Bleach: The Fifth Division Captain

A Peaceful Night's Sleep!

Arima Seiya's luck was not bad—he was assigned to a dormitory in a more remote area.

Since he didn't have to deal with nobles, he rarely had to concern himself with matters of hierarchy. He could act more casually and freely.

Additionally, his two roommates were not from his class, allowing Arima to operate on a staggered schedule from them.

While he wasn't particularly fond of being a loner, for now, focusing on his studies took priority.

After all, once he graduated, he wouldn't have such a convenient environment for learning.

As a commoner, he knew he had to take full advantage of the academy and squeeze every bit of benefit he could.

The first day's curriculum wasn't too demanding—a relief for Arima, who was largely a novice in the other three "required courses" besides swordsmanship.

In this regard, while others might have come to the academy just to pad their resumes, Arima was different.

He was here to genuinely learn.

"Hakuda, or 'white strikes,' refers to close-quarters combat techniques. As one of the four foundational skills, its importance should be evident to all…"

"Shunpo, a technique for instantaneously moving at high speed, allows the user to approach or evade with such speed that it appears instantaneous…"

"Kidō, or demon arts…"

By the end of the day, although Arima didn't recognize a single instructor, his notebook was filled to the brim with notes.

His ability to gain attribute points through instruction proved invaluable.

[You have been introduced to Hakuda. Hakuda +2.][You have been introduced to Shunpo…]

All his non-swordsmanship attributes gained +2!

Arima beamed as he observed the pleasing increases in the three other categories, feeling a harvest-like joy in his heart.

Say what you will—he hadn't made a mistake by enrolling in Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy. If he hadn't managed to sneak into this institution, he wouldn't have had access to such content in Zaraki District.

By the end of the day, Arima felt he had gained a lot.

Aizen had been absent today, apparently away on business, and a stern-faced middle-aged man had taken his place.

This led to much grumbling among the class, leaving the substitute instructor scratching his head in confusion.

"Am I really that unpopular?"

"Well, today's lesson ends here. Starting tomorrow, classes will follow a two-subject-per-day schedule, and there will be periodic exams. Please…"

The lengthy announcement made it clear that studying at the academy wouldn't be easy. Some students began to complain.

After all, not everyone could easily grasp the material.

With the difficulty of exams and assessments, many who failed to rank well would likely end up in trivial positions after graduation…

Their prospects seemed bleak.

In contrast, Arima didn't share such concerns. He had no time for pessimism—training was the way forward.

Happily exiting the classroom, Arima made his way to the swordsmanship dojo.

However, to his surprise, the place was unusually bustling. At ten o'clock at night, the dojo was still crowded. Didn't anyone sleep around here?

He asked the gatekeeper uncle about the situation. The man, picking his ear with disdain, muttered, "What else? A noble lord wanted to practice swordsmanship, and a bunch of lackeys flocked over like dogs. That's why it's so lively."

Ah, nobles…

Arima sighed thoughtfully.

Even without his twenty-plus years of life as a street dweller, he could sense the disparity between commoners and nobles.

Take Rukia Kuchiki from the original storyline as an example.

After entering the academy, she went largely unnoticed. But once she was given the Kuchiki surname, she immediately became the center of attention.

Teachers' expectations, classmates' admiration—such pressures might feel burdensome to some, but more often, they were an indescribable form of societal bondage.

The classic Japanese hierarchical dynamic.

But in any case, it had nothing to do with Arima.

Those pompous nobles would soon have their comeuppance anyway.

Enjoy acting high and mighty while you can—Aizen would eventually put you in your place!

Returning to his dormitory, Arima pretended to sleep for two hours until his roommates were sound asleep. Then he got up quietly.

He couldn't neglect his training. No way would the noble lord still have the energy to practice at midnight!

Jogging back to the dojo, Arima found it brightly lit but completely deserted—just as he had hoped.

"Excuse me, can I borrow a set of training clothes and a wooden sword as usual?"

The uncle checked his identification, glanced at him, and sighed.

"You're just a first-year, aren't you? You came yesterday too. Do you have to be this diligent?"

