narrowed his eyes slightly. “Truly a madman.”
He gave his asauchi a small flick.
Bang!
Kenpachi lunged, suddenly there, blade dropping.
Nobu didn’t move to dodge—he took the cut head-on, letting the crushing wave of reiatsu wash over him, shaking the dōjō to its frame.
His own sword thrust straight for Kenpachi’s waist.
And Kenpachi didn’t dodge either, letting it drive into him.
“Good! Good!”
Kenpachi’s laughter was wild, his jagged sword hammering down again and again—
each blow ferocious, yet not once breaking the fabric of Nobu’s clothes.
Swish!
Another slash—so fast it was nearly invisible, skimming past Kenpachi’s head, scoring a line across his cheek.
Kenpachi froze for half a breath, anger flaring in his eyes.
His attacks came even faster, each strike’s reiatsu exploding into gusts of wind.
“Why? Why are you holding back?!”
Nobu’s next thrust went straight for his chest.
But this time, as the blade pierced him, Kenpachi’s hand snapped out, gripping the steel.
Nobu faltered for an instant, meeting Kenpachi’s gaze.
The man’s body was covered in wounds now, drenched in his own blood—yet there was not the slightest fading of the madness in his face.
Kenpachi stared at Nobu’s much slighter frame, and at last, the excitement in his eyes bled away replaced by cold and fury.
“You think I’m not worth your full strength?”
He suddenly released Nobu’s sword, stepping back.
Blood poured anew from the fresh cut on his chest.
Nobu didn’t shift at all, just gave his blade a light shake, scattering the blood from its edge.
“That’s not it,” he said.
“It’s just that, up to now, I haven’t met anyone who could make me go all out. And, unfortunately… Captain Zaraki isn’t one either.”
Kenpachi’s teeth ground audibly.
He lifted his sword, gazing at its jagged, notch-scarred edge—and saw not a single trace of blood.
This fight was the first of its kind for him, one where he’d been crushed from beginning to end.
Was Tachikawa Nobu really that strong?
Strong enough to reach such a level?
He’d seen the match with Ichimaru Gin from start to finish and the gap between them hadn’t seemed this wide.
…Or was it that his own sword had gone dull?
Pain throbbed through every inch of his body,
but that pain made his mind all the sharper, his spirit all the higher.
“Then kill me,” Kenpachi said slowly, his voice strangely calm.
The words made Ikkaku and Yumichika, watching from the edge, tense in unison.
—
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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