An epic reimagining of the Shōnen manga, BLEACH. Branches off into an alternate retelling after Ichigo Kurosaki rescues Rukia Kuchiki from execution in Soul Society. If you like the world Tite Kubo created and are interested in seeing these characters expanded upon in a sweeping saga with plenty of twists along the way, then this is the fic for you.
Welcome to Bleach: The Final Cut, an epic reimagining of Tite Kubo's manga masterpiece. This story builds upon the canonical manga's first two arcs before branching off into an expansive, rollicking alternative vision. To be clear, I am not presuming that any of these changes improve upon Kubo-sama's creation; I simply love playing in this sandbox.
This is based on the Bleach manga, not the anime adaptation. Anything that was established in the anime's early episodes that did not occur in the manga does not exist in this version of events. This retelling will also take great liberties with the established lore; do not expect this story to adhere to what is established in the later arcs, the No Breaths from Hell one-shot, or in Ryōgo Narita's novels.
Before we can begin The Final Cut, there are some subtle alterations to Bleach's first two arcs that we have to get out of the way first. These changes are too few and narrow to merit merit a novelistic treatment, but they have far-reaching ramifications for everything that follows – so please read closely.
• Rukia makes fewer declarative statements regarding power-scaling. Whenever she is alarmed by a new level of Hollow, her concern is merely that it may be too much for Ichigo to handle at his present level.
• Kisuke Urahara does not call his store "Urahara Shop." I am terribly sorry for this nitpick and promise to keep them to a minimum, but it always bothered me and so I'm changing it. The name of the convenience store is Kakkōībaibusu Shop (Groovy Vibes Shop). It is an odd name, and partly the reason why they get so few customers.
• Urahara's recollection of Quincy history diverges slightly from the Canon. He states that they were ancestral enemies of the Shinigami who originated in the World of the Living, but that the last war occurred 200 years ago against descendants who were a shadow of the Empire's former glory. He explains that Soul Society purged this weaker remnant of the Quincy Empire because they were threatening the Balance of Souls by aggressively hunting Hollows, but he doesn't offer any explanation about their motivations.
• Uryū's memory of discussing the Quincy's tragic fate with his grandfather Sōken Ishida is eliminated. We do not learn how Sōken himself felt about their extermination.
• Byakuya is garbed in his captain's robes when he retrieves Rukia from the World of the Living. Just a nitpick, but we might as well tidy up while we're here.
• The Hollow named Shrieker does not go to Hell after Ichigo slays him. While he was an unrepentant serial killer as a human, his soul is merely purified and sent to Soul Society for a fresh start, free of madness and sin. The Hell realm is not mentioned at all; it does not feature after Shrieker's death.
• Rukia reveals how the Cycle of Rebirth works after Ichigo persuades Yūichi Shibata to accept the Konsō ritual by promising him that he will find his mother in Soul Society. After the boy finally fades away, Rukia is pensive:
"Ichigo..." Rukia said softly, her eyes following the black Jigokuchō fluttering through the air, off to shepherd Yūichi through the Senkaimon. "What you told him wasn't entirely correct."
"Eh?" Ichigo perked up, slugging Zangetsu over his shoulder and casting Rukia a confused look. "Which part?"
Chad watched Rukia apprehensively, noting the way she rubbed her arm up and down awkwardly. He intuited then that whatever she was about to divulge was bound to be disappointing.
"When you said his mother was waiting for him in Soul Society... that wasn't true," Rukia continued. "She doesn't remember him, and he will not remember her once he reaches the other side. Memories fade away during the journey to Soul Society. Once you arrive, you are a blank slate with an entirely new personality. You start anew, with no unfinished business left from your past life to burden you."
Both Ichigo and Chad's eyes widened in horror as they digested this news.
So that means... death is final, Chad reflected. One day I will leave this planet and become an entirely different person. My consciousness will persist, but it will be like my life here never happened.
He felt a chill run up his spine, with all the superstitions he internalized during a Catholic upbringing in Mexico suddenly dashed. In the space of a mere minute, he had gotten material confirmation of an afterlife along with the knowledge that he wouldn't get to experience it as himself, Yasutora Sado. It was a lot to wrap his head around.
Ichigo was sputtering with indignation, but for a different reason.
"So you're saying I lied to that kid?!" the Shinigami Deputy barked, his face turning scarlet pink. "Why didn't you set the record straight?"
Rukia was taken aback. "If I had contradicted you, he wouldn't have willingly cooperated with the Konsō."
"But that was his right!" Ichigo shouted, squeezing a fist in frustration. "He only went to the Soul Society because I told him a big fat stupid lie. He thought he was gonna get to see his mom again, but you're saying he won't even remember her? It's like I played a practical joke on him. That... that's bullshit!"
"No!" Rukia pushed back, her face turning stern. "You did that child a kindness, Ichigo. Souls who linger here on Earth inevitably become Hollows. They are corrupted precisely because they cannot let go of who they once were. You brought Yūichi peace and now he will have a fresh start. If I had thought to lie to him, I would have done it, and with a clear conscience! Otherwise he would have eventually fallen into the same despair as Inoue's brother. There is nothing honorable about letting lost souls turn into monsters."
Ichigo fell silent, his furious eyes turning downcast and reflective. Rukia watched him with sympathy, struck by how mortal he looked. She herself had been human once, but all she could remember was life in Soul Society. She would have whole centuries to make peace with the finality of her death, but these human boys comparatively had such a meagre window to experience life. She understood it wasn't fair, but the Cycle of Souls was absolute. There was no way around it.
Chad, with the grace of a leaf floating down a river, walked up to Ichigo and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Yūichi lost his home here a long time ago; that monster saw to that," he said softly. "You gave him the courage to find a new home in the next life. Thank you, Ichigo... for saving my friend."
Ichigo looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say. Finally, he settled on a smile.
• Byakuya Kuchiki is not the head of the Kuchiki Clan. He is currently the heir. Should he ascend to the head of his family, he would have to retire from the Gotei 13 and surrender Senbonzakura for destruction. Meanwhile, Yoruichi Shihōin was not the head of the Shihōin Clan. However, she was the heir apparent before her disappearance a century ago.
• Souls who live in the Rukongai's 80th District are kept there, forced to live in the godforsaken outskirts for their entire lives. The official justification is that anyone who finds themselves in the 80th District is too dangerous and wild to ever assimilate into the Seireitei.
• When Ichigo, Chad, Uryū Ishida, and Orihime Inoue are in the Rukongai, they encounter a reborn Yūichi Shibata who has no memory of his past life. While he does not recognize Chad, he befriends him once again and the gentle giant gets to carry him around on his shoulders like he had promised. The interaction is deeply bittersweet for Chad, who is grateful that Yūichi at least wound up in the most hospitable part of the Rukongai and has found a new adoptive family.
• The Shiba Clan weren't formerly one of the elite families; they were instead a vassal for one of the divine clans. Kūkaku makes mention that she and Ganju descend from a noble bloodline, but their ancestors were never the elite.
• Orihime Inoue disarms Jirobo Ikkanzaka, demonstrating that she has potential on the battlefield. After Uryū Ishida destroys Jirobo's Shikai attack, the fourth seat Shinigami refashions his Zanpakutō and takes Orihime hostage. Orihime finally becomes fed up with his underhandedness and surprises him by deploying Koten Zanshun. This technique launches into Jirobo's Zanpakutō and splits it from inside. Orihime had found a workaround for her fear of hurting others by simply destroying the Shinigami's weapon. She tells Jirobo that she may not have killing intent, but that does not make her a coward like him. Uryū is impressed and proceeds to finish Jorobo off by destroying his Saketsu and Hakusui with a well-aimed Heilig Pfeil.
• When Zaraki Kenpachi duels Ichigo, he does not remove his eyepatch. He does not reveal his full power until his fight against Kaname Tōsen and Sajin Komamura, when he finally removes the limiter and uncorks his Reiatsu. This change will spare us a lot of power-scaling grief going forward. Ichigo fights him to a draw, but unbeknownst to him Kenpachi was still holding back a lot of his power. Kenpachi is still moved by Ichigo's bond with Zangetsu and attempts to communicate with his Zanpakutō after their battle.
• The death of Uryū's grandfather is changed somewhat. Uryū saw Sōken being overwhelmed by Hollows, he did not see him die. The boy instead ran away to fetch help and never found a body afterwards. Unbeknownst to him, a Shinigami patrol did eventually arrive and fought the Hollows off, only to then abduct an injured Sōken on Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi's orders. Sōken hadn't died and become a soul when Mayuri experimented on him; he was still human.
• Yoruichi does not quantify how much a Bankai multiplies a Shinigami's strength. The Sōkyoku's power is never quantified, either: it is never described as being equivalent to "a million Zanpakutō." All we need to know is that it is strong enough to execute a Shinigami and do the deed with style. Furthermore, when Ichigo makes his move on Sōkyoku Hill, Chōjirō Sasakibe is not among the lieutenants he makes short work of. Marechiyo Ōmaeda and Isane Kotetsu alone fulfill the role of fodder. We do not see Sasakibe in action by this point.
• When Sōsuke Aizen impales Momo Hinamori, she is permanently killed. No resurrections; the betrayal leaves a lasting and traumatic consequence. However, Aizen is not as boastful about the deed as he was in the Canon and does not tell Tōshirō Hitsguaya that he should have left pieces of her all over Soul Society for him to find. When Aizen explains his rationale for murdering Hinamori to Renji Abarai, his reasoning remains the same but his tone is more sombre and less gleefully malevolent. In his own twisted logic, Aizen truly believed that slaying Hinamori was the most merciful outcome for her. He viewed it as an ugly necessity rather than just a cherry on top of his treason sundae.
• While Hitsugaya ran through one of Aizen's illusions in the anime, this did not happen in the manga. We will make it so: Tōshirō believes he has run Aizen through, only for the Fifth Division Captain to stride past and cut him down.
• Aizen isn't as outwardly dismissive of Ichigo. When he cuts him down, he remarks that he is disappointed in the Ryoka boy's strength after all the promise he had shown. He will pointedly never refer to Ichigo as a "human" throughout the series.
• When Aizen explains his elaborate plan, he says that Kisuke Urahara was condemned for the crime of "conducting experiments on his fellow Shinigami" instead of inventing an untraceable Gigai.
• Aizen does not dub Urahara the inventor of the Hōgyoku, but admits that the exile had gotten closer than he did in creating a fully-realized one. He strongly implies that he already has his own variation, but that Urahara's creation will help him perfect it.
• When Komamura demands that Tōsen explain his betrayal, Tōsen does not say that he follows "the path least soaked in blood" — instead he says that following Aizen is "the only path towards justice."
• Hisana and Rukia were only identified as sisters in the Rukongai because they arrived simultaneously and looked so much alike. When Hisana abandoned Rukia, she rationalized her decision by insisting that they might not even have been sisters and that the resemblance was merely a coincidence. She came to later regret her decision, always knowing deep down that Rukia was indeed her biological sister.
• Ichigo and his friends spend only three days recuperating in the Seireitei instead of a full week before returning to the World of the Living.
Now, with all of these alterations established, we can begin with this revisionist opus. The Final Cut begins immediately after Bleach Chapter 183: Eyes of the Unknown, Ichigo Kurosaki's first day back at school after successfully rescuing Rukia from execution. I recommend re-reading that chapter to get your bearings.
Eikichirō Saidō had already logged enough time in the World of the Living to never be stuck on patrol duty ever again. He hadn't risen high enough to be a seated officer, but he was secretly a member of the Onmitsukidō Patrol Corps; his main job was to spy on fellow Shinigami and report back to Second Division Lieutenant Marechiyo Ōmaeda. But he could forever dine out for having fought the Hollow called Grand Fisher.
Fifty years before, when Grand Fisher was beginning to make a name for himself by luring and butchering unsuspecting humans, Saidō and two other Shinigami patrol members stumbled upon the Hollow and engaged him in battle. Fisher killed Saidō's comrades without much fuss, but Saidō was adept enough at Kidō to blunt the beast and land a blow. Grand Fisher fled fearing for his life that day, an embarrassment that had apparently reoriented his strategies. His tactics became much more shrewd from thereon, and he rarely engaged with Shinigami directly.
As Grand Fisher's infamy grew over the decades, so too did Saidō's reputation as the only Shinigami who had bested him in battle. He became something of an appointed expert on the career criminal and was called upon whenever patrols were worried the beast was on another spree. He knew what Fisher's Lure looked like, knew how the sonofabitch hunted, and could recognize that slimy spiritual pressure from a mile away. If anyone was going to determine whether the beast had picked a new turf, it was Eikichirō Saidō.
The Shinigami squatted down in the moist field, tipping back his signature farmer's hat and wiping a hand across his brow.
I can definitely feel his presence, he thought. It's fresh as garlic.
"So, what do you think, Saidō-san?" asked Unobiro Buzo, a stout patrolman with a shock of thinning blonde hair. "Is it him?"
Buzo was the Shinigami patrol who had called in a hunch that Grand Fisher was stalking Kagamino City. Three human women were sucked dry of their souls in the past week, all during bouts of rain.
"Well, the conditions fit Grand Fisher's M.O. perfectly," Saidō replied, scanning the perimeter: a muddy football field sandwiched between two dilapidated apartment buildings. Humans had cordoned the space off with crime scene tape. "You said the latest victim was found here this morning?"
"Yessir."
"That's odd," Saidō mused. "Grand Fisher's presence feels too pungent for hours to have passed by. It's like his stink just sat right here and never went away."
"You don't think... he's still lurking around?" Buzo gulped.
"Just keep your eyes peeled," Saidō advised, looking around apprehensively. "The last time his Reiatsu felt this close, he was standing right in front of me."
Buzo twitched nervously, visibly afraid. Understandable: he'd be out of his league if he actually ran into Grand Fisher.
"Um, may I ask a question, sir?" the Shinigami broached. "I've been patrolling out here all week, but I've been hearing snatches of what's going on in the Seireitei. Is it true... what they say about Captain Aizen?"
Saidō sighed. Oh, this poor guy's been completely out of the loop.
"I'm afraid so," he replied. "Aizen, Ichimaru Gin, and Tōsen Kaname. All of them traitors. I heard they're working with the Hollows now."
It had been four days since Soul Society was turned upside down. Things got crazy when some Ryoka kid crashed Kuchiki Rukia's execution, but then everything went really haywire when three captains revealed themselves to be allies of the Menos. The Seireitei went into complete lockdown afterwards. Members of the Third, Fifth, and Ninth Divisions were all interrogated about their loyalties and their barracks were ransacked for reconnaissance. Saidō himself was from the Eighth Division and didn't have to deal with the inquisition, but he was nevertheless glad to get a reprieve from the tense situation back home. At least he could be of use out in the World of the Living. For this occasion he was a bona specialist instead of a foot soldier or a glorified mole. In a perverse way, he was thankful to Grand Fisher for that. That bastard had hung around long enough to make Saidō kind of famous.
"I see..." Buzo said softly. "So Aizen Sōsuke is in Hueco Mundo now?"
Saidō cocked an eyebrow, disconcerted by the patrolman's tone of voice. He chose not to linger on the topic.
"Don't worry about all that, Buzo," he said, getting up and patting his moist Shihakushō. you're gonna need backup if Grand Fisher appears again. Radio SDRI and ask for reinforcements. Tell 'em I recommend fortifying this whole District."
"I can't do that, Saidō-san," Buzo replied.
"What do you mean you can't?" Saidō squinted, growing annoyed. "You're conduct is unbecoming of a patrolman, Buzo. You've just been standing there in the same spot since I got here, like a –"
A fleshy tentacle burst up from the mud, surging forth like a gnarled root and impaling Saidō through his back.
W-what the...? Saidō wondered, looking down at the wriggling appendage growing out from his chest. A hot curtain of blood began seeping down his belly.
"Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh," a catty voice rumbled from beneath the mud.
Buzo stood perfectly still, gazing blankly at Saidō. Suddenly, the patrolman morphed into a thin, fleshy reed, and sucked back down into the soil. Something large erupted up from the mud behind Saidō, cackling wickedly.
The Shinigami could feel the Hollow's breath beating against the nape of his neck. He grimaced, realizing that he had been outplayed. Buzo was dead before he had even arrived on the scene – he had been conversing with the Lure the entire time.
"B-bastard," Saidō gasped, reaching for his Zanpakutō.
"Nah-ah-ah, sonny!" Grand Fisher cackled, lashing another tentacle out and wrapping it around Saidō's arm. The feeler tightened its grip until –
Saidō let out a gasp of agony when his right arm contorted and broke, a shard of bone jutting out from his elbow.
"Uck!" he grunted. The pain all-consuming.
The tentacle pierced through Saidō's abdomen began to curl, turning him around at an agonizingly slow crawl to confront his attacker face-to-face.
Dammit, Saidō thought. That hideous mask is gonna be the last thing I ever see –
His eyes widened with sock when Grand Fisher's face finally came into view. It was not what he expected: the Hollow's mask was gone. In its stead was a tanned head and red eyes, with thick braids of black hair behind a bald cranium and a gleaming jawbone armoring the mouth. The beast looked nothing like the Grand Fisher he remembered: it was humanoid, with an awkwardly muscular body of elongated biceps, tattooed streaks of black, and furry fringes along the torso. The tentacles sprouting from the beast were hairless, fleshy, and all the uglier for it.
"You... are..." Saidō gurgled, dying too quickly to make sense of what he was seeing.
"Remember me, sonny?" Grand Fisher hissed, his maliciousness unmistakable. "No Shinigami's ever gonna get the better of me again. Starting with you!"
Before Saidō could reply, a third tentacle sprouted from Grand Fisher's chest and speared through his face.
Fisher dropped the lifeless heap and retracted his fleshy appendages. He threw back his head and let out a triumphant cackle.
"Enjoying yourself?" a wispy voice asked from afar.
Fisher's laughter came to an abrupt halt. He looked back to regard his handler, Aisslinger Wernarr. The odd creature looked like a buzzard with his beaky mask and four quadrupedal claws. The upper-left quarter of his mask was shorn off, revealing a pale face with gray hair.
"I'm settling old scores," Grand Fisher harrumphed, bringing one of his tentacles to his lips and licking the blood clean from it. "That Shinigami was yummy, heh, heh..."
"You heard what he said: Lord Aizen's already declared war on Soul Society," Aisslinger interjected impatiently. "The War has begun, but we remain mere spectators. You need to feed on Hollows instead of wasting your time on human mincemeat and Shinigami grunts."
"Heh, heh, heh, I'm already so much stronger than I was before," Grand Fisher pouted defensively, like a child. "Maybe I should eat you, then?"
Aisslinger took an apprehensive step back, his one eye narrowing in anger.
"Kill me, and you will never see Las Noches."
"Heh, heh, heh, is it really all it's cracked up to be?" Grand Fisher mused.
Idiot, Aisslinger thought. He is so easily amused by Earthly delights that he cannot comprehend what true power is.
He kept that analysis to himself.
"I promised to make you into a mighty Arrancar," Aisslinger said. "Trust in me, Grand Fisher..."
"Heh, heh, heh, you'll get your champion, Aisslinger," Fisher grunted, his red eyes dilating into a furious scarlet. "There's just one more name to cross off. Kurosaki Ichigo!"
Nestled in a nondescript cliffside on the Seireitei's northeastern flank was a cemetery reserved for Gotei lieutenants who had perished in action. It housed dozens of gravesites, attesting to the high casualty rate for high-ranking officers. Byakuya Kuchiki's father rested there, along with Kaien Shiba. The latest casualty to be interred was Momo Hinamori.
Tōshirō Hitsugaya sat before her grave, knees scrunched up against his chest and eyes fixated on the epitaph inscribed on her shrine.
Momo Hinamori – Dedicated Subordinate and Unwitting Pawn.
Needless to say, Hitsugaya hadn't chosen the epitaph. It was dictated by the nobles who always had a hand in shaping the legacies of high-ranking Gotei officers. They clearly wanted to communicate a message: serve your superiors loyally, but never more loyally than the overall Gotei 13. Hinamori's judgment had been clouded by her infatuation with Sōsuke Aizen and she lost her way. The authors had not officially condemned her a traitor, but they could not resist humiliating her. One last insult added to the pile.
Hitsugaya missed her horribly, but he hadn't managed to summon any tears for her yet. He felt lousy about it; she deserved tears.
There was a tremulous pulse across the ground: a member of the Inner Court Troop had flash-stepped behind the captain.
"Captain Hitsugaya, the Captain-Commander has called for you," the messenger announced with a dutiful bow. "He is convening a meeting between all captains."
Hitsugaya's turquoise eyes narrowed in annoyance. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath blasting out in frigid wafts.
"I'll be there," he replied.
The messenger felt a frail crunch beneath his feet and realized that the whole ground was crackling with ice. Hitsugaya's power was seeping out from him and blanketing everything in chill. It was unnerving, as if the captain was externalizing the despondence he felt inside. With nary another word, the emissary hurriedly disappeared in a flash.
Hitsugaya got back up on his feet and gazed wistfully down at Hinamori's shrine.
"I will make it right," he promised.
Frost seeped out from his beneath feet and surged across the ground, reaching Hinamori's shrine and crawling up its face to obscure that horrid epitaph.
Aizen will pay, Momo, Hitsugaya swore.
"HOLLOW! HOLLOW!"
Ichigo Kurosaki was sitting on his bed, trying in vain to focus on homework while his Shinigami Deputy badge blared out yet another alert that a Hollow had been detected in Karakura Town. The medallion was hanging off his bedpost, buzzing like a pager.
You've gotta be kidding me.
He had already dealt with a Hollow that afternoon; a nighttime slaying seemed excessive. After a summer spent fighting his way through Soul Society, the least he could do was finish his homework from the first day of school.
"HOLLOW! HOLLOW! HOLLOW!"
"Alright, I got the message!" the Strawberry barked back at the badge, his face turning pink. "Enough already. Sheesh."
He leaned over and snatched the badge up, the purposeful contact with the placard bursting him out from his human body. Now in his spiritual form, clad in Shihakushō and only visible to those with spiritual awareness, he rove his neck to work out a crick.
The top shelf of Ichigo's dresser slotted open and up popped Kon with his lion plushie face, a patch of stuffing protruding from his cartoonishly leonine features. He had been hiding in haughty protest after Ichigo failed to enlist Uryū Ishida to patch him up.
"Hey! If you're gonna leave me looking hideous like this, then at least put me in –"
Ichigo smacked his badge square against Kon's face, prompting the plushie to upchuck the Gikonkan marble that contained his Modified Soul. Ichigo picked up the Soul Candy and plunked it down into his corpse's mouth, prompting the vessel to reanimate with Kon's dazed articulation.
"Yeah, yeah, quit it with the pouting," Ichigo sighed. "I told you already: Uryū's busy tonight, but he promised to patch you up before school tomorrow. Now stay out of trouble until I get back."
He wasn't actually sure whether Uryū was in fact busy; all he knew was that the Quincy blew him off at school when he asked for a favor. After all they had been through together, the jerk better have been busy to be that brusque.
Kon rubbed a hand through Ichigo's spiky hair and let out a relieved sigh.
"Much better," he grinned. "Just don't get yourself killed out there... at least until you fix my other vessel."
Ichigo, readying to leap out from the windowsill, looked back at Kon with a skeptical glare.
"Yeah, you'd really hate that, right?" the Strawberry muttered sarcastically. "If I got myself killed, wouldn't that just mean you get to stay in my body forever?"
Kon shot him an incredulous look in response.
"What?" the Mod Soul cried, shocked by the ignorance of his master. "It doesn't work like that. If you die, your body dies, too."
Ichigo's brow perked up, surprised by the information.
"But I thought... when my Chain of Fate...?"
"Until your meat sleeve goes completely kablooey, you're still tied to it," Kon clarified. "It'll stop functioning when your soul kicks the bucket. If that happens, it'll spit me out and start to rot. If you die, your body dies, too. Got it?"
"Huh, well then I guess I can stop worrying about you trying to bump me off and assume my identity," Ichigo grinned. "Alright, you just hang around until I get back. Later!"
With that, he flew off into the night, leaving Kon to stay put.
As if I'd actually wanna be stuck in this carrot-headed body forever, the Mod Soul frowned. Why couldn't I have been swallowed by a chick magnet? Like that Chad guy – now there's a vessel I could get comfortable in...
"Haaaaaaaaaah!" Orihime Inoue sighed happily, sticking her nose into a ramen bowl for a savory sniff.
She split apart her chopsticks and dipped them inside, fluffing up the noodles and letting the steam rise out in sensual wafts. Her heart swelled with gratitude.
"Thank you so much, Tatsuki-chan!" she cooed. "You weren't lying: this is the loveliest-looking ramen I've ever seen..."
Tatsuki Arisawa had suggested the restaurant and even preemptively offered to pay for their meal. Her treat. She sat back and watched while Orihime slurped back a hearty clump of noodles.
"Slurp!... Oh my!" Orihime squealed, the savory broth sending her tastebuds up to heaven. "That's really something!"
"Told ya," Tatsuki smirked, scooping up some noodles and taking her own slurp. "So, Orihime... slurp!... how's about you tell me what you and Ichigo and Chad and Ishida were up to this summer?"
"Eh?" Orihime blushed, turning a shade of pink. "What do you mean –?"
Tatsuki nonchalantly reached over with her chopsticks and clamped Orihime's lips shut.
"Don't play dumb, Orihime," Tatsuki advised while dexterously holding the squirming Inoue's mouth in a supreme grip. "The four of you went off on 'different vacations' this summer, only to come back to school a close-knit unit? You're hiding something, and I'm not gonna put up with secrets between us."
"Mhmmmmwaaaaahahahammmmhhh!" Orihime squealed, struggling to wriggle her puckers out from their vice-like trap. She cast a pleading look. Tatsuki, after waiting a few seconds, finally relented and drew her chopsticks back.
"Okay, okay," Orihime sighed, gingerly patting her lips and wishing she could just dunk her face into her ramen and hide. "But you have to promise to keep it a secret..."
While Uryū Ishida was out for a stroll to clear his head, he gradually became certain that a Hollow was hunting him.
All alone while trodding through a dimly-lit corner of Karakura Town, he felt something with malicious intent lurking above. He cut into an alleyway and hugged the wall, slowly peering his bespectacled eyes up at the skyline. There was a rotund shadow prowling overhead. It was a Hollow, he was sure of it. He may have lost his Quincy powers, but thankfully he could still see Hollows.
Why is this one singling me out? Uryū wondered, a bead of sweat running down his temple. I don't have Reiatsu anymore to distinguish myself from anybody else, but this guy's been stalking me for several blocks now. If it wanted to attack from the jump, it could have. But instead it's just following me.
There was only one conclusion: the Hollow could somehow tell that Uryū was a Quincy, but it wasn't sure whether he had lost his powers or was just suppressing his Reiatsu.
If it becomes certain that I've lost my Quincy craft, I'm a dead man.
The Hollow was a globular array of teeth standing on two bent haunches, like a lumpy jellybean with insectoid legs. He was bleached white with black stripes arraying his fleshy paunch and tiny yellow eyes tucked behind flaring nostrils.
The scent of Quincy Reikyō flitted through Bloodmaw's censors. He snorted with excitement, savoring the taste.
"I wish I could smell it," Bloodfang piped up. "Quincy blood run thick."
"I get first bite!" Bloodmaw greedily proclaimed, breaking into a serrated grin.
"Just leave morsel this time, Maw..." Bloodgums lamented.
Bloodfang and Bloodgums were two fleshy mounds pulsating from Bloodmaw's back, resembling barnacles with teeth. They chomped aimlessly at the air, desperate for any leftovers their primary mouth might give them.
Bloodmaw's endless tongue flickered out and licked across his fangs.
"You can each get arm and a leg," the Hollow declared with guttural relish. "But I eat Quincy's heart."
It was Kenpachi Zaraki's least favorite occasion: a captain's meeting. They used to be blissfully rare but had become increasingly frequent of late, much to his annoyance.
The Eleventh Division Captain gritted through the pomp and circumstance, standing still with Thirteenth Division Captain Jūshirō Ukitake to his left and Seventh Division Captain Sajin Komamura to his right. There was a conspicuous gap between him and the wolf, dead air where Kaname Tōsen once stood. Kenpachi took note of the awkward vacancy and then turned his gaze straight on at Tenth Division Captain Tōshirō Hitsugaya.
The little pipsqueak looked glum; he had become a total buzzkill ever since Aizen shanked Momo Hinamori. Kenpachi could sympathize with Hitsugaya being down in the dumps for a day, but for half a week? It was high time to move on already.
Captain-Commander Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto craned up his bushy brow. After scrutinizing his Court Guards, he raised his willowy cane and brought it back down against the floor and sounded out an imposing clang.
"It has been four days since Aizen Sōsuke, Ichimaru Gin, and Tōsen Kaname revealed their treachery," the Captain-Commander announced. "All of you have had enough time to lick your wounds and wring out your shame. Now is the time for action. Captain Ukitake, have you anything to share?"
"Well... yes, I'm afraid," Ukitake blushed, hating to be the bearer of bad news.
The Captain of the Thirteenth Division was also the primary custodian of the Daireitoshokan, a towering structure located in the neutral Academy Grounds where all of Soul Society's academia and literature were stored.
大霊図書館 Daireitoshokan (Great Spirits Library)
It was one of the most frequented buildings in the Seireitei, where grunts and captains alike went to conduct research or file reports. Aizen had clerked there when he was a Shinigami trainee. After his defection, one of the most pressing questions for the Gotei 13 was whether the Tōtoimonjokan had been compromised.
尊い文書館 Tōtoimonjokan (Sacred Archives)
It was a highly classified sector sealed off beneath the library, plunging deep down into the Seireitei's core. Because the Tōtoimonjokan contained the most sensitive information in all of Soul Society, access to it was restricted only to Yamamoto and Ukitake. Immediately after Aizen made his escape to Hueco Mundo, Yamamoto ordered Ukitake to begin examining the archive's circuits and determine whether or not it had ever been illegally accessed.
"My findings are that the Tōtoimonjokan has indeed been compromised," Ukitake said. "Aizen covered his tracks well at the time; the archive's circuits showed no tampering whatsoever. But the documents themselves told a different story. Each volume in the Tōtoimonjokan makes note of when it is read. It is an invisible log generated on the page that can only be seen under a particular form of light. I found that all of them had been accessed during a period of 18 months nearly two centuries ago – during Aizen's tenure as a clerk."
"All of them?" Captain Suí-Fēng of the Second Division gasped. Aizen pilfered all of the Tōtoimonjokan's secrets?!
Ukitake gave her an uneasy nod of confirmation. "Yes."
"How could Aizen have covered his tracks?" Yamamoto snapped irritably. "The Tōtoimonjokan's security ought to be impregnable."
"Yes, but unfortunately it also obeys commands. My only conclusion is that Aizen used his access key to delete all records of his entry into the chamber."
"What sort of access key is capable of that?" Yamamoto asked.
"Yours, Captain-Commander," Ukitake replied.
The disclosure sent a ripple of unease throughout the chamber, all eyes turning to Yamamoto. The old man furrowed his brow, the subtle gesture signaling immense indignation.
"I have never entered the Tōtoimonjokan," the Captain-Commander seethed. "Not even once."
"Yes, I understand," Ukitake nodded. "I believe that Aizen fabricated your access key, somehow... and used it to read every document in the archive at his leisure."
There was a long silence, everyone waiting on Yamamoto's reaction. Finally, Eighth Division Captain Shunsui Kyōraku interrupted the anticipation.
"So... it's probably fair to assume that Aizen knows even more about Soul Society than any of us?" he whistled, tilting back his straw hat. "That's quite an advantage."
The Tōtoimonjokan was rumored to contain thousands of documents, all of them deemed too classified for even most captains. The thought of Aizen being armed with that intel sent a chill up the spines of everyone except Kenpachi, who had no idea what Ukitake was even talking about.
There's an archive? the Eleventh Division Captain wondered, keeping his confusion to himself.
"Who cares about what Aizen knows?" Seventh Division Sajin Komamura interjected agitatedly. "Now that he is exposed, he can no longer challenge the Gotei 13. He fled to the Hollow world because he was discovered and had nowhere else to go. He is a cornered animal, hiding away in a realm of rot. There is no civilization in Hueco Mundo, only Hollow scum."
"That isn't quite correct," Twelfth Division Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi said ruefully. "It is true that Hueco Mundo is largely a wasteland devoid of anything that can be categorized as 'hospitable.' But there is one place where Aizen could find refuge: the kingdom of Las Noches. If I had to venture an educated guess, he is residing there."
"Las Noches is ruled by the Arrancar!" Komamura shot back. "Rallying mindless Menos to his side is one thing, but the Arrancar have no reason to ally with him."
"Oh?" Mayuri replied haughtily, his eyes widening with ominous portent. "When did I ever imply they had formed an alliance?"
"There is something Aizen can offer the Arrancar," Ukitake noted gravely. "Based on Abarai Renji and Kuchiki Rukia's eye-witness testimonies, Aizen claimed that this Hōgyoku can blur the distinction between Hollow and Shinigami."
"The Arrancar already envy our humanity..." Suí-Fēng gulped, horrified by the implication.
"So Aizen is offering them the chance to become even more like us, huh?" Shunsui sighed.
Komamura listened in wide-eyed shock, finally comprehending the scale of the threat.
"This leaves us with the most frightening question," Ukitake continued. "How swiftly can Aizen amass his army of hybridized Arrancar?"
Hybridized Arrancar?! Suí-Fēng thought, trying not to wretch. Just the thought of Hollow scum becoming more like Shinigami was enough to make her nauseous. The proposition of a hybrid species made her want to puke in front of all her peers.