"Hehe, just a clumsy bird trying to fly early."

People are generally more tolerant of hard workers. The uncle chuckled and nodded toward Arima.

"Room Five is empty right now… You can use it for a while."

Technically, Arima was supposed to train indoors, but the uncle was clearly cutting him some slack.

Good man!

"Thank you very much."

Arima grabbed the wooden sword and training gear and quickly headed to the dojo.

Just as he was about to head to his destination, a figure slumped in the corner caught his eye.

The person looked utterly miserable.

Their body was covered in fresh, crimson welts, their training uniform torn, and their wounds swollen.

They lay there like a wounded stray dog, back against the wall, limp and exhausted.

Like a fish trapped in glue, they panted greedily, struggling for the faintest breath of life.

This person wasn't dead yet, but they were halfway to the gates of hell.

Arima studied the figure for a moment, puzzled, when the gatekeeper uncle's voice came from behind.

"Ah, it's best to leave that one alone. Earlier, the noble lord came to train, and this guy insisted on sparring with them… With skills like his, it's a miracle he wasn't beaten to death. Probably because they're classmates."

"…I see."

"Yeah, there's always a few like that—overestimating themselves, thinking that getting into the academy makes them equal to nobles. They don't know their place."

Arima watched as the person staggered to their feet, swaying unsteadily toward the door.

Their steps were shaky, their expression rigid. Their dazed demeanor suggested they might collapse any second.

Arima simply watched them leave, making no overly "enthusiastic" gestures.

Everyone has their own choices. If this was the path they chose, it deserved respect.

Besides, Arima hadn't grown strong enough to help others yet.

Changing into his training clothes, Arima entered the room.

Familiar practice swings, step drills… Since the room also had targets, he conducted several rounds of cutting practice.

Two hours flew by.

[You swung your wooden sword. Swordsmanship +1.]

Calculating that he could squeeze in some sleep before morning classes, Arima thanked the gatekeeper and left the dojo.

The sky was still dark as Arima spotted the same battered figure in a corner.

They had collapsed, curling into a ball.

It seemed they had lost consciousness on their way back and ended up here… By morning, someone would likely find them and take them to the infirmary.

There was no need for him to interfere.

After all, he hadn't harmed them himself. Logically and morally, it wasn't his responsibility to step in.

As someone who grew up in Rukongai, Arima deeply understood the law of the jungle.

Those who defied the rules and rebelled against the tide would ultimately "succumb to their injuries." The chains of rules were unyielding; struggling against them only tightened their grip until all resistance ceased.

So it was best to leave things be… That's how it should be.

Yet, despite reasoning this out, Arima unconsciously stopped in his tracks.

Half-turning his head, he glanced at the figure resembling a stray dog.

…

Tossing aside a bloodied towel, Arima watched as the figure stirred and finally sat up.

"You're awake?"

The person didn't respond immediately, instead reflexively reaching for their waist. Only upon feeling a familiar object did they relax slightly.

"…Who are you?"

The voice was tense, but it carried more wariness than hostility.

"Class 1-5, Arima Seiya. This is my dorm room. You're lying on my bed."

"That's not what I meant…"

The injured person, with dark brown skin, short purple hair, and protective goggles, turned their head slightly.

They didn't look at Arima directly but seemed to rely on their hearing instead.

"Why did you help me?"

Arima sighed, crossing his arms before replying with some exasperation.

"If you must know… I just thought it'd be a shame."

"A shame?"

Arima wrung out a towel, his gaze dropping to the basin of water.

"Life is precious. If you die, that's it—nothing remains. I don't know what grudge you have with those nobles, but throwing your life away seems like such a waste."

Having lived two lifetimes and started off as a street dweller in Rukongai, Arima deeply understood the value of life.

"Even if you do have grievances, are they so urgent that you can't bear to wait? Why not gather your strength, wait until you're strong enough to stand on equal footing, and then think about revenge?"

Turning, Arima poured a cup of warm water, gently pressing it into the injured person's trembling hand.

"Well, I'm not great at long speeches. What you do next is up to you."

But for now, at least in this moment—

"Drink some water. Your body won't last otherwise."