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Chapter 20 is out on patreon
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In the world of Bleach, the concepts of Spiritual Pressure (Reiatsu) and Spiritual Class (Reii) could be simply understood as the "density of a soul."
Generally speaking, the higher a person's Spiritual Pressure, the more Spiritual Power (Reiryoku) they could draw upon. How efficiently they wielded that power, however, depended entirely on the individual's control.
This fundamental rule applied to both Soul Reapers and Hollows. For example, Ichigo Kurosaki possessed a monstrously high reservoir of Spiritual Pressure, but his initial control was completely abysmal. In his early days, he bled Spiritual Power constantly and couldn't regulate his output to save his life.
Quincies, on the other hand, were an exception. They didn't necessarily need an overwhelming internal Spiritual Pressure. Because their combat system revolved around subjugating and manipulating external Reishi (Spirit Particles) from their environment, the actual volume of Spiritual Power they could weaponize was utterly terrifying.
In gaming terms, Lu Li understood Soul Reapers as warriors who drew from an internal "Mana" pool to fight, while Quincies were mages who hijacked ambient energy from the map.
Therefore, a high Spiritual Pressure wasn't a direct 1-to-1 equivalent of his "Spirit" attribute in the Terminus Space. It was a more comprehensive metric. Since his physical body was currently incredibly strong—and assuming the Terminus Space had perfectly converted his existence into a high-density Reishi lifeform for this world—his soul density had to be inherently massive. By default, his Spiritual Pressure couldn't be low.
Furthermore, since many advanced Soul Reaper combat techniques required the external projection of Reiatsu, he deduced that his high Spirit stat would play a critical role in his overall Spiritual Class.
"This is..."
Instructor Fujimoto, the man overseeing the exam, stared at the crystal display in genuine shock. A flurry of hushed whispers immediately broke out among the surrounding students.
A deep, purple-black light pulsed violently from the stone pedestal. The moment Lu Li rested his palm against the cold surface, the spiritual gauge skyrocketed, instantly blowing past the ten micro-levels required for baseline enrollment.
"He hit Class 20!" a student gasped.
A handful of the more aristocratic students remained unimpressed. The Shin'o Academy had seen its fair share of monsters since its founding. There were historical records of freakish prodigies testing into Class 7 the moment they walked through the gates.
But as the numbers on the screen continued to blur and shift, the casual indifference in the room quickly morphed into heavy, suffocating silence.
Class 20... Class 19... Class 18...
Class 17!
"Is this enough?" Lu Li asked, turning to Instructor Fujimoto as the numbers finally stabilized.
Unlike the awe-struck students, Lu Li wasn't particularly impressed with a Class 17 Reii. He knew his lore. True canonical anomalies—like Kaien Shiba, who would enroll centuries from now, or the later prodigies like Gin Ichimaru and Toshiro Hitsugaya—entered the Academy with single-digit Spiritual Classes. Their starting lines completely eclipsed his current rating.
But Lu Li wasn't disappointed. He wasn't a native of this world, nor was he born as a pure Reishi entity. His true power lay in his god-like physical growth potential, his flawless martial arts technique, and his hyper-lethal combat instincts.
"No wonder Captain Unohana personally brought you here. You truly are an exceptional talent. Let us proceed to the next phase," Instructor Fujimoto said, masking his initial shock. He walked over to a rack on the wall and grabbed two wooden shinai swords.
Truthfully, a Class 17 Spiritual Class wasn't the absolute highest in this year's batch of recruits; it probably barely scraped the top ten. What truly terrified Fujimoto was the context: Lu Li was a ragged vagrant from the deepest slums of Rukongai.
Those single-digit prodigies the Academy worshipped were almost exclusively the scions of noble houses. They had been bathed in luxury, fed high-density Reishi diets, and rigorously trained by private tutors since birth. Naturally, their starting Spiritual Pressure was immense.
But Fujimoto knew Lu Li had received absolutely zero formal training. The boy didn't even know the fundamental breathing techniques to condense Reishi. His Class 17 rating was one hundred percent raw, unpolished, innate talent!