Abominations.
"The longer he possesses this Hōgyoku, the more dangerous he will become," Yamamoto concluded.
"Then the solution is clear," Mayuri said, theatrically raising his elongated fingernail. "We invade Las Noches and wrest this Hōgyoku away from Aizen Sōsuke."
The proposal was met with an awkward silence from the other captains. The skepticism was pungent.
"We have never mounted an expedition into Hueco Mundo before, much less Las Noches," Hitsugaya recalled. "The only Shinigami who have ever entered Hueco Mundo did so pursuing Hollows through a Garganta. And they never returned."
"I'm pleased to know you have kept up with your division's history, Captain Hitsugaya," Mayuri smirked condescendingly. "I am not suggesting a full-scale assault on enemy territory, but sending a small infiltration team into Las Noches and retrieving the Hōgyoku. Aizen was willing to expose himself so he could capture this object, yes? Without it, whatever pedestrian scheme he has concocted will fall apart."
Shunsui found himself involuntarily nodding in agreement. At least it's proactive, he thought.
"The tactical benefit is beside the point," Ukitake pushed back. "We have no means of even reaching Las Noches."
Entry into Hueco Mundo had remained one of the most confounding mysteries for the Shinigami. While the Dangai had clear paths into the Beast Realm, the Material World and Soul Society, it did not have any discernible route to the Hollow world. If there was any way to reach Hueco Mundo through the Dangai, the Kōtotsu made the necessary exploration all but impossible. All recorded knowledge of Hueco Mundo's geography came from the interrogations of captured Hollows, which had only yielded a handful of findings over thousands of years. Soul Society's conception of how the Hollow home world operated was rough at best.
However, Hollows were able to traverse the dimensions by creating a Garganta, which could circumvent the Dangai altogether. They would tear open the membrane that separated the realms using the technique dubbed Kūmon and force their way through the empty void. Gillian Menos were known to be able to initiate a Kūmon with their bare hands, whereas weaker Hollows took advantage of spontaneous punctures in space that seemed to occur at random in Hueco Mundo.
"Is it possible to construct a Garganta, Captain Kurotsuchi?" Yamamoto asked.
"It must be possible; there is no other way for Aizen to have made contact with the Menos," Mayuri replied, his grin stretching wide. "And if Aizen Sōsuke can devise a Garganta, then there is no reason why I cannot do the same."
Yamamoto considered the boast for a beat and nodded in agreement.
"If you are successful in building a Garganta, Captain Kurotsuchi, then we will consider this counterattack strategy."
Hitsugaya stepped forward, audaciously breaking formation to address Yamamoto directly.
"Captain-Commander, if we do get the chance to infiltrate Las Noches, I humbly request your permission to seek out Aizen Sōsuke... and kill him myself," the diminutive captain asked, his affect soft but deadly serious.
Everyone fell into unease. Hitsugaya's last engagement with Aizen had been a defeat, to put it politely, but everyone was well aware of the youngster's grief over Hinamori's murder – and his unrelenting hatred for her murderer. If anyone in the room had an especially good motivation to execute Aizen, it was Hitsugaya.
The pregnant pause was interrupted when First Division Lieutenant Chōjirō Sasakibe entered the chamber. He hurriedly darted between the aligned captains and knelt beside Yamamoto, whispering a message into his ear. The old man's eyes first flared with annoyance before settling into resignation. He nodded to Sasakibe and addressed his Court Guards.
"Our meeting is adjourned," he announced.
The captains all watched their commander leave in a hurry, surprised by how abruptly he ended their wartime strategizing.
"My, my, there's only four people who can command the Old Man's attention like that," Shunsui remarked with his honeyed voice. "The Shisonka must be calling."
The very utterance made everyone all the more cognizant of Gin Ichimaru's absence. If he were there, he would have taken the opportunity to tease Byakuya Kuchiki. The mischievous snake would have cast his thin-lipped grin at the heir to the Kuchiki Dynasty and cracked wise.
"Someday you'll be bossin' the Cap'n Commander around like that too, huh?" he would have said. "When ya do, ask'm to keep the Cap'n meetin's shorter."
Byakuya wouldn't have even dignified the jest with a response and instead make his leave without any acknowledgement that Gin had even addressed him. That's what would have happened if Gin were still a member of the Gotei 13. But that was no longer the world they lived in. The gathered captains all caught themselves waiting on a joke that wouldn't materialize and awkwardly dispersed.
Yamamoto entered the darkened chamber known as the Tōtoikaikan, its towering cedar doors closing shut behind him.
尊い会館 Tōtoikaikan (Sacred Hall)
All light in the hall was snuffed out, followed by an extended period of pitch black until four torches arraying the chamber lit up simultaneously and cast a flickering shade of orange onto the Captain-Commander. He gazed up at four pillars sprouted above the horns of fire, a silhouette perched atop each column.
While the Gotei 13 exercised Soul Society's might and Central 46 its law, the Shisonka stood above both organizations. They were the four supreme families: direct descendants of the first Shinigami.
子孫化 Shisonka (Supreme Offspring)
Often described as the Soul King's favorite children, these clans had molded the Seireitei since its founding; the very concepts of a Central 46 and the Gotei were their invention. Yamamoto's Gotei 13 had stood for only a thousand years; the Shisonka had existed for many millennia beforehand.
There was the Ise Clan, whose dynastic values were "Gentility and Virtue." Their prerogative was cultivating Soul Society's politesse and judicial system, often for their own benefit. It was an Ise family head who had supervised the formation of the first Central 46. The family, with all their layabout children and sycophantic servants, resided in the lavish manor called Kedakaigaku.
Next was the Kuchiki Clan, who were the most closely bonded with the Gotei in all its incarnations over millennia. The wealthiest of the Shisonka families, their seed reserves had planted every shrub and tree in the Seireitei. With the values of "Honor and Prosperity," they were charged with beautifying the Seireitei and bolstering its defense. In fact, it was a Kuchiki ancestor who had overseen the construction of the Seireheki that shielded them all from invasion. They were fewer in number than the Ise, largely because of their perilous tradition of military service, and they resided in the manor called Megumarerushi.
Then there was the Shihōin Clan, a secretive lot known for the values of "Discipline and Ingenuity." An unofficial addition to that creed was "Subterfuge." For thousands of years they were the spymasters of Soul Society, preferring to use a quiet dagger rather than a sword to undermine their competitors. They were also responsible for some of the greatest technological innovations in the Seireitei. The Shinigami Research and Development Institute was their creation, and there were long-persisting rumors that they had stockpiled marvelous inventions in secret at their manor, Shinhensoku.
Finally, there was the Tsunayashiro Clan, which had been reduced to a party of merely one person in recent years. Following the creed of "Cunning and Wisdom," the Tsunayashiro were tasked with preserving Soul Society's historical memory – and blotting out whatever portions the Shisonka would prefer to be forgotten. The Daireitoshokan had been built thanks to their patronage, and stocked with the materials that had once been guarded at their ancestral manor, Seidahatsume.
Most of the Shisonka lived their lives in pampered luxury and exercised very little influence on matters beyond what occurred in their mansions. However, the four dynasties each appointed a family member to jointly govern the rest of the Seireitei: the Tenrai-chō.
天来酋 Tenrai-chō (Divine Chieftain)
The four Tenrai-chō took on the roles of both lords and high priests. They were regarded as emissaries of the Soul King, and their decisions were treated accordingly. However, their grip over Soul Society's governance had softened over the past three thousand years, to the point where they would only directly intervene during times of great crisis. However, they were not above making mischief for the Gotei 13.
Yamamoto gazed up at the four imperious shadows and waited patiently for one of them to speak.
"Well, have you nothing to say, Genryūsai?" an orotund voice asked from atop of the pillar inscribed with Ise Clan's sigil. "We have been waiting around on these uncomfortable hunks of marble for longer than is advisable for our postures, so please cease your sulking down there and speak up."
Yama cocked his bushy brow, charmed as ever by Tenrai-chō Kōbucha Ise's tart tongue.
"If your seats are uncomfortable, Tenrai-chō Ise, then I can arrange for you to be fitted with even bigger cushions," he retorted.
"Do not be glib, Genryūsai!" Kōbucha cried. "Glibness is a luxury only I can afford. Are you resentful because we've summoned you here for a scolding? Well then stand there and be sour to the point of puckering, because a scolding is absolutely in order! This is an unmitigated disaster. The biggest fiasco to befall the Gotei 13 in a century!"
"We did not summon the Captain-Commander for a scolding," a brittle voice sighed from a pillar bearing the Kuchiki Clan's sigil. "Please, Kōbucha, can we keep this meeting constructive?"
"Before we proceed with anything 'constructive,' let us take a full accounting of what has occurred under Genryūsai's watchful eye," Kōbucha clarified. "The entirety of Central 46 was slaughtered and erroneous edicts were sent out and followed for days, all while a band of Ryoka humans got the better of our supposedly mighty Gotei 13. We learned that three seated captains have been working in conspiracy against the Soul Society for decades, and they escaped with the help of the Hollow horde. Do I have that in full?"
"The Sōkyoku was destroyed as well," a droll, reedy voice added from the pillar inscribed with the Tsunayashiro Clan marking.
"Ah, yes – the Sōkyoku!" Kōbucha shouted with exasperation. "We are lucky that the Soul King has not rained down fire from the heavens as punishment for your ineptitude, Genryūsai!"
"Aizen Sōsuke deceived us all," Yamamoto replied, unfazed by his scolding. "I take full responsibility for the failure to detect his traitorous intent, but the power of his Zanpakutō made us unable to rely on our very own eyes. I will bring him to justice for his crimes, with my own hands if need be. You know I mean what I say."
"Is that it?" the Tsunayashiro shadow asked, unimpressed.
Yamamoto squinted up at Tokinada Tsunayashiro, unsure of what the lord was getting at.
"Have I not made myself clear, Tenrai-chō Tsunayashiro?"
"I was hoping you would have a more spirited excuse for why we should not strip you of your title, Shigekuni," Tokinada hissed from his perch. "This is the third time in a century that you have failed to protect the Seireitei from calamity –"
"This isn't a tribunal!" the Kuchiki Tenrai-chō interrupted, his wizened voice cracking. "I will not consent to any challenge against Captain-Commander Yamamoto's leadership."
"Color me surprised," Tokinada teased, his mocking smile shrouded in darkness.
"Enough!" Yamamoto said. "This gathering will be a waste of everyone's time if we become mired in reprisals."
"Fine,'" Kōbucha harrumphed, crossing her arms. "Let us move onto 'constructive' dialogue, then. First order of business: we have made our selections to refill Central 46."
"Good."
"And I have rescinded all lands and wealth associated with the Aizen Clan," Kōbucha added.
Yamamoto merely nodded in response, unimpressed. Stripping the Aizen Clan of all noble status was merely symbolic since Sōsuke was already the last remaining member of the bloodline.
Procreation was not a given in Soul Society. All of the human souls who passed from the Material World into the Rukongai were sterile; they could only gain the ability to bear children by being granted noble status by one of the Shisonka Clans, sometimes as a reward for great valor or most often because they made for a useful political chess piece. The Soul King's invisible hand would then extend down from the heavens to bequeath that soul the gift of procreation. They could then build their own bloodline while serving as a vassal to their Shisonka benefactor. While all souls who served in the Gotei were called Shinigami, there remained a class distinction: some still believed that true Shinigami were born while those who had arrived through the Cycle of Souls were merely Rukon given swords.
Centuries beforehand, the Ise Clan granted a high-ranking Gotei officer named Rusaboro Aizen a noble title for his distinguished service. Tragically, Rusaboro later had an apparent mental breakdown and murdered his wife, Rurichiyo, and then killed himself by setting their manor on fire. They were survived by their only son, Sōsuke Aizen.
"A question, Shigekuni: have you considered whether or not this is just another Rukongai rebellion in the guise of a Gotei insurrection?" Tokinada interjected. "Ichimaru Gin and Tōsen Kaname were both Rukon trash before they joined your ranks. Perhaps a purge in the outer districts is in order?"
Yamamoto cocked his head, struggling not to roll his eyes at the Tenrai-chō. Tokinada was so routinely bloodthirsty that suggesting a mass execution had become a cliché for him.
"Aizen Sōsuke is noble born; there isn't any evidence that his machinations originated from the Rukongai," the Captain-Commander answered. "We have no intention to punish anyone other than the three Shinigami who broke their oaths."
"What about Kuchiki Rukia and this Ryoka... Kurosaki Ichigo, was it?" Tokinada pressed.
"What about them, Tenrai-chō Tsunayashiro?" Yamamoto replied.
"I was surprised to learn that the little Kuchiki was reinstated, and that Kurosaki Ichigo and his band of invaders were released back into the World of the Living," Tokinada recalled with an acidic drip in his enunciation. "Kuchiki Rukia committed a grave crime by giving that human boy her Reiryoku. I am confused as to why she has gone unpunished... and why he was allowed to leave Soul Society alive."
"Kuchiki Rukia was condemned because of illegal orders sent out by Aizen Sōsuke!" Yamamoto bristled. "Kurosaki Ichigo spared Soul Society the shame of executing one of our own at the behest of a traitor."
"So it doesn't trouble you, knowing that there is a human welp with the power of a Shinigami prowling around?" Tokinada sneered. "You should understand why that does not sit well with me, Shigekuni. No good comes of it. Do you have nothing to add, Ginrei?"
Tokinada turned and peered at the silhouette of his fellow Tenrai-chō, Ginrei Kuchiki. The old man was silent for an extended period of time, carefully formulating his answer.
"This whole business has been a difficult ordeal for my family," Ginrei admitted. "I am gratified that Byakuya was able to set aside his personal feelings and uphold his duty as a Shinigami, but... he now vouches for this human boy, and I trust his judgment."
Tokinada frowned, realizing that he was alone in his objection. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he declined to press the matter any further.
"Do not mistake our benevolence on the matter of Kuchiki Rukia as satisfaction with what happened on Sōkyoku Hill, Genryūsai," Kōbucha interjected ruefully. "Based on last week's events, the Gotei 13 has grown indolent and sluggish. All of your forces, be they captain or grunt, must undergo extensive training immediately!"
"I agree, Tenrai-chō Ise," Yamamoto nodded. "We have not faced a threat of this scale in centuries. Our blades will be sharp and our..."
Yamamoto trailed off when he realized that the silhouette perched on the Shihōin Clan pillar was bouncing up and down in anticipation with the force of a spring.
"What is it, Tenrai-chō Shihōin?" Yamamoto asked, befuddled.
"Tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him, please!" a youthful voice squeaked from atop the column.
"Ah yes, there was one more matter to discuss," Tokinada chuckled. "Young Yūshirō here had a most splendid idea: the Gotei 13 will stage a new Jūsankentaikai this season."
What?! Yamamoto blanched. The tournament was a centennial event, and the most recent one was held only 76 years beforehand.
"Now is not the time to hold a glorified pageant!" Yamamoto protested, his voice rising. "We must focus our efforts on –"
"You will focus your efforts on whatever we deem of value to the Seireitei," Tokinada interrupted. "If Kōbucha has not already made it clear: morale is low and the peoples' trust in you has been rattled. We have agreed that reassuring Soul Society of the Gotei's power will be vital to the war effort."
"That's right," Kōbucha nodded. "We cannot beat back the Hollow horde with unrest in the streets or, the Soul King forbid, a rebellion in the Rukongai. In one week, the Seireitei will host the Tenth Jūsankentaikai. We will not accept anything less than an impressive performance from your lieutenants."
Yamamoto's grip around his cane tightened in fury. In one week?!
"Do you actually agree with this, Tenrai-chō Kuchiki?" he implored Ginrei.
"... It was an unanimous decision," Ginrei replied meekly.
"Well, there we have it," Tokinada concluded. "Besides, it will be a fitting way to celebrate Yūshirō's upcoming sixtieth birthday."
Yamamoto bit his tongue, infuriated that his soldiers would be forced to divert resources and time into putting on a show for a spoiled brat.
Tenrai-chō Yūshirō Shihōin leaned forward from his seat, his round face finally illuminated by the torch's amber light. His golden eyes were glinting with glee.
"C'mon, Captain-Commander!" the young Tenrai-chō squealed. "It'll be so much fun!"
Yamamoto gazed up at the youngster with strained patience. Yūshirō looked so much like his older sister, Yoruichi. She had always been irascible, too, but worldly enough to understand priorities. Given how his family had sheltered him his whole life, it was perhaps unsurprising that the young Tenrai-chō would treat wartime like a game.
"I must insist you reconsider," Yamamoto said while clearing his throat. "Staging a tournament now would be a complete –"
"There is nothing left to discuss, Genryūsai," Kōbucha cut him off. "We have already dispatched a summons to each of the Gotei divisions. They should be arriving right now, as we speak. The Tenth Jūsankentaikai will take place in one week. Go tend to your soldiers and make sure that they do not embarrass the Seireitei again. This time, there will be an audience of thousands."
Tenth Division Lieutenant Rangiku Matsumoto, surrounded by dozens of her subordinates, looked on in confusion while a squadron of specialized emissaries from the Onmitsukidō's Inner Court Troop unfurled an eight-foot golden parchment inscribed with silver writing.
"Lieutenant Matsumoto Rangiku, you are hereby commanded to participate in the Tenth Jūsankentaikai in seven days time!" the head messenger announced. "If you are unable or unwilling to compete, the officer ranked directly beneath you shall fight in your stead, and so on and so forth. Your division must be represented in the tournament; failure to have a champion is forbidden. Good Day!"
The masked emissaries efficiently rolled up the giant scroll and vanished in a whirr of Shunpo. Rangiku stood still, looking disappointed for a moment before shooting an irate glare at the grunt who had summoned her.
"When you told me that a group of men were here to see me, I was expecting suitors. Next time time specify that they're messengers, you tease!'"
Byakuya Kuchiki was returning to the Sixth Division, his measured gait betraying that he still hadn't fully recovered from his injuries on Sōkyoku Hill. From afar, he could see a small group of masked messengers addressing Renji Abarai and a dozen soldiers at the entrance of their barracks. The Inner Court Troop emissaries were wearing fabric bands as colorful as a peacock's plumage around their arms.
They're from Ise Clan, Byakuya observed, noting the particular accents of sepia and teal that distinguished these couriers.
The messengers finished their announcement and disbursed in a flash, leaving a visibly gobsmacked Renji scratching his head. Byakuya continued making his way over at a deliberate pace before arriving right beside his lieutenant.
"What did they want?" he asked, staring forward and not even deigning to make eye contact.
"There's gonna be a Jūsankentaikai… in one week," Renji mumbled. "The Shisonka want me to compete."
Byakuya was placid for a beat, digesting the announcement.
"I see," he said softly. "This will be a great opportunity for you. Try not to squander it."
With that, Byakuya made his way into the barracks. Renji watched after him, unsure of just how supportive his advice really was.
Ichigo bound across the Karakura Town skyline, reveling in how much lighter he felt since his salad days as Rukia's apprentice. His trials in Soul Society had made him immeasurably stronger, and the increase in capability brought on a psychic ease: he knew he could handle any Hollow that came his way. Even a Menos Grande would be manageable. Not that he was dealing with a Menos; the Hollow in his sights was a scrawny little thing, not a whole lot bigger than a cow.
The beast reared up its head, clocking Ichigo's approach. It let out a piercing roar.
Too easy, Ichigo thought, deciding he'd flex a little. Before the Hollow could even brace itself for battle, Ichigo flashed-stepped right past and cleaved it clean in half with Zangetsu. He slung the oversized blade over his shoulder and looked back to watch the bifurcated monster gradually dissolve into fine particles.
"Welp, all in a day's work for a Shinigami Deputy," he said with self-satisfaction before looking up collegially at the full moon, as if it were admiring his handiwork.
"Hey!" an irate voice cried out. "Just who are you supposed to be?"
Ichigo cocked his head and spotted a goofy-looking Shinigami angrily waving around his Zanpakutō a rooftop over. The grunt had a big spherical Afro and thick, fussily manicured eyebrows. He looked straight out of the disco era, with his long sideburns serving as a cherry on top.
"Who are you?" Ichigo shot back.
"Excuse me?" The Shinigami sputtered incredulously, jutting a thumb up at himself. "I'm Kurumadani Zennosuke, the elite Shinigami assigned to patrol this district! So, don't make me repeat myself: who are you?"
"Kurosaki Ichigo, Shinigami Deputy," Ichigo replied, flashing the badge Ukitake had given him. "Looks like we share the same jurisdiction."
"Huh?" Zennsouke said while craning his head forward, squinting at the skull-emblazoned placard. "I have no idea what that's supposed to be."
"What, don't they tell you guys anything?" Ichigo blanched, becoming flustered. "I'm with the Gotei 13, OK?"
"Wait, now I remember," Zennosuke recalled with a touch of apprehension. "You're the punk who got my predecessor into a whole heap of trouble, aren't ya? I'm not gonna work with a career-killer like you."
"Relax, there's nothing left for you to do, anyway," Ichigo smirked, pocketing his badge. "I already took care of the Hollow."
"What, that puny thing?" Zennosuke laughed, motioning to the Hollow remnants dissipating behind Ichigo. "That was just a straggler; it's not the Hollow that caught SDRI's attention."
Ichigo frowned. This patrolman was proving to be a real pain in the ass.
"Look, say whatever makes you feel like a tough guy, but this isn't my first rodeo, Afro-san."
"Did you just call me Afro-san?" Zennosuke blushed. "I already told you, punk, my name is Kurumadani Zenn–"
Without warning, a lavender-hued tongue with the thickness of a rolled-up carpet shot up from below and latched onto the right side of Zennosuke's face, suctioning tight. He fell into what looked like a stupor, his arms falling limp.
Oh shit, Ichigo thought, looking on in stupefied disgust.
The tongue retracted back with the speed of a slingshot, dragging Zennosuke down with it.
"Help!" the patrolman screamed, feeling his Zanpakutō slipping out from his slackened grip.
He hurdled down into the darkened alleyway, the retracting tongue slurping back into Bloodmaw's gullet. The Hollow sounded out a gleeful guffaw as he reeled in his prey. All it would take was one crunchy bite...
Before he could chow down, Ichigo whizzed past Bloodmaw's tongue and severed the muscle with a sword swing, freeing Zennosuke. Bloodmaw let out a roar of pain when his appendage was sliced clean through, a geyser of sludgy blood erupting from the stump.
Zennosuke landed onto the pavement with a slam, completely immobile. He craned his groggy eyes back and got a good look at Bloodmaw; the wailing beast was only two yards away from him.
"Glaaaaaaaaargh!" the Hollow hissed, fangs bared.
Ichigo landed beside Zennosuke, his blade at the ready.
"You know it's rude to interrupt people when they're having a conversation," the Strawberry gritted. "I'm gonna make short work of you, ugly."
"W-wait..." Zennosuke rasped, his voice a labored croak.
Bloodmaw's two beady eyes widened, marveling at Ichigo's aura. The Hollow opened his massive jaws to let out a hearty laugh.
"Tough Shinigami, huh?" he cawed.
The Hollow lolled out its halved tongue tauntingly, the sliced edge bubbling.
High-speed regeneration? Ichigo observed.
A new tip for Bloodmaw's tongue jutted out with a fleshy splash, flecks of its saliva spraying out and reaching Ichigo like a fine mist.
Friggin' gross, Ichigo wretched, feeling the putrified moisture sink into his skin. Suddenly, a numbness coursed through him and his knees began to buckle.
"Whatch tha –?" he mumbled, speech slurring. He planted Zangetsu's point into the concrete to steady himself.
Bloowmaw cackled and performed a surprisingly agile backflip, revealing the two mewling mouths on his back. Bloodfang and Bloodgums opened wide and spat out projectile wads of acid.
Ichigo's eyes perked up with fear when the two burning spitballs bore down on him. He tried to lift Zangetsu and parry, but the blade was too heavy now, so he resorted to shielding his face with his left arm. The two missiles landed on his forearm and seeped in, scalding his skin. His limb swung down like a rusted hinge, completely paralyzed and useless.
"Squirm, Shinigami," Bloodmaw hissed, his lips peeling back to reveal a serrated smile. "You lie on floor for hours now. After I eat Quincy, I come back and munch you whole!"
The Hollow sprung up, bounding back and forth up the adjacent buildings until it reached the rooftops above and disappeared from view.
Did he just say Quincy? Ichigo's thought, his eyes widening with alarm. Uryū's in danger!I've got to... I've got...
The Shinigami Deputy slumped over and fell flat on his face, laying on the ground beside Zennosuke.
"I... treed to wern youuu," Zennosuke mumbled, his tongue too swollen to enunciate properly. "His spitz iz toxin..."
"... I canz shee dat now," Ichigo mumbled back.
Suddenly, they both broke out into convulsions as the poison wreaked havoc on their nervous systems. The two of them writhed on the ground together, feeling like complete assholes.
Tatsuki was picking at the last remaining nibs of her meal, digesting what Orihime had just told her.
"So you all went out of town together to help that Rukia girl with a jam?" she recapped. "Some drama with her big brother?"
"Mhm," Orihime replied nervously, slurping back her second helping of ramen.
"Huh," Tatsuki grunted, seemingly satisfied with the half-truth explanation. "Well, going all the way to another city just to help somebody sort out their family business sounds like a lot, but honestly... it's the kind of thing Ichigo would do."
"Mhm!" Orihime agreed, now licking her bowl clean.
She felt terrible for feeding Tatsuki a lie. The essence of everything she shared was honest, but she had omitted certain details like Rukia being a ghost and her hometown being the afterlife. She wished she could fill her best friend in on Soul Society, but divulging that information would betray everyone else's confidence. Besides, Tatsuki would probably think she was crazy.
"Hm," Tatsuki hummed pensively. "Well, I gotta hand it to you. It's pretty selfless to help your crush out with his girlfriend."
"What?!" Orihime squealed, slamming her empty bowl down in shock. "What do you mean? Kurosaki-kun and Rukia aren't boyfriend and girlfriend! They're just good friends!"
"It's not like that, Tatsuki-chan!" Orihime protested. "They're just really good friends!"
Tatsuki rested her head in her hand, scrutinizing Orihime at length.
"You said he and this girl were inseparable?"
"Well, sort of..."
"And he dropped everything to go help her out?"
"Um, yuh-huh."
"And they bicker all the time but still have each other's back?"
"Mhm."
Tatsuki gave a sympathetic shrug.
"I'll put it this way: if you slapped that exact same relationship dynamic on a television show, everybody on the internet would ship it. Maybe she and Ichigo aren't romantically involved. But whatever relationship he's got with her, it's intense. So you gotta figure out if there's any room left over for you."
"But... I..." Orihime blushed.
"I kinda hoped you'd gotten over him by now, honestly," Tatsuki sighed. "Look, I've known the guy forever: he's clueless about women. He'll just string you along if you let him, and he won't even realize he's doing it. Ichigo will keep you at arm's length; it's what he does. If you ever really wanna know where you stand, you're gonna have to be the one who takes a step closer."
Orihime considered the advice, feeling a knot growing in the pit of her stomach.
Some feeling was finally returning to Ichigo's feet. He was flat on his belly, a pool a saliva forming around his sputtering mouth. But he was able to wriggle his toes again; that was an encouraging sign. The toxin's effects were wearing off, slowly but surely. At least the convulsions had subsided.
"Gotz... to... shave... Uryū!" he gritted.
He attempted to push himself up, only to collapse again into a heap of jelly-arms. At this rate, Uryū would already be digested by the time Ichigo got back up on his feet. Zennosuke wasn't doing much better, either.
A shadow flitted overhead, floating down into the alleyway with eerie weightlessness before landing right between them. Ichigo roved his eyes up to scrutinize the mysterious interloper. He squinted, disbelieving what he was seeing: his own face.
"Kah... Kon?" he gurgled.
"What the heck kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into this time?" Kon asked, kneeling down and patting his host's immobile face. "You look terrible."
"What argh youz dun'in out hurgh?" Ichigo asked, his eyes widening with confusion.
"Oh, I was... just out for a stroll." Kon hummed awkwardly. "You know: bouncing around."
"Buh-bah-bad Modz Shoul!" Ichigo scolded, his face contorting with a mixture of rage and neurotoxin.
"Hey, I keep your body active when I'm wearing it, alright?" Kon hand-waved defensively. "Can you blame me? I'm cooped up in that friggin' doll most of the time. So, what happened to you two bozos?"
Kon propped Ichigo and Zennosuke up against the alleyway wall, trying to make them comfortable. After a few minutes, they finally regained their powers of comprehendible speech.
"Man, this sucks." Zennosuke sighed while roving his jaw. "It's gonna be hours before either of us can walk again."
"You're telling me just one measly Hollow did to this you?" Kon said with disbelief, squatting down to inspect Ichigo. "Aren't you supposed to be a Big Deal?"
"He poisoned us," Ichigo replied. "He wasn't alone, either. That freak has three heads; kinda reminded me of Shrieker, except these were a part of his body and not some attack. I've never seen a Hollow like him before."
"He's a Menos," Zennosuke interjected. "A Gillian on the cusp of becoming an Adjuchas. It's rare for them to prowl around here in the material world."
"For real?" Ichigo frowned. "I've seen Gillians before; they're the size of skyscrapers."
"You're thinking of Gillians when they're Gillian," the patrolman clarified with an eye roll. "When one of the souls they've gobbled up becomes top dog, they evolve into an Adjuchas. They get smaller and a whole lot smarter. But you can tell that Menos is still Gillian because he's got three heads: that means he still has three personalities competing for dominance. We call that a triptych. Once the big mouth absorbs the littler mouths, he'll become a complete Adjuchas."
Ichigo listened carefully, feeling a bit humbled. It turned out Afro-san had something to teach him after all.
"Well, that Gillian is after Uryū," he gritted. "Kon, you gotta help me go after him."
"You're kidding, right?" Kon blanched, holding his hands up. "That's crazy. Ichigo, you can't even stand up right now. Ishida's a Quincy, right? He can take care of himself."
"No, he can't," Ichigo said. "Uryū's lost his powers. I'm sure of it."
"What the heck are you talking about?" Kon exclaimed with exasperation. "How do you know that?"
Ichigo reflected on what Orihime had told him earlier that day:
Uryū hasn't been doing too well... Since before we left the Soul Society. I don't think he wanted you guys to know. I think... he likes to keep things like that to himself.
"When I asked Uryū in class if he could come over and patch you up, he blew me off," Ichigo recalled. "I thought at the time that he was just being stuck-up as usual, but now... I think he didn't want me to notice that he's changed. I couldn't sense any spirit energy coming from him. I don't know how, but he lost his Quincy powers when we were in Soul Society. He's defenseless, and that monster's after him."
"Well okay... so maybe he's in mortal danger," Kon sighed. "But what am I supposed to do about it?"
Ichigo, with all his might, craned his chin forward and gestured to Kon's knees.
"I need you to do what you're good at, Kon," he said. "I need you to bounce."
The Mod Soul stared at his host with flabbergasted mortification. He was catching Ichigo's drift, and he hated every ounce of it.
Uryū darted through the alleyways on his way back to his family condominium, cursing himself for having strayed so far from home during his stroll.
If I can make it home before that monster catches me, I have things in the apartment that can kill it, he thought. He reached into his pocket, his fingers grasping three Gintō capsules. At least I have these on hand to discourage it. But I'm a sitting duck out here in the open.
He was turning onto a corner when he saw an encroaching shadow blot out the lamplight below his feet.
I didn't make it in time!
Uryū pivoted around and spotted Bloodmaw diving down from the shadows above. The Hollow's jaws opened wide, its tongue surging towards Uryū like a spear. The Quincy leapt aside, narrowly dodging the attack, and produced his three Gintō. He threw the capsules up like they were dice; the silver tubes flew straight into Bloodmaw's gaping mouth.
The Hollow landed onto the ground with a squish, the mouths on its back puckering and readying to spit out venom at Uryū point blank.
Uryū connected his hands together, flexing up two fingers.
"Strike, Grail Wind! Haizen!"
The three Gintō capsules in Bloodmaw's mouth harmonized their energy and erupted into an incandescent prism of light, the shape tearing out through the Hollow's jaw. The Menos let out a gurgled roar of pain, chunks of its flesh and teeth splattering the ground.
However, Bloodfang and Bloodgums were undeterred. The two heads spat their venom, the two wads splattering onto Uryū's chest. The Quincy instantly went into a spasm and fell flat onto his back.
He's got me, he thought resignedly. There was no use lamenting the inevitable.
He strained his eyes to catch sight of the Hollow. Bloodmaw whirled his primary face to reveal the bubbling of his exploded mouth: he was focusing all his energies into repairing the flesh and bone with high-speed regeneration. The beast was in no hurry; his prey was now completely defenseless.
Before true despair could settle in, Uryū's spotted something odd approaching from behind Bloodmaw: two silhouettes were bounding towards them in what looked like superhuman bunny hops.
Uryū recognized the shapes, but couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Is that Ichigo? No, wait... is that two Ichigos?!
"Dammit, I hate this!" Kon squealed with abject fright as he bounced closer and closer to Bloodmaw. He was carrying Ichigo in his arms, the Shinigami Deputy straining all of his atrophied muscles into holding Zangetsu like a downward missile.
"Launch us up as high as you can, Kon!" Ichigo ordered urgently. "We have to land right on top of him. We only got one shot at this!"
"Don't tell me that!" the Mod Soul wailed, touching down on the ground one last time before leaping back up into the air.
Both Bloodfang and Bloodgums, spotting the incoming attackers, began mewling for Bloodmaw's attention.
