At the same time, in the 80th district of North Rukongai, also known as Zaraki, the most lawless and violent area in all of Soul Society—
This district is the farthest from the Seireitei, notorious for its brutal living conditions and the complete absence of order. Compared to District 1, where the nobility and peace reside, the 80th is a wasteland of famine and strife, where conflict is not the exception but the rule.
This lawless territory birthed some of the most formidable warriors: Zaraki Kenpachi, current Captain of the 11th Division, as well as his subordinates, Madarame Ikkaku and Ayasegawa Yumichika, both seated officers known for their strength and bloodlust. Here, the line between right and wrong blurs—and only strength commands respect.
At the dilapidated gate of a deserted street, a long queue was abruptly halted by a sneer.
"Well, look at this... a young noble in a haori wandering into the slums. You wanna live, hand that over quietly."
A boy in a noble's white haori, with messy black hair and a straw hat tilted over his eyes, staggered slightly. Despite his fragile appearance, the smell of strong liquor rolled off him like mist. Before him stood dozens of towering men, muscles bulging like stone statues come to life, each radiating raw violence.
The air grew tense. Wandering souls nearby instinctively backed away, forming a perimeter of fear.
"Did you say... noble?" the boy muttered with a drunken hiccup, his flushed cheeks betraying the alcohol clouding his mind.
"You want this haori?" he slurred. "Sure... Just gimme three bottles of the good stuff and it's yours..."
Silence descended. The absurdity of the proposal stunned the crowd. A noble offering his haori—a symbol of status, wealth, and power—for a few pots of sake?
The lead thug, clad in cracked armor, snarled and unsheathed a jagged blade shaped like fish scales. "You think this is a joke? We're the Black Claw Gang, rulers of North Rukongai. Three thousand strong. We don't fall for drunken antics."
He stepped forward, eyes glinting with greed. "That haori alone could feed us for weeks. You say you're broke? With that noble crest? You're lying."
Just as weapons were drawn, a figure dropped from the rooftops.
A young woman in plain travel clothes landed lightly in front of the boy. Her dark hair was cropped short, and her sharp violet eyes held a cold glint of authority.
"Enough. I'll pay for him."
The boy—Shiba Kuroba—blinked slowly, still on the ground, then smirked. "Knew you'd come out... So you were watching from the shadows. But showing up in that getup? Wolf in a rice cloak…"
Rukia Kuchiki frowned, annoyed. "I'm not here to play your drunken games, Kuroba. I'm a Soul Reaper of the 13th Division. And for the record, alcohol is prohibited on duty."
She had been following him for a while now. Shiba Kuroba—nephew to Shiba Kūkaku and cousin to the late Kaien Shiba, former vice-captain of her division—had only just been granted a recommendation into the Academy. But unlike Kaien, who had been brave and upright, Kuroba so far seemed to be... a hopeless drunk.
Even so, his spiritual pressure detection was abnormally precise. Enough for Rukia to investigate personally.
The armored man snorted. "So you're a Soul Reaper, huh? Figures. The 13th Division's been snooping around here lately."
He pointed his blade at them both. "Doesn't matter. We may not have Zanpakutō, but we're strong. And once we get our hands on Kidō techniques, we'll break into Seireitei and take down your precious Gotei 13."
His words echoed in the streets, absurd and arrogant. Any actual captain would've dismissed them without a second thought.
But here and now, Rukia—still just a seated officer—and the inexperienced, intoxicated Kuroba faced overwhelming odds.
"Hurgh... wine... who's got wine? I'll trade you my haori..." Kuroba muttered again, this time reaching into his robes.
But what he opened was not a flask—rather, a translucent blue screen only he could see.
System Interface: Reincarnation Module
Host: Shiba Kuroba
Level: Layman (One more bottle of fine wine required to reach "Drunkard" level)
Experience: 8/20
Spiritual Skill: High-precision Reiatsu Detection
Zanpakutō: None
Drinking Tolerance: Low
Kuroba blinked blearily at the panel. "Seriously... this is my cheat? A drunken sales rep simulator?"
Of all the systems someone could reincarnate with—super strength, instant mastery of Kidō, infinite Bankai potential—he got one that powered up through sake?
To make it worse, the only liquor he'd found in the Shiba storehouse was some terrible swill hidden away by Ganju, probably stashed in fear of being caught by Kūkaku.
