Yoruichi By Theobrobine -

“To train you.” Her smile widened, sharp and lovely. “You rely too much on that bankai. You’ve forgotten the body. The dance .” She spun away, a fluid motion that made her hair flare out like a banner of midnight. She landed in a half-crouch, one hand on the ground, the other extended toward him. A panther posing for an artist who understood anatomy and desire in equal measure. “Come. Hit me if you can.”

“You let that Hollow get away,” she said, not a criticism, but a tease. She tilted her head, and the long fall of her hair shifted, revealing the sculpted muscle of her back. “Distracted?” yoruichi by theobrobine

Ichigo Kurosaki landed hard on the cracked concrete, his Substitute Shinigami badge still warm in his pocket. He’d sensed the Hollow—a slithering, centipede-like Menos-class anomaly—tearing through the fabric between worlds. But by the time he arrived, sword drawn, there was nothing left but a faint reishi haze and the smell of ozone. “To train you

“I had it handled,” he said.