"Maw, behind! Behind!"
Bloodmaw, however, was hyper focused on the meal before him. His jaw was close to reconstructed, his eyes staring down at Uryū with ferocious glee. He needn't concern himself with the words of his vestigial heads – they would be subsumed into him eventually, anyway.
Ichigo and Kon reached the zenith of the night sky, their silhouettes caught by the glowing disk of the moon, before diving down right on top of Bloodmaw.
"I hate your guts, Kurosaki!" Kon screamed at the top of his lungs.
They landed right on top of the Menos, Zangetsu's wide blade spearing right through its cranium. Bloodmaw instantly went cross-eyed, dead as a doornail.
"No, no, no!" Bloodfang screamed out.
"He's dead, he's dead..." Bloodgums whimpered.
The two tiny mouths protested until their voices grew faint. Bloodmaw swiftly melted away, all of the souls bound into his monstrous body finally purified.
Kon let out an explosive exhale, shocked to have survived.
"Phew! Can't believe that actually worked. Let the record show that I did most of the work in that Hollow slaying."
Exhilarated, the Mod Soul struck a pose, forgetting to prop Ichigo up. The Shinigami Deputy, still paralyzed, tumbled over flat on his face with a heavy smack.
"Oh, whoops, sorry Ichigo..."
"You idiot! Help me back up!"
Uryū, in the thrall of bodily contortions, looked on in astonishment. He had been ready for many possibilities that night, but watching two Ichigos bicker with each other was not one of them.
Shunsui and Ukitake were both surprised when Yamamoto invited them to his private quarters shortly after Central 46 announced a new Jūsankentaikai. When they arrived, it became apparent that the Captain-Commander was flustered and wanted their counsel. Ukitake appreciated being in Genryūsai's confidence again. After all, the old man had tried to flambé them for treason just a few days beforehand.
"A Jūsankentaikai so soon is going to be costly, and a terrible distraction," Ukitake chimed in. "What could the Shisonka possibly be thinking?"
Yamamoto was pacing back and forth, pounding his cane against the ground with every step. Shunsui, meanwhile, leaned back in the Captain-Commander's favorite chair and let out a sigh.
"When a war breaks out, the nobility think it's a good time for bread and circuses," the Eight Company captain said drolly. "That's their response to most hardships."
"Who said you could sit there?" Yamamoto chided, thwacking him over the head with his gnarled cane.
"Ow, ow!" Shunsui winced, nursing the egg growing from his forehead. He sprung up from the chair and planted himself atop Yamamoto's desk instead, with a cheeky grin on his face.
"The little Shihōin pup isn't hard to figure out," he mused, as if nothing had happened. "He just wants to be in a big crowd and see some action. I don't blame him, the way his family keeps him locked away in that castle. Now, Ginrei... I'm thinking Ginrei only consented in exchange for the others not making any more fuss about Rukia's situation. Think I'm right?"
Ukitake nodded in agreement.
"Ginrei's always been a dutiful soldier," Shunsui noted. "I'd never expect him to plot the way Kōbucha and Tokinada do. It's those two I'm really wondering about: what's their angle?"
"Their motivations do not matter," Yamamoto said dismissively. "When the Shisonka make up their minds, it is our duty to see their wishes fulfilled. We must make the most of this situation."
Shunsui and Ukitake exchanged an awkward look. They could tell Old Man Yama was frustrated beyond description. After all, he himself had inadvertently created the Jūsankentaikai...
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto had commanded the Seireitei's military for close to a thousand years, having founded the latest incarnation of the Gotei. When he took up the mantle of Captain-Commander, he and his close band of compatriots filled out most of the thirteen slots. They were never able to find a suitable candidate for the thirteenth captaincy, and so a couple decades later they staged a tournament to decide who would win the role.
The competition provided some escapist spectacle for Soul Society during an era of great upheaval, but it was intended for utilitarian purposes. Ironically, the first Jūsankentaikai's victor declined the reward of captaincy; that thirteenth slot went on to be unoccupied for decades afterwards. Even so, the damage was done: the Shisonka co-opted the tournament as a centennial pastime to keep the rabble entertained.
Almost the entirety of Yamamoto's original Gotei 13 had died since then, some from battle and the rest from old age. The natural lifespan for a Soul was about 500 years while a strong Shinigami often reached a 1,500 years in age; only those with an inordinate amount of Reiryoku lived longer beyond that. Yamamoto was slightly over 2,000 years old, making him one of the longest-living persons ever recorded in Soul Society history. And he showed no signs of slowing down, his stately manner notwithstanding.
Shunsui and Ukitake watched the old man wrestle with all of that historical baggage. They had only seen him this vulnerable a handful of times over the centuries of being by his side.
"This would all be easier if I had any inclination of Aizen's aim," Yamamoto admitted. "The Arrancar were obliterated eons ago because of their attempts to invade the Seireitei. Surely he's not stupid enough to think it will work this time?"
Ukitake crossed his arms and recalled Aizen's parting words to him when the traitor escaped to Hueco Mundo.
No one ever stood atop the heavens before. Not you, or I, or the gods. But the unbearable vacancy of heaven's throne ends now. From now on, I will stand at the top.
"Perhaps Aizen intends to assassinate the Soul King?" Ukitake concluded with a grim expression. The possibility was horrific to even contemplate.
"Then he is even more foolish than I thought!" Yamamoto guffawed. "He has no means of reaching the Royal Realm, and even if he somehow entered the palace he would be swiftly obliterated by Squad Zero."
"Even so, I don't like the prospect of waiting around for him to make his move," Ukitake continued. "Whatever his intentions, I don't believe he will launch a direct assault against Soul Society. His strategy will be more subtle and insidious."
"Well, how about Mayuri's proposal, then?" Shunsui broached. "We surprise Aizen with a counterattack; it's better than just sitting around waiting for him to build his forces."
"Even if Captain Kurotsuchi succeeds in accomplishing the impossible and constructs a Garganta, it will take time," Yamamoto mused. "Soul Society's best minds have succeeded in creating a Garganta only once, and it took them decades."
"Yes, but we're just waiting either way," Shunsui countered. "The truth is, we don't have any way of reaching Aizen yet. We'll either develop the capability or he'll come to us first. In the meantime, we might as well give the people what they want and put on a helluva show, eh?"
Ukitake and Yamamoto both cast Shunsui a loaded look, admiring his impish ability to find the silver lining in every shit situation.
"The tournament could be useful for getting our lieutenants in fighting shape," Ukitake nodded. "Meanwhile, I recommend that every captain undergo Reikinbaku-ito training. It's been years since we faced a credible threat; we need to rebuild our strength from the ground up."
"Yes," Yamamoto nodded. "Yes, every captain shall undergo Reikinbaku-ito while their subordinates prepare for the Jūsankentaikai. Within a week's time, our soldiers will be in peak condition and ready for whatever Aizen throws at us. Do your companies have their champions, yet?"
"Well, I think Nanao-chan's probably gonna compete," Shunsui answered. "I'm not sure she even qualifies, given that she doesn't have a Zanpakutō, but if she's allowed to fight then I don't see anyone beating her."
"We haven't decided who will represent the Thirteenth Division yet," Ukitake said glumly. "Ideally, Rukia would fight on our behalf. She's the best fighter under my command, but she is still recuperating her spirit energy, and... well, she isn't a seated officer. So it is between our Third Seats, Kotetsu or Kotsubaki."
Yamamoto nodded politely nib response.
Neither of their divisions stand a chance of winning the tournament, he thought. Good. It will be a humbling experience for them.
"Very good," the Captain-Commander said. "You are both dismissed."
"Sure thing, Old Man," Shunsui said, hopping off of the desk with a sly smile. "We're here for tea time whenever you –"
Yamamoto thrust his cane against Shunsui's chest, stopping him cold.
"A word of warning to the both of you," the Captain-Commander seethed, casting a rueful glare at his pupils. "If you force me to cross blades with you ever again, I will not be as merciful."
"Yes sir, we understand," Ukitake nodded, blushing pink.
With that, the two captains scurried out of Yamamoto's chambers like a pair of students fleeing the principle's office.
"I hadn't realized he was going easy on us when we fought," Ukitake confessed to Shunsui as they made their way down out of the First Division barracks.
"Oh, I always knew," Shunsui chuckled. "No matter how many times the Old Man threatens to kill us, his heart ain't in it."
"Okay... and... done!" Uryū announced, biting off the leftover yarn from his sowing needle.
He had finished fixing Kon's lion doll vessel. Kon inspected himself, horrified that he had been prettified with a bonnet and embroidered flowers.
Uryū sat back in the chair, pushing up his glasses and giving a nod of satisfaction.
"Perfect."
"Are you blind?!" Kon roared, smacking Uryū across the face with a plushie paw. "Who asked for frills? I just wanted it the way it was!"
"I added my personal touch!"
"Your personal touch? You gave me a mane of lace! I'm a lion, not a Southern Belle!"
Ichigo, back in his human body, watched the two bicker from his bed. He felt a mixture of amusement and relief: it was nice of Uryū to fix Kon's plushie immediately after regaining his faculties as a way of thanking them.
"OK, OK, I'll fix you just the way you want," Uryū pleaded, shielding his face. "Just please stop smacking me. Your punches are more annoying than painful, you know."
Ichigo heard a rap a the window and looked over. To his surprise, Zennosuke Kurumadani was on the other side of the pane, motioning for him to slide it open. The Strawberry semi-complied, only partially cracking open the window.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Just wanted to say... that was some quick thinking back there," Zennosuke nodded admiringly. "I'm still the elite in this district, but I'm glad you're around keeping these streets safe, too."
Ichigo smiled.
"Thanks, Afro-san."
Zennosuke frowned. Before he could berate Ichigo for getting his name wrong yet again, the Strawberry shut the window closed.
Yoruichi Shihōin slinked her elegantly muscled leg up from the water and began to toe the bathtub faucet, absentmindedly wiggling her digit against its cavernous mouth while it eked out droplets. She let out a purring yawn and rested her head back against Kisuke Urahara, her moist mane draping across his chest.
"So he has the power to manipulate all five senses, huh?" Urahara sighed, processing the intel Yoruichi had just relayed to him from her adventure in Soul Society. "Well that explains a lot. He said five senses? Those exact words?"
"That's what he told Ichigo," Yoruichi confirmed, reaching back to playfully pat his green-and-white-striped shower cap. "When his Shikai is activated, he becomes practically invincible...if already you've seen its release."
"That would apply to anyone worth a damn in the Gotei 13, including us," Urahara said. "He's..."
"Worse than you thought?"
"... Exactly what I feared."
"Y'know, for such a smart guy, you really could have picked a better hiding place for the Hōgyoku than Kuchiki Byakuya's little sister," Yoruichi mused. "You should have known Soul Society would come looking for her, with or without spiritual powers."
"That's exactly why I planted it on her," Urahara clarified. "It was the only way to get the ball rolling."
Yoruichi scrunched up her face in confusion for a moment and then looked back at him with scalding disapproval.
"You knowingly risked Aizen getting his hands on the Hōgyoku?"
"Aizen was coming for it sooner than later; dispatching a Hollow to Kurosaki's home made that abundantly clear. What should I have done? Waited patiently to make my final stand here, in my humble shop? Aizen would likely pry the Hōgyoku from my cold, dead hands, and his true intentions would remain hidden from the Soul Society. I could have accepted that inevitability, or I could cause a ruckus in the Seireitei that would force him to publicly reveal himself."
"Well now he has it. Great plan, genius."
"I was hoping he wouldn't make off with it, but it was only a matter of time anyway. I know you think of me as some kind of badass stud –~which I am~ – but I couldn't keep Aizen away from the Hōgyoku forever, especially without any concrete knowledge of his abilities. So I stowed it inside Rukia and set Ichigo on a much-needed collision course with the Gotei 13. And that worked out great, didn't it? Wouldn't you say they've brought out the best in each other?"
"The boy nearly died several times over."
"Which is why I sent you to chaperone him, my fuzzy little troublemaker..."
Yoruichi could feel Urahara slide his hands around her thighs beneath the bubbly bathwater. She gave him a rueful look and slid out from the tub, soaked in suds. Urahara squinted up at her, trying to spot her silhouette hidden beneath the foam.
"I'm afraid your time is up, greedy boy," she huffed, sauntering over to the mirror to primp herself. "You only get one day every 10 years, remember? This is still only casual."
"Such a heartbreaker," Urahara whined, theatrically bringing his hands up to his chest. He went stiff, pretending to die from heartbreak, and slid underneath the soapy water. The tub was placid for a moment, then became a roiling cauldron as his air bubbles rose up to mingle with the foam.
Yoruichi reached in and hauled him up by the suction of his shower cap, glaring at him nose-to-nose.
"So you instigated chaos just to share your burden with the rest of the world?" she sternly observed. "Fine. You got what you wanted. But the responsibility of fixing this still rests on you. Ichigo is just a boy, he can't stop Aizen by himself. So start putting that wicked little mind of yours to work."
She planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek before dunking his head back underwater and leaving to go dry off. Urahara lingered beneath the suds, lost in rumination.
Yasutora Sado's alarm clock sounded out a punishing peal. It was 4 a.m.
He rose up groggily from bed and furiously rubbed his temples to spur himself awake.
I could just slam my fist down on my alarm, silence it, and return to my dream, he thought, feeling very tempted to follow through. But that would be the coward's way out.
He slunk out from his bed and went to brush his teeth. After he had thoroughly sudsed his choppers, he patted his face fresh with faucet water and strode out into his kitchen. He swung open the refrigerator and withdrew four brown eggs.
One by one, Chad cracked each egg against the drinking glass and emptied their yolk inside. When finished, he plucked up the cup and swirled it until the contents mixed into a golden elixir. He threw it back and gulped down the yolks in one swig.
I thank you for your bounty, chickens and hens, he thought reverently.
Satiated, he zipped up his hoodie, a powder blue striped with a marigold flame pattern, and headed out into the morning fog. He jogged for six full blocks... until reaching his destination.
Takashi Murakami hovered his mouth close to the tiny fan whirring away on the counter, feeling profoundly bored. He bared his teeth and growled into the blower, his voice rumbling with distortion. Rail thin, balding, and with a wisp of gray hair shadowing his lip, the shopkeeper was a proud man far past his prime.
"I am the mountain king!" he purred, amused by how his voice traveled into the blades and scattered like spilled grain.
"You're going to be the king of a vacant lot if we don't start making some profits again!" Harumi Murakami, his wife, shouted from the backroom. "I told you we should advertise the new rice cakes."
The long-married couple were the proprietors of the once-prosperous corner shop. Their modest establishment used to be the number one destination in the neighborhood before a string of 7-Elevens opened up and started crowding out their business. Nowadays, they were struggling just to get by.
"The new rice cakes taste like styrofoam," Takashi sighed before blowing a raspberry into the fan. "We've gone hours without a soul in this shop, my love. We are alone on this here mountaintop!"
"People who hang around the mountaintop for too long tend to die," Harumi muttered.
She was sitting in her office, studiously crunching numbers on a chunky calculator. She was a stout woman with a round face and sunken eyes, beaten down by years of financial stress. She shook her head in annoyance before taking a deep cigarette drag.
Takashi heard the shopkeeper bell jingle. He looked up, recognizing a familiar face.
"Sado?" he said. "Sado the Gigante?"
Chad drew back his hoodie, wavy bangs drooping over the left side of his face. His right eye gazed at Mr. Murakami with purposeful drive.
"Good morning, Takashi-san," he said, bowing his head eruditely.
"Dont'cha mean good evening?" Takashi laughed. "Awfully late to start craving a snack, eh?"
"I'm not here to eat," Chad replied. "I was wondering if –"
Harumi peeked out from the back room and saw Chad, recognizing him immediately. She let out a yelp of disapproval and seized a broom.
"Oh, it's you!" she shouted derisively, brandishing her sweeper. "I remember you. Brought absolutely nothing but trouble, you and that orange-haired punk friend of yours. We don't want your business!"
"Beggars can't be choosers, my love!" Takashi pleaded, using all of his limbs interchangeably to suppress his wife's charge of attack. "Sado's money is as good as anybody's."
"I'm sorry for all of the commotion Ichigo and I brought to your shop over the years, Harumi-san," Chad said softly. "Please recall that we never started any of those fights."
"But you sure finished them, didn't cha?!" Harumi scoffed. "Trouble always followed you two, like a curse. We banned you, but your curse remained! Well, if you're gonna buy something, fork over the money and be off."
"I didn't come here to purchase anything," Chad admitted. "I came here to see if the gamestill works."
Harumi and Takashi both raised their brows, immediately catching his drift.
"Nobody's played it in ages, but it still oughta fire up," Takashi said, gesturing to the corner of the cramped shop.
Chad looked past the shelf of junk treats and spotted a dusty arcade machine. The marquee was lined with soot, but the name was clear:
INVADERS MUST DIE
Chad reached into his pocket and produced a small trove of coins.
"I'd like to practice," he said.
"Oh no you don't!" Harumi harrumphed, brandishing her broom again. "You think you can just march back in here, when we're nearly destitute, and loiter around? This is a place of business, you hooligan!"
"How much are those rice cakes?" Chad asked, pointing to the ornately stacked tower of Mochi bars arranged at the center of the store. They were all BBQ flavored.
"100-yen a pop," Takashi replied, a grin spreading across his skeletal face.
Chad reached into his back pocket and produced a wad of cash.
"I have enough for about 20 today," he said. "Does that help you two?"
Harumi turned red in the face, knowing she couldn't refuse the offer. She let out an aggravated sigh of defeat.
"Just keep quiet while you're here," she relented. "I don't want you scaring away any other potential customers."
Keeping quiet is my specialty, Chad thought.
He purchased 2,000 yen's worth of crummy Mochi bars, stacked them beside the arcade machine, and began appraising the old tower. Aside from needing a dusting, it was reasonably well-preserved, with everything in its proper place. Chad wiped his palm across the marquee, polishing those dulled letters back to a brilliant red.
INVADERS MUST DIE
However, the monitor showed no signs of life. Chad kneeled down and discovered that the game was unplugged – a cost-cutting measure to curb the electricity bill. He connected the cord into the power outlet and rose back to his full height.
Takashi watched from the register, unable to hide his anticipation.
Suddenly, the monitor burst into colorful life, emitting a chintzy synth chime. The title flashed across the screen, followed by a pixelated Hayabusa fighter plane flying across a blue ocean with shabbily rendered clouds floating on by.
Chad drew a 50-yen piece and slotted it through the coin door, listening to the nostalgic clink it made. He grasped the joystick and roved his fingers across the buttons, testing their responsiveness. The monitor's glow bathed his determined face in blue light.
Time to train.
It was the morning after Ichigo slew the Gillian Menos named Bloodmaw. The victory was already forgotten; in its place was Ichigo's growing concern for Uryū's safety.
The Strawberry sat in class with chin in hand. He was lost in thought while the new kid wrote their name on the blackboard. The weird-looking exchange student narrated while scribbling his name out in Kanji.
"There's 'Hei' as in 'flat-footed'... the 'Ko' from 'Imoko Onono,' that old politician... 'Shin' as in genuine, and... 'Ko' as in Cod Roe... Throw it all together and you get Shinji Hirako."
The newbie tossed the chalk to their teacher, Misato Ochi, and gave a dramatic bow before the class.
"Well, um... thank you, Shinji!" Miss Ochi remarked, studying the detailed Kanji scrawled on the blackboard. "You do realize it's backwards, right?"
"It's one of the my talents, amas-Otasim," Shinji said cheekily.
"Is that right?" Misato blushed, not sure whether to be flattered or creeped out to have her name and honorific reversed. "Well, just remember not to answer your quizzes like that and we'll be good. Now, why don't you tell us a little about yourself?"
Ichigo wasn't paying attention, deep in thought about the ramifications of Uryū losing his Quincy powers.
It's not just that he's vulnerable now... it bugs me that I can't fight alongside him again, he thought. That jerk had to go and fight Captain Kurotsuchi and use everything he had against him. He sacrificed his powers to help us save Rukia. And now I can't best his smug face in Hollow hunting ever again. It's like I've lost an ally and a rival. Wait... is it messed up that I think that? –
"Hey there!" Shinji backslapped Ichigo out of nowhere, plunking down right next to him. "I guess we're neighbors, huh? Hope we can be friends as well, Ichigo."
"Huh?" The Strawberry mumbled. "Oh, sure. Nice to meet you...?"
"Hirako Shinji – that's my name on the board," Shinji pointed out.
Miss Ochi was already rubbing the reversed Kanji off with a dry eraser. Shinji glowered at the sight of his work getting wiped away.
"Wait, how'd you know my name?" Ichigo asked.
"Miss Ochi said it when she told me to sit next to ya," Shinji replied nonchalantly. "What, were you not paying attention?"
"Guess not," Ichigo grumbled, feeling very called out.
Tatsuki watched from several desks over, her suspicion spiking. She had been paying attention the whole time: Miss Ochi never mentioned Ichigo's name. She also told Shinji to sit wherever he wanted, but he passed over a handful of empty seats to make his way straight to Ichigo.
What's with this guy? she wondered, scrutinizing the newbie. How old is he? He looks like he could be 14 or 40.
Shinji was an odd-looking fellow with a thin face, angular chin and the biggest, toothiest smile this side of dentistry. His egg yolk blonde hair was cut in a childlike bowl; it was the most hideous hairdo Tatsuki had ever seen. Add some lederhosen and he'd look like a rejected extra from The Sound of Music.
HOLLOW! HOLLOW!
Ichigo flinched when his Shinigami Deputy badge began sounding out another Hollow alarm. He snatched the spiritual pager off from his belt and rattled it around until it finally stopped beeping.
"Are you doing okay over there, Ichigo?" Miss Ochi asked, looking agitatedly up from her lesson plan.
Ichigo realized that everyone in class was staring at him. Nobody could see or hear his Shinigami Deputy badge except for Orihime, Chad, Uryū, and possibly Tatsuki, so it looked like he had just spazzed out over nothing.
"I'm fine, Ms. Ochi," he blushed. "Please... continue?"
"Why thank you, I will," Miss Ochi harrumphed, resuming her lecture.
Ichigo wanted to dive under his desk and hide from embarrassment. He realized the night before that it was untenable for him to skip class every time there was a new Hollow alert. There were only so many bathroom breaks he could take before people would start wondering if he had IBS or something.
So he struck up a deal with the patrolman Zennosuke Kurumadani: the Afro Shinigami would take the first crack at Hollows during school hours, but Ichigo could intervene if the threat proved unmanageable. Ichigo didn't sense any notable Reiatsu nearby, so he figured Zennosuke could probably handle this one. However, there wasn't any way to mute the badge itself when it sounded the alarm. Most people couldn't hear it, but it was still anxiety-inducing.
Ichigo was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Shinji staring at him intently. The newbie leaned back in his chair and cracked a smile.
Word of the Tenth Jūsankentaikai spread fast the morning the summons were dispatched by Central 46. The reactions were a mixture of incredulity and excitement. On the one hand, the decision to stage a tournament during wartime struck most Gotei officers as ludicrous. On the other hand: news of the Jūsankentaikai was met with great fanfare amongst the masses.
The announcement received its warmest reception in the Rukongai, where denizens were happy to receive any bit of good news. The defection of Gin Ichimaru and Kaname Tōsen had scandalized them; the two captains had both been lionized for being Rukon natives who succeeded in the Seireitei.
Some parts of the Rukongai wouldn't have minded that Gin and Kaname thumbed their noses at the Gotei, but word that they had allied with Hollows automatically made them hated figures.
The idea of some unholy alliance between Shinigami and Hollows put everyone on edge; there was a growing fear of an imminent invasion by Hueco Mundo's forces. Because the Seireitei itself was impregnable from enemy portals, any invaders would have to cut through the closest districts of the Rukongai first to breach its walls.
In lieu of those anxieties, the prospect of a grand spectacle like the Jūsankentaikai gave Rukon villagers a reassuring sense of normalcy. If the Gotei 13 was confident enough to throw a tournament, then things must be more manageable than met the eye.
However, the seated officers who would actually have to fight in the Jūsankentaikai were less enthusiastic. Captain Kyōraku suggested offering every volunteer a week's vacation from administrative paperwork. That carrot won the eager buy-in of Rangiku Matsumoto, at least.
The roster of participants was slowly taking shape, but there were still some large question marks looming.
The Fifth Division had lost its lieutenant, Momo Hinamori, and its largely unknown third seated officer was rumored to be a bit of an oddity. Meanwhile, Mayuri Kurotsuchi forbade Nemu from participating, which prompted speculation that she would have been disqualified anyway. The Thirteenth Division's fighter was also an open question, with no appointed lieutenant and two Shinigami jointly occupying the third seat.
"It should be you," Renji Abarai told Rukia Kuchiki while they walked through the Sixth Division garden together. "You're the best fighter Ukitake's got."
"I don't qualify, Renji," Rukia replied dismissively. "Only seated officers can compete."
Renji frowned, looking over at a cherry blossom tree that had only recently ripened into full bloom.
"It's his fault," he gritted. "The least he could do is let you be officially instated."
Rukia halted in her tracks, visibly upset.
"I won't entertain that rumor, Renji," she whispered, head bowed.
Renji looked at her sympathetically. It was an ill-kept secret that Byakuya Kuchiki had used his considerable influence to keep his sister from being promoted to a seated officer position. Her official designation as a basic foot soldier was ridiculous; she had been Kaien Shiba's protégé, after all.
For her part, Rukia never acknowledged that dynamic. It wasn't because she was naïve about Byakuya's protectiveness, but because becoming officially seated would likely attain her the lieutenant position – Kaien's position. Renji intuited that Rukia never felt worthy of succeeding her former mentor, and that's why she was comfortable with her brother's subterfuge.
Realizing he had hit a nerve, Renji decided to change the subject.
"C'mon," he sighed. "Let's go get some food."
It was a busy day at the Gotei 13's central mess hall; the troops were out in full force to gossip about the upcoming tournament. In normal times, the grunts and seated officers would eat in their own respective company barracks, but the edict that everyone be retrained made lunch a more collective experience.
Shinigami shuffled across the line in a massive atrium, all of them sore from the training, The head drill sergeant, Seventh Division Lieutenant Tetsuzaemon Iba, surveyed the grunts while having a smoke.
"Hey, Lieutenant Iba, when's Captain Komamura gonna show his face?" shouted one irascible soldier from Seventh Company. "I hear it's a real showstopper."
Tetsuzaemon, lit cigarette tucked between his lips, honed in on the snickering subordinate and strode up to him with unnerving coolness. The Lieutenant took a puff of his cigarette and ashed its ember directly into the foot soldier's tray of food. The grunt's laughter trailed off into a nervous murmur.
"Funny that you'd ask," Iba drawled angrily. "The answer is TAKE FIFTY MORE LAPS AROUND THE TRAINING GROUNDS! HOP TO IT!"
The Shinigami, realizing he had incurred the lieutenant's wrath, ran away sheepishly to go and fulfill the command.
"Future Jūsankentaikai champion, coming through!" laughed Marechiyo Ōmaeda, squeezing his way through the crowd with four bowls of steamed rice in hand.
The Second Division Lieutenant plunked down on a table full of his peers and stacked his haul up like a tower, digging into the top bowl with relish. Isane Kotetsu watched with disgust while he spooned heaping mounds of rice into his mouth.
"Fair warning to you all: I won't go easy on any of you," Ōmaeda proclaimed, his mouth chock full of food.
"Duly noted," Isane murmured while daintily picking at her bowl. "Has anyone seen Nanao?"
"She was summoned away by her Big Shot aunt," Izuru Kira said derisively. "We're here eating with everyone else, but she's having lunch at a castle – ow!"
"Don't talk ill of Nanao like that," Rangiku asked Kira sweetly while repeatedly jabbing her chopsticks between his ribs. "She's a very nice girl, and you are one moody boy."
Kira frowned and rubbed his smarting side, not daring to talk back.
Shūhei Hisagi was quiet, futzing with his bowl of rice without taking any bites.
"What's with the long face, Hisagi?" Ōmaeda asked, his cheeks swollen with food. "Afraid I'm gonna kick your ass in the ring?"
"Absolutely terrified," Hisagi replied sarcastically. "I'm just thinking about how none of this feels right. We only just buried Hinamori, and now the Shisonka wants us all fighting each other? Doesn't that seem a little... sick?"
The whole table fell silent. Ōmaeda even closed his mouth, chewing his overload of rice quietly while reflecting on his memory of Momo.
Rukia watched them from across the mess hall, her shoulders slumped and hands clutching a bowl of rice. She stood around indecisively, then turned to make her way back to the Thirteenth Division Barracks.
"Where do you think you're going?" Renji asked, halting her in her tracks. "Come sit with us."
Rukia turned and looked up at him with a sheepish expression before finally averting her eyes. Socializing with everyone again was awkward after everything that had happened. Some of those same people had stood by watching her execution before Ichigo intervened.
"That table is for seated officers only," she replied meekly.
"You belong just as much as anybody else," Renji asserted, crossing his arms. "I'm inviting you, Rukia."
"And I am respectfully declining, Renji," she replied. "Thank you."
Renji watched her leave, feeling a twinge of regret. He sighed and made his way over to the others, sitting between Isane and Rangiku. He didn't notice the grim pall that had fallen over the group, instead honing in on Marechiyo's gluttony.
"Think you got enough portions there, Ōmaeda?" he asked agitatedly.
"I've got to build my strength up if I'm gonna win the whole Jūsankentaikai, Abarai," he snorted, working on his third bowl already.
"You, the winner?" Renji guffawed. "It's a martial arts tournament, not a cake eating contest."
Nanao Ise gingerly approached the ornate gates of her ancestral mansion, Kedakaigaku. The massive hirayamjiro castle was nestled beside a pristine lake, the water's surface reflective as glass and perfectly mirroring the sky above. Kedakaigaku itself was 200 meters wide and 25 stories tall, its front face a burnt gold and sloping roofs a vibrant crimson. Home to Tenrai-chō Kōbucha Ise, it was one of the Seireitei's grandest marvels.
Kōbucha had invited Nanao over for a chat but hadn't hinted at its purpose, much to the lieutenant's dread. She took a nervous gulp when attendants emerged to usher her inside. She always uneasy about spending time with her aunt, who was something of a bulldozer.
Before she could get her bearings, Nanao was whisked into the castle and brought up to the 20th floor, where she was planted before the Tenrai-chō and served a slim cup of Kin'iro Ekijū.
金色液汁 Kin'iro Ekijū (Golden Sap)
Brewed from the herbs that exclusively grew in Kedakaigaku's garden, the tea had a blonde and glowing texture that looked delicious, but in actuality had a very bitter and displeasing taste.
"Well?" Kōbucha said expectantly. "Have a sip, Nanao."
Nanao meekly nodded and slurped back the golden brew, trying not to pucker her mouth in disgust. Members of the Ise Clan were taught to drink the spiky tea without betraying any reaction; that discipline informed all other aspects of their family etiquette.
"I see they've been feeding you well at the Eighth Division," Kōbucha observed, fanning herself with a crimson-hued uchiwa embroidered with a black sika deer.
"Yes; I am well taken care of, Auntie."
"A little toowell!" Kōbucha harrumphed, snapping her fan shut and using it to prod Nanao's perfectly flat stomach. "Do not let that oaf Kyōraku make a cow of you, my dear."
Nanao blushed scarlet.
"Why did you summon me, Auntie?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.
"I called you here because I hadn't received confirmation that you're competing in the Jūsankentaikai," Kōbucha replied. "I wanted to hear it straight from your lips."
"Captain Kyōraku hasn't chosen our division's champion yet," Nanao answered uneasily. "We're concerned that I will be disqualified –"
"Because you don't possess a Zanpakutō?" Kōbucha interjected. "That won't be a problem. The rules have now been clarified so that you may compete. And you will compete, my dear."
"But I –"
"I won't hear any buts," Kōbucha said flintily. "With your Kidō prowess, you are far more formidable than those hooligans from the other Gotei companies. And remember: you won't be representing the Eighth Division – you will be representing the Ise Clan! Do us proud, and I will carefully consider your future in this family, my dear."
Nanao blinked in bemusement, unsure of what to say. Kōbucha did not have children of her own, but she had dozens of nephews and nieces she could make her successor as the Ise Tenrai-chō. She often dangled "consideration" for the honor whenever she wanted something.
The implication was clear: Nanao wouldn't necessarily be moved to the front of the list, but defiance would definitely push her to the very back.
"I'll make you proud, Auntie," Nanao nodded, feeling completely defeated.
She took another sip of Kin'iro Ekijū to cleanse her throat, only to be reminded of its tart taste. The tea was so regal in presentation but so unpalatable in practice.
Just like my family, she thought.
The school bell rang. Class was adjourned for the day.
"Don't forget your group presentations are due Friday!" Miss Ochi reminded everyone as they filed out. "Shinji, we're so glad to have you with us."
"Amas-Otasim, sknaht," Shinji saluted while making his leave.
Oh boy, that's going to get annoying real fast, Misato fretted.
Uryū made his way out into the hallway, eager to exit campus without having to speak to –
"Yo, Ishida!" Ichigo yelled, jogging up to join him.
Great, Uryū thought, his face scrunching up in agitation.
"Hey, I was thinking we should walk home together," Ichigo suggested. "Y'know, just like –"
"Like what, Kurosaki?" Uryū asked curtly. "I don't need a bodyguard."
He turned a corner to escape the conversation, only for Ichigo to grab him by the elbow.
"You sure about that?" the Strawberry asked haughtily. "That Hollow was singling you out last night. It knew you were Quincy even though you've lost your powers. See the problem? There's gonna be more Hollows coming after you; how do you plan on protecting yourself?"
