Bleach: Soi-Fon's Challenge Begins with Ultra Instinct

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A quiet hum escaped Sui-Feng's lips, but it wasn't idle curiosity; it was a sound sharp with realization, eyes narrowing as something within Su Li's movements caught and held her full attention with unsettling clarity.

Among everyone gathered in the dojo, aside from Su Li himself, she stood as the most accomplished in Hakuda, her mastery polished under the merciless discipline of Yoruichi Shihōin's hand; she had bled for it, trained under moonless skies and scorching suns, earned every callus and reflex burned into her bones, so of course she noticed the shift—subtle at first glance, but undeniable to anyone with true understanding.

There was something different—deeper—in his motion, a barely perceptible evolution in stance and execution, a quiet gravity beneath each step that whispered of principles long forgotten or perhaps never fully realized, and yet, despite all her training, Sui-Feng found herself doubting what she saw.

"Such small changes," she murmured beneath her breath, the words more to herself than anyone else, heavy with conflict. "Can they really cause such massive improvement?"

Her frown deepened, not out of anger, but from a quiet discomfort that came from watching something that should have been familiar behave like something entirely new; she locked her gaze on Su Li, trying to decipher what he had done, how he had done it, and why she couldn't look away.

Around her, the growing silence in the crowd confirmed that she was not alone in her reaction; the air had changed, grown denser somehow, as several black-clad agents leaned forward without realizing it, their instincts compelling them to draw closer, eyes fixed to every micro-motion Su Li made.

His face, composed and impassive, betrayed none of the storm he was causing as he continued with the same measured tone that had begun the demonstration, stating plainly, "Hakuda, Fist Technique—Second Form," and then, without pause, "Third Form—Fang Breaker."

No one dared speak.

The enormous dojo became a chamber of breathless spectators, the only sounds breaking the silence being Su Li's calm declarations and the audible snap of air cleaved by each deliberate strike; his demonstration carried neither drama nor excess, just a silent rhythm built from precision, power, and control so refined it felt unnatural.

He moved from one form to the next with fluid continuity, the transitions smoother than water, and though each technique still retained the core structure of traditional Hakuda as everyone had been taught, there was something off—or perhaps right—about his execution.

Movements they had all memorized by heart were suddenly transformed into something foreign, as though a veil had been lifted, revealing the truth that had always existed beneath the surface but had gone unseen, and this paradox—of watching techniques that were deeply familiar unfold in ways they had never imagined—rattled even the most hardened agents present.

For Sui-Feng, the effect struck deeper, like a tremor through her center.

These weren't just moves she had learned from textbooks or instructors; these were forms she had internalized over years of harsh trial, committed to muscle memory through failure and pain, and yet what Su Li displayed now cast a long shadow over all of it, making her own well-honed versions feel unworthy by comparison.

Everything she once believed to be the apex of martial expression now seemed crude, as though she had been painting with sticks while Su Li composed symphonies with the wind.

"This isn't revision," she whispered, a breath barely audible to herself, "this is rebirth…"

The longer she watched, the more the dojo faded from her senses; the walls, the crowd, even the hum of energy across the wooden floor—all of it melted into the rhythm of his motion, drawing her deeper into a trance where thought and observation became one.

She wasn't alone in that descent; around her, trained killers with decades of instinct and discipline were falling into the same quiet awe, their eyes wide not with fear or envy, but with wonder—raw and unfiltered.

Their skepticism, which had once whispered in the corners of their minds, evaporated in the face of something undeniable; what Su Li had shown wasn't innovation for innovation's sake—it was a complete recalibration of martial reality.

His alterations weren't decorative; they were rooted in principle.

He had simplified each movement down to its most efficient form, cutting away everything unnecessary, shedding all flourishes, leaving only what served the purpose of lethal intent, and that clarity made his style not only different, but terrifyingly effective.

This wasn't Hakuda polished—it was Hakuda distilled, sharpened into something resembling natural law.

No waste, no delay, no unnecessary motion—just movement that killed.

What Su Li had performed was not just a demonstration—it was a philosophy rendered through combat.

Even the air surrounding him seemed heavier, as if space itself understood the gravity of what had just been unveiled.

When he finally lowered his stance and the scroll beside him slipped quietly to the floor, the dojo did not erupt in applause or exclamation—it merely breathed, as though each onlooker had been holding that breath since the moment he began.

They had witnessed something beyond style—something closer to revelation.

And as he calmly slid his haori back over his shoulders with casual indifference, Su Li offered only one quiet remark: "That's all for today."

The words struck like a blade across still water.

Sui-Feng's voice, sharp and urgent, broke through before she could contain it.

"Eh?! That's it?!"

She didn't care how she sounded—didn't care if she appeared shaken or desperate—because she was; she hadn't even begun to process what she'd seen, and now he was just… stopping?

Su Li glanced back, expression almost amused, his smile calm.

