The Battlefield is Set
The meeting hall emptied in near silence. The captains moved swiftly, their Shunpo carrying them toward the designated battleground. The decision had been made—Harry’s fate in the Soul Society would be determined by this fight.
Harry walked behind Byakuya, his scythe resting against his back. The noble captain hadn’t spoken a single word to him since accepting the challenge. There was no hostility in his stance, no arrogance—only duty.
Renji caught up to Harry as they moved, his expression serious. “Listen… I know you’re strong. But you don’t get it.”
Harry glanced at him. “Get what?”
Renji exhaled. “You’re fighting Byakuya Kuchiki. He’s not just some noble. He’s one of the fastest, most precise fighters in the Soul Society. And his Zanpakutō…” He hesitated before lowering his voice. “If he goes all out, you won’t see his attacks coming.”
Harry absorbed Renji’s words carefully, then nodded. “Good.”
Renji frowned. “Did you just say good?”
Harry met his gaze. “That means I’ll learn something.”
Renji blinked, then groaned. “You and Ichigo are exactly the same…”
Before he could respond, they arrived at their destination—Sōkyoku Hill, the massive execution grounds of the Soul Society. It was an open, elevated battlefield, perfect for a duel of this magnitude. The captains formed a circle around the field, watching.
Ichigo stood off to the side with his arms crossed, studying Byakuya. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Byakuya doesn’t hold back in fights like these.”
Renji exhaled. “Exactly what I was saying.”
Harry stepped forward, his boots crunching against the stone. Across from him, Byakuya Kuchiki turned to face him. His Zanpakutō, the elegant Senbonzakura, rested at his hip.
Yamamoto, standing at the edge of the field, raised his staff. “This duel will be fought under standard trial combat rules. The match ends when one fighter is unable to continue or yields.” His gaze settled on Harry. “Prove your place in the Soul Society.”
Harry took a deep breath.
Byakuya’s eyes met his, cold and unwavering.
“Draw your weapon,” the noble captain said simply.
Harry exhaled, then reached for his Zanpakutō. The chains rattled as he pulled it free, the scythe gleaming in the dim light. The air grew heavier, as if the battlefield itself could feel the weight of this moment.
Byakuya, ever composed, unsheathed Senbonzakura with a smooth, practiced motion. He held it at his side, his gaze unreadable.
The moment stretched—silent, charged, waiting.
Then—
Yamamoto lowered his staff.
“Begin.”
Byakuya vanished.
Harry’s eyes widened. Fast—!
A flash of steel. A blur of movement.
Harry barely raised his scythe in time to block Byakuya’s first strike—but the force sent a shockwave through his arms, forcing him backward.
Before he could recover, Byakuya’s second strike was already there.
He’s testing me.
Harry gritted his teeth, his grip tightening.
He couldn’t afford to just react.
He had to fight.