"That's for me to figure out," Uryū replied, wresting his arm away from Ichigo's grasp. "There are many things I can live with. Sacrificing my Quincy craft was one of them. Being fated to die by a Hollow's hand is another. But what I cannot live with is having you shadow me like a harried babysitter for the rest of my life. Besides..."
He nodded to Chad, who had quietly caught up with them.
"... Chad and I are walking home together today," Uryū continued, pushing his glasses up eruditely. "We've agreed to work on the English presentation together and have some work to do. You should worry less about me and more about who you'll be collaborating with, Kurosaki."
The Quincy turned and strolled off. Chad gave Ichigo a sympathetic shrug and followed, leaving the Strawberry behind to stew.
Now they're working together and icing me out? Ichigo thought grumpily, a vein popping from his temple. Talk about rude –
"Phew, I wonder what bit that four-eyes' butt!" Shinji whistled beside him.
"Huh?" Ichigo grunted, startled. How long was he standing there?
"So how's about we pair up on that class project, neighbor?" Shinji continued. "Seeing as you're the only person I've been formally introduced to today, I figure –"
"Save it, horse teeth!" Tatsuki interjected.
She nonchalantly elbowed Shinji out of the way, sending him spinning off and crashing into an adjacent locker.
"Ichigo, you're already teamed up with Orihime and me. We already agreed to get started at my place after school. Remember?"
I am? Ichigo thought, not recalling such a pact being made. But he saw the sweet look Orihime was giving him from over Tatsuki's shoulder and decided not to protest.
"Yeah, that's right. Sorry, Shinji. Next time!"
The trio strode off together, leaving Shinji dazed. His collision with the locker had left an indent of his face against the metal.
That chick is gonna be a problem, he thought while rubbing his smarting nose.
"Hey, cheer up; we still got room for one more, newbie!" Keigo offered enthusiastically, indicating to Mizuiro. "We're the friendliest guys of our grade; it would be our honor to take you under our wing."
"I wouldn't call it an honor, but happy to have you on board," Mizuiro sighed, opening up his locker – the very one with an imprint of Shinji's face punched into it – and slotting some books inside.
Shinji frowned while watching Ichigo leave with Tatsuki and Orihime.
"Thanks," he huffed sarcastically. "You all sure know how to make a guy feel welcome."
Chad and Uryū had made it several blocks away from Karakura High School before the Quincy came to an abrupt stop.
"Sado, this is where we part ways," Uryū announced. "I'm already fluent in English; I can knock out our entire project tonight by myself. You won't have to worry about contributing. I'll be off now."
"You know, Ichigo wasn't wrong," Chad called after him. "If Hollows are drawn to you, and you've lost your powers..."
Uryū halted, reaching up to rub his forehead in frustration.
"Don't tell me you want to be my bodyguard, too?" he lamented. "I don't want pity from either of you. I made my choice, and now I must live with it."
Chad became visibly irked. He pivoted his hulking body to regard Uryū square on, his eyes glaring down with disapproval.
"You know it's not pity," the Gigante said indignantly. "We wouldn't be able to face ourselves if you got hurt. Don't treat your friends' genuine concern as a burden, Ishida."
Uryū blushed, feeling rather small with Chad looming over him. They remained at a standstill for a long, awkward duration.
"I will walk you home, at least," Chad bartered. "I've got my own business I'd rather attend to, anyway. What you do after we reach your house is your business, but I will escort you so I can tell Ichigo with a clear conscience that I got you home safe."
"Well..." Uryū mumbled, awkwardly fidgeting with his glasses. "Fine, we'll do it your way. I appreciate your concern, Sado. Thank you."
They pressed on in comfortable silence, with Uryū leading the way. After fifteen more minutes of walking, they reached their destination.
Chad's eyes widened with surprise when they came upon the gate of the Ishida residence. It was a luxurious condominium, the nicest in all of Karakura Town, cream-colored and stretching 20 stories high and 200 yards across.
"This is where you live?" Chad remarked with astonishment.
"Just the top two floors," Uryū clarified, clearing his throat sheepishly. "My father runs the town hospital, so he receives a sizable salary."
The whole top two floors? Chad thought, sizing the building up. Not even a hospital administrator could afford that. They must have dynastic wealth.
"Is this why you didn't want any of us walking you home?" Chad asked. "Are you embarrassed by your money, Ishida?"
"Make sure to win us top marks with your translation, alright?" he called back with a wave.
Uryū smiled, realizing he had underestimated Chad somewhat. He waved back and made his way into the condominium.
"What's taking the newbie so long?" Mizuiro asked while futzing with his English-Japanese dictionary. "He said he was only gonna be a sec on the roof."
"D'you think he might be smokingup there?" Keigo suggested, scandalized by the thought.
Shinji Hirako was sitting on the rooftop of Mizuiro's apartment building, dangling his feet from the ledge. He needed the privacy to make a phone call.
"No, I haven't had the chance to... because I haven't been able to get alone with him! Aren't you listening?... yes, of course I tried... what's that supposed to mean?! Well, now I'm stuck doing homework with a couple of mouth-breathers, so your night's going a lot better than mine. Look, I've got a plan for tomorrow and I need your help. Any of you know how to make ice cream?"
Ichigo sat crosslegged on the floor of Tatsuki's bedroom, hunched over an English-language copy of Catcher in the Rye and scribbling away a translation in his notebook.
"Ichigo, aren't you listening to me?" Tatsuki barked across from him. "There's something up with that Shinji guy. Something creepy."
"Yeah, yeah. His haircut's goofy. So what?"
A cream-colored Japanese weasel scurried between them, chirping precociously up at Tatsuki.
"Aw, what's that, Ringo?" Tatsuki asked in a baby-talk voice, scooping the critter up and nestling him against her cheek. "You're saying that Ichigo's a big dum-dum who should listen to me more often? Oh wow, you're so right!"
"Is it even legal for you to keep that thing indoors?" Ichigo asked without looking up from his notebook. "I thought you needed a special permit to own vermin."
"Ringo is not a vermin!" Tatsuki protested, hoisting her pet weasel up and brandishing him an inch away from Ichigo's face. "If you're gonna slander my sweet baby Ringo, then say it to his face."
Ichigo continued to write for a moment, then flicked his eyes up to gaze levelly at the little weasel.
Ringo was cute as a button, with a wriggling snout straight out of a Disney animated short and a signature maroon-hued ring of fur encircling his right eye. He was fitted with a red ribbon around his milky throat, mimicking Tatsuki's own fashion style. The critter craned its head forward to sniff every inch of Ichigo's face, then gave an affectionate nip at his nose.
"Okay, Ringo's pretty alright," Ichigo smiled begrudgingly before returning to writing his translation. "As for Shinji... I have no intention of getting to know that guy. I already have enough friends."
"Uh-huh," Tatsuki mumbled skeptically, retracting Ringo and cradling him against her chest. "Just keep an eye out for him. He gives me the creeps."
"Well I thought he seemed very nice!" Orihime offered cheerily. She was sitting adjacent to them, munching away on a mustard-slathered watermelon wedge.
"You think everybody's nice," Ichigo and Tatsuki replied simultaneously.
Orihime blushed. She had no rebuttal, so she just resumed chomping away at her snack.
"Finished!" Ichigo announced, setting his pen down.
"What do you mean 'finished'?" Tatsuki asked.
"I mean I'm finished with the translation," Ichigo replied, tossing her his notebook. "Pages 105 through 107; our presentation is all done."
"But we hadn't even cracked open our dictionary yet," Tatsuki said, completely flummoxed. "How did you... are you actually this advanced in English already, Ichigo?"
"Pretty much," the Strawberry admitted, scratching his spiky hair unassumingly. "It's no big deal. The book isn't even that high of a reading level."
Wow, Kurosaki-kun sure is amazing... Orihime thought while gazing at him adoringly.
Tatsuki noticed the longing stare and arched a brow of suspicion, prompting Orihime to become self-conscious and avert her eyes. She awkwardly munched away at her watermelon rind, as if trying to hide behind it.
"When did you learn English, Ichigo?" Tatsuki asked incredulously.
"Long story, and not a very interesting one," Ichigo answered.
"Oh, c'mon. You've been hiding this secret from us all this time and now you're not even gonna explain yourself?"
"Yup."
"Oh come on!"
Ringo, startled by his owner's outburst, wriggled away from Tatsuki's hands until he popped out like a bar of slippery soap. The weasel flew up towards the ceiling and fell back down onto Orihime's open jar of mustard. He landed with a plop, his butt wedging inside the condiment receptacle.
"My baby!" Tatsuki cried. She frantically pulled Ringo free from the jar and inspected him. The weasel's backside was completely slathered in spicy Karashi.
"I blame you!" Tatsuki shouted, seemingly growing 20 feet tall and casting an accusatory finger down at a bemused Ichigo. "If you had just told me your secrets, my sweet little Ringo wouldn't be caked in mustard!"
"If you just used an indoor voice for once, he wouldn't have tried to escape from you," Ichigo mumbled derisively.
"WHAT WAS THAT, KUROSAKI ICHIGO?!"
"Nothing."
"That's what I thought," Tatsuki huffed. "I'm gonna go wash up Ringo's bottom. When I come back, you're gonna tell me how and when you learned English."
Ichigo and Orihime watched Tatsuki stomp out of the room, cradling Ringo like a fragile newborn.
"She really loves that weasel," Ichigo grumbled.
"Kurosaki-kun, are you alright?" Orihime broached, taking a nervous nibble of her watermelon. "You seem distracted by something."
Ichigo's entire comportment seemed to shift from guardedness to something far more open. With Tatsuki out of the room, he could actually say what was on his mind.
"Well, now that you mention it, I had to bail Uryū out of certain death last night," he said. "I realize now what you were trying to tell me yesterday: his powers are gone. He's too proud to admit it, but he's completely vulnerable now."
HOLLOW! HOLLOW!
They both flinched when the Shinigami Deputy Badge sounded out an alarm: there was a fresh Hollow afoot. Ichigo looked out the window and then made an imploring face at Orihime.
"I should take this, Inoue," he said. "Can you cover for me?"
Keeping even more secrets from Tatsuki-chan? Orihime thought. Another lie...
"Of course, Kurosaki-kun!" she nodded affirmatively.
Tatsuki returned a minute later with a freshly bathed Ringo, only to find Orihime alone and the window parted open. Orihime filled her in on what had happened.
"He ditched just to avoid answering my question – really?!" Tatsuki gritted. "That guy is such a jerk, I swear. So why didn't you demand to go with him?"
"Me?" Orihime blushed. "What do you mean –"
"Until we find a cure for crushes on dweebs, you're gonna have to do something about Ichigo," Tatsuki declared, hands on hips and Ringo scurrying around inside her blouse. "Make your move, Orihime. Stop pining for him like a puppy."
"What's wrong with puppies?" Orihime asked, wide-eyed with confusion.
"Do you want Ichigo to notice you or not?"
Orihime blushed bright pink. While she was afraid to verbalize it, she did want Ichigo to notice her that way. After a protracted moment of indecision, she gave a meek nod.
"Well it looks like I'm gonna have to school you in Courtship 101," Tatsuki nodded. "It's not rocket science. One way to make a blockhead take notice is to make him jealous, so let's highlight your assets..."
Sajin Komamura sat crosslegged in his quarters, staring at his helmet. Kenpachi Zaraki had destroyed it during their confrontation several days beforehand, revealing the Seventh Division Captain's lycan features that were hiding beneath.
Now the helm was reforged and perched back on its mantle. Sajin was weighing whether or not to don it again and conceal his face. He had largely hidden himself for the past week; now was the time to decide whether to return to the status quo or risk forever losing the confidence of his troops.
There was a knock at the door, followed by Tetsuzaemon entering.
"Captain Komamura, everyone is in formation outside awaiting you," he announced.
Sajin winced, feeling deeply hideous. Tetsuzaemon saw the uncertainty in his captain's eyes and looked over at the restructured helmet.
"Captain, if I may speak out of turn: it was kismet that you lost your mask just when Aizen revealed his treachery," he suggested. "Several Shinigami proved themselves false that day, but you have only been exposed as true. Your men will never think less of you. Icertainly don't!"
Komamura closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Thank you, Tetsuzaemon. I'm ready."
The Captain rose to meet his lieutenant and together they exited out onto the balcony that overlooked the Seventh Division Barracks' courtyard. When Komamura stepped out into the sunlight, his gathered soldiers all fell into stunned silence, never having seen their superior's unshielded face before. The rumors were true.
"He's one of those Cursed Ones," a grunt murmured fretfully.
There was a protracted quiet as everyone waited for the wolf to speak. Komamura braced himself while gazing out at the hundreds of faces, recognizing each and every one of them. He cleared his throat and feigned absolute confidence.
"Shinigami of the Seventh Division, allow me to reintroduce myself," Komamura began, his somber voice carrying across the courtyard. "I summoned you all here today so that you can look upon my face and understand where I come from: a disgraced lineage of Shinigami who forsook their vow to Soul Society.
"If you cannot bear the shame of serving under someone with my heritage... you may leave. You will be assigned to new divisions and there will be no recriminations. You have my word."
The offer was met with silence. Tetsuzaemon held his breath, fearing that there was about to be a mass walkout.
Instead, only eight soldiers broke formation and left, none of them possessing the decency to even pay Komamura a parting glance. He watched each of them exit, feeling a pang of rejection before returning his golden eyes onto the remaining sea of officers. He grit his fangs and summoned his full charisma.
"To those of you who remain: allow me to reintroduce myself once more!" he bellowed. "I am your Captain, Komamura Sajin! The same Komamura Sajin who has led you for all these years! The same warrior who would readily bleed for any of you! Will you still bleed for me?!"
The question was met with another eerie pause. Tetsuzaemon looked out at the crowd nervously.
Finally, one Shinigami unsheathed his Zanpakutō and hoisted it up.
"I will bleed for you, Captain Komamura!" the soldier shouted. "I will bleed for you in the war to come, and all the wars after!"
The gesture was followed by another soldier raising her sword, then another, and gradually the entire crowd unsheathed their blades and rattled them in unison. A roar of solidarity rose up from the courtyard, everyone pledging their allegiance to Sajin Komamura.
Tetsuzaemon peered out at the sea of chanting Shinigami and spotted the very same grunt he had reprimanded for snark just a day beforehand. That soldier was pledging his allegiance, too.
Komamura looked down at his cheering subordinates, his heart swelling with gratitude.
I will never wear that accursed helmet ever again.
Ichigo sat down for breakfast, drowsily clinking glasses of orange juice with Yuzu.
"Thanks for helping me last night, Nii-chan!" she smiled. "I'm definitely ready, now."
"Don't mention it," Ichigo yawned.
He had arrived home the night beforehand to find Yuzu feeling overwhelmed by an impending quiz, so he dropped everything to walk her through the class material. Coupled with having to complete his own homework afterwards and having to slay a nighttime Hollow, he had barely gotten any sleep.
Karin grunted and flicked through the morning newspaper. She had started perusing the news every morning while Ichigo was off fighting in the Soul Society and had made it a ritual. Ichigo figured it was an affectation she must have adopted to look more mature. She was a Kurosaki, after all. It's what they do.
"Hey, Dad!" Ichigo yelled to the other room. "I'm ready for you to untie this knot on my uniform!"
He lifted up the charm that Isshin had fastened to his school shirt two days beforehand. His father was stubbornly insisting he keep it, despite his protestations.
"No thanks, you keep it!" Isshin called back with a singsong voice from the other room. "It looks good on you!"
It makes me look lame, Ichigo lamented.
Tōshirō Hitsugaya arrived at the First Division Barracks' dojo feeling equal parts determination and trepidation. It was his turn to undergo Reikinbaku-ito training, a challenge he did not take lightly. It was understood amongst all of the captains that this would be the most strenuous regimen they had ever undergone.
霊金爆糸 Reikinbaku-ito (Soul-Enriching Thread)
Hitsugaya was luxuriating in the dojo's sauna, trying to let go of all tension while feeling the hot spring's heat penetrating deep into his core. His spiky white hair damp and drooping, he peered through the steam and spotted a familiar silhouette kneeling five yards away. Retsu Unohana had arrived to inspect him.
"Come here, Captain Hitsugaya," Unohana requested with her gentle, maternal voice.
It was one of the most terrifying commands Hitsugaya had ever been given. He emerged from the pool dripping wet, his skin bleached pink from the heat, and trudged over to the Fourth Division Captain. He knelt down, meeting her eye-to-eye. Unohana reached out and traced her fingers along his face, examining his Reiryoku distribution. She hooked her thumbs under his lymph nodes.
"Say 'ah,' please."
"... Ahh," Hitsugaya sheepishly complied.
There was concern that Hitsugaya, along with several other captains, had not recovered enough from their injuries sustained on the day of Aizen's defection. Yamamoto ordered Unohana to inspect each of them and determine whether they were fit enough to undergo Reikinbaku-ito.
Hitsugaya felt scalded by Unohana's scrutiny. Her gaze was unnerving while she traced her fingertip down his temple, applying pressure and prompting him to turn his face slightly to the side.
"I apologize for not having yet offered you my condolences for Lieutenant Hinamori's death" Unohana broached, her voice sweet as honeycomb. "I regret that she was beyond my help."
Hitsugaya averted Unohana's eyes for a while before bringing himself to look at her.
"If you weren't there, I would have died along with her," he replied. "You saved my life, Captain Unohana."
Unohana betrayed a faint smile before shifting into a stern look.
"A word of caution: do not let her death motivate your sword," she advised. "Vengeance will dull your blade while sharpening its handle. Fight with hatred and you will only succeed in defeating yourself. Understand?"
Hitsugaya's eyes widened. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded.
"Good," Unohana affirmed. "Your wounds have healed sufficiently. You are ready, Captain Hitsugaya."
Unohana rose back to her full height, masked attendants flanking her. Hitsugaya eyed the razor-thin thread the attendants were carrying, preparing himself. The procedure was going to be painful.
His screams were heard throughout the entire dojo. The surgeons were considerate enough to fit him with the Reikinbaku-ito as fast as they could, but there was no getting around the operation's horrific pain. It felt akin to vivisection. Hitsugaya was not given any painkiller for fear that it would dull his senses; training would have to begin swiftly to maximize the thread's beneficial properties.
Roughly one hundred years beforehand, the Gotei 13 suffered a calamity that practically halved their captain roster. The Shisonka was concerned that their weakened military force wouldn't be able to respond to any credible threats, and so they made a requisitions request up to the Soul King's Palace. They were sent back a gift from the Great Weave Guardian herself: a small bundle of Reikinbaku-ito.
The divine thread was a drastic training handicap that was to be used only when the Gotei's forces needed to be at their peak physical condition.
When woven through a soul's Reiryoku system, Reikinbaku-ito reoriented its wearer's Reiatsu distribution, gradually shutting it off entirely. Fatigue would set in, followed by a struggle to complete even simple movements.
However, the more arduously a Shinigami trained under those conditions, the greater their Reiryoku would grow. By the time the Reikinbaku-ito dissolved like sugar in tea, its wearer would have either regained the zenith of their power or pushed beyond their previous limitations.
=Soul Society's stockpile of Reikinbaku-ito was finite and fleeting; there were only enough threads left to weave through seven bodies. This proved to be an adequate amount for the 10 remaining members of the Gotei 13: Unohana recused herself from combat training with no questions asked. Jūshirō Ukitake's fragile health was deemed too great a liability for him to partake. Mayuri Kurotsuchi flatly refused and met no resistance.
After twenty minutes of acclimation, Hitsugaya followed the attendants into the hallway that led into Yamamoto's own personal dojo. He rubbed a hand over his forearm, marveling at the pulsating light that shimmered through his veins, a sign that the Reikinbaku-ito was wriggling its way through his body. He could already feel his Reiatsu dimming like an oil lamp set to a simmer.
"Just a moment, Captain Hitsugaya," the lead attendant said as they came to the dojo's entrance. "Captain Kuchiki has lasted longer than we anticipated; his session is still ongoing."
They waited for an elongated beat before the attendants heard some nigh-imperceptible sound of permission and pushed open the heavy oaken doors. Hitsugaya followed them into the cavernous dojo but halted when he laid eyes on Byakuya Kuchiki.
Byakuya was hunched over, planting his bokken into the ground for ballast. He was purple with bruises and panting profusely, blood and sweat dripping down his forearms and onto his wooden katana. He spotted Hitsugaya entering and, far too proud to be seen struggling, rose back to his full height. He stood perfectly poised for a brief moment, head held high, before collapsing into a heap.
The attendants rushed over, lifted the unconscious captain up, and carried him away.
"Excellent stamina, Captain Kuchiki," remarked the First Division's third seat, Genshirō Okikiba, who strolled around the dojo with two bokken swords in hand. "You were the most stubborn trainee so far."
Okikiba's wooden katanas were cracked and stained with blood; he had evidently beaten the restricted Byakuya to a pulp. The Third Seat had a disciplinarian air about him with his handsomely stern features: slicked-back white hair with a stripe of jet black running along the mane, a well-trimmed mustache overlaying his lips. He cast his steely eyes over to Tōshirō.
"Welcome, Captain Hitsugaya. Shall we begin?"
An attendant handed Hitsugaya a bokken. He accepted the weapon and assumed a Seigan No Kamaestance, giving an affirmative nod.
"Ow, ow, ow!" Shunsui Kyōraku groaned, struggling to raise his teacup.
He sat beside Jūshirō Ukitake on a grassy hillside tucked within the Thriteenth Division's compound, both of them served with steaming mugs of Sencha tea. Ukitake was taking leisurely sips while Shunsui was unable to even bring his to his lips.
"Training will be the death of me, Jūshirō," Shunsui lamented, fully feeling the hangover from his Reikinbaku-ito sparring. His Reiatsu blooming anew, but the ordeal had left his muscles agonizingly sore. He could barely move.
"You can stop exaggerating your injuries now," Ukitake teased. "We aren't trying to impress the girls at Shin'ō Academy anymore."
Shunsui made a sour face, feeling particularly stung that Ukitake would reference their skirt chasing days. It was a sensitive subject in their friendship: while the debonair Kyōraku scion had plenty of romantic success as the academy, it was actually Ukitake who boasted a higher tally of girlfriends. Sensitive and possessing a flirting style that was supple as water, Ukitake had accrued more admirers in his younger years than just about anyone.
"You don't know what it's like, Jūshirō," Shunsui sighed indignantly. "Having those needles stuck in me was torture; absolute torture. I wonder how the others are doing..."
He had finally managed to bring his tea up for a shaky sip, only to discover that it had become lukewarm.
"I believe Okikiba is training Captain Hitsugaya right now," Ukitake noted.
"Ah, he won't complain about the pain like I have, I'm sure," he mused. "That boy is so dedicated, it's frightening."
Hitsugaya was the least experienced of the Gotei 13 captains, but he nevertheless had the potential to surpass all of them. He became the youngest Shinigami to ever gain captain rank roughly twenty years beforehand and had aggressively trained ever since to improve his technique. Hyōrinmaru was a formidable Zanpakutō, but Hitsugaya was still too young to properly harness its full capability. If he were to finally master the dragon, he would probably prove to be the mightiest Shinigami since Yamamoto.
Shunsui wistfully dumped his cold Sencha onto the grass.
"Can I get some more tea, please?" he asked sheepishly.
"Just reach over and pour yourself a fresh cup," Ukitake suggested tauntingly, nodding to the teapot that was lying between them.
Shunsui chuckled and reached for the pot, his entire body shaking from strain.
"Absolute torture, Jūshirō..."
Over his trembling fingers, he spotted Rukia Kuchiki trudging several hillsides away. She was taking another one of her mandated strolls, soaking up the Seireitei's Reishi to replenish her spiritual pressure. He grimaced with sympathy.
"So, our dear Rukia isn't gonna get to compete, huh?"
"I'm afraid not," Ukitake replied, relenting on his tease and plucking up the teapot to pour Shunsui a fresh mug. "The Jūsankentaikai's rules are plain that you must be a seated officer to fight. Rukia has taken it in stride, but I know she yearns to be recognized along with the other lieutenants."
"Poor girl," Shunsui muttered, bringing his replenished tea up for a sip and struggling not to slosh it. "You really ought to make it up to her, Jūshirō."
"I may not have a good consolation to offer, but I'll spare her embarrassment," Ukitake nodded. "I will not consign her to sticking around and feeling ostracized during the tournament. There have been disturbing reports from the World of the Living, and I believe she is uniquely suited to investigate the threat..."
Class was in session at Karakura High School. While everyone else was writing down notes during Miss Ochi's lecture, Ichigo looked over curiously at Orihime, who was looking unusual today. She was clad in a striped white-and-orange collared top, a long yellow skirt, and a pair of glasses perched on her round face while her hair was tied pack into a ponytail.
Why's Orihime looking like a librarian today? Ichigo wondered. Does she have a new extracurricular or something?
The bell rang, signaling that class was over. Everyone began filing out.
"Ichigo, ya gotta get a load of this," Keigo squeaked to him as they made their way out into the hallway. "The new kid Shinji was raving about this ice cream spot last night. He says he can get us free scoops. We gotta go!"
"Right now?" Ichigo sighed, looking back at an indifferent Mizuiro and a grinning Shinji. "Ice cream's for dessert, isn't it?"
"Free ice cream is for anytime!" Keigo protested, his eyes welling up with indignant tears. "C'mon... you haven't hung out with us since last semester."
Ichigo halted, scanning Keigo and Mizuiro's faces. He did kind of owe them a proper hangout.
That's right, Kurosaki Ichigo... Shinji thought, his toothy grin stretching wide into a demented aperture. Be a good pal and come with us...
"Alright," Ichigo smiled. "Why not –?"
"Sorry, boys!" Tatsuki butted in, shoving Keigo, Mizuiro, and Shinji aside with one well-aimed kick and sending the trio spinning until they crashed into adjacent lockers. "Ichigo already promised to go to supper with us so we could work on our project some more. Isn't that right,Ichigo?"
Ichigo looked blankly at Tatsuki, remembering no such promise, but he could see fire in her eyes and was not in the mood to challenge her.
"Yeah, that's right," he said. "Sorry, guys. Another time!"
Shinji rubbed his smarting nose, watching Ichigo walking away with Tatsuki and Orihime yet again.
That girl is a serious pain in the ass, he thought. Now I gotta try a new plan tomorrow.
"Well, at least we can still go get ice cream, right Shinji?" Keigo nudged him. "Since you're brand new, I'll let you in on a secret: I gotta big ol' sweet tooth!"
"Eh, what?" Shinji blanched, realizing what his failed gambit had saddled him with.
"What's with the long face?" Mizuiro asked, arching an eyebrow. "You weren't lying about the free ice cream, right?"
Shinji was agitated enough to boil an egg on his forehead. After sucking in a deep breath, he managed another fake, toothy smile.
"Of course not, fellas!" he gritted through his oversized teeth. "Follow me."
Ichigo, Orihime, and Tatsuki entered Tsumugi's Kitchen, one of the more chic places to get ramen in Karakura Town. The Strawberry slunk down into their booth, feeling very confused as to why Tatsuki had brought him there. Orihime quietly sat down across from him, scooting to the side for Tatsuki to plunk down as well.
"So... what're we doing here?" Ichigo asked, absentmindedly flipping through the menu. "I already finished our project last night, remember? Unless you're gonna spot me a ramen, I'm not really –"
"Ichigo, I've got a question," Tatsuki interjected, gesturing to Inoue. "What do you think... of Orihime's outfit?"
Ichigo furrowed his brow, then looked to Orihime.
"Well you do look different today, Inoue."
"That's right; she's got a date tonight with a real hotshot," Tatsuki grinned, intently studying Ichigo's reaction. "Actually, she's not even in proper uniform just yet..."
She leaned over and undid the buttons on top of Orihime's blouse.
"There. That's how she's gonna look when her date arrives. We could really use your opinion on whether or not she's dressed to impress?"
Ichigo's jaw practically slammed onto the table. Orihime's conservative top was suddenly transformed into a cornucopia of bountiful cleavage, with her ample bosom practically spilling out from the slit. It was just about the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen in his life.
"W-what do I think?" he mumbled, feeling like he was gazing directly at the sun.
She's going on a date... with a guy... looking like THAT?!
He stared at Orihime with absolute mortification while she smiled back. Eventually, her smile sloped down into an uneasy grimace.
Oh no, she thought. He doesn't like it.
"Alright, Ichigo," Tatsuki said sharply, her patience evaporated. "A little less ogling, a little more affirmation, please."
Oh shit, Ichigo panicked. She's gonna think I'm a creep!
"Well... I kinda think she's revealing too much, to be honest," he said as matter of factly as he could muster. "I mean, her date might get the wrong idea about what kind of girl she is..."
Orihime's expression shrank until it could fit onto a coin. He thinks I'm a perverted exhibitionist!
"Excuse me?" Tatsuki gritted.
"I said I think she's revealing –"
"KUROSAKI ICHIGO!" Tatsuki roared, leaping up onto the table and slamming her foot straight down onto Ichigo's face. "How dare you talk about a lady like that!"
Everyone in the restaurant turned to watch the pixie-haired hellion savagely stomp her foot against the orange-haired punk's face again and again.
"When you're asked to comment on a girl's looks, you say she looks great no matter your actual opinion!" Tatsuki roared, repeatedly stomping him. "You never imply she's a harlot just because of her clothes. You... you pig!"
"Please stop, Tatsuki-chan!" Orihime pleaded, trying to pull her friend down with one hand while shielding her chest with another. "I appreciate the constructive feedback! Please stop, you're gonna break his nose!"
Ichigo sat back and accepted every kick. Deep down, he knew he deserved it.
I should have just gone with the free ice cream, he thought.
"Here we are!" Shinji announced to Keigo and Mizuiro, theatrically presenting a dingy cart manned by two bored-looking girls.
One of the ice cream sellers had raven hair with bangs and a braided ponytail slung over her shoulder, her turquoise eyes framed by oval-shaped red glasses.
Her medium height and bookish features made her look like a full-grown woman, while her colleague decidedly did not: the other scooper was a diminutive blondie with spiky pigtails, chestnut eyes, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks.
Both of them were garbed in sailor girl outfits replete with white-and-blue-striped caps, and neither looked enthused to be dishing out treats.
Keigo and Mizuiro looked at the shabby little cart with polite bafflement. They were in one of the seedier corners of Karakura Town, and it looked like the much-vaunted ice cream business had been established only that very morning and with a very tight budget.
"Best spot to get ice cream in Karakura Town," Shinji grinned phonily. "We'll all have a round on me; my treat for my new friends –"
"We serve snow cones, not ice cream," the short blonde scooper said flatly.
"Eh?" Shinji blushed. "Whaddya mean?"
"We're a snow cone business," the taller server asserted, pointing to the sign taped to their icebox:
The "Ice Cream" portion was crossed out with a big red marker, with "Snow Cones" scribbled over it.
"See?" the shorter server said tersely. "We serve snow cones and we've always served snow cones."
Shinji blinked several times in beffudlement before leaning in close between them.
"What the hell are you two doing?" he hissed.
"All of our attempts at making ice cream failed," Lisa Yadōmaru whispered back. "They all came out like sugar soup. Snow cones proved more do-able."
"You are blowing this operation!" Shinji whined.
"How about you pull up your big boy pants and IMPROVISE!" Hiyori Sarugaki snapped back, her voice louder than either Shinji or Lisa would have liked.
"Everything alright over there?" Mizuiro asked, observing from a couple yards away.
"Oh, we're good!" Shinji chuckled nervously, looking back at the teenagers and giving a bashful wave to beckon them over. "Silly me! Where I come from, ice cream and snow cones are interchangeable!"
"Where do you come from, again?" Mizuiro asked skeptically.
"Uh, from the West!" Shinji offered. "C'mon guys, it's all on me."
The two lads set aside their confusion, deciding that free snow cones were better than no ice cream. Keigo looked on in awe at the magenta ball of ice plunked down into a paper cup just for him.
"Oh my," he cooed, his eyes turning into rainbow stars before bursting like supernovas. He took a shovelful of the concoction and chomped on it, only to go completely cross-eyed when the brain freeze hit. He let out a deafening screech.
"Stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth," Mizuiro advised.
Hiyori and Lisa frowned at Shinji while Keigo spazzed out.
"I thought this Kurosaki guy was supposed to have carrot hair?" Hiyori asked.
"Neither of these guys are Ichigo," Shinji replied. "They're his friends."
"Then why are we even bothering with this charade?" Lisa whispered irately.
"Because I'm trying to maintain my cover, okay?"
"Oh yes, you're a real master of disguise," Lisa sighed derisively, taking off her glasses to rub her temples. "You thought you could lure a teenager with promises of ice cream? Idiot. How about we dangle something that would actually appeal to this Kurosaki brat?"
"That absolute asshole!" Tatsuki huffed while walking back home with Orihime. "Where does he get off on shaming you like that?"
"Oh, I'm so embarrassed, Tatsuki-chan," Orihime sniffled, buttoning her top up in shame. "He thinks I'm a pervert!"
Tatsuki turned back and snapped her fingers at Orihime to break her trance of despair.
"Hey, look at me," she commanded, deadly serious. "Only boys can be perverts. Got that?"
"But... what about Chizuru-chan?" Orihime welled up.
"She is the lone exception," Tatsuki replied.
They continued on their way, trudging somberly down the neighborhood.
"Do you want your shirt back?" Orihime sniffled.
"Nah, you've already stretched it out too much," Tatsuki sighed. "It'd fit me like a parachute now."
