Bleach: Stirring Up a Storm

"Understood, wait, huh?!" The voice on the other end finally seemed to process the request, their tone growing incredibly awkward. "You aren’t joking, are you, Lord Ayasegawa?"

"Of course I’m not joking."

Yumichika knew that such a request sounded like a joke. He had even made a special effort to sound serious for once, but it seemed to have had absolutely no effect.

"I am completely serious. Prepare a squad funeral for Madarame Ikkaku as soon as possible, just in case!"

"Y-Yes, understood!"

He did sound serious, but it was exactly *because* he sounded so serious that it felt like a joke!

At this moment, Asano Shingo felt as though the world was playing a series of cruel jokes on him. It had started as an ordinary morning. Inoue had come to school with her arm in a sling again, though for her, that level of bumps and bruises was fairly common.

Immediately after, a group of weirdos claiming to be Ichigo’s friends had shown up: a red-haired delinquent with a ronin hairstyle, a bald delinquent carrying a wooden sword, and an effeminate guy with exaggerated eyebrows.

Oh, right, and there was an older sister. That older sister was, well, *really* big. To think Ichigo had such a great friend—what a terrible bro for keeping her a secret!

But just like how he had failed to give that older sister a passionate hug at the time, Asano didn’t think these people would have any real impact on his life.

However, just a dozen or so hours later, after being kicked out of the house by his own older sister to run errands, things started getting weird.

Something resembling a flying dragon soaring through the sky? *’I’ve been playing too many video games. My eyes must be playing tricks on me.’*

An afro-sporting middle-aged man wearing what looked like a black martial arts uniform and wielding a katana? *’Did some weird dojo open up in Karakura Town? Or is a film crew shooting a movie here?’*

Bizarre events that could barely be rationalized kept happening one after another. It wasn’t until he ran into the bald guy and the effeminate guy—the ones who claimed to be Ichigo’s friends—that Asano realized all his previous explanations were just him lying to himself.

The door to a new world was slowly creaking open, while the old world in his mind gradually collapsed, marching toward its doomsday...

The monster in the distance looked exactly like a video game boss. Every movement it made carried the terrifying might to destroy everything. Was this a nightmare? If so, it was far too realistic.

And that bald guy fighting the monster was supposedly the second strongest man in something called Squad 11. As for what kind of mysterious organization Squad 11 was, that had to be explained starting with a place called Soul Society...

Soul Society, Hollows, Shinigami?! *’I’m actually standing next to a god? You’ve got to be kidding me!’*

"Prepare a squad funeral for Madarame Ikkaku."

*’That bald guy clearly isn’t dead yet! At least try to save him!’* Asano’s expression was completely blank, his mind having long since devolved into a chaotic mess.

*’This is a joke, right? It’s a big-budget hidden camera prank show, isn’t it? Whoever’s behind this, hurry up and come out. Come out and tell me, "You got pranked, idiot..."’*

But if Asano could hear what Edrad was saying at this exact moment, he would probably start questioning his entire existence.

"You should just admit defeat."

Edrad landed on the ground, watching the trembling Ikkaku struggle to stand up. He was in no rush to launch another attack.

His opponent’s Zanpakutō had been snapped in half by his punch. Even if the man still had some fight left in him, it was entirely fueled by sheer willpower. Ikkaku’s body could no longer support the high-intensity combat from before.

Just one more light tap would be enough to put an end to Ikkaku’s life.

The battle was already over.

Yet, at this moment, Edrad felt a twinge of reluctance. From beginning to end, Ikkaku hadn’t displayed even the slightest hint of killing intent. Edrad could understand that sentiment. Victory and defeat were the true outcomes of a battle; life and death were merely byproducts. They were naturally belligerent, but they were not mindless slaves tearing at each other for the sake of those byproducts.

He was a warrior, and Ikkaku was the same—a warrior worthy of respect! If such a man were to die by his hands, it would simply be too tragic and hollow.

"For a warrior, sometimes admitting defeat is also a virtue."

Lord Grimmjow’s orders were to kill anyone with Reiatsu, but even if it meant disobeying those orders, he wanted to let this man go. He believed that Lord Grimmjow would understand his reasoning.

"You’ve performed well enough. There’s no need to force me to smash you to pieces, is there?" Seeing no reaction from Ikkaku, Edrad continued to urge him. "Admit defeat. I have already memorized your name. Madarame Ikkaku—that might be the name of the man who defeats me in the future, but it absolutely will not be today."

Ikkaku raised his head and gave a contemptuous smirk. Tossing the broken shaft of his spear to the ground, he gripped the remaining half with the blade in both hands and let out a fierce roar, charging at Edrad once more.

"I can admit defeat, but I will never admit defeat while I’m still standing!"

He had intended to spare Ikkaku, but that didn’t mean Edrad was just going to stand there and take a beating. A lion uses its full strength even when hunting a rabbit, let alone when the opponent wasn’t a rabbit at all, but a fellow lion. Even covered in wounds, he was still a lion!

The circular vents on his shoulders erupted with towering pillars of fire. This punch was even more devastating than the last, crashing down like a falling meteor toward the charging Ikkaku.

*Boom!* The massive explosion instantly reduced a radius of several hundred meters to ruins. The violent gale generated by the blast even tore the roofs off houses further away.

Ikkaku’s condition truly couldn’t support full-force combat anymore. His trembling left hand was planted on the ground, as if it were the only pillar keeping his battered and scarred body from collapsing completely.

The Hōzukimaru in his right hand no longer resembled a weapon at all. It was nothing more than a wooden stick with both ends splintered into jagged splinters. If he hadn’t been gripping it so tightly, even this fragment likely wouldn’t have survived.

The fist pressing against his shoulder felt as though it only needed a fraction more force to completely crush him. This was no longer a matter of willpower; his body had simply reached its absolute limit.

"Asking you to admit defeat wasn’t meant to insult you, understand?"

"Even if it was an insult, a loss is a loss."

Edrad pulled his fist back. Ikkaku’s words only confused him further. This man wasn’t someone who refused to accept failure. "Why? Is it because you’ve never lost before, so you’re confusing defeat with death?"

Never lost before? Ikkaku thought about it. A long time ago, so long ago that he was still living in Rukongai, he truly hadn’t ever lost.

Back then, he was exactly as Edrad had guessed. If you won, you took your opponent’s life; if you lost, you offered your neck to the blade. It was a perfectly normal concept. That was the wager of battle, and equally, its very meaning.

If a victor couldn’t even be bothered to take your life, there was no other explanation—it simply meant that your life, your everything, was completely worthless in their eyes. An insult? No, you weren’t even worth the effort of insulting.

This had once been Ikkaku’s core belief, and he had reveled in it. That was, until one day, a man carrying a little girl on his back defeated him without breaking a sweat.

No matter how many times he attacked, he was knocked to the ground. No matter how many times he got back up, he was destined to fall at that man’s feet, left with no choice but to look up at his overwhelming strength.

Not only did that man leave him lying in a pool of his own blood to taste the bitter dregs of defeat...

He also cruelly took his beliefs...

...and shattered them with his own two hands.

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