If Lu Li properly cultivated his soul over the six-year curriculum, Fujimoto was certain the boy could break into Class 8 or even Class 6—the realm of elite Seated Officers.
In Fujimoto's eyes, Lu Li was a flawless piece of uncut jade. Now, he just needed to see if the boy had any actual combat sense.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed one of the bamboo swords to Lu Li. "Come at me. Let's see what you can do."
Lu Li caught the shinai, testing its weight and balance in his grip. He quickly realized this "second test" wasn't actually part of the official Academy entrance exam. The instructor had already confirmed his enrollment the moment he passed the Reiatsu check. This was just a swordsmanship instructor wanting to personally test a new student's mettle.
Seeing Lu Li stand perfectly still, completely relaxed and making no move to attack, Fujimoto assumed the boy was intimidated. "Don't worry," the instructor reassured him. "I will suppress my Spiritual Pressure to match yours, and I'll hold back before landing a lethal blow. Just come at me with everything you have."
Hearing those words, an uncontrollable, feral smirk tugged at the corners of Lu Li's mouth. He looked dead at Fujimoto. "Are you absolutely sure about that, sensei?"
Fujimoto frowned. The underlying arrogance in the young man's tone irritated him.
"You don't need to worry about anything else. Just attack. Come at me with the absolute intent to kill. Show me your limits so I can draft a proper training regimen to help you catch up with the rest of your class," Fujimoto ordered sternly.
Before retiring to become a Kendo instructor at the Shin'o Academy, Fujimoto had been a battle-hardened Seated Officer in the Gotei 13. He considered himself a master of Zanjutsu. In his mind, Lu Li was just a naturally gifted street rat who had probably won a few bloody brawls in Rukongai. Relying purely on brute strength and good reflexes, the boy had likely never tasted defeat and let it go to his head.
Fujimoto decided right then and there to educate this arrogant youth. He was going to brutally demonstrate how useless a street thug's wild swings were in the face of true, disciplined swordsmanship.
"With the intent to kill..." Lu Li whispered, repeating the phrase.
He slowly lowered his stance, holding the bamboo sword horizontally beside his waist.
In that microscopic fraction of a second, Fujimoto felt the world tilt. The slacker, relaxed vagrant standing before him vanished. The very air in the dojo grew heavy, stifling.
It was the terrifying silence of a apex predator crouching in the tall grass. The suffocating pressure of a legendary, cursed blade sliding half an inch out of its scabbard. Beneath Lu Li's lowered brow burned an absolute, volcanic euphoria—the unhinged mania of a true martial artist. The fanatical obsession of a man who lived only for the slaughter!
In the next heartbeat, the wooden floorboards beneath Lu Li's feet violently warped and splintered.
He shot forward like a fired cannonball, yet his movements possessed the eerie, weightless grace of a phantom. The ten-meter gap between them was devoured in a flash. The bamboo sword carved a flawless, elegant arc through the air, like a master calligrapher slashing ink across parchment.
It was just a harmless wooden stick, yet it radiated the suffocating, blood-soaked aura of an executioner's blade.
CLANG—!
At the absolute last possible millisecond, Fujimoto brought his sword up, barely managing to block the strike. The sheer kinetic shockwave generated by the impact blasted Fujimoto's hair back and rattled the bones in his arms.
Locking eyes through the crossed blades, Fujimoto saw nothing but pure, unadulterated hunger burning in the boy's pitch-black eyes.
Oh no. Panic seized Fujimoto's heart. He had drawn his blade a fraction of a second too slow on the opening clash, completely ceding the initiative. And this monster's assault wasn't going to stop.
Every micro-adjustment Lu Li made screamed of a grandmaster who had survived a thousand deathmatches. His combat intuition was supernatural; he didn't miss a single, microscopic flaw in Fujimoto's guard.
Sure enough, before Fujimoto could even attempt to parry and reset his stance, Lu Li's blade seamlessly flowed out of the clash. Like a venomous viper striking from the shadows, the tip of the bamboo sword shattered his defensive perimeter, thrusting directly toward the instructor's throat!