Ichigo closed the freezer and planted an icepack on his bloody nose.
"You got what you deserved, son," Isshin nodded from the stove, seasoning his signature stew. "You never tell a lady she's wearing too little. Remember: too little is just right."
"Gross," Karin frowned while unlacing her soccer cleats at the dinner table.
She was muddy from a rigorous scrimmage, her left knee lightly scraped. She regarded her big brother with a disappointed look.
"That was pretty messed up, Nii-Chan. Orihime's really nice; you shouldn't go insulting her. She can't help it if she's got big boobies."
"What is it with everyone obsessing over chest size?" Ichigo grumbled, taking a seat at the dinner table. "Tatsuki taught me the hard way that I said the wrong thing, alright? There's no such thing as modesty anymore. Got it!"
"Huge gazongas still freak you out, huh?" Karin asked sincerely.
"Enough!" Ichigo shouted, his brow furrowing with such passionate annoyance that it shot a bolt of pain through his smarting septum and made him wince. "You're all perverts, you know that? Dad's lechery has ruined this family!"
Isshin and Karin watched Ichigo exit the kitchen in a huff and listened to him stomp up to his room and slam his bedroom door shut.
"I haven't ruined our family, have I?" Isshin asked insecurely while continuing to stir the stew.
"Nope," Karin replied. "Despite your best efforts."
Orihime retired to her bedroom, bringing a framed picture of her brother Sora and perching it on her bed. She kneeled before the frame and prayed profusely while fighting back tears.
"Oh, Sora, I'm so sorry for the shame I've brought upon our family," she confessed, hands clasped. "Tell our ancestors I'm not that kind of girl, please? Kurosaki-kun must think so much less of me now –"
There was a sudden knock.
The rap didn't come from the door but from Orihime's bedroom window. She roved her head to the pane and her heart suddenly forgot to complete a beat: Ichigo was gazing at her from across the glass, his tiptoes resting superhumanly on the windowsill. He was clad in his Shinigami Shihakushō, visiting her like a nighttime apparition.
"Kurosaki-kun..." Orihime whispered, involuntarily releasing a tear down her swollen cheek.
Ichigo could have phased through the wall with his Shinigami form if he so wished, but he didn't want to intrude on Orihime's private space. Instead, he produced a slip of paper from his robes and slapped it onto the window:
I'M SO SORRY, INOUE, the crinkled message read. YOUR OUTFIT LOOKED GREAT.
He mouthed "I'm an idiot" as an addendum.
Orhime let out a gasp of relief and snorted back tears. Wiping a palm across her moist face, she gave Ichigo a beaming smile. She then added a thumbs up to make her forgiveness even more clear.
Ichigo smiled back. He mimed a cough, as if changing the subject, and flipped his note over.
DID YOUR DATE GO OKAY?
Orihime's eyes widened. She was frozen in awkwardness for a moment, then meagerly raised her other thumb up. When she realized that Ichigo was hoping for more enthusiasm, she started waving around both thumbs and nodded vigorously.
Ichigo felt a subtle pang of regret that swiftly shifted into complete relief. He hadn't completely ruined her night, thank goodness.
He smiled warmly at her for what seemed like a long time, then gestured to the skyline behind him. There were Hollows that needed hunting. Orihime caught his drift and playfully mimed shooing him away.
After giving her one last lingering look, he turned and bounded off into Karakura Town. Orihime watched his silhouette leap across several rooftops and disappear from view.
The Ishida household was a lonely place. Every square inch was furnished to an inch of its life with opulent trappings, from a grandfather clock adorned with a crystal pendulum to a flat screen television – a technological marvel that was barely available in the 2001 market – situated in the living room.
Most of the quarters had rungs of compactly stacked books lining the walls, detailing either medical knowledge or Quincy lore. Uryū's father may have rejected the Craft, but he still surrounded himself with the culture's regalia. There were insignias everywhere; the two stories were practically a shrine to Quincy identity.
Even though Ryūken renounced his late father, Sōken, he never threw out a single heirloom given to him by the old man.
Uryū was grateful for that much. Growing up neglected while surrounded by a trove of Quincy academia allowed him to read up on his peoples' history for hours on end, educating himself on the most complicated of spells. A lot of the prowess and technique that he used to surprise Mayuri Kurotsuchi came straight from the books arraying his childhood home.
Uryū was practicing a game of Go against himself in his private study, carefully plunking down his imaginary opponent's marble to further solidify a brilliant pattern. It was going to be difficult to outwit himself and prevail.
A crunch sounded out from the other room. A sizzling pop, like walnuts cracking. Uryū perked up at the discordant noise, but bolted upright when a particular scent reached his nostrils.
He knew it well; he last smelt it when he challenged Ichigo Kurosaki to a Hollow hunting competition.
No way.
Trying not to make a sound, he got up from his chair and slinked over into the kitchen. He slowly approached the marble island at the center of the room. It had crumbs of Hollow bait strewn across the surface.
A shard of panic splintered Uryū straight down the middle.
The icy fear gave way to a throbbing instinct of fight or flight. Something was rising up from the floor beneath him.
Uryū swan dived across the kitchen and barrel-rolled into a coiled pounce. The fabric of space where he had just been standing parted like a curtain and up rose a silhouette in the shape of a sarcophagus.
It had no arms; just a levitating cylinder of white with a gaping chasm at its center and a perforated fringe lining its shoulders. A cracked skull adorned its pale face, jagged teeth arraying a swollen, purplish tongue.
A Menos Grande?! Uryū observed, sweat beading down his brow. It was an even more complete Menos than the monster he faced the other night.
The Menos lolled out its impossibly long tongue and swung it like a whip, the appendage hissing across the kitchen and cleaving clean through the cabinets, island, and refrigerator, smashing everything into smithereens.
Uryū rolled away, narrowly missing the tongue's sweep. Shards of the kitchen's wreckage rained down as he sprung up and sprinted across the hallway.
The levitating ghoul silently followed him.
Uryū ran past a bookcase situated against the left wall and punched a strategically-slotted book as he sprinted by, triggering a trap. He looked back and saw the Menos following him with almost serene poise, its tongue lashing out again.
The muscle surged towards Uryū and nearly reached him before a guillotine composed of Reishi shot down from the ceiling and cleaved through the space between them. The energy blade sliced the tongue in two, sending the tip bouncing impotently off of Uryū's back and landing on the carpet to writhe mindlessly.
All of those hours spent secretly setting traps under his father's nose had finally paid off.
Uryū watched the Menos wail, flailing its butchered tongue indignantly and painting the walls with its blood. The fleshy stump bubbled and out sprouted a fresh tip, the beast's central limb pristinely regenerated. The Menos pressed on, undeterred.
It was like a repeat of his skirmish with Bloodmaw. But this time Kurosaki wasn't going to be there to save him.
I have to take its head.
He continued to sprint down the hallway, pulling back his sleeve and pinching a band wrapped around his bicep. He drew a cerulean-hued garrote and pulled it taut. Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned and ran down an iron staircase and down into the apartment's spacious library.
It was decadent, with shelves upon shelves of priceless books while stray armaments lay propped on the tables. Uryū skipped in a frenzy across the hall and leapt up onto a birchwood desk, spinning around to confront the beast.
The Menos entered the chamber like an exultant wraith and shot its tongue down towards Uryū with the velocity of a battering ram. The Quincy leapt up towards his attacker, his feet landing on the slick tongue and sliding upward like a skateboarder grinding on a rail. He waited until he was within a yard of the Menos and somersaulted over it, spreading his garrote across its face.
If he completed the flip, his Quincy thread would slice clean through the monster's head. Instead, the Menos' tongue slung around and wrapped around Uryū's left ankle, catching him mid-air.
In the space of a blink, Uryū was flung like a bola across the library. He landed with a splintering crash against a towering shelf of books, sliding down onto the rug while dozens of dislodged tomes rained down upon him.
The Menos roved in his direction with eerie poise and shot its tongue forward again. Uryū raised up a hardcover book as if to shield his face and simultaneously ducked, the surging tongue smashing through the tome and lodging itself between the buckling shelves.
Uryū rolled away from underneath the wriggling appendage and sprung back up, grasping an ornamental halberd propped up beside the bookshelf. He swung the staff across a vase perched on an adjacent table, smashing it open. Quincy Silver sloshed out from the broken pot, catching on the halberd's blade and igniting it with blue fire.
Uryū brandished his spiky torch while backing away from the Menos, sweeping the pole back and forth. The monster chanced a swing of its tongue once more, and Uryū speared his crackling halberd straight through it, the blade's hissing-hot Reishi melting the muscle.
The Menos retracted its bubbling tongue with a wail and then seeped down into the floor, as if submerging itself beneath ocean water.
Uryū stood alone in the library, struggling to steady his breath. The halberd's azure torchlight reflected off of his glasses, hiding the fear in his eyes.
It can reappear from any direction, he thought, trying to calm his mind and follow the Hollow Reiatsu's trajectory.
The mirror situated on the wall behind him cracked straight down the center, spidering the glass. Uryū looked back at his refracted reflection, only for it to burst apart as the Menos' tongue shout out straight at him.
Uryū cleaved his halberd down, only for the monster's tongue to snake along the staff and rip it from his grip. The Menos phased out from the wall, snapping the halberd in half and tossing its splinters aside. It shot its tongue forth again and caught Uryū right in the chest, sending him flying across the chamber and smashing against another bookcase.
Uryū groaned as the shelves ground against his back. The beast's appendage pressed him deeper against the shelf while it slowly floated towards him.
Suddenly, a blinding missile composed of pure light roared past, incinerating the Menos' tongue upon impact. Uryū felt the pressure leave his solar plexus and he fell onto his knees, clutching at his chest and gasping for air. He craned his head up and beheld his savior.
Ryūken Ishida stood at the library entrance, his white Heilig Bogen drawn and ready with another bolt of condensed Reishi. He cast a withering glare down at his son, then returned his attention to the monster.
The Menos reared upon its attacker, struggling to regenerate its cauterized tongue. Before it could sprout another, Ryūken fired a Heilig Pfeil straight through its skull. The Menos' entire top half erupted into viscera, spraying blood and innards onto Uryū.
"A Hollow's instant regeneration isn't that bothersome if you have enough brute force to put it down in one strike," Ryūken remarked.
He lifted up his elegant, creamy bow. There was a pulse, and the weapon shrunk down to the size of a knickknack in the palm of his hand. He tucked it into his coat's breast pocket, then produced a pack of cigarettes.
"I-I don't understand," Uryū stammered, the Menos' guts smearing his glasses. "Why?"
Ryūken lipped a cigarette from the cartridge and snapped his fingers, emitting a pinpoint spark to light it. After taking a long drag and exhaling savoringly, he began striding towards his son.
"Why did I lure that Hollow into our home?" he mused, blowing a velvety waft of smoke. "I wanted to see whether I was imagining things or if you really did throw away your meagre powers. Even if we sacrifice our Craft, our lineage hangs around us in the form of Reikyō. Your genetic stink has been catnip for Hollows this whole time."
"I mean why are you armed with a Quincy bow?" Uryū gasped, completely shellshocked. "Why did you just fire a Heilig Bowen? Why? Why do you have Quincy powers? You renounced us."
"Us?" Ryūken sneered. "You speak as though you are the Quincy and I am a mere man. The reverse is true: my powers are harder to get rid of than yours were. Whether I like it or not, I am the sole heir to the knowledge and skills of Ishida Sōken. I am the last true Quincy, and the craft will die with me. Now, come."
He dropped his cigarette and ground it with his shoe before strolling away.
Uryū took a moment to determine whether he had any broken bones, counting one cracked rib, then shuffled up and limped after his father. Ryūken wordlessly led Uryū into a corner of the apartment that he had always been forbidden from entering. They came upon a stainless steel door with a combination pad to the right.
"Avert your eyes," Ryūken ordered.
Uryū begrudgingly looked away while his father entered the passcode. The door unsealed with a groan and slid open, revealing a fully stocked armory of Quincy weaponry.
"You've got to be kidding me," Uryū cursed under his breath.
He could have really used such an armory before leaving for Soul Society. He may not have even needed to sacrifice his powers if that were the case.
He stepped inside and marveled at the assortment of treasures. Many of the objects were familiar to him; he had read about them in his grandfather's books but never dreamed of seeing them in person.
"Since you don't have the ability to utilize any of these weapons anymore, I see no harm in revealing them to you," Ryūken said while sorting through a shelf. "Here. This charm will make you less of an appetizing target."
He drew back a silver chain laced through a thumb-sized Quincy cross and handed the necklace to Uryū.
"Wear this to suppress your Reikyō. You'll still be useless against Hollows, but you will no longer be singled out by them."
Uryū looked at his father uneasily before accepting the charm and wreathing it around his bruised neck. They wordlessly exited the armory, the door sealing behind them.
"You should have told me about your situation immediately," Ryūken chided him. "Your demise would have been inevitable and swift without my intervention."
He turned away and began strolling down the hallway.
"Ryūken," Uryū called after him. "When you said you're heir to grandfather's knowledge… does that include how to restore a Quincy's power?"
Ryūken turned back and glared at his son with acute annoyance.
"Go to bed," he said before turning away again and resuming his stride. "Tomorrow morning I'll send for cleaners to come and fix the mess you've made of my kitchen and library. You can pay them with your own savings."
A light chill swept through the Sixth Division Barracks that morning. Renji insisted on delivering Captain Kuchiki's breakfast personally. Holding the tray with both hands, he slid open the shoji with his big toe and stepped in, only to find Byakuya upright in bed and going through mail.
"You're up already?" Renji remarked with surprise.
The captain had arrived back the previous evening seemingly comatose from his Reikinbaku-ito training. Yet here he was, casually sorting letters a mere eight hours later.
"We've received special instructions from the Shisonka," Byakuya said, holding up an ornate parchment. "They have forbidden you from using Bankai during the Jūsankentaikai."
"Oh?" Renji blushed, setting the tray of steamed rice and Kobachi beside the bed. "They really said that?"
"They believe it would give you an unfair advantage and spoil the competition," Byakuya continued, folding the letter up and setting it aside. "You will have to try and win with your Shikai alone."
He reached over for his rice, his hands trembling with fatigue. Much to his annoyance, Renji plucked up the bowl and handed it to him. Byakuya begrudgingly accepted the dish.
"Do these orders displease you?" the captain asked.
"I mean, I would have prefer to give it my all," Renji admitted. "Limiting myself doesn't seem like the warrior's way."
Byakuya's eyes narrowed with disdain.
"You will be competing against warriors who have honed their current, honest level with more experience and even greater skill." he said ruefully. "You would dishonor them and the Sixth Company by trying to win with an amateur Bankai that you achieved through underhanded means."
Renji's face sunk into a grimace.
Underhanded means.
"Well then I guess Shikai's good enough for me," he grumbled.
Gym class was in session at Karakura High School, with the field's grass still moist from morning dew. Ichigo dashed across the slick ground and brought his cleat smashing against a rolling soccer ball.
The sphere rocketed straight across half the field and whipped right past Tetsuo Momohara's head. The goalie blinked in stunned amazement and looked back to see the ball still spinning against the net. Another point to Kurosaki's team; the standing score was 7-0.
Ichigo had always been a gifted athlete, but his prowess shot through the roof ever since he became a Shinigami Deputy. Even in his human body, all of the coordination and reflexes he had honed through training gave him Olympian prowess. Little did everyone know, he was actually holding back on his awe-inspiring kicks for fear of ripping a hole through the goal net.
"Sheesh, nice shot, Kurosaki," remarked Satoda Arai, the appointed team captain who also happened to be vice president of Karakura High School's soccer club. "Y'know, we could really use you on the team."
"Not interested," Ichigo replied breathlessly, already jogging off to run defense.
All that talent wasted on such a dick, Satoda thought.
Chad, with his burly legs exposed beneath tight-fitting soccer shorts, watched from the opposing net, playing as team goalie.
Ichigo's become a real showoff, he thought. And to think I used to be first pick in class matches.
Ichigo regained control of the ball and darted it back towards Tetsuo, only for Tatsuki to leap up from behind and kick him square across the head. The Strawberry yelped and somersaulted through the air before face-planting into the dirt.
Keigo, clad in a referee uniform, irately blew his whistle and threw up a red card.
"Foul play!" he declared. "You're out, Arisawa!"
Tatsuki gave a shrug and skipped away to the sidelines, looking thoroughly satisfied. Ichigo nursed his goose egg and watched her stride off, understanding full well that that was payback for the day before, when he shamed Orihime for her outfit.
Tatsuki returned to the bleachers, her teammates shooting her disapproving looks. The captain surveyed their remaining players and pointed at Shinji.
"Hirako, you're up!"
Tatsuki grimaced while watching Shinji take to the field. The guy still gave her the creeps.
"Sorry about my teammate back there, Ichigo," Shinji called out to the Strawberry, hustling over to him and offering a helping hand. "Whatever happened to sportsmanship, amiright?"
"I kinda had it coming, to be honest," Ichigo replied as Shinji helped hoist him back up onto his feet.
Ichigo, chastened, decided to hang back and play defense when the game resumed.
Just focus on protecting your goal, he thought. Stop trying to be the star.
The ball came spinning his way and he reared up to kick it back towards the opposing side of the field. Suddenly, when his foot was within two inches of connecting with the sphere, Shinji whipped past and daintily snaked it away from him.
Ichigo nearly spun around and fell in surprise as the new kid expertly guided the ball across the grass, charging towards Chad.
Chad braced himself, sensing immediately that this would not be a goal kick he could easily fend off. Shinji came within five yards and brought his cleat up in a swish, bending the ball in a curving arc that completely bypassed Chad's hulking frame. The ball landed against the net like a hen taking a seat on her nest.
Everyone fell into hushed silence. It was the first time anyone had ever landed a goal against Chad.
Just who the heck is this guy?! Tatsuki wondered, watching Shinji with suspicion.
The second half of the match proved that the new kid's shot was no fluke. Soon enough, the score was tied at 7-7.
Ichigo squared up against Shinji, trying desperately to kick the ball away from him. It was to no avail: Shinji artfully smuggled the sphere right past him and skipped his merry way to landing another goal against a flummoxed Chad. The unthinkable had happened: the team without Kurosaki and Sado won.
"Good game, Hirako," Ichigo panted, wearing a smile amidst the dirt smearing his face. It had been a long time since he had met his athletic match.
"Just beginner's luck," Shinji smiled back, accepting Ichigo's handshake. He pulled the Strawberry in close and whispered into his ear: "You're pretty good, too. Want to make things interesting?"
"Interesting how?" Ichigo asked.
"I'm a better offensive player than goalie, but I'm still pretty damn good at goalkeeping," Shinji grinned. "I'll give you one shot on me; if you can score the goal, I'll give ya these."
Shinji produced a mysterious-looking envelope that was sealed with a blot of wax shaped into an upturned fist. "An invitation to Karakura Town's most exclusive nightclub, the Retrograde Masquerade. There'll be booze, music, and girls – but it's strictly exclusive. Only those with an invite may enter and party. I've got two tickets; you can have my spare if you win. How's that sound?"
Ichigo frowned. "But what if you win?"
"That Satoda guy keeps asking you to join the Soccer Club, right?" Shinji recalled. "If I win, you gotta take him up on his offer. We got a deal?"
The stakes were raised high enough for Ichigo to be intrigued: the last thing he wanted was an extracurricular activity that would cut into his Shinigami Deputy duties. Losing this bet would actually cost him. That made it all the more irresistible.
"Deal."
The whole class sat back on the bleachers and watched in breathless anticipation as Ichigo and Shinji got into position. Nobody had ever gotten the better of Kurosaki on the field before, so the hype around this new kid was palpable. Classmates made low-stakes bets among themselves over who would prevail.
Chad and Tatsuki scrutinized Shinji, each for their own different reasons. Tatsuki wondered what Shinji's true intentions were while Chad grimly observed that it shouldn't even be possible for any normal person to outplay Ichigo.
I don't know if Ichigo's realized it yet, Chad thought. There is something inhuman about this Hirako Shinji.
Ichigo stood on the field and stared Shinji down, the soccer ball waiting between them.
Shinji grinned while breaking into a defensive crouch.
That's right, Kurosaki Ichigo, he thought. Win your prize and then enter my domain tonight. I'll have you all to myself, and we can finally get properly acquainted.
Ichigo took a deep breath, finding his zen and waiting for the precise moment.
Now.
He dashed forward and smashed his toe straight against the soccer ball, sending it into a flurrying spin. The ball shot forth in a spiraling trajectory, like a bird repeatedly adjusting mid-flight. Ichigo landed in a perfect split, his legs cleaving across the moist grass. He watched eagerly as his missile reached Shinji in a blink.
Shinji's bowl cut jostled when he launched up to deflect the ball, trying to catch it with his chin. Too late: the sphere missed him by an inch and smashed through the net, burning a smoking hole straight through it. The goalpost skidded back a yard, like a leaf carried by wind.
The entire class's faces roved in unison as they followed the soccer ball's trajectory across the field, over the fence, and into the faculty parking lot. It landed onto the pavement with a crunch, mercifully missing any of the teachers' cars.
"Nice shot, Ichigo!" Shinji panted, hands on his knees. "You got me good."
He trotted over to the splayed-out Ichigo and produced the spare Retrograde Masquerade ticket.
"You won this fair and square."
"No I didn't," Ichigo huffed, glaring up at him accusingly. "You threw that match, didn't you?"
Shinji frowned.
How the hell does he know I held back? Kid must have the senses of a hawk.
"Look, believe what you want, but you won a ticket to the best party in town," Shinji insisted, shoving the envelope into Ichigo's hands. "The address is inscribed inside. I'll see you there tonight."
"I know you let me win!" Ichigo barked, springing back up to his feet. "Just who the hell are you, Hirako Shinji?"
"What is your deal, dumbass?" Shinji cried with exasperation. "I just invited you to an underground music scene and you're complaining? Do you hate fun? Are you a grandpa at heart or something?"
"I don't have time for something like that," Ichigo gritted, squeezing the envelope in his fist. "I just wanted to prove I could beat you."
"Well congratulations, you beat me!" Shinji hissed. "Now stop whining like a sore winner and accept your prize!"
Ichigo wordlessly stomped past Shinji and over to Keigo.
"Here, Keigo," he said, shoving the envelope into his hands. "Take this; I don't want it. Have fun tonight."
Shinji, completely dumbstruck, watched Ichigo trudge off the field.
What kind of a 15-year-old rejects a party invitation?!
"Looks like it's gonna be me and you at the club tonight, Shinji old pal!" Keigo said excitedly, throwing an arm over the stone-faced Hirako's shoulder. "Say, can you wingman me? I get a little nervous around –"
Shinji snatched the invitation from Keigo's hand and tore it up in a frenzy, his face turning scarlet with rage.
"That's it! I've had it with this mission! I quit! I quit high school!"
The entire class watched the irate newbie storm off the field. Keigo stood in stunned silence, looking down at the torn remnants of his party invite. He looked back at the rest of his classmates and gave a baffled shrug.
"You can just quit high school?"
"What do you mean they've gone missing?" Yamamoto grumbled.
He eyed Retsu Unohana from his chair while attendants massaged his exhausted muscles. He had only undergone Reikinbaku-ito two days beforehand and was still recovering. The old man's sinewy torso was crisscrossed with battle scars, the deep grooves attesting to countless wars.
"The entire squadron has vanished without a trace," Unohana repeated, her head bowed ever so slightly. "SDRI lost contact with them shortly after they entered the World of the Living."
Earlier that day, SDRI received an SOS from a Shinigami patrol in the World of the Living. The message explicitly asked for medical help after a costly battle with a Hollow, so Unohana dispatched six healers to go and provide relief.
The small collection of Fourth Division medics then promptly disappeared. SDRI later analyzed the original call for help and discovered that it was an expertly fabricated fraud.
"Is this Aizen's doing?" Yamamoto pressed.
"Perhaps," Unohana replied softly. "But these were six of my healers. They aren't fighters. My assumption is that they have been kidnapped rather than killed. Which begs the question: what need does Aizen have of our healers?"
The chamber was cavernous and illuminated by a desultory light, as if carved out from moon rock. A polished Gramophone warbled from the corner, playing an ecstatic operetta.
Into the fire I'm burning
I will give up all I have to give
Don't be afraid of the darkest hour
I'll shine for you.
Ereda Kyutari never thought he would be forced to treat Soul Society's most wanted man. Yet there he was, trying to heal Sōsuke Aizen.
The nightmare began when SDRI received an emergency request for medical assistance in the World of the Living. Ereda, the Sixth Seat of the Fourth Division, led five healers to go and provide assistance.
When they arrived, they weren't greeted by Shinigami but by a hulking beast who looked like a Hollow. They never stood stand a chance and were subdued with ease, then taken through what seemed to be some sort of alien portal.
It had all been a blur; all Ereda could remember was passing through a void and being delivered at Kaname Tōsen's feet. He and his men were then escorted through a series of dark passageways until they were brought before Aizen himself, sitting on a stone-carved chair and looking gravely ill.
The medics were told to heal him or be put to the sword. Some resisted, but Ereda ordered them all to comply. So they took turns, one by one, with each attempt proving fruitless.
Ereda was try again, his golden Kaidō glowing like candlelight over Aizen's injuries. The traitor captain looked horrific: his right eye was completely bloodshot while a trail of burst veins scrawled like a purple spiderweb from his throat down to his right arm. Ereda tried, but the wounds would not heal.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do," he admitted, his palms slick with sweat. "I've never seen an ailment like this before. Whatever is happening to you cannot be repaired by Kaidō."
Tōsen unsheathed Suzumushi and brought its edge within an inch of the medic's neck.
"Are you actually trying to heal Lord Aizen, or are you playing us for fools?" the blind man seethed.
Ereda gulped, his bobbing adam's apple close to grazing the blade's edge. He had found Tōsen to be such a reassuring figure back when the blind Shinigami was a member of the Gotei 13. But now, Tōsen just seemed terrifying.
Into the fire
My courage is so
My spirit passed to you
"He is making an honest effort, Kaname."
Aizen rose to his full height, gazing down at Ereda with congenial warmth. He reached down and cupped the medic's chin with the upmost gentleness.
"If he could heal me, he would. He has tried his best. Not just because the lives of his compatriots are on the line, but because he comes from the Fourth Division and swore an oath to treat all Shinigami's injuries. He is a noble man who upholds his vow to heal the sickly, no matter the circumstance."
Ereda looked up in awe at Aizen. The traitor still had the warmest voice he had ever heard. The medic felt a profound relief wash over him.
I have no choice
My own sacrifice
Is something I have to do
"I thank you for your integrity, Kyutari Ereda," Aizen said sweetly. "However, it seems that you and your subordinates won't be of any help to me, and we can't just return you all to Soul Society. How do we solve this dilemma, Kaname?"
Tōsen's Zanpakutō cleaved cleanly across Ereda's neck, severing his head from the stump. Aizen held the healer's disembodied face for a moment, studying its shocked expression, then dropped it onto the floor with a fleshy thunk. He cast his chestnut eyes over to the remaining medics and watched them cower.
"I thank you all for your efforts."
On cue, Tōsen flash-stepped past the squadron, leaving fatal cuts carved into each of them. All five dead Shinigami simultaneously collapsed into a heap.
Into the fire I'm burning
I will give up all I have to give
Tōsen whipped the blood clean from his katana and sheathed it shut.
"I will go fetch someone to clear out the carcasses." he said. "Please conceal your wounds before they arrive; no one can see you like this. Ichimaru least of all."
Tōsen made his leave while Aizen stood alone amidst the massacre. Paying the bodies no mind, he examined his own hand with clinical fascination. It was like a corpse's limb, purple and withered.
Don't be afraid of the darkest hour
I'll shine for you
The moon beamed in the night sky, bathing Ichigo's silhouette in silver light. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, fast-approaching a Hollow.
There's more of these freaks popping up than ever before, he thought. I wonder if it has anything to do with Aizen?
The Hollow was grazing along a children's playground of all places. The beast was green and the size of a truck, with a spiky vertebrae running down its back. It noticed Ichigo's approach and reared up its head, letting out a deafening snarl.
The Shinigami Deputy reached back for Zangetsu, the massive blade shrugging off its bandage scabbard. It was time to take out the trash.
Suddenly, a shadow whipped right past Ichigo and punctured straight through the Hollow, cutting it cleanly in half.
In that instant, Ichigo felt a massive spiritual pressure. He hadn't sensed anything comparable since he left the Soul Society. The spike in power vanished as quickly as it had appeared, only apparent in the precise moment the mysterious interloper cut through the Hollow.
The wailing monster withered away while its killer stood poised beneath the embers, holding a red-hilt katana aloft. This interloper was a familiar silhouette, 5'9" in height and clad in a Karakura High School uniform. Ichigo could recognize the blonde bowl cut peeking out around the edges of the Shinigami's white hood.
"Sorry to steal your kill like that," a distorted voice warbled. "I guess I'm better than you at soccer and Hollow slaying, huh?"
The figure looked back and revealed a skull in the shape of a pharaoh's mask. Intricate, vertical grooves ran across the bone-white visor, with gray irises peeking out through completely black eyes, like chinks of stone looming in a dark void.
"Who are you?" Ichigo asked, his grip instinctively tightening around Zangetsu's hilt.
"Don't you recognize your own classmate, Ichigo?" the skull replied.
The stranger waved a hand across his face, the white mask melting away on command. The boney material gave way to Shinji Hirako's grinning visage.
"Shinji?" Ichigo cried incredulously. "What the hell is going –?"
"Shh," Shinji shushed, bringing a finger to his lips. "Don't shout, Ichigo. They're listening."
Before Ichigo could retort, Shinji was already beside him and grabbing the scruff of his Shihakushō, whisking him away in a galvanizing gust of Shunpo. Everything around Ichigo was a blur until he was slammed up against a brick wall in an alleyway.
"I wanted to do this more covertly, without showing my powers," Shinji whispered, his head bowed and palm pinning Ichigo's shoulder to the wall. "Y'see, this particular Gigai suppresses my Reiatsu when I'm at ease, but there's no stopping some of it from leaking out when I flex. I don't like announcing myself in public, where they can detect me. Understand?"
"What do you want?"
"I just want us to be friends," Shinji grinned. "I tried to break the ice through your human life first, but turns out you're just not that interested in getting to know everyday mortal people anymore, huh?"
"You were wearing a Hollow mask back there," Ichigo said. "What are you? A Hollow or a Shinigami?"
"I'm both," Shinji chuckled.
He finally lifted his eyes to meet Ichigo's stupefied stare, his smile broadening into a dementedly wide crescent.
Ichigo struggled but couldn't budge from the wall, his protestations muffled by Shinji's palm.
A Visored? What the hell is a Visored? Who the hell is this –
"Oh, cut it out with those 'who the hell is this guy?' eyes," Shinji sighed, releasing Ichigo's mouth and giving him a condescending pat on the cheek. "Relax. I come in peace –"
Ichigo chanced a swing of Zangetsu, only for the butcher blade to swipe across dead air. He looked around in amazement: Shinji had disappeared faster than his eyes could perceive.
"What the hell, man?" Shinji sighed from above.
Ichigo looked up and spotted the Edelweiss-looking creep standing preternaturally on the alley wall, as if his feet were suctioned to the brick.
"You're a real pain in the ass, y'know that?" Shinji growled, shouldering his katana. "Whether it's free ice cream, club tickets, or just leveling with you man to man, you're reallyagainst making new friends, huh?"
"I've already got enough friends," Ichigo gritted, squeezing Zangetsu's handle tightly. "That was a pretty crazy spiritual pressure you showed back there, but it came and went in an instant, like flipping a light switch. How'd you do that?"
Shinji grinned wide and pinched his own cheek, stretching it and then letting it snap back like a rubber band.
"I already told you; this Gigai hides my Reiatsu," he answered impishly. "It lets me walk amongst all you breathers unnoticed, but without sealing away my spiritual power for good. Modern technology's crazy, right? But this flesh suit's not so good at hiding my power when I'm fighting. I try to maintain a low profile."
"So that's why you pretended to be a student?" Ichigo pieced together. "You've been stalking me this whole time."
Shinji's grin dropped into a frown. He launched himself off from the wall and landed back on the ground in a fluid flip.
"Don't flatter yourself," he said sourly. "I was merely trying to make contact with you without stirring up any mess. Coming out here and stylin' was the last resort; I wouldn't have risked it there weren't lives on the line."
"Whose lives?"
"The lives of everybody you know," Shinji warned. "You've got a nasty parasite inside of you that's just raring to take over, dont'cha Ichigo? Without my help, you're an immediate danger to this entire town."
Ichigo's blood ran cold. The only other person who had witnessed his Hollow transformation was Byakuya Kuchiki on Sōkyoku Hill, but this Shinji character didn't seem to be associated with the Gotei 13. How could he have learned about it?
"You're the one who was wearing a Hollow's face just a minute ago," Ichigo countered. "Who do you work for? Soul Society... or Aizen?"
Shinji scrunched up an eyebrow in surprise and broke into a cackle, revealing a circular piercing looped through the center of his tongue.
"Neither!" he laughed. "I'm definitely no friend of Aizen's, but I don't answer to Soul Society, neither. I'm a Visored: a Shinigami who rides around with a Hollow in his passenger seat."
"So you're just a freak?" Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "Sorry, but I'm nothing like you."
"You think the Shinigami are gonna stay friendly when they discover your cranky side?" Shinji questioned, cocking his head inquisitively. "They'll put you down like vermin. That's how they deal with our kind."
"Stop saying our kind," Ichigo gritted. "Whatever it is you want from me... my answer's no."
With that, he vanished from the alleyway with a flash step.
