Those Who See It Must Die

Why was he wearing clothes? Forget it. As a peerless swordsman, he shouldn't care whether his opponent was wearing clothes or not. Urahara Jiro slowly and gently wiped the blade until his arm grew sore. At last, he finished wiping the tip. In his right hand, he held upright a katana whose blade had been forged with neat rows of fish-scale patterns. The bright, orderly scales reflected in his pupils, making his tongue twitch with the urge to lick the blade—to display his perversity and make others fear him.