"Too much at once spoils the appetite," he replied, rolling his shoulders as if none of this mattered to him in the way it clearly did to everyone else. "Walk slow. Chew slower."

She stood still, frustration swirling beneath her composed face, her mind still racing, trying to anchor herself in the shifting sea of what she had just witnessed.

Su Li turned to the room.

"So. Thoughts?"

An agent stepped forward without hesitation, eyes burning with intensity, voice cutting through the silence.

"Commander, are you… truly going to teach us these moves?"

The room stirred.

Voices followed. The crowd surged forward—not chaotically, but with palpable urgency—each eye filled with something more than curiosity. Reverence. Hope.

What Su Li had shared wasn't a mere improvement of old forms; it was a full reinvention of sacred knowledge that, under any noble family, would have been hidden away in vaults or passed down secretly to a single heir over generations.

Even in the most respected clans—like the Shihōin or the Feng—access to true Hakuda scrolls was granted only to an elite few.

But Su Li had offered not only full access—but a perfected version.

To reveal that without hesitation? It defied every rule of noble secrecy.

"Otherwise," Su Li said, voice dry, "why bother punching the air?"

Laughter rose—shocked, breathless, and almost disbelieving—as they realized what had just been placed in their hands.

For those present, warriors trained since childhood, many with blood on their hands and history in their shadows, this was a gift no one could have imagined receiving in their lifetimes.

If they could truly learn this new Hakuda, if they could embody even half of what Su Li had shown, their strength wouldn't just increase—it would become something unprecedented.

All hesitation vanished.

No one in that dojo looked at Su Li as an outsider anymore.

They looked at him the way soldiers look at the one leader who does not demand loyalty, but earns it.

They looked at him the way wolves recognize an alpha who leads not by domination, but by strength and clarity of vision.

Even Sui-Feng, who had once stood apart, now shifted subtly, her posture angled toward him, not in challenge—but in alignment.

If ever there had been a moment to swear fealty, this was it.

One after another, agents dropped to their knees in solemn rhythm, their voices rising together, not in ceremony, but in conviction.

"We are willing!"

"We will follow the commander's orders without hesitation!"

Su Li's expression didn't change.

Perhaps he expected it.

Perhaps he had always known it would end this way.

He reached to the side and retrieved the thick scroll.

"Sui-Feng," he said, extending it toward her, "this scroll's for you."

She blinked, stunned, reaching out on instinct as she accepted the heavy parchment with both hands, the weight of it sinking into her palms.

Slowly, cautiously, she unrolled it.

The moment her eyes fell upon the contents, her entire body locked in place.

Her breath hitched.

Her pupils contracted.

"This… this is…"

What lay before her wasn't simply martial instruction—it was revelation transcribed in ink.

Every word on the scroll was familiar; she recognized each kanji, every stroke written in classical form—but together, the sentences formed something vast, ancient, and completely new.

Each line hit like a thunderclap across her understanding, each illustration pulling memories and instinct together into configurations she had never imagined.

She wasn't just reading a manual.

She was witnessing a theology of combat, one form at a time, rendered with divine precision.

Some forms summoned lightning.

Others whispered to wind.

Some shattered silence without sound.

Each page seemed to strip away her ego, laying bare the raw truth beneath her pride.

This wasn't just a better version—it was an entirely new system.

Footwork, joint manipulation, blade integration, misdirection, body feint, counter-stances—it was all there, reshaped, refined, purified into something deadly beyond comprehension.

Where his earlier demonstration had impressed her, this scroll terrified her.

The realization hit hard.

With a snap of her wrists, she closed the scroll violently, breath ragged, voice trembling as she turned toward Su Li.

"You're seriously…" she began, voice cracking under weight she didn't know how to carry. "You're really going to… give this to them?"

Su Li tilted his head, brow raised.

"Well, yeah," he replied as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Who else would I give it to if not you?"

Her lips parted, stunned.

"You… you have no idea what this is, do you?"

She looked at him—not with anger, but with awe-stricken disbelief.

"This isn't just a scroll. This can change Hakuda itself…"

"And you want me to teach it?"

Su Li nodded, still unbothered.

"I can't supervise every session. You're the former commander of Xing Jun. Who better?"

She stood frozen.

Then, slowly, her shoulders loosened, her arms curling protectively around the scroll.

"…Yeah," she murmured. "If not me… who else?"

Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but filled with something new—something uncertain and deep.

She had misread him.

All along, she had thought he was flaunting power, flexing his skill for dominance.

But he wasn't asserting superiority.

He was extending trust.

That truth cracked something within her she hadn't known was fragile.

She stepped back, clutching the scroll to her chest, eyes averted, face flushed with heat she didn't understand.

And nearby, Omaeda, watching in silence, saw everything unfold—the shift in her stance, the change in her expression, the way her fingers curled a little tighter around that scroll.

He exhaled slowly, his voice a quiet murmur to himself.

"…Yeah. This house? It's already decided."

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