He's got some impressive Hohō, Shinji thought while observing the stray newspapers that billowed in Ichigo's wake. Too bad he's slow in the mental department.
"What the hell was that?" a spiky voice squeaked from behind a nearby trashcan.
Shinji looked back and spotted two telltale blonde pigtails peeking out from behind the lopsided bin.
"Hiyori? What're you doing here?"
Hiyori Sarugaki rose up from behind the trash barrel, her face pink with annoyance. She kicked up her left sandal and caught it in mid-air. Closing the distance between them in a mere second, she brought the shoe's sole cracking down across Shinji's head with punishing force.
"I wanted to see you blow the mission with my own two eyes, just so we could skip yer excuses afterwards!" she hissed. "You didn't say any of the things we went over as a team! Oh nooo, you just had to go ahead and be all ominous, huh Mr. Big Creep Energy?"
"Hey, cut it out!" Shinji pleaded, shielding his smarting cranium.
He retreated from the alleyway while Hiyori gave chase, the pint-sized hellion smacking him repeatedly over the head.
"Ow! Ow! Owee! Stop it!"
The pixelated plane burst into flames and plunged down into the sea. The horde of alien saucers overtook the screen, continuing their invasion of the Earth unchallenged.
GAME OVER
Chad leaned back and rubbed his bleary eyes. He had been playing Invaders Must Die for hours on end. Every day he trudged out to the corner shop at 4 a.m. and played until school started, then returned immediately after class and played until he had to go home and rest. The intense practice had been taking a toll, but at least he was improving.
His vision recovered just in time to watch his new record flash across the screen.
HIGHEST SCORES OF ALL TIME
Straydog... 999,975
Strawberry... 688,345
Gigante... 550,010
Chad smiled softly: his latest score was 560,820. He had finally beaten his personal record from way back watched with pride as his new high score supplanted his original third place showing in the pantheon.
His codename, Gigante, rested a comfortable distance behind Ichigo's all-time score, codenamed Strawberry. Both of them were way behind Straydog, the mysterious and undisputed champion of the game.
"Wonder who Straydog could be," Chad remarked Ichigo after their first time playing the game.
"Beats me, but whoever he is, he's crazy good at this game," Ichigo replied. "How about we keep working at it until we knock him off his perch? You and me."
Chad's smile grew wide, his eyes turning wistful. It was a fond memory.
Takashi Murakami took a break from sweeping the floors to peek over Chad's shoulder, spying his achievement.
"Way to go, Sado!" the shopkeeper congratulated him with a backslap. "You've finally surpassed yourself!"
"It's a start," Chad replied, hanging his head. "I'm still not where I need to be."
"And where would that be?"
Chad cast the little man a weary smile.
"When Ichigo and I first met, we were competitive with each other," he explained. "We both excelled at fighting, but we didn't want to cross fists. So we tried to one-up each other here, in this shop. We cemented our friendship by playing Invaders Must Die together. We vowed to keep getting better."
"You two were pretty neck-and-neck at this game for a while, if memory serves," Takashi interjected.
"That's right," Chad nodded. "But eventually Ichigo improved to the point where I couldn't catch up with him. He never held back because he knew that would insult my pride, but match after match he would beat me by a higher and higher margin while I plateaued. I had reached my limit while he had no limit. One day, without words, we agreed to stop."
Miss Harumi stuck her head out from the back office.
"You both stopped on the day I banned the both of you for the crimes of loitering and hooliganism!" she clarified.
"Oh, let the boy speak, my love!" Takashi called back to her. "Please continue, Sado."
"No, she's right: we officially retired the game when we were banned from your store," Chad admitted, chuckling. "But we also ceased competing after that. Ichigo had already proven he was better than me, but he didn't want to rub my nose in it. I didn't mind; I was happy to keep trying. Even if I couldn't ever catch up with him."
"So how come this game's so important to you again, after all this time?" Takashi wondered.
Chad reflected on their first day back at school after returning from Soul Society, when he and Orihime accompanied Ichigo to go slay a Hollow.
"You know... I could've handled this guy by myself," Ichigo had told them. "You guys didn't have to cut class."
The comment was innocuous enough, and correct, but it lingered with Chad afterwards. It stung.
"Ichigo has an important job now, and I want to help him," he answered. "But he doesn't think he needs my help anymore. And he might be right. But I need to convince him and myself that it's possible for me to not only reach his level, but to surpass it."
He slapped a hand on the arcade tower.
"And I can't think of a better arena to prove myself in than this one."
During nighttime, the Bushishinzui Budōkan was pale and bereft of glamour. It was one of the most ancient structures in the Seireitei and its age showed throughout its cracked veneer, from its weather-beaten terraces to its craggy stadium seating.
However, when morning crested over Soul Society and shined its light onto the Bushishinzui Budōkan, its muted stone was invigorated. When basking in daylight, the amphitheater radiated a sunburnt shimmer that washed across its tiers like sloshing champagne. It was one of the great wonders of the spiritual world.
The coliseum, 120 meters tall and 30 acres in diameter, was cloistered against the Southern Red Hollow Gate, right where the borders of the Sixth and Tenth Districts kissed. When the Jūsankentaikai commenced, a special gate that led directly into the coliseum would be lifted and Rukongai residents fortunate enough to acquire tickets would be ushered inside to watch matches from the stands.
Sui-Fēng stood at the center of the ground-level arena, gazing up at it all. She was tasked with overseeing the tournament grounds' restoration.
The captain swiped her foot across the dusty tiles before her, sending up a billow of soot.
There's six inches of dirt caked onto this ring, she surmised. Our craftsmen will need to polish every nook and cranny of this place to make it presentable for the Shisonka.
Fortunately, Captain Mayuri was gracious to loan her the Twelfth Division's laborers, who were the most exacting and speedy builders in all of Soul Society. The restoration would take less than an hour.
Marechiyo Ōmaeda ambled up beside her, using his right hand as a visor against the sunlight while he gazed up at the towering parapets encircling them.
"What a dump," he snorted. "Who even decided this tournament's worthwhile? It wouldn't be the first needless tradition in Soul Society."
Suí-Fēng's eyes nearly rolled back into her head while she resisted smacking Ōmaeda upside his.
"What's with that look, Captain?" he asked nervously, realizing he may have perturbed her.
"Do you know how I positioned myself to become Captain of the Second Division and Commander of the Onmitsukidō?" she asked rhetorically. "I set the stage for my advancement by fighting well during the last Jūsankentaikai.
"I was only a Third Seat then, but our sitting lieutenant came down with the shits and I was tapped to compete minutes before the first match. I surprised the entire Gotei 13 by making it to the semi-final round. From then on, I was paid special attention by Genryūsai. I may never have attained Bankai had I not been given the training afforded prospective captains. Do you know who else fought in that tournament?"
"I... I don't especially recall –"
"Komamura Sajin and Kuchiki Byakuya," Suí-Fēng answered. "All of us earned Soul Society's respect right here in this ring. The Jūsankentaikai is where names are made in the Gotei 13."
"Wow," Ōmaeda said softly, marveling at everything with a newfound appreciation. "So you're saying that this tournament will set me on course for a captain position?"
Suí-Fēng's face contorted into a viper's snarl. She had to hold back every fibre of her body to resist smacking Õmaeda upside the head.
"I'm saying that the Jūsankentaikai has a prestigious history, and you better apply yourself," she clarified. "All of the Tenrai-chōs will be watching."
She pointed to the four box seats spaced evenly across the coliseum.
"The north box is for Ise Clan, the east for Kuchiki Clan, south is for Shihōin Can, and the west box is for the Tsunayashiro Tenrai-chō. I forbid you from embarrassing me and Second Company in front of them all."
Ōmaeda gulped: he hadn't accounted for the possibility of stage fright. Having to fight in front of royalty was a lot of pressure.
"Is it really such a good idea to have the royals crowded in with all the Rukon rabble?" he wondered, trying to change the subject. "Shoving our best and greatest right where they'll be a stone's throw away from peasants sounds pretty foolhardy."
"Every Tenrai-chō will be accompanied by their Shikōtai guard, along with captains of the Gotei 13 as additional security," Suí-Fēng noted ruefully. "Any Rukon who comes too close will be obliterated."
"Why do we even let Rukon in here?" Ōmaeda pressed. "You could easily this entire stadium with proper Seireitei citizens."
"We let them in because it's a time-honored tradition that keeps the peace," Suí-Fēng continued. "The Jūsankentaikai has appeased the Rukongai for centuries. A few days of spectacle is enough to buy us decades of goodwill. Can you even recall the last Rukongai rebellion that came anywhere near the Seireitei?"
Ōmaeda could not recall any such rebellion. Rukongai revolts were more commonplace the farther out you traveled from the Seireitei, but it'd been a long time since the closest districts kicked up a fuss.
"Even so, this is wartime," he pouted. "You'd think we'd prioritize the Shisonka's safety over putting on a show. What if Hollows decide to attack?"
Suí-Fēng let out an exasperated sigh and gestured to the walls looming around them.
"The Bushishinzui Budōkan is built entirely from Sekkiseki," she revealed. "This whole coliseum is a Seireiheki within the Seireiheki, providing us with all the protection we need. No portal can open up inside here. When the Jūsankentaikai commences, this will be the safest place in all of Soul Society."
Ōmaeda's mouth dropped in awe. He spun around, becoming excited.
"What a place!" he clucked. "It's going to such a fitting stage for my victory –"
Suí-Fēng struck her gloating lieutenant right upside the head, sending him skidding across the field and crashing into a dilapidated latrine.
"What you were doing just now - that's exactly how I don't want you to behave in front of the Shisonka." she muttered.
Renji Abarai ventured over to the Eleventh Division Barracks to see how Ikkaku Madarame was faring in his preparations for the tournament.
"I'm doing just fine," Ikkaku chuckled while sparring with Yumichika Ayasegawa. "Win, lose... it's just gonna be a bit of fun!"
He whisked his bokken katana within a centimeter of Yumichika's beautiful face, the sheer kinetic friction from his swing singing the Fifth Seat's brow.
"Watch it!" Yumichika cried, waving the tiny cinder off of his perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Aim for the merchandise again and I'll stop sparring with you!"
Ikkaku cracked a devilish grin and shouldered his wooden training sword, returning his attention to Renji.
"We're gonna give some pampered brats a show and then get right back to preparing for war." he concluded. "No big deal, Abarai."
"I have a hard time believing you'd be fine with losing," Renji said, his arms crossed and brow furrowed in skepticism. "Last I checked, you love competition."
Ikkaku responded by jabbing his bokken straight at Renji's face, only to stop short within an inch of his nose. Renji refused to even flinch.
"You're not allowed to kill in the Jūsankentaikai," Ikkaku pointed out. "What kinda competition doesn't let you fight to the death? This is gonna be kabuki. But don't worry about me, Abarai: I'm gonna be in tip-top shape. Kurosaki Ichigo woke something up in me. From what I've heard, he woke you up too, eh?"
Renji allowed himself a faint grin.
"I'm gonna fight to win, if that's what you're asking. No need to give him all the credit."
"Ha!" Ikkaku laughed before returning to his parries and swings against Yumichika.
Renji watched the two officers go at it. He felt conflicted over whether to broach the topic of Bankai. It wasn't like he'd be violating Ikkaku's privacy: Yumichika knew about it, too. But the whole conversation was moot since the Shisonka banned Bankai from the tournament.
No point in bringing it up, I guess.
"Guu! Choki! Paa!" Kiyone Kotetsu and Sentarō Kotsubaki simultaneously chanted before flashing their hand signals at each other.
Sentarō's fingers were contorted into Paa...
... While Kiyone triumphantly flashed Choki.
"I win!" Kiyone squealed, her eyes alighted with delight.
"Aw, c'mon!" Sentarō groaned. "Best three out of five?"
"No, Sentarō," Jūshirō Ukitake ruled, his face scrunched with stern solemnity. "Both of you agreed to two-out-of-three. Kiyone has won Janken and so she will represent the Thirteenth Division in the Jūsankentaikai."
"Damnit," Sentarō grumbled.
His annoyance was interrupted when Kiyone leaned over the table to offer a handshake.
"Thank you for the spirited game of Janken, Sentarō-san," she said firmly. "You were a worthy opponent!"
He eyed her for a moment before begrudgingly accepting the gesture.
"Do us proud in the arena, Kiyone-san."
"Shouldn't you be calling me Kiyone-sama?"
"Don't push it!"
"But what if I don't want to fight, Captain Kurotsuchi?" Akon beseeched from the main console of SDRI.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi was futzing with a panel below, very much in his element. He swerved up his ornamental head to glower up at his subordinate.
"If it were up to me, none of us would be subjected to this grotesque pageant," the captain said. "But seeing as Nemu cannot compete, the obligation falls upon you. Unless you think Hiyosu should fight in your stead?"
Akon looked over to Hiyosu, who was instantly sweating from the very thought of fighting. He would clearly get humiliated in the arena.
"Fine," Akon sighed. "Well, I'll try and do my best –"
"I don't care what you do," Mayuri cut him off.
The captain finally got a good hold on the control panel and pried it off, bolts popping off from the metallic frame. Inside the compartment was a fleshy, writhing net of innards: the organic wires that transmitted information throughout the SDRI. Mayuri spotted the central vein and pinched it, feeling the rhythmic pulses of the slimy tube.
"What are you doing, sir?" Hiyosu asked.
"Checking for any tampering," Mayuri replied, rooting around in the panel's guts. "Aizen Sōsuke must have had a base of operations from which he could observe the entire Seireitei. For him to have pulled off his little scheme, he would've needed an omnipotent knowledge of everyone's location in Soul Society at any given time, which would have required surveillance technology on par with our very own SDRI. Not even Captain Ukitake's Reikaku could suss out so many chess pieces moving across 300 ri."
霊覚 Reikaku (Spiritual Sense)
"Do you think – ?"
"Do I think that Aizen hijacked the SDRI's computers and turned them into his own surveillance system? I worried for a moment there... but it seems he did not."
Mayuri withdrew his arm from the control panel, his limb slathered in pink slime. He brought his index finger to his gleaming mouth and suckled, tasting the wires' genetic data.
"Hm, there's no trace of interference," he concluded. "Aizen knew better than to try and override my machine. If it began serving another master, I would've noticed."
Akon fished out a cigarette and lit it, hiding his agitation behind a puff.
Your machine? he thought with incredulity. I helped build the damn thing and I know it even better than you do.
He was grateful that Captain Kurotsuchi couldn't read thoughts... as far as he knew.
"I guess that answer's that," he muttered, dabbing his ash into a tea mug.
"Hardly," Mayuri chided him. "The most important question still remains: from what perch did Aizen monitor the Seireitei? Nemu, come!"
The captain climbed out of the trench and headed for the chamber's exit with Nemu dutifully following.
"Captain Kurotsuchi, you're leaving?" Hiyosu called after him. "Aren't we supposed to be focusing on constructing a Garganta? Captain, where are you going?"
"To find where Aizen hid his nest," Mayuri muttered, pushing past the exit door without looking back.
That morning at Karakura High School, everyone was milling about in the classroom waiting for Miss Misato Ochi to arrive.
Ichigo sulked in his chair, pressing his knee to the desk. He had a lot on his mind, chiefly his encounter with Shinji the night beforehand.
I'm a Visored. Just like you.
Ichigo glanced over at Uryū, who was looking even more glum than usual. The Quincy was wearing a new necklace, its pendant hidden beneath his collar. Ichigo wondered what it could be.
Uryū had assured him they wouldn't have to worry about Hollows targeting him anymore. He didn't explain why, nor did he offer any explanation for his new limp. Ichigo would just have to trust him and let the matter lie.
The Strawberry looked over to Chad, who was stretching his legs by the classroom lockers. The big lug was looking exhausted with dark circles peeking out from beneath his scraggly hair.
I've never seen Chad look so tired before, Ichigo observed. What's he been up to?
"Good morning, Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime announced chirpily, entering the room with a dramatic wave.
Tatsuki harrumphed from her desk. She still hadn't gotten over what Ichigo said to Orihime at the restaurant, and was annoyed to see them so chummy again.
Ichigo looked up and spotted Shinji Hirako walking in behind Orihime, mirroring her salute.
"Good morning, Ichigo!" the Visored beamed.
Shinji?! Ichigo frowned, his eyes widening with fury. He just showed up here like last night never happened?
"Shinji-kun was just telling me about your soccer match yesterday," Orihime said. "It sounds like you both really amazed everybody!"
Keigo and Mizuru both snapped to attention at the sight of Shinji.
"Shinji-san, you came back!" Keigo said excitedly.
"I thought you quit high school yesterday?" Mizuru noted wryly.
"Oh, you actually took that seriously?" Shinji hand waved. "We still got a class presentation to give together, right? Besides, I'm still getting to know great people like Orihime here."
"You two are friends now, huh?" Ichigo gritted, shooting Shinji daggers.
"Of course!" Orihime chirped. She was friends with everyone, after all.
"We really hit it off in the last five minutes!" Shinji grinned, throwing an arm over Orihime's shoulder and pulling her in close. "True blue pals; she's such a doll, isn't she?"
Suddenly, the terrifying specter of Chizuru rose to her full height, draped in shadow and wreathed with flame. A vein crinkled across her temple and her eyes glowed like coals, fixing a death stare onto Shinji.
"You daretouch my darling Orihime with your defiling hands, cretin?!" she seethed. "Those who would besmirch the goddess forfeit their life!"
"Chizuru, cut it out!" Keigo pleaded, trying to hold her back. "Please wait until he helps us deliver our group presentation before you kill him!"
Everyone ceased their bickering when Ichigo rose from his seat and grasped Shinji by the collar.
"Come with me, Shinji," the Strawberry commanded, hauling the newbie out of the classroom.
Everyone watched the interaction with awe, wondering what had gotten into Ichigo.
Orihime looked to Chad and Uryū. All of them wordlessly agreed that whatever beef there was between Ichigo and Shinji, it had nothing to do with school drama.
Ichigo slammed Shinji against the railing of the campus bridge, pinning him to spot.
"Ouch – that hurt, little man!" Shinji scowled. "Is this about Orihime? It's not like I'm cutting into your territory; she way out of your league."
"Shut up!" Ichigo barked. "Why are you here?"
"To help my pals Keigo and Mizuru get top marks for their English presentation," Shinji bullshitted, letting his pierced tongue loll out tauntingly.
"Cut the crap; you're here for me," Ichigo retorted. "I already said I'm not interested in allying with you."
"Oh, really?" Shinji narrowed his eyes. "You'll change your tune soon enough. Soon enough you're gonna beg to join us."
Us? Ichigo clocked. Are there even more of these 'Visoreds' skulking around?
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter," Shinji continued. "You ain't a Shinigami anymore, Ichigo. When your symptoms first appeared, you irreversibly became a Visored. Without our help, your inner Hollow is gonna swallow you whole."
Ichigo's grip on Shinji's collar softened, his palm clammy with sweat.
"It's already growing too big for you to handle, right?" Shinji speculated. "You probably can feel it leeching from your strength, growing fatter by the day. The clock's ticking, now: tick tock, tick tock."
He's bluffing right? Ichigo wondered, feeling nauseous. There's no way...
"Haaaai, Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime called from down below.
Ichigo and Shinji looked together over the rail and saw Orihime smiling up at them from the grassy ground, her school satchel in hand.
"Inoue?" Ichigo mumbled. "What're you doing down there? Did Miss Ochi send you?"
"Actually, I've been excused for the day," Orihime replied, patting her stomach. "I've got a rumbly in my tummy!"
Is this chick for real? Shinji sighed.
"I'm gonna go now," Orihime concluded. "Could you... could you maybe walk me home, Kurosaki-kun?"
Ichigo's brow ticked up with surprise. This was the first time Orihime had ever preemptively asked him to escort her anywhere.
"Sure. I'll walk you home. Wait right there."
He let Shinji go by the scruff of his collar.
"We're done here."
He began heading for the stairs, only for Shinji to catch him by the arm.
"You're gonna need my help soon to tame that Hollow, unless you want to eat that nice girl down there alive," the Visored warned. "Y'know that bridge about a mile south of here? Yūjō Bridge? I'll be hanging around there at midnight every night from now on. Meet me there whenever you're ready to get serious."
"You're gonna be waiting for a while," Ichigo whispered back, wrenching his arm free and continuing on.
Shinji watched the Strawberry make his way down the staircase to join Orihime for a stroll home.
"Well they'd make for a perfect couple," he muttered, leaning against the rail. "Just a pair of good-looking kids with no brain between them."
Ichigo and Orihime strode across Karakura Town together, taking a scenic route through the park. They came upon a fountain, the trickling water giving an appreciated atmosphere of serenity.
"Is your stomach actually upset?" Ichigo asked, his hands in his pockets.
"Oh, not at all!" Orihime admitted, merrily slapping her gut. "I have an invincible tummy!"
That would explain why you're impervious to your own cooking, Ichigo smirked.
"This is my first time playing hooky," Orihime mused, allowing herself a devilish smile. "It feels so... risqué."
"Well don't make a habit of it," Ichigo advised. "Why'd you cut class, anyway?"
"It looked like you needed an excuse to get away from Shinji," Orihime answered. "I guess Tatsuki was right that something's up with him. Is he a Shinigami?"
"Not exactly."
"But he isn't normal, right?"
"He's definitely not normal."
Orihime halted in her tracks and gazed up at Ichigo searchingly.
"Kurosaki-kun, you looked really upset by whatever he was saying. Are you alright?"
Ichigo looked down at her uneasily before averting his eyes. He could never maintain eye contact with her when he lied.
"It's fine; nothing I can't handle," he said gruffly. "You don't have to worry, Inoue."
Orihime could see that he wouldn't elaborate further. She searched for something else to talk about and settled on the protection charm tied to his uniform.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the pouch.
"Oh, this? Just some lucky charm my dad gave me before we went to rescue Rukia. He keeps tying it to my uniform every morning, no matter how many times I tell him I don't need it."
"What makes you think that?" Orihime smiled sweetly. "Maybe it's what kept us all safe in Soul Society?"
Ichigo's expression softened. He hadn't considered that.
"Yeah, maybe," he chuckled.
They resumed walking and didn't speak for a while. Growing relaxed, Orihime began to absentmindedly hum.
"Hmm, hmm, hm, hmm, hm... Then you laugh, and if you laugh, then someone will laugh too, Keta Keta Keta –"
"What's that?" Ichgio asked, unable to place the melody.
"Oh!" Orihime blushed. "Sorry; I kinda just slipped into singing. It's my 'Wahaha Song'. It's... well... it's the theme song of my life."
Ichigo bit his bottom lip, trying not to crack up. Despite his best effort, Orihime could tell he was amused.
"Oh, it really does sound silly when I say it out loud, doesn't it?" she admitted, turning pink with embarrassment. "I know how I come off; just a dummy with an empty head."
"Really?" Ichigo replied quizzically. "Who told you that? I think you're always thinking too much, honestly."
Orihime's eyes widened: that was the nicest thing anyone had ever told her.
"How does your song go?" Ichigo asked. "Can you sing it to me?"
"Oh... well, sure!" Orihime blushed. "Just please excuse my singing voice. Alright, here goes..."
She started to quaver, shakily at first before settling into a sweet, pleasing rhythm.
Wahaha
Seems like everyone has sorrows
and problems
Whether they are big or small
So glum, Sigh again
Live with loneliness and solitary
'I'm not the only one'
If you could come to think like this
then it's fine but
A word of 'Go for it'
Making your heart hard again?
Waai!
If I laugh
Then you laugh
And if you laugh
Then someone will laugh to
Keta Keta Keta Keta
Wahaha Wahaha
Fun!
Ichigo listened passively, his face not betraying any strong reaction. By the time Orihime finished singing, they had reached her apartment complex.
"Well, we're here!" she announced, interlocking her fingers and nervously squeezing them together. "Jeeze, now I don't know what to do with the rest of my day!"
"You'll think of something," Ichigo smiled, giving her a farewell salute. "Don't ditch class again on my behalf, Inoue. You've got a pretty perfect grade point average to maintain. See ya tomorrow."
"Kurosaki-kun?" Inoue called after him. "I actually have another favor to ask."
"Hm?"
"I, erm... I need new clothes."
"Eh?"
Orihime stretched out the hem of her school uniform to reveal several holes chewed into the fabric.
"Some moths got into my apartment while we were in Soul Society," she explained bashfully. "My entire wardrobe sorta got eaten. I was wondering if you could accompany me to the mall and help me pick out new clothes?"
"Really?" Ichigo blanched, even more confused than before. "Isn't that the kind of thing Tatsuki should help you with?"
"Well, sure!" Orihime laughed nervously, her indefatigable stomach suddenly tying itself into knots. "But, I think... I'd feel safer with you?"
"Then I'll do it," Ichigo nodded, needing no greater rationale.
"Really?!" Orihime blushed.
"Sure. Right now?"
"What?!" Orihime bleated, feeling very unprepared for this fortuitous development. "Oh, I can't right now. I, uh... I've just decided that I'm gonna repaint my entire apartment today!"
"Oh, okay," Ichigo mumbled. "Well, I'll make some time for you. You know where to find me."
He began strolling away with a wave goodbye.
"Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime called one more time.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for walking me home."
"Of course," he smiled back at her. "I promised to always protect you, didn't I?"
Orihime's heart skipped a beat. She reached up to touch her hairpins.
He remembers.
"Anytime now, Miss Arisawa," Miss Ochi said impatiently from her desk.
Tatsuki stood before the class, rattling with rage while she scrutinized the pages Ichigo had written for their presentation. He had translated the text singlehandedly and never bothered to help her understand what the words meant... and now he and Orihime were both absent during the moment of truth.
"Well, I..." Tatsuki gritted, feeling humiliated. She didn't understand what any of the English scribbles meant. The entire project was a bust.
Shinji leaned back in his chair and let out a sardonic whistle.
That Ichigo sure is a nice guy, leaving his classmates out to dry.
"Do you think the others will mind, Captain?" Nanao Ise asked while standing by the window, watching all the cadets training their hearts out on the Eight Division courtyard below.
"Mind what, Nanao-chan?" Shunsui replied, not even looking up from the latest edition of the Seireitei Communication. He was resting on the floor, still recovering from his strenuous Reikinbaku-ito training.
"Are you okay with me fighting in the tournament?" Nanao specified. "I wouldn't even be allowed to participate if it wasn't for my aunt. I'm worried she might be up to something."
"Of course she's up to something," Shunsui chuckled, thumbing through his magazine. "I'm sure you will do us proud. But if you truly believe in your heart of hearts that you aren't fit to compete, then we can always substitute you with our Third Seat."
"But I want to compete," Nanao confessed with a touch of bashfulness. "It just bugs me that I don't know whether I'd be fighting on behalf of Eighth Division or as a representative of Ise Clan."
Shunsui looked up at her, reflecting on how far she'd come after all these years.
You're too extraordinary to fret over what you owe your family, Nanao-chan, he thought. They don't deserve you. Neither do I.
Suddenly, a masked messenger flash-stepped onto the windowsill, catching Nanao completely by surprise.
"GAH!" she shrieked.
The Onmitsukidō Inner Court Troop courier, realizing his folly, waved his hands apologetically.
"Apologies for startling you, Lieutenant Ise!" the emissary said contritely. "I come with a message for Captain Kyōraku."
He handed a sealed scroll to Nanao and promptly fled with a flash step.
"You've got mail, sir," Nanao reiterated, giving a light cough of embarrassment.
Shunsui set aside his periodical and accepted the message. He peeled off the wax seal and read the parchment, recognizing the handwriting. It was written by Genryūsai himself.
"Well, I suppose my relaxation time is finished," he sighed, pocketing the parchment and giving his legs a stretch. "Nanao-chan, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the Shin'ōchikadaikangoku?"
The smell of incense, steamed rice and sweat rose like a smokestack from the Rukongai's First District market. Commerce was thriving in anticipation of the upcoming Jūsankentaikai, with scalpers selling tickets to the event like hotcakes.
Ganju Shiba grumbled his way through the throng until, after an interminable wait in line, he finally made his way before one of the scalpers.
"Two tickets to the Jūsankentaikai, please!" he beamed, holding up two fingers.
The dealer was a cherubic boy sitting atop an upturned barrel, his pot belly hanging over the lid.
"That'll be 100 Kan a pop," the merchant said, his gravelly voice belying his childish appearance.
"Eh?" Ganju bleated, stunned by the figure. "I don't have that much."
"Next in line, please!"
"You don't understand!" Ganju cried, clasping his hands together pleadingly. "My sister controls my allowance and she only gives me a quarter of that amount at a time!"
"That must be very humiliating for you," the scalper replied coldly. "Not my problem."
"You seriously don't understand!" Ganju pressed. "My sister is Shiba Kūkaku! If we don't get good seats to the tournament, she'll have my hide!"
"Wait, your sister is Shiba Kūkaku?" the scalper perked up. "Maybe we can work something out, then. I've been getting grief from some Second District thugs. If Kūkaku could be kind enough to take care of them for me..."
"Well, you know, I'm pretty tough, too," Ganju grinned, flexing his right bicep. "I could sort them out myself –"
"You guys enjoy the show... on the house," the scalper grinned, leaning down to tuck two tickets into Ganju's vest. "Let her know that I'll be calling on her services soon."
"Thank you!" Ganju bowed ceremonially before scramming.
He dashed out from the crowd and bounded two blocks away before checking the tickets: they were unfortunately total nose-bleeds.
"Aw, dammit," he lamented. "Friggin' ripoff."
Kūkaku Shiba sat on the circular platform of her Flower Crane Cannon, munching on an onion. She took a big chomp and eyed her visitor up and down.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Rurisa?" she asked with her mouth full.
Before her stood Nisaki Rurisa, the Shikōtai guard the Ise Clan.
至高親衛兵SHIKŌTAI (Supreme Bodyguard)
An imposing woman, Rurisa stood at 6 feet and 6 inches tall with a lithe frame of sinewy muscle. Like other Shikōtai guardsmen, she was clad in ostentatious samurai armor: a barn-red cuirass complemented by matching gauntlets and greaves while a maroon sash hung around her waist. Her face was hidden behind a burgundy mask etched with exquisitely beautiful features, her charcoal eyes glowering from behind the slits.
Her Kabuto helm was ornately crafted, with the crest jutting up into the forked antlers of a sika deer. Kūkaku noted that the guardswoman was armed with a Zanpakutō: the katana had a barn-red handle with an amber gem encrusted on the pommel.
"I was sent by Lady Kōbucha," Rurisa answered in a husky drawl. "It was not lost on her or the others that your cannon helped the Ryoka break into the Seireitei."
Kūkaku took another bite from the musty onion and stared Rurisa down.
"Cannon?" she said, feigning ignorance. "What cannon? I ain't got no cannon."
Rurisa nodded to the towering chimney-looking spire looming right behind Kūkaku that was in fact a giant cannon.
"You may be a bumpkin, but don't play dumb," the Shikōtai advised. "You illegally helped Ryoka breach the Seireitei's defenses. That can't go unanswered."
Kūkaku took her sweet time chewing onion cud before swallowing with an exaggerated gulp. In rapid succession, she tossed her half-eaten onion into the air and fired a thumb-sized firework after it. The missile charged up to the spinning bulb and blew it into smithereens with a soft pop.
Rurisa watched with bemusement as the onion's ashes scattered with the breeze.
"There," Kūkaku proclaimed. "I just forsook my supper. That's about as much penance as I'm willing to pay. Last I checked, those Ryoka saved the day."
"That is the only reason why the Shisonka have decided to leave you unharmed," Rurisa replied matter-of-factly. "However, in times of war, measures must be taken to ensure the Seireitei's safety. Seeing as you were willing to help outsiders breach our walls before, your cannon can't be left intact. It's too great a liability."
Kūkaku dusted herself off with her one hand and rose up, standing defiantly between Rurisa and the cannon.
"If you think I'm gonna let you vandalize my Kakaku Taihō, then the weight of those horns have really messed with your head," she warned, motioning to the antlers affixed to the samurai's helm. "You'll have to get through me first."
Rurisa was quiet, then let out a soft chuckle.
"Very well."
She turned away as if to leave, then pivoted back with whiplash force, drawing her Zanpakutō forth faster than Kūkaku could comprehend.
"Carry, Hōteikiatsu!"
包囲低気圧 Hōteikiatsu (Siege Cyclone)
With a sundering boom of spiritual power, the katana reformed into a massive ring blade, a black serrated circle four meters in diameter and encrusted with ruby runes. The ring launched from Rurisa like a tossed discus, firing straight at Kūkaku in a vicious spin.
Kūkaku froze up, shocked by the Shikai's velocity and the sheer power it emitted as it ripped across the air with roaring force. It was coming in too fast.
It's overwhelming, she thought, feeling the blade's revolutions sucking her towards it with gravitational heft. I can't even evade it!
When blade came within a centimeter of slicing Kūkaku through, it instead swerved and spun like a satellite around her orbit. She looked on, flummoxed as the sawtoothed ring ripped around her in intricate revolutions, threatening to slice her open if she dared budge even an inch.
You're mocking me, aren't you?! she thought. Condescending bootlicker.
The ring blade finally finished its arcs around Kūkaku and sailed onward in the horizontal slant of a whirring buzzsaw. It passed through the Flower Crane Cannon and sliced so cleanly that the smokestack-shaped spire stood intact for a pronounced moment before the top half slid off and landed onto the adjacent huts with a deafening crash.
Hōteikiatsu buzzed across the sky before swerving back and returning to Rurisa. The ring blade came to a complete stop within an inch of her outstretched palm and floated obediently in the air. The Shikōtai guardswoman sealed her Shikai back into a katana, grinning beneath her mask.