Kuroba sighed, slowly sitting up and clutching his head.
"Damn it… If I survive this, I'm raiding the Kuchiki wine cellars…"
He had once boasted that he'd only drink the sacred sake at his coming-of-age ceremony.
But with nothing—no family backing, no zanpakutō, and no formal training—Kuroba never even had the chance to "come of age" in any proper sense. His life in the 80th District of North Rukongai was a brutal, day-to-day battle for survival.
Desperate and reckless, he once snuck into the Shiba fireworks shop and swiped a gourd of Ganju's highly potent ceremonial sake—meant only for clan occasions. One swig and Kuroba blacked out completely.
When he awoke the next morning, half of Ganju's body was wrapped in thick bandages, the main warehouse was in ruins, and Rukia was interrogating everyone on what had happened.
Later, Ganju cornered Kuroba and, with gritted teeth, growled,
"You're a damn menace when drunk!"
Now, on a patrol near the outskirts of the 80th District—Zaraki's territory—Rukia stood, her eyes narrowed.
"You're seriously bartering your Shinigami haori for sake? If I'd known you were this hopeless, I wouldn't have come to collect you for Lieutenant Kaien," she said, clearly disappointed.
Her fingers curled around the hilt at her waist.
"Wait a second… you're not just any thug," she continued, tone sharpening. "You're the so-called Black Bandit Leader—Canglan—who's been terrorizing the 80th District. But the reports described a seven-meter-tall freak with green skin and fangs…"
As a member of the 13th Division—though mainly in logistics—Rukia still had access to current intel. The Black Bandit Gang was flagged as high-risk: known for sudden spiritual eruptions and suspected soul mutations.
But the men in front of her now didn't match the descriptions. Still…
If it's just bravado, I can handle it, she thought, steadying herself.
Canglan laughed hoarsely, voice echoing like steel dragging over stone.
"You've got guts, girl. Last time your kind came snooping around, I let him live with some coins and a flask of 'holy water'—wanted to see if he'd react."
He sneered. "Didn't expect to reel in a big fish."
As he clenched his fists, his yellowed skin rippled. Veins popped grotesquely across his body as a surge of unstable Reiryoku burst outward.
The armor across his chest shattered.
ROAR!
A monstrous howl erupted from him as his body ballooned, transforming into a grotesque figure—eight meters tall, green-skinned, tusked, and glowing with corrupted spirit energy.
Behind him, his men followed suit—twisting, mutating, fangs stretching, eyes glowing, their once-human shapes now warped into hulking demon-like beings.
The ground trembled from the combined pressure of their corrupted reiatsu.
"You've got one chance, little Death God," Canglan grinned, voice thunderous.
"Surrender now, or I'll crush your limbs like I did to the last two who resisted. I'll let you die screaming."
Rukia's face went pale.
Soul mutation…
These weren't mere thugs. Their souls had been contaminated—likely due to some artificial reiatsu amplification, maybe illegal elixirs or spiritual drug abuse common in fringe Rukongai.
She gripped her zanpakutō tightly.
Still a mere seated officer-in-training, Rukia had little real battle experience. Most of her missions were soul burials or minor cleansings—safe and simple, under the protection of Byakuya's name.
A single mutated Canglan might've been manageable.
But dozens of these monstrous forms? That was suicide.
Her instinct said to run. With her speed, she could escape and request reinforcements.
But… the image of Kaien-dono flashed through her mind—his smile, his courage. He'd risked everything to save others.
She couldn't abandon the people here.
"I'll hold them off," she whispered, planting her feet firmly. "You—go get help. If I'm lucky, I'll still be standing when backup comes."
Kuroba didn't move.
The wind blew the heavy scent of alcohol from his tattered coat.
Then, in a blink, he was in front of her, and with a practiced flick, he snatched the sake flask from her waist.
"So… you did have top-shelf wine."
He took a long drink, wiping his mouth.
"I don't drink to escape," he said calmly, the breeze swirling around him as his spiritual pressure began to build, no longer dull and chaotic, but sharp.
"I drink because in this mad world, a little fire in the gut makes a man bolder."
He shifted into a fighting stance, sake flask swinging at his side like a relic of war.
"And I drink because once the booze hits… my fists hit harder."
T/N: I'mma keep the name Canglan, he's just an insignificant trash.