The Rising Wolf of Squad 11
Squad 11 lived for battle.
It wasn’t about strategy, kido, or politics—it was about who was strongest. That was all that mattered. If you wanted respect, you earned it with your sword.
And Harry thrived in this environment.
In his first year as an unseated officer, he had already made a name for himself. His speed, skill, and raw power were undeniable, and despite his more calculated fighting style, even the most hardened warriors of the 11th Division respected him.
But respect wasn’t enough.
Harry wanted to rise. Not for power, not for status—but because something inside him demanded it.
And in Squad 11, there was only one way to climb the ranks.
Challenge. Fight. Win.
The Duel for 5th Seat
The 5th Seat of Squad 11 was a monster of a man named Goromaru Juzo, a brutal fighter with a jagged, cleaver-like zanpakutō. He had held his position for decades, and he didn’t take kindly to challenges.
So when Harry stepped forward and made his claim, the entire division gathered to watch.
“You think you can take my spot, rookie?” Goromaru sneered, cracking his neck. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”
Harry drew his sword, his emerald eyes locked onto his opponent. “Let’s get this over with.”
The fight was relentless.
Goromaru was powerful, his attacks wild and destructive, but Harry was faster. He dodged every heavy swing, countering with precise, devastating strikes. The clash of steel echoed across the barracks as their reiatsu clashed in waves.
Then, Harry’s instincts screamed at him.
Without thinking, he sidestepped, his reflexes faster than thought. Goromaru’s blade sliced through empty air—and in a blur of motion, Harry drove his sword forward, stopping just short of his opponent’s throat.
Silence.
Goromaru gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face. Then, after a tense moment, he stepped back and sheathed his weapon.
“…Damn. You got me.”
The crowd erupted into cheers, and from the sidelines, Captain Zaraki Kenpachi watched with a wolfish grin.
Harry Potter was now 5th Seat of Squad 11.
Mastering His Blade
Rank alone wasn’t enough. To truly be a force in Squad 11, Harry needed to unleash the full potential of his zanpakutō.
For months, he trained endlessly, meditating, listening—trying to hear the voice of his blade. The others in his squad didn’t understand; they relied on brute strength, not introspection. But Harry knew better. A zanpakutō was a partner, and his remained silent.
Until one night.
During a mission in Hueco Mundo, his team was ambushed by Menos-class Hollows. It was a brutal fight, and for the first time, Harry found himself cornered. His reiatsu was flaring wildly, and deep within, that dark voice stirred again—
"Let me out."
No.
Instead, another voice—calm yet commanding—cut through the noise.
"Call my name."
Harry’s breath hitched.
Then, in a single moment of clarity, he understood.
He gripped his sword and whispered, "Howl, Ōkami no Yoru." (Wolf of the Night.)
A surge of black and silver energy erupted from his blade, and suddenly, Harry moved like a shadow, striking down the Hollows with inhuman speed and precision. His zanpakutō had finally answered his call.
By the time the dust settled, his squadmates could only stare in shock.
Harry Potter wasn’t just another strong fighter.
He was a rising legend.