"Know your place, Shiba Kūkaku," Rurisa advised before sheathing her Zanpakutō back into its scabbard. "You may lord over these Rukon like a big shot, but you're just more trash atop the heap."
Ganju came running up from behind, head in his hands while he surveyed the property damage.
"The Kakaku Taihō!" he cried, aghast at the sight of the Flower Crane Cannon being snipped at the trunk. He turned his attention to Rurisa and assumed a fighting stance. "You're gonna regret that, goat woman."
"Ganju!" Kūkaku shouted, her eyes filled with apprehension. "Don't do anything stupid: just let her leave."
"Huh?" Ganju froze up, alarmed by the fear in his big sister's voice. Even Oneesan's scared of this freak?
Rurisa strode past Ganju with a chuckle, making sure to tag him with a shoulder shove. The brusque tap was powerful enough to tear his rotator cuff, sending him toppling over with a yelp.
"To think Lady Kōbucha was generous enough to give you hooligans a tryout period," Rurisa remarked. "You're all a bunch of unruly bottom feeders."
Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko waited for the samurai to be gone from the premises before they emerged to help Ganju back to his feet. The trio approached Kūkaku gingerly, alarmed by how shellshocked she looked.
"Oneesan, are you OK?" Ganju asked, nursing his aching arm. "Did she hurt you?"
So the rumors are true... the Shikōtai guardsmen are on par with the Gotei captains, Kūkaku reflected, her heartbeat trying to calm its rhythm. I didn't want to believe it, but that Reiatsu was undeniable.
"Oneesan?!"
"I'm fine," Kūkaku answered shakily. "I was just caught off guard is all."
Ganju surveyed the wreckage of the Flower Crane Cannon behind them. What a monster, he thought before reflecting on Rurisa's parting words.
"What did that woman mean when she said her master gave us a tryout period?" he asked.
Kūkaku grimaced, unsure of whether she wanted to answer.
"I guess you're enough of a man now to be clued in," she sighed. "You know how our family used to live in the Seireitei along with the other aristocrats? For thousands of years, we were a vassal of Ise Clan and served at their Tenrai-chō's behest."
"Yeah, I remember you telling me that. We were living the good life once upon a time..."
"Except our ancestors weren't docile like all the other nobles," Kūkaku continued with a hint of pride. "The Shibas kept getting in hot water again and again for disobeying commands they thought were bunk. Eventually, Ise Clan exiled us all to the Rukongai as punishment for being too rowdy. However, there was a time not too long ago when we were almost welcomed back."
"What?" Ganju gawped. "What're you talking about?"
"The sitting Ise Tenrai-chō is a very opportunistic woman," Kūkaku explained. "When she learned our family had a fresh crop of promising warriors, she made a secret deal with us: if members of the Shiba Clan joined the Gotei 13 and rose high in the ranks, she'd reinstate us as a vassal and we'd be welcomed back into the Seireitei. It actually came close to happening."
"It did?" Ganju frowned, feeling a bit ripped off. "What blew our chances?"
"What do you think?" Kūkaku smirked. "We got rowdy. Kaien died trying to avenge his wife, and Cousin went his own way. So Kōbucha cancelled the deal and vowed we'd never step foot in the Seireitei ever again."
Ganju mulled over the revelation before giving a shrug.
"I'd say that's for the best. Who wants to serve those royal snobs, anyway? This is our home."
Kūkaku looked back at the mess Rurisa had made of their property.
"Whatever's left of it, at least," she sighed. "Did you at least get the tournament tickets?"
"Uh, yeah," Ganju blushed. "This might not be the best time to bring it up, but a guy named Kuchitsuchi might come calling in a favor..."
Nanao was panting with exhaustion by the time she and Shunsui reached the Shin'ōchikadaikangoku, which rested right beneath the First Division Barracks.
真央地下大監獄 Shin'ōchikadaikangoku (Central Great Underground Prison)
"Couldn't the Captain-Commander have called on one of the closer divisions?" she asked while gasping for breath.
"The Old Man thought I'd be best suited to this task," Shunsui replied, completely at ease after their sprint.
"I still don't think we needed to get here so quickly," Nanao grumbled. She had struggled mightily to keep up with her captain's speed during their breakneck journey from the Fifth to the First District.
"An innocent officer is rotting away in a cell, Nanao-chan," Shunsui renjoined. "We couldn't have arrived soon enough."
He reached up and knocked on the absolutely massive, 50-foot tall gates of the Shin'ōchikadaikangoku. After a minute, the doors parted open with a cavernous yawn.
Awaiting inside was the prison's warden, Ikkamano Kunko, standing around expectantly in the darkness.
What an absolutely hideous man! Nanao thought, bristling at the sight of him.
Kunko was a massive brute, standing at nine feet in height and built like an ox. He had a bulbous goiter swelling out from beneath his black beard that was known to swell and shrink like a pufferfish while he spoke.
His gnarled nose looked as though it had been broken in every direction while his lips were swollen and curled into a permanently contemptuous sneer. His Shihakushō was distinguished by the gauntlets that housed the seemingly countless keys designated used to lock up the prison's different floors.
"Ah, Captain Kyōraku, I wasn't expecting you!" Kunko lied, his goiter bulging and contracting at every intonation. "It's been too long since you last paid me a visit, geh, geh, geh. What brings you to my pit today?"
"Long time no seen, Ikkamano," Shunsui replied, tilting back his straw hat as a greeting. "Old Man Yama sent me to fetch the Fifth Division's third seat. Prisoner No. 830, I believe?"
"Oh yes, the invalid," Kunko chortled, raising his fist to show off fresh blood caking the knuckles. "I was just interrogating him one final time for thoroughness' sake, geh, geh, geh."
"You beat the prisoner even after he was exonerated?" Nanao protested, her face reddening with indignation. "That's, that's – !"
"That's none of our business," Shunsui cooed diplomatically. "You run your prison however you want, Ikkamano. Now, shall we proceed?"
Kunko led them inside the Shin'ōchikadaikangoku, its entrance tunnel deepening into claustrophobic burrow until they came upon the platform that would take them down the prison's central shaft.
Nanao hung close to Shunsui while the gears clanked and the impossibly thick chains supporting the platform sputtered, lowering them into the abyss.
"This is your first time visiting the Shin'ōchikadaikangoku, right Nanao-chan?" Shunsui asked.
"Yessir."
"It's not a particularly fun place to stay," he warned with cheeky understatement. "Each descending level is a harsher prison than the last, all of them doling out the most terrifying punishments Soul Society can muster."
"I know the stories," Nanao whispered. "I grew up hearing rumors of a floor where you have an endless tickle in your nose but can't bring yourself to sneeze," Nanao recalled. "Is that real?"
"Pray you never find out," Shunsui answered coyly.
At last, the platform ground to a halt and swayed subtly in the darkened shaft. They had reached the first prison cell, Mōseikōribako.
猛省氷箱 Mōseikōribako (Penitence Icebox)
The abrupt stop made Nanao swoon from a touch of vertigo. She clutched at Shunsui's haori for support, eliciting a soft smile from the captain. Together, they followed Kubko onto the craggy ledge jutting out from the cell's entrance.
Kunko fished out the corresponding key and knelt down to slot it into a crag in the ground, leveraging his considerable bulk to turn it clockwise. A tremor groaned across the ground and ran up the stone wall, prompting it to grind open and reveal an orchid-white chamber within.
There was a lone soul occupying the space: Prisoner No. 830. The young man was sitting against the wall, his face bloody and bruised. Kunko had beaten him to a pulp.
"We can take it from here, Ikkamano," Shunsui told the warden.
Kunko gave a disappointed grunt and trudged out to go wait by the platform. He always hated being dismissed.
The prisoner was a fair-skinned young man with a mole peppering his right cheekbone. Peeking from beneath his mop of shaggy hair were a set of soulful eyes and chattering teeth. His whole body was shivering as if he were being gripped by hypothermia.
Nanao eyed the quaking officer with concern before she began involuntarily trembling, too.
Why are my bones rattling?
"This is the power of Mōseikōribako: the prison instills a chill in you without even lowering the temperature," Shunsui explained, his own teeth clacking together. "Bundle up as much as you like, you'll still feel like you've been left out in a tundra while wearing nothing but sandals. It gets pretty intolerable after a couple hours. Makes prisoners more amenable to interrogation."
He looked at the lad and noticed a mouse hiding underneath his hand. The prisoner's index finger intermittently dipped down like an oar into water to affectionally stroke the rodent's nape. The critter was shaking violently, too.
The mouse could easily escape the chamber through a crack if it so desired, Shunsui observed. Instead, it was deliberately choosing to linger with the young man despite its own discomfort.
He really does have a way with the critters.
Shunsui looked back and saw the horror on Nanao's face: she thought this place was barbaric. He didn't disagree.
"This officer is deaf," he said, gesturing to the prisoner. "You learned how to sign during your Shin'ō Academy days, right Nanao-chan?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then please let him know he has been found innocent of playing any role in Aizen's conspiracy."
The prisoner raised his quivering hands and gesticulated to offer a hasty interjection.
"He understands you, Captain," Nanao said, interpreting the sign language. "He can read lips. He says that yours have very exaggerated articulation, which makes them easy to follow."
"Are you complimenting my lips, young man?" Shunsui chuckled. "Why thank you, Rindō Atau of Fifth Division. Please accept my apologies for how you've been treated. Your former captain is now Soul Society's greatest enemy, and we had to make sure you weren't in league with him."
Atau Rindō carefully watched Shunsui speak, then signed something to Nanao.
"Nobody's answered any of my questions since I arrived here," she relayed. "Is it true, what Lieutenant Kotetsu said through the Tenteikūra? Is Lieutenant Hinamori really dead?"
"Yes," Shunsui nodded. "Aizen murdered her."
Rindō was perfectly still, then signed 'That deeply saddens me. I was not close with Captain Aizen, but Hinamori admired him a great deal. I think she may have been in love with him, even.'
Nanao repeated his words, her voice cracking at the invocation of Momo's name.
"I'm not here to ask you about Aizen or Hinamori," Shunsui clarified, kneeling down to meet Rindō eye-to-eye. "I'm here because the Gotei 13 needs you. Your division needs –"
The mouse interrupted Shunsui's speech with a chirp and scampered up Rindō before finally resting on his shoulder.
'I'm afraid I won't be of any help,' Rindō gesticulated. 'Barely anyone in Fifth Company even knows who I am.'
Shunsui seemed to ignore him, focusing instead of the mouse.
"Looks like you've made a friend down here, eh?" the captain said playfully. "I heard you're something of an animal tamer."
Rindō contemplated the rhetorical question while petting the critter with two fingers. He signed a response with his free hand.
'People assume that animals flock to me because of fondness, but they're wrong,'he signed. 'Animals in Soul Society aren't self-determined souls but Reishi constructs. They are drawn to my Reiatsu the same way blades of grass bend towards the sun for warmth. While I appreciate this mouse keeping me company, it's only here because it's attracted to my spiritual pressure. I wish it were my friend, but it's not. Nobody is.'
Shunsui scrutinized Rindō carefully while Nanao translated.
"If you truly believed that, you wouldn't be comforting that creature right now," he countered, gesturing to the way Rindō gently stroked the mouse's fur. "Your Reiatsu is ultimately just another expression of your soul. When that mouse basks in your presence, it is trying to get closer to your Heart. They are one and the same. That sounds like friendship to me."
Rindō's face blossomed into a wide-eyed smile, his first in quite some time. He softly grasped the mouse and gave it an affectionate squeeze, making it squeak.
'You were saying my division needs me, Captain Kyōraku?'
Sunlight shimmered off the smooth ore of the Seireiheki's east flank, where Shūhei Hisagi and Izuru Kira were training together just 2 ri away from the Blue Steam Gate.
The Academy Ground's wall was a neutral zone where all officers could undergo strength training through climbing.
"I don't know what's worse, the weight of this friggin' shell or the glare," Hisagi gritted. He squinted when the sunshine bounced off the Seireiheki's surface and straight into his eyes.
They were two-thirds of the way up the Seireiheki's slope, hoisting themselves by a climbing rope while their torsos were encased in Kameyoroi.
亀鎧 Kameyoroi (Tortoise Armor)
The viridescent shells were hollowed out but weighed five tons apiece, adding quite an arduous handicap to their journey up the the wall's summit.
Kira yanked himself up a step and paused, feeling his biceps spasm. The strain was becoming agonizing.
"If I just let go and fell, d'you think the turtle shell would soften my landing?" he asked, craning his head back to consider the precipitous plunge below.
"Don't tell me you're tapping out already?" Hisagi laughed. "Last one to the top owes the winner a bottle of sake, remember?"
"After the last party, I think I'm good on sake?" Kira chuckled.
"Move outta the way, boys!" Rangiku Matsumoto shouted from below, inching her way up after them.
Hisagi and Kira looked down in amazement at how swiftly she was gaining on them. Her voluptuous figure was obscured by the Kameyoroi, making her appear like a giant egg with tiny limbs.
"Rangiku?" Kira huffed. "When did you join in?"
"About a half hour ago."
"But we've been at this all afternoon!"
"You boys are just out of practice," Rangiku laughed, shooting Hisagi a sly smile. "After all, a girl like me is already carrying extra padding wherever she goes, right?"
Hisagi turned a deep pink and averted her eyes, opting instead to gaze straight into the wall's shimmer. The scalding brilliance of the sun's reflection was still easier for him to behold than the look Rangiku gave him whenever she cracked a naughty joke.
Kira planted his feet firmly against the Seireiheki to stand in place.
"I think we need to take a breather, Rangiku. You go on ahead."
"Oh, with pleasure!" Rangiku beamed, climbing up between them and continuing onwards. "Oh, and I overheard that bet. You two are going to owe me a bottle of sake apiece!"
Kira waited until she had ascended out of earshot before casting Hisagi a withering look.
"If you're matched up against her in the tournament, are you seriously gonna spazz out like that in the ring?"
"If I'm forced to fight her, I'll forfeit," Hisagi said while quivering like a schoolboy.
"Maybe you should just make a move?"
"Absolutely not," Hisagi shook his head. "I could be the last man left in the world and I still wouldn't be worthy of her."
"Eh?" Kira grumbled, feeling a little embarrassed for him. "Come on, man. It's just Rangiku."
After another hour of arduous struggle, they finally reached the top of the Seireiheki. After begrudgingly promising Rangiku a bottle of sake apiece, they retired to the grand mess hall for supper.
Kira was loading up his tray when his peripheral vision noticed a cadet looking at him askance. He gave Hisagi a nudge.
"They're still looking at us funny."
Hisagi scanned the sea of grunts with confusion.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "I don't see any stares."
"It's subtle glances and anxious body language," Kira sighed. "They don't trust us anymore."
Hisagi frowned. He hadn't yet reckoned with how Kaname Tōsen's defection might have impacted his own reputation within the Gotei 13.
While he and Kira were ultimately cleared of any association with Aizen's conspiracy by Genryūsai himself, the optics nevertheless made them suspect amongst all the lower-ranking Shinigami.
They sat down and wordlessly picked at their food. After a while, Hisagi finally broke the silence.
"Is it just me, or does it feel like there's more on the line for us in this tournament compared to everybody else?" he mused. "We've become the de facto leaders of our divisions. If we lose –"
"Then we'll be letting down all of our subordinates instead of just one superior?" Kira nodded. "I've thought the same. Our captains really left us in a lurch, didn't they?"
"It could be worse; they could have left us like Hinamori," Hisagi grimaced.
Kira's expression dropped, chastened by the thought of Momo lying dead in a lonely heap. He sunk into another one of his melancholies and pushed his tray aside, having lost his appetite.
Renji went looking for Rukia at the Academy Grounds, having not seen her since she rebuffed his invite to join the lieutenants' table several days beforehand. After searching in vain for a half hour, he happened upon Kiyone and Sentarō.
"You just missed her; she's gone on assignment," Kiyone said.
"What do you mean?" Renji reddened. "You mean she's leftthe Seireitei?"
"Yup," Sentarō nodded.
"Then where is she?"
"That's classified," Kiyone replied haughtily. "Captain Ukitake wouldn't even tell us where."
"That's already saying too much, you booger!" Sentarō scolded her. "You've confirmed we don't know anything when you should have neither confirmed no denied. You've betrayed the captain's trust while making us look irrelevant!"
"You're the only one who's irrelevant!" Kiyone sniped back. "I'm gonna fight in the tournament while you'll just be one of the thousands cheering me on!"
"And while you're getting your ass kicked, I'll be the greatest cheerleader the Gotei 13 has ever seen!" Sentarō proclaimed. "The Soul King will hear my cheers from up in the heavens. I'M GONNA BE THE MOST ENTHUSIASTIC HYPE MAN IN HISTORY!"
The two of them continued to bicker without noticing that Renji had long since left.
"Captain!" Renji bellowed, storming into Byakuya Kuchiki's quarters. "What've they done with – ?"
He halted in his tracks, his voice catching in his throat.
The Kuchiki Tenrai-chō was present.
Ginrei, the sitting ruler of Kuchiki Clan, had long white hair slicked back and shoulders hunched forward. Once a strapping warrior, his failing eyes now required spectacles and his carefully manicured mustache was white as a sheet. The pronounced curve of his posture made him short; he looked quite feeble standing next to Byakuya.
Renji instantly threw himself onto the floor and bowed his head until his nose kissed the tatami.
"Tenrai-chō Kuchiki! Please forgive my intrusion! Thank you for gracing our barracks with your presence, Your Highness!"
Ginrei peered down at the prostrate lieutenant with bemusement before returning his attention to Byakuya.
"Your subordinate poses a fine question, grandson. Where is Rukia?"
"I'm not sure, grandfather," Byakuya replied. "Renji, is there something I ought to know?"
"She was sent away from the Seireitei without explanation, Captain," Renji said breathlessly, not daring to look up. "It seemed like suspicious timing on the eve of the tournament, so I thought... "
"You thought I was the one who sent her away?" Byakuya surmised, his voice disdainful. "Even if I had, it would be none of your business. However, I had nothing to do with it. You would be better off asking Captain Ukitake. However, like I said, it's none of your business."
"Of course," Renji mumbled. "Forgive my intrusion, I'll just –"
He started to rise up, only to meet immovable resistance. Something was pressing to the back of his bowed head, light as a leaf but unyielding. Somebody was standing over him, pressing their foot down to pin him to the spot.
How'd they get the jump on me like that?! Renji winced. He hadn't felt anyone's presence while he was prostrate. Whoever they were, their poise and speed had to be impeccable.
"Do you speak to your captain like that often, worm?" an icy voice asked. "If I were a captain of the Gotei 13 and my lieutenant came barging into my quarters barking questions, I'd crush their head like a melon. Like so."
The foot applied more pressure and ground Renji's face into the floor. The force was so overwhelming, Renji's skull felt close to bursting. Letting out a grunt of pain, he struggled to break free from the iron press.
"That's enough, Kōga," Ginrei ordered.
The pressure instantly left the top of Renji's head. With a flush of relief, he rose back up, only for the foot to swing and kick him across the chin. Renji heard his own molars click as he flipped backwards and smacked against the entrance door.
His vision swam until he made out the visage of Kōga Kuchiki, the Shikōtai Guardsman assigned to protect Ginrei's life.
Kōga was handsome like his cousin, Byakuya, and only a few years older. He was six feet tall and garbed in Shihakushō while a crimson scarf frocked his shoulders and a lavender sash cinched his waist.
Exempt from the traditional Shikōtai armor and mask because of his royal lineage, he proudly bore his oval face and carefully defined features, his imperious green eyes and thin mouth conspiring to make a perpetual scowl. His black hair was distinguished by a bright red ponytail, signifying his renunciation of any hereditary claims, fastened by a Kenseikan headpiece.
The bodyguard grasped his Zanpakutō, a purple-hilted katana with a bronze guard in the shape of a pendant. His fingers tightened around the handle.
"How dare you speak to the future Kuchiki Tenrai-chō like that," he bristled. "Raise your voice at him again and I will parade your head on Megumarerushi's gates."
"I'll be the one to reprimand my subordinates, cousin," Byakuya said reproachfully.
Kōga shot Byakuya a haughty look.
"Is that so? This worm raised his sword against you, and yet he still draws breath."
"I was trying to save Rukia," Renji interjected.
He involuntarily flinched when Kōga flash-stepped within an inch of his nose, backing him up against the door.
"That Rukon rat should've burned," Kōga said in a soft whisper, leaning in close to stare directly into Renji's eyes. "You think her crime was trivial? Giving humans your Reiryoku is what gets Shisonka dynasties butchered. Byakuya's generosity has saved you both, but I won't forget."
"That's enough, Kōga," Ginrei warned with a throaty grumble. The old man readjusted his glasses and gave Byakuya a fond squeeze of the shoulder. "Our business here is finished; Kōga will escort me back to Megumarerushi. I believe you and your lieutenant have somewhere to be."
The Tenrai-chō made his way to the door, pausing by Renji.
"A word of advice, Lieutenant Abarai," Ginrei rasped. "Remember your rank. I say this not as a Tenrai-chō, but as a former captain of the Gotei 13."
"I will, Your Highness," Renji nodded, feeling as though a comet were whirring past him.
Kōga shot Renji one last scowl and followed Ginrei out of the chamber.
After a moment of awkward silence, captain and lieutenant locked eyes.
"How's your jaw?" Byakuya asked.
"Your cousin hits as hard as a Menos Grande," Renji mumbled while rubbing his smarting chin.
"He practices a conservative brand of discipline."
"It's inexcusable, what he said about Rukia..."
"The Shisonka are particularly sensitive to Shinigami sharing their power with humans," Byakuya said cryptically. "It was Kōga who informed me of Rukia's offense."
"Really?"
Byakuya wordlessly strode out of the room, expecting Renji to follow. The lieutenant hesitated for a moment before hurrying after his captain, keeping close as they made their way out of the Sixth Division barracks.
"Rukia was presumed dead after she went missing," Byakuya recalled. "Months passed until an anonymous tip to SDRI claimed she was alive and well, but had given her Reiryoku to a mortal. When SDRI confirmed the rumor, Kōga delivered the news to me personally. It was a heated exchange."
"Heated how?"
"I embarrassed my grandfather by marrying Hisana, and I embarrassed him further when I adopted Rukia," Byakuya explained. "Welcoming Rukon into a royal family was unheard of; he had to expend a great deal of his own political capital to help me fulfill Hisana's dying wish.
"I promised to accept responsibility for any damage my decision would inflict upon the Kuchiki name. When Rukia was accused of committing a crime the Shisonka consider taboo, Kōga firmly reminded me of my responsibility."
Byakuya remembered the conversation vividly. It was an ugly memory.
Do you understand how much Ginrei's sacrificed for you? Kōga had roared. You spit in his face again and again, and for what? A stranger who doesn't share our blood, who repays your generosity with insult? It's time for you to choose: our family, or your Rukon pet?
Kōga's words were harsh, but persuasive.
Ginrei was one of the few captains in Gotei history to voluntarily retire from service. Back when Tenrai-chō Magoshido became frail from extreme old age, Ginrei's lieutenant and son, Sōjun Kuchiki, was the heir apparent to lead the family. When Sōjun unexpectedly perished during a Hollow skirmish, Byakuya became next in line.
However, Byakuya was still young and hadn't yet served in the Gotei, an important rite of passage for any Kuchiki leader. When Magoshido finally died of natural causes, Ginrei decided to spare his grandson the shame of ruling without a military record. He took on the responsibility in his grandson's stead.
It was no small thing: Ginrei had to give up his position in the Sixth Division and surrender his Zanpakutō for destruction. Tenrai-chōs were forbidden from bonding with Asauchi for reasons that were mysterious to non-royals like Renji.
That debt hung around Byakuya's neck ever since, crushing him under its weight. It had poisoned his conscience and poised him against Rukia. However, when Ichigo Kurosaki defeated him in battle, the weight of that debt became lighter. It would forever remain, but it was bearable now.
"Suffice it to say my family has little love for Rukia," Byakuya admitted. "But sending her away was Ukitake's decision and his alone."
Renji was quiet for a while, choosing to believe him.
"So where are we going?"
"To the First Division Barracks," Byakuya answered. "Genryūsai is summoning all captains and their division champions. Apparently, the new Central 46 has decided on the tournament's inaugural roster."
Renji stepped into the assembly hall and spotted 10 familiar faces: Chōjirō Sasakibe, Marechiyo Ōmaeda, Kira Izuru, Isane Kotetsu and her sister Kiyone, Tetsuzaemon Iba, Shūhei Hisagi, Rangiku Matsumoto, Ikkaku Madarame, and Akon.
All of them turned to peer at him while he awkwardly made his way into the room.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Abarai," Sasakibe said. "We're just awaiting two contestants before we can begin."
The First Division Lieutenant was standing beside a bulletin board affixed between two bamboo poles. Whatever the board contained, it was hidden behind a sheet.
Renji gave everyone a nod and ambled beside Ikkaku.
"I see a lot more lieutenants than third seats," he whispered teasingly.
Ikkaku gave him a devilish smile. "I'll carry my weight just fine, Abarai. Just you wait."
A minute passed before Nanao Ise entered the room, followed by an unfamiliar face.
"Pardon us, everyone!" Nanao said. "I was just bringing Rindō up to speed."
She turned and presented Atau Rindō to the group. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with flat-out bafflement.
"Who's the stray?" Ōmaeda asked, eyebrow cocked. "Never seen him before in my life."
"That's Rindō Atau, the Third Seat of Fifth Company," Rangiku offered up. She shielded her mouth so that Rindō couldn't read her lips and added "I heard he was being interrogated in the Shin'ōchikadaikangoku for the past week. Poor guy's been through some hell."
"Rindō is deaf, but he can read lip movements and communicate through sign language," Nanao explained. "I expect you all to make him feel welcome."
"Now that everyone is present, it's time to unveil tomorrow's matchups," Chōjirō announced.
With genteel grace, he grasped the tarp and whipped it off from the bulletin board. The frame detailed Central 46's chosen tournament bracket:
A ripple of murmurs spread throughout the chamber as everyone spotted their name and opponent.
Well, I'm screwed, Kiyone thought when she spotted Tetsuzaemon's name beside hers.
"We're going up against each other in the first round, seriously?" Kira groaned to Hisagi. "I'd hoped we could avoid stepping on each other's toes until the final round."
"Can't be helped," Hisagi shrugged. "I won't make it personal if you don't."
Kira nodded in agreement.
"Awesome!" Ōmaeda cackled, pumping a fist in triumph. "I'm up against the unarmed bookworm. Ah, ~ahem~, no offense, Nanao."
Nanao was making a complex expression: her eyebrows were furrowed in a frown, but her lips were curled in a smile.
"No offense taken," Nanao replied, her eyebrows frowning but lips smiling.
I can't wait to kick your ass, you pig.
Renji glanced over at Akon, who looked none too pleased with their matchup.
Far as I know, Akon's not a fighter, Renji thought. I'll have to go easy on him so he can keep his dignity.
"The first six matches will all occur tomorrow, then the second round eliminations the overmorrow," Sasakibe told the room. "The third day will mark the Konranshiai, and the final day... will be the championship match."
"You mean when the victor fights you one-on-one, Lieutenant Sasakibe?" Kira asked, drawing everyone's eye. "Is it true what they say? That you won the very first Jūsankentaikai and have beaten every finalist ever since?"
The room took on a tense air as everyone waited for Sasakibe's reply. While he technically shared rank with the lieutenants, he was Genryūsai's righthand man and by extension their superior.
"I was the first victor, yes," Sasakibe nodded. "I have served as the final obstacle for the Jūsankentaikai ever since, and I have never been defeated in the Bushishinzui Budōkan.
"But do not let that deter any of you; several of the warriors I bested in the ring have gone on to surpass me. One of you may even be the first to win the Jūsankentaikai outright. Just think of what that will do for your reputations."
Even though Sasakibe's eyes were an inscrutable white canvas, Renji could tell that the ancient lieutenant was staring right at him while he spoke. It felt like a direct challenge was being issued.
"You all have a momentous day ahead of you," Sasakibe concluded. "Rest well tonight, and fight well tomorrow."
It was morning in Soul Society.
20 yards from the Red Hollow Gate was a small entrance that lead directly into the Bushishinzui Budōkan.
Higonyūdō, the southern gatekeeper, brought his massive hands underneath the unfathomably heavy stone and hoisted it up with considerable strain. The entrance groaned when wind seeped into the chasm for the first time in 76 years.
Thousands of Rukon villagers milled into the blackness, where they were met by a heavy formation of Shinigami checking for tickets. Once cleared, each villager pressed on into the dark catacombs that lead up into the stadium stands.
The Tenth Jūsankentaikai had begun. 24 years ahead of schedule.
Sunrise drew its dazzling curtain across the Seireitei and brought a sparkle to the stadium. The Twelfth Division had done its job well and scrubbed every surface until every surface gleamed. The amphitheater shimmered like a cauldron of crisp champagne.
Nanao stood shrouded in shadow within one of the hallways pocketed in the Bushishinzui Budōkan's ground level. Shunsui was beside her; it was customary for captains to escort their division's champion to the ring during the inaugural match.
He listened to the growing rumble of footsteps surging above.
Here they come. It won't be long now.
He looked to Nanao: she was quaking like a hummingbird.
"Nervous, Nanao-chan?"
"No, Captain," she replied. "I'm excited."
Shunsui smiled. He had always known Nanao nursed ambitions for combat. He felt lousy fo helping her family stifle her aspiration. While the other officers assumed the Eight Division lieutenant was a wilting flower, she was anything but.
"This is your chance to show everyone what you can do," he said. "I know you'll do yourself proud."
"What about you, Captain?" she countered. "Will I make you proud?"
"You already do every day, just by being who you are."
"Oh, cut it out," she frowned.
Byakuya, Hitsugya, Kenpachi, Komamura, Ukitake and Unohana stood waiting in the vestibule that was tucked into the northwest security zone of the stadium.
"Where's Captain Kurotsuchi?" Komamura growled.
"He's off dealing with a critical task," Ukitake replied.
Kenpachi was eyeing Hitsugaya up and down, making the diminutive captain wish he were anywhere else.
"You've gotten stronger, haven't you?" the brute grinned. "That Reikinbaku-ito stuff didn't do squat for me, but you've made a lot of improvement in just a few days. Haven't you, pipsqueak? Yeah, I can tell. Maybe you and me can spar a little when this is over?"
"It isn't proper," Komamura continued, still hung up on Mayuri's absence. "What could Kurotsuchi possibly be doing that would excuse his absence?"
"Genryūsai has deemed his mission important enough to exempt him from participating the tournament," Ukitake explained with a smile. "That's all I can divulge."
"You're telling me I could have just made up some 'important business' to get out of babysitting duty?" Kenpachi grunted.
"Please don't speak like this when the Tenrai-chōs are present," Unohana rejoined him sweetly. "They don't understand your etiquette the way we do, Zaraki. Better yet, perhaps you should practice the art of silence for today."
Kenpachi harrumphed but declined to argue.
Right on cue, the two bejeweled doors creaked open. All of the captains fell silent when the Shisonka strolled into the vestibule, flanked by their guards.
First came Kōbucha Ise, prim and prettily wizened. She was frocked in several layers of resplendent robes dyed burnt gold and crimson, her dark hair kept in a boxy Kepatsu style with a gray stripe running along the left wing. Her eyes were gray as ash and face adorned with several geometrically pleasing wisdom creases. Towering beside her was Nisaki Rurisa, her Shikōtai bodyguard.
Next was Yūshirō Sakimune Shihōin, the distractingly young Tenrai-chō whose reign began before he had even lost his first baby tooth. Dark-skinned like all Shihōin, he was a strikingly handsome boy whose features were so elfin that he could be mistaken for a girl.
His Shihakushō was distinguished by white shoulder pads and pink fingerless gloves fitted over his arms, with a matching sash around his waist. Overlaying the ensemble was a decadent purple robe, the garment conspicuously too big for his tiny frame. His big golden eyes beamed like lanterns, buoyed by his bright and unyielding grin.
Accompanying him was his Shikōtai guard, Hinashi Yokio, a translucently pallid Shinigami whose samurai armor concealed a rail-thin body. He was bound in a set of black cuirass and gauntlets that gave off an amethyst shimmer, with a lilac sash slung around his waist.
Yokio's face was hidden behind a mask cursed with completely benign features, giving off an eerie vacancy. His Kabuto helm was topped by two horns shaped like a beetle's antennae, his Zanpakutō's handle a soft periwinkle and hilt a sharp oval.
Next was Ginrei Kuchiki and his nephew Kōga, both of them striding forth with a shared ease.
Finally, there came Tokinada Tsunayashiro, a slender man distinguished by his clover hair. Fringes of sea-foam green flecked along the roots, much of it concentrated into a taut braid entrenched amongst an otherwise unkempt mane.
Tokinada was feyly handsome, standing at 5'7" and lithe in build, with green eyes that slanted into a cat's glare. He wore a white hoari over his Shihakushō, and over that a cream-colored robe with tanned leather around the shoulders.
He was flanked by two of his three Shikōtai guards. The Tsunayashiro Tenrai-chō infamously commanded more security than the rest of the Shisonka.
To his right was Baiyori Magōnyo, a strapping Shinigami armored in a canary yellow cuirass which, coupled with the black Shihakusho beneath, made him resemble a Yellowjacket. The smoky mask adorning his face was contorted into an expression of weeping despair, his helmet crested by a spike that curved up like a rhinoceros horn.
To the left was Sobura Kisāda, a Shinigami of slim build wearing an emerald cuirass and gauntlets, along with a pair of deep navy spaulders and matching greaves. His mask was twisted into a fanged grin and his helmet's crest disturbingly rached out in the shape of two cherubic arms, as if a toddler were sprouting from his skull.
Hitsugaya reflexively put his guard up, sensing the immense spiritual pressure emanating from the five guards.
All of them have extremely impressive Reiatsu, he observed. If all six of us fought them here and now, the battle would be distressingly even.
The captains bowed their heads in acknowledgment of the royals, but Komamura went so far as to fall onto his knees.
"My lords," the wolf said reverently. "We are honored to escort you –"
"Where's your helmet gone, Sajin?" Kōbucha asked, her face scrunching up with disgust. "How dare you show your face like that. Hideous. Offensive."
Hitsugaya's eyes widened, stunned by the insult. He looked down at Komamura, who was chastened like a child reprimanded by teacher.
"Yes, this is indeed an unpleasant surprise," Tokinada joined in with a contemptuous smirk. "If you weren't going to wear your bucket, you should have warned us to bring our own so that we may have a place to vomit our disgust."
How dare you! Hitsugaya bristled.
Unohana stepped forth and placed a supportive hand on Komamura's shoulder. She gave the gathered Shisonka a faint smile.
"Captain Komamura's helmet was destroyed during the Ryoka Infiltration, and has chosen not to conceal his face any longer," she explained with serene poise. "The Gotei 13 supports his decision. We humbly ask that you tolerate this indulgence, my lords."
Tokinada's sneer grew ever wider while Ginrei looked genuinely chastened. Kōbucha harrumphed and whipped her uchiwa wide, fanning herself in consternation.
"Fine, but I refuse to let that beast escort me."
"You needn't worry, Kōbucha," Tokinada chuckled. "Sajin can join my party. We have such a rich history together, after all."
Komamura finally dared raise his head, only to be confronted by a curious Yūshirō kneeling down and staring him eye-to-eye.
"I don't know what the big deal is," the boy wondered. "I think you look really cool!"
Komamura, taken aback, stifled a show of emotion and bowed his head once more.
"Thank you, Tenrai-chō Shihōin."
"Well then, shall we proceed?" Tokinada said, growing bored. "We don't want to keep our audience waiting. Kōbucha has quite the surprise in store."
Hitsugaya gave Komamura one last sympathetic look before following Yūshirō and his entourage. Kenpachi joined them in their march down the hallway.
"That's why nobody should bother kissing a nobleman's ass," Kenpachi whispered, gesturing back at Komamura.
"Please stop talking to me," Hitsugaya begged.
Unohana let her hand linger on Komamura's shoulder before breaking off to join Ukitake in ushering Kōbucha to her seat. Byakuya wordlessly went off with his grandfather and cousin, leaving Komamura alone with Tokinada and his guards.
"Come along now, dog," Tokinada commanded. "I actually rather like your new look. Perhaps we can fit you with a collar and leash as well?"
Komamura followed in their wake, refusing to acknowledge the insult. He eyed Kisada and Magōnyo warily.
"Pardon me, Tenrai-chō Tsunayashiro, but where is your primary guard?" he asked. "I expected him to be here."
"You would have liked that, wouldn't you?" Tokinada looked back at him with a devilish smile. "I decided to leave my pet back at the kennel. You three ought to be more than enough to keep me safe, I trust?"
Komamura nodded. "Of course, Your Highness."
Ōmaeda was practically bouncing up and down while listening to the thousands of voices clamoring outside.
"This is a great moment for us, Captain!" he giggled. "This is the day when Ōmaeda Marechiyo Yoshiayamenosuke Nikkōtarōemon takes his first big step towards becoming a captain of the Gotei 13!"
"Bottle that enthusiasm for the ring, you dolt," Suí-Fēng sighed, arms crossed and head hung in consternation. "You haven't won, yet."
"My victory's being delivered to me on a silk pillow," Ōmaeda cackled. "That Ise girl doesn't even have a Zanpakutō. She might as well be a ringer. I bet she's only allowed to participate because of her family name."
Suí-Fēng's temple veins bulged with implacable annoyance.
"Because of her name, huh? And what do you think got you anywhere, Ōmaeda Marechiyo Yoshiayamenosuke Nikkōtarōemon? Your physique?"
"Huh?" Ōmaeda mumbled, not catching her drift. "What d'you mean?"
Kūkaku squinted down at the microscopic arena situated a couple leagues below. She and Ganju were seated on the highest level of the stadium, crammed tightly between fellow Rukon.
"You're telling me the scalper gave you tickets for these seats, and you still actually promised I'd do him a favor?"
"How many more times do I need to apologize," Ganju pleaded.
Kūkaku fished out a compacted gizmo from her pocket and swung it open, the device lengthening out into a spyglass.
"It's fine," she sighed, peering through the telescope and getting an up-close view of the arena. "I came prepared."
The taiko drummers aligning the first row of the stadium began their furious rumble, heralding the tournament's beginning.
"That's our cue, Nanao-chan," Shunsui said.
They marched together out onto the sandy field. Nanao squinted when the harsh glare of sunlight and thousands of eyes bore down on her. From the opposing side of the oval-shaped expanse emerged Ōmaeda and Suí-Fēng. Lying between the opposing officers was the circular arena, 40 yards in radius and slightly elevated from the ground.
Encircling the field was a squadron from the Kidō Corps, each of them sitting in a meditative position.
"That's a lot of people," Nanao blushed.
"Indeed it is," Shunsui concurred. "You're going to amaze them all, Nanao-chan."
He gazed up at the screeching throng, spotted Genryūsai sitting in a box seat, and gave a cheeky wave. Yamamoto rolled his eyes in response.
Renji leaned forward from his seat in the second row of the stadium's southwest flank, where he and all the other contestants had VIP seating.
I wish Rukia was here to see all this.
"Look at Ōmaeda with that dumb grin on his face," Kira moaned. "He actually thinks he's gonna win?"
"He doesn't lack for overconfidence," Hisagi concurred.
"OH MY GOD, IT'S ŌMAEDA-SAMA!" a chorus of girls cried out from the row above them.
Kira and Hisagi looked back in shock at a gaggle of gorgeous Seireitei women, all of them waving around posters with doodles of Ōmaeda's face drawn on them.
"Ōmaeda-san!" a particularly busty and porcelain-faced member shouted from the group. "Please ask to me to be your wife!"
"As if!" an even bustier hottie shoved her aside. "Pick me, Ōmaeda-san, pick me!"
"What the fuck is going on?" Hisagi muttered.
"Didn't you two know?" Rangiku chuckled with a knowing look. "Ōmaeda is the most sought-after bachelor in all of Soul Society. He comes from a noble family, he loves to spend money, and he's single."
"… I come from a noble family, too," Kira countered.
"Yes, but you're a moody boy and a notorious cheapskate!"
"Guys, it's starting!" Isane shushed everyone.
The entire amphitheater fell into quiet anticipation when Kōbucha rose from her throne, situated in the northern box seat. She gave a nod to Rurisa, who on cue activated a Tenteikūra so that the whole coliseum could hear the Tenrai-chō's words.
"Welcome everyone, to the Tenth Jūsankentakai," Kōbucha began, her orotund voice transformed into an epic echo that reverberated across the stadium.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
"That's enough now," Kōbucha harrumphed, prompting the thousands of attendees to immediately hush up. "The Shisonka, the Soul King's favorite children, want you to know that Our Maker is aware of this contest, and he has given it his blessing. In fact, he is watching us all now, in this very moment."
Everyone in the stadium reflexively bowed their heads in reverence.
Is the Soul King really looking down at us right now? Kiyone thought with wonderment, giving Isane's hand an excited squeeze. Yes, I'm sure of it. I can feel his gaze filling me with strength.
"We are honored to convene this grand tradition on the Soul King's behalf," Kōbucha continued. "May the Soul Society be cleansed by the following days of combat... and may the traitor Aizen Sōsuke and his band of miscreants be struck with paralyzing fear by the might of the Gotei 13's officers!"
The crowd erupted into cheers again, the chorus of voices erupting up from the coliseum like a volcanic boom.
Shunsui chuckled at the Ise Tenrai-chō's knack for propaganda. And there we have it.
"Before we begin with this grand entertainment, I come bearing a decree from the Central 46," Kōbucha added.
Yamamoto's bushy brow perked up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. What are you playing at, Kōbucha?
Kōbucha produced a scroll and peeled off the wax seal. She unfurled the parchment, cleared her throat, and read it aloud.
"We, the wise men of Central 46, hereby issue this proclamation!" she began. "When the first Jūsankentaikai was fought, it was a competition designed to decide on a new captain to help complete the Gotei 13. To honor this original intent, we are reinstating this prize."
"What?" Yamamoto cursed under his breath.
No way! Hitsugaya blanched.
Ridiculous! Suí-Fēng scowled.
"By our authority, whoever prevails in this competition will be instated as a new captain of the Gotei 13," Kōbucha concluded.
With that, she rolled the up the parchment and pocketed it in her robe. She looked back at a stunned Unohana and Ukitake with a self-satisfied smirk.
"They can't do this!" Sasakibe hissed before turning to Yamamoto. "Can they, Captain-Commander?"
Yamamoto slunk back in his chair, his fists furiously wringing his staff.
Damn you, Kōbucha.
"Did she just say what I think she said?" Isane stammered. "One of us is gonna be a captain by the end of this?"
"That changes things," Tetsuzaemon sighed, taking off his sunglasses to rub his brow.
Renji was in complete shock, struggling to process the announcement. He looked out across the field at the Kuchiki box seat, wondering what Byakuya was thinking.
Ōmaeda, meanwhile, was cackling with joy.
"It's like I said, Captain!" he cried. "This tournament is my ticket to greatness!"
Suí-Fēng, red in the face, glared back at him venomously.
Nanao was staring at the ground, horrified by the depths of her aunt's underhandedness.
"This is why she wanted this tournament in the first place," she gasped, piecing it all together.
"Seems like it," Shunsui agreed. "Tenrai-chō Ise is obsessed with the status of her house, and the one jewel your family doesn't have in their crown is military distinction."
"She hand-picked the new members of Central 46," Nanao whispered, her dread mounting. "She secured an exemption for me to compete, and ensured that my first round was against a weakling like Ōmaeda."
"She's created the one single scenario where you can become a captain without having bonded with a Zanpakutō and acquired Bankai," Shunsui concurred. "It's also fair to assume her machinations won't just end here. She will use all of her power to clear a path to victory for you."
Nanao brought a hand to her chest, feeling her heart thump erratically. She felt sick.
"This is unfair to everyone else," she said. "It's a betrayal of the Captain-Commander's authority. What should I do, Captain?"
Shunsui gave her a warm, defeated smile.
"Whatever you want to do, Nanao-chan."
It was still early morning in the Material World, where Karakura residents were enjoying a lazy Sunday morning.
Ichigo turned over in his bed, gradually drifting awake. He dreamed of being back in Soul Society, sparring with Ikkaku and Renji. He was an officer in the Gotei 13, training to help thwart Aizen. Rukia was kicking his cot in the barracks, urging him to get up.
"Wake up, Ichigo."
The Strawberry's eyes flitted open.
"I said wake up, Ichigo!"
He bolted up, shocked by the familiar face smirking at him from the foot of his bed.
The taiko drummers resumed their furious beat, filling the coliseum with cacophonous fanfare. Rukon spectators seated in the rafters began to mimic the drummers' rhythm by stomping their feet, sending pulsating reverberations down through the lower levels.
Audience members seated closer to the arena, all of them residents of the Seireitei, felt the tremors and cast scornful looks up at the rabble, insulted by their enthusiastic lack of decorum.
The upper crowd's whooping only intensified when Chiwa Kikazu approached the arena.
"Oh my, there he is!" Rangiku squealed with delight, reflexively bouncing her bosom. Hisagi shot a nervous look her way.
Chiwa was the most famous entertainer in Soul Society, known for his exquisite beauty and sumptuous singing voice. After washing out of Shin'ō Academy, he found work as an attendant to House Ise and won enough favor to become Kōbucha's personal taikomochi, a role he flourished in going on a century.
Over time, he became a recurring master of ceremonies in the Seireitei, his enchanting good looks and musical talents winning him widespread notoriety. His growing repertoire of responsibilities now included emceeing and refereeing the Jūsankentaikai.
The genteel taikomochi had a windswept mane of golden hair, his eyes an incandescent amber with flecks of turquoise. His elfin features were supported by a strongly sculpted jaw, with a plush set of pillowy lips giving him a perpetual pout. Tall and lean, he cut a dashing figure in his form-fitting Shihakushō and tulip-colored haori, with the Ise crest of sika deer antlers embroidered with golden thread along the sleeves.
After taking his sweet time arriving at the center of the ring, Chiwa gave the crowd an ostentatious bow, prompting cries of adulation from many a young lady in the audience. Admiring the jester's poise from the second row, Yumichika discretely bit his lower lip.
Chiwa brought the microphone to his pillowy mouth and spoke, only for a corrupted warble sounded out. After a pause, he adjusted the instrument's cord and cleared his throat. I'm gonna have to punish whichever Twelfth Company goon hooked up this confounded thing.
"Good morning, one and all," he tried again, his silky voice now carrying throughout the coliseum with perfect clarity. "It is my profound honor to officiate this noble contest of brawn and skill, brought to you by the Shisonka's generosity."
He did not speak above a whisper, allowing the mic to amplify his utterances into a booming lilt that sent shivers through thousands of attendees' spines. His voice had a practiced suppleness, attesting to his renown as a singer.
"For those of you who have never attended a Jūsankentaikai before, allow me to note some important safety measures," he continued. "Posted around this entire perimeter are elite members of our Kidō Corps, who will maintain a protective barrier whenever our grand contestants are engaged in battle."
He extended his arm to give a sweeping gesture towards the dozens of Kidō practitioners seated in meditative postures along the arena grounds, plunked down in the sand right below the stadium's first row seating.
"Their combined prowess will be able to repel even the most vicious Hollow," Chiwa explained with a saucy shimmy of his shoulders. "Whatever magnificent techniques are thrown around this battlefield today, none of them shall reach you. Enjoy the spectacle without any worry, my friends."
Are we really just proceeding with this charade like nothing's wrong? Hitsugaya grimaced while dutifully flanking Yūshirō Shihōin's throne. He glanced over to the young Tenrai-chō, who was bouncing up and down in excitement. Well at least he's happy.
"Please pay due reverence to our inaugural competitors!" Chiwa continued. "Hailing from one of the wealthiest families in the Seireitei, the distinguished Commander of the Onmitsukidō's Patrol Corps, and Lieutenant of the Second Division... please welcome Ōmaeda Marechiyo Yoshiayamenosuke Nikkōtarōemon!"
"Aw, sweet!" Ōmaeda cackled when the audience broke into applause. "That pretty boy had the good taste to say my full name."
"Stop gloating and get up there!" Suí-Fēng hissed, giving him a swift kick in the butt.
The towering lieutenant adjusted his sash and ambled up onto the stage, waving to the crowd. He spotted his ecstatic groupies.
I'm gonna get a promotion AND a wife outta this. Things are looking up for Marechiyo!
"And in this corner, a blessed member of the Ise bloodline, Lieutenant of the Eighth Division... let's hear it for Ise Nanao!" Chiwa announced.
Nanao stood frozen, her fist clenched tight.
What can I do? This new prize of the Jūsankentaikai was officially issued by Central 46, but it was clearly Kōbucha Ise's doing. Her aunt had rigged this game to give her an unlikely opening to become a captain. It was a perversion of the Gotei 13's chain of command and longstanding laws.
She took a big gulp, gave Shunsui an inscrutable look, and began to slow walk up onto the arena. Her captain's words were echoing in her ears.
Whatever you want to do, Nanao-chan.
She brought her foot up onto the elevated tile only to freeze up, uncertain over whether to take another step. Her hesitancy was not lost on the crowd.
"Hey, what's up with Nanao?" Yumichika muttered to Ikkaku. "Doesn't she know this whole tournament's being served to her on a plate?"
Renji furrowed his brow and leaned forward in his seat, trying to read her expression to no avail.
What's she thinking?
"Lieutenant Ise?" Chiwa said uncertainly, shooting her an expectant look.
Soon enough, the entire stadium fell into a confused silence.
"What's wrong with that woman?" Ganju wondered, squinting at the hesitant dot that hovered by the arena's edge. "Is she scared?"
"No," Kūkaku replied, examining Nanao's expression through the magnifying eye of her spyglass.
Nanao looked up at the House Ise loge and caught her aunt's icy glare, recognizing the bristling disapproval. Same as it ever was. There was no love in those imperious eyes, only expectation.
She looked back at Shunsui and beheld his soft, supportive smile.
"I must respectfully decline!"
First there were confused murmurs, then a smattering of gasps rippled throughout the stadium.
"Come again, Lieutenant Ise?" Chiwa asked with a bemused look.
"I must respectfully decline," Nanao repeated before breaking into an involuntary laugh. "I am recusing myself from this competition."
She turned around and marched back towards Shunsui's side, struggling to maintain poise.
Did I... did I scare her off? Ōmaeda's jaw dropped onto the ground while he watched her retreat.
"What a loser!" one Rukon cried out.
The stadium started to rumble with angry boos.
"COWARD!" a chorus began to chant.
"Has she lost her mind?" Yumichika gawked. "What in blazes is she doing?"
"She's showing integrity," Ikkaku smiled approvingly. "She's a noble, and the nobility rigged this game to stick it to the Captain-Commander. By quitting–"
"She's undercutting her aunt's machinations," Rangiku concurred. "Nanao would rather look like a coward before this entire audience than be the lynchpin of some Shisonka plot to put one of their own in the Gotei 13. What a doll!"
"I misjudged her," Hisagi admitted. "She's got a lot of stomach, don't you think?"
He turned to Kira, who looked surprisingly grim.
While Ukitake and Unohana watched Nanao with silent admiration, Tenrai-chō Kōbucha was pink with fury. After fanning herself at an increasingly erratic rate, she snapped her uchiwa shut and ripped it in half. Tossing the the remnants aside, she looked over at her Shikōtai Guard, Rurisa.
"Go fetch my niece and bring her to me," she ordered, voice like flint sparking into flame. "And do not let that man come with her."
Chiwa twirled his microphone patiently while letting the boos coming from the crowd settle down into a simmer.
"In an unexpected turn of events, Lieutenant Ise has chosen to recuse herself from this tournament," he reiterated. "But never fear, dear spectators – this match will continue!
"In the event of a challenger stepping down, their division will be represented by the next available officer. Fortunately, we have the Third Seat of the Eighth Division here with us today..."
"I hope I didn't embarrass you, Captain." Nanao looked up at Shunsui queasily.
"Quite the opposite, Nanao-chan."
"Well, at least our division will carry on in the tournament," she offered. "Enjōji won't win outright, but he is a capable fighter –"
"Oh, Enjōji won't be your replacement," Shunsui chuckled, pinching the rim of his hat and lowering it over his eyes.
Nanao grew suspicious: he always did that gesture whenever he anticipated her disapproval.
"What do you mean?"
"I demoted him to Fourth Seat after the Ryoka defeated him with such ease," Shunsui said coyly. "Well, that may be too harsh a way of putting it. I like to think of it less as a demotion for Enjōji and more as a promotion for a very deserving officer. I figured our ranks could use some sprucing up..."
He couldn't. Nanao's eyes widened in mortification. He wouldn't!
"Not her, Captain!" she cried. "Don't tell me you promoted –?!"
Her protestation was drowned out by Chiwa's latest announcement.
"Subbing in for Lieutenant Ise, the freshly appointed Third Seat of the Eighth Division... please welcome Yayahara Yuyu!"
"Who?" Renji mumbled. Never heard of her.
"Oh my," Isane blushed. "This'll be interesting..."
Nanao, aghast, looked over to the arena entrance and spotted a figure emerging from the shadowy hallway.
"Rawr, raaaaaawr, rau roo woooooo..." a nasal voice sang out from the darkness.
It can't be!
Suddenly, the silhouette bounded out from the crevice and latched onto Nanao, nuzzling her face with sisterly affection.
"Ahhhh, you look so kawaii, Nanao-pyon!" Yuyu giggled, her rump wagging behind her while she rubbed her nose against Nanao's flustered cheeks. "Thank you ~so~ much for entrusting this job to me! Cheer me on, wonchu?"
Nanao shot a volcanically disapproving look at Shunsui. He responded with a sly smile and a shrug.
Yuyu hopped off of Nanao and bowed before Shunsui's feet, her upturned backside continuing to wag like an excited dog.
"Oh, Cap'n Kyōraku-chii!" she greeted demurely, her eyes sparkling. "I'mma be a star today, just for you!"
"Very good," Shunsui nodded. "Just be yourself up there, Yuyu-chan."
"What is that garish creature?" Kōbucha frowned at the new contender from her throne, steam practically firing from her ears.
Ukitake stifled a knowing laugh.
"Is that really Yayahara?" Tetsuzaemon murmured, lowering his sunglasses to get a better look. "I haven't seen her since her Academy days. She looks… different."
"You mean she wasn't always dressed like a clown?" Kira said sourly.
"Yuyu was a fairly meek girl when she joined the Eighth Division," Rangiku recalled. "Very quiet, shy even. But after a patrol in District 2800, she was never the same again."
"District 2800?!" Kira repeated, recognizing the station.
District 2800, otherwise known as downtown Tokyo, was infamous for corrupting impressionable young Shinigami. Kira was scared to death of the place.
That's where good behavior and style go to die.
"OK OK OK, here we go!" Yuyu giggled, blowing a kiss at her captain before launching forward with something akin to a bunny hop, sailing 20 yards through the air before daintily landing atop the stage.
Ōmaeda stared at the Third Seat with complete befuddlement: Yuyu was a young woman with a dark spray-on tan, her bottle blonde hair bunched into a thick ponytail with a set of bangs fringing her circular face, the ends dyed a punky violet. She had big, rose-colored eyes with a mischievous glint, her hint of buck teeth giving the appearance of teeny tiny fangs.
Her outfit showed no modesty, with her Shihakushō shorn at the midriff to fit as a crop top and miniskirt, her arms encased in airy sleeves and ankles slotted into stockings.
"Hai!" Yuyu called out to him, flashing a peace sign before swiveling around to give the entire stadium an exaggerated courtesy.
This is Nanao's replacement? Ōmaeda thought. This... is... PERFECT!
He couldn't believe his good fortune: instead of facing Kyōraku's pupil, he was matched up instead with a total clown who had just been promoted.
Nanao, watching Yuyu peacock before all of Soul Society, felt like she might just vomit.
"Her demeanor is absolutely disgraceful," she muttered. "I can't believe you'd subject our reputation to her showboating, Captain."
"Keep an open mind, Nanao-chan," Shunsui replied. "I think Yuyu-chan's rather cute."
"That's because you're a letch!" Nanao shot back.
"Are both fighters ready for battle?" Chiwa asked with a hint of apprehension. It felt as though the inaugural match would never get off the ground.
Ōmaeda and Yuyu each gave a nod.
"Very good! Let the Jūsankentaikai begin!"
Right on cue, the Kidō Corps members planted their palms onto the sand and mingled their individual Reiatsus into a cohesive whole. A translucent dome veined with gold sprung up and cohered around the field, insulating the arena with a barrier.
Chiwa hopped off of the arena stage and trotted over to a discrete corner where a pair of Kidō practitioners summoned a small barrier exclusively for him. This glass box better hold up under pressure, he thought while poking at the shield. Kōbucha-sama would be displeased if I scuffed up my hair.
"You gonna draw your sword, hussy?" Ōmaeda tucked his thumbs into his sash and chuckled at Yuyu.
She looked askance, as if stung by the comment, only to burst into a toothy giggle.
"Me, a hussy?" she beamed. "Why thank you, that's so ukepii! Squeee, I'm so excited! Aren't you?"
"Hardly," Ōmaeda turned stern, squatting into a sumo stance. "I take no pleasure in roughing up girls. I promise to be a gentleman, but you better draw your Zanpakutō."
"Oh, this little old thang?" Yuyu hummed, unfastening the katana slung around her waist. With a giggle, she tossed the sword over her shoulder, scabbard and all. The weapon flipped in the air before planting into the sand a yard away from Shunsui and Nanao.
Absolutely disgraceful. Nanao looked on in disgust at the katana. The hilt was hot pink and bejeweled with tacky stars made from plastic.
"Are you nuts?" Ōmaeda gawped, giving a baffled look at the discarded sword.
"I don't think I'll be needing my Zan today," Yuyu shrugged. She batted her eyelashes, prompting Ōmaeda to simultaneously blush and grit his teeth. "How about you draw your sword instead, mistah? You're gonna need it, after all."
"Grand idea!" Ōmaeda cackled, grasping the handle of Gegetsuburi and drawing it out with an impatient flash.
"Pulverize that harlot, Ōmaeda-san!" one of his groupies cried out from the stands. "Crush that trollop and then come marry me!" another chimed in.
He let out a triumphant roar and stampeded towards Yuyu with his katana held high. Once he was within a yard, he brought his sword down with crushing force, only to cleave through empty air. His blade thwacked impotently against the tile.
Huh?!
"Yoo-hoo!" Yuyu called cooed from behind him. Ōmaeda whirled around, only to be blinded by a flash. He threw up a hand, fearful that she had unleashed a Kidō spell.
Yuyu's Fuji-film instant camera popped out a fresh picture. She plucked the negative out from the slot and began waving it, looking back at Ōmaeda with a puppyish look.
"Aww, you didn't smile, Ōmaeda-nyan!" she pouted. "Should we take another one?"
The burly lieutenant nearly dropped his katana in sheer befuddlement.
"You're snapping… selfies?!" he cried indignantly before swiping his blade clean across her. Yuyu hopped up and landed her sandals atop his outstretched blade while continuing to wave her photo like an uchiwa.
"You wanna take another one?" she asked before giving a bug-eyed grin. "I want us together on the front cover of next month's Seireitei Communication!"
Ōmaeda, sputtering in mortification, wagged his sword around to shake her off. She clung on like a cat before deigning to spring off with a backflip and landing four yards away.
"What's taking so long, wu wu?" she complained, blowing on her polaroid a couple times to make the image bloom fully to life.
"The hell is up with this broad?" Ōmaeda huffed. So she's shifty, huh? Then I'll just smash her with overwhelming force!
"Crush, Gegetsuburi!" he roared, his Zanpakutō illuminating and refashioning into a spiked ball and chain. His lips upturned into a mean grin while clutched the bulbous flail between his hands.
"Ooh, I lurve it!" Yuyu blushed, her eyes widening into awe-struck rainbows. "That looks so cute!"
"Can it, hussy!" Õmaeda howled, heaving his Zanpakutō like a shot put and hurling it forth. Yuyu grinned at the incoming cannon ball and waited until it came within a yard before neatly scooting to the side, cleanly evading the attack.
While the chain surged past, she maneuvered her camera into a close-up selfie while the links rippled behind in a blur. Shooting up a peace sign, she gave a wink and lolled her tongue out before snapping a pic.
Ōmaeda snatched the end of his chain and gave it a fierce tug, making the iron ball snap back. Yuyu, none too rushed, plucked out the second polaroid from her camera and began fanning it while the spiked ball came surging back from behind her. When the sphere was within three yards, she nonchalantly tucked her two polaroids between her teeth, flung her camera into the air, and bounded up after it. Ōmaeda's flail whipped by underneath, narrowly missing her.
Suspended up in the air and gazing downward, Yuyu held out her hands and crooked them into claws, her rainbow-colored fingernails forming an open jaw. Her eyes gleamed with excitement when Gegetsuburi's sphere came within her sights.
"Rawr."
She smashed her hands together, fingers intermeshing. Suddenly, the roaring head of a Brown Bear bore down on the ball, chomping it in a pulverizing bite.
Gegetsuburi landed against the tile with a deafening thud, decapitated from its tether.
"W-what…?" Ōmaeda mumbled, his Zanpakutō returning to him a broken chain.
Yuyu landed back down onto the spiked ball, followed shortly by her camera. She caught the Fuji-film, took another selfie with Ōmaeda's stunned face as a backdrop, and turned to give the entire stadium a curtsy. The audience responded with thunderous cheers.
"Wu wu wu, thank you," she blushed.
She broke Gegetsuburi… like it was a toy? Ōmaeda's eyes widened with dumbfounded terror. What the hell is she?!
"It looks like I snipped your Zan, Ōmaeda-nyan," Yuyu said innocently, her toes tapping on Gegetsuburi's severed sphere. "Aren't you gonna surrender, meow?"
"I... I..." Ōmaeda quivered, shocked to his core. "I…"
"Don't give up, Ōmaeda-san!" a chorus of voices pleaded from the stands.
Ōmaeda looked up at the crowd and spotted his gorgeous groupies all clamoring for his attention, each more desperate than the last to urge him on.
"She's nothing compared to you, Ōmaeda-san!"
"We love you!"
"I love you most!"
They're right… this is my big moment. Ōmaeda gulped, rediscovering his courage. This is just a setback. I'm not out, yet. My Zanpakutō is just an extension of my strength. The real power resides in me!
He puffed out his chest, let out a defiant roar, and charged straight at Yuyu. She watched him approach, confused at first but eventually arriving at a realization.
Oh, so he's an absolute dum-dum? Oh my gosh, how CUTE!
Ōmaeda heaved back his right fist, eyes aflame with determination as he stomped forth like a raging bull.
"I am Ōmaeda Marechiyo Yoshiaya – !"
"Rawr."
Yuyu swung her left arm with an underhand chop. Correspondingly, the visage of a bear's massive paw lashed out and swatted Ōmaeda like a fly, sending him skidding out from the arena, across the out-of-bounds sand, and finally crashing into the stadium's ancient latrines.
Chiwa stifled a chuckle, cleared his throat, and brought the microphone to his lips.
"The winner by ring out, Yayahara Yuyu!"
The stadium erupted into cheers, the adulation punctured by shrieks of grief from Ōmaeda's fans. The other contestants gave each other uneasy looks.
"That technique is unreal," Ayon marveled.
"Well would ya look at that, Abarai," Ikkaku chuckled to Renji. "Looks like third seats can put up a good fight after all."
"That girl really is something," Renji concurred. "The whole gyaru style is still a little much, though."
Ōmaeda was at his captain induction ceremony, accepting his well-deserved promotion while all nine of his new brides watched with adulation. That's nice, he thought. This is nice.
Then he awoke with a jolt, a throbbing pain in his head. He was on a stretcher being carried away.
Oh... I lost.
"Hold it!" Suí-Fēng ordered from afar, prompting the medics to halt. The Second Division Captain strode over at an unhurried pace until she was looming over her subordinate.
"Who coulda known, huh, Captain?" Ōmaeda offered with a dazed look. "There was no way of accounting for such pow – ow, ow, ow!"
Suí-Fēng hooked her fingers deep into his nose, holding him hostage by the nostrils.
"If you had paid any modicum of attention to Soul Society history, you would've known you were outclassed from the jump," she hissed. "The Soul King granted the Yayahara Clan the power of beasts, making them among the most fearsome hand-to-hand combatants in the Seireitei."
"How was I – ow, ow, ouch! – supposed to know that?" Ōmaeda pleaded.
"Because the only other family with that power are our beneficiaries, the Shihōin!" Suí-Fēng snarled. "You squared up against a Shinigami who possessed the power of Yōkai and assumed she was a helpless mouse. You feckless dolt."
She unplugged her fingers from his nose and wiped the snot onto a medic's robes. "Get him out of my sight."
Ichigo rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren't deceiving him. After a moment of processing, he realized for sure he wasn't imagining things. Rukia really was sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed, clad in a Shihakushō.
"Rukia?!"
"Do you sleep in this late whenever I'm not around? You know Hollows don't skip morning shifts, Ichigo."
"It's the friggin' weekend, alright?" he snapped back, his exasperation unable to tamp down his jubilant smile. "You know you coulda called first!"
"I'm on a classified assignment," Rukia said ruefully before returning the smile. "Captain Ukitake gave me a mission, and I'm going to need your help."
Ichigo's eyes shimmered: he thought he might not ever see Rukia again, and yet here she was proposing they work together.
"Wait, I thought you lost your Shinigami powers?" he said, pointing at the Zanpakutō slung around her waist. "What gives?"
"Well, I couldn't regain them when I was stuck in Urahara's Gigai," she explained, visibly angered by the memory. "After I discarded it and took a few strolls through the Reishi-rich environment of the Seireitei, my Reiryoku naturally replenished itself."
Ichigo laughed. "I thought I'd never see you with a Zanpakutō again. Come to think of it, I only knew you as a true blue Shinigami for a couple of minutes."
Rukia pondered the observation for a moment before cheekily extending her hand.
"Well then let me reintroduce myself," she greeted. "I'm Kuchiki Rukia, a Shinigami."
Ichigo found the gesture a bit dopey but accepted her hand for a firm shake.
"Kurosaki Ichigo, Shinigami Deputy. Now scram, I gotta change."
She huffed and marched into his closet, shutting it closed behind her. Blushing and grumbling, he slunk out of his bed and picked out a nondescript white t-shirt from the dresser.
"I'm surprised Soul Society has you working again already," he remarked while sliding the shirt over his shoulders. "Don't you deserve a vacation or something?"
"There were some motivating circumstances," Rukia replied from inside the closet. "I think Captain Ukitake is trying to spare my feelings because I can't compete in the tournament."
Ichigo threw open the closet door and squinted at her inquisitively.
"What tournament?"
"You wanted to see me?" Nanao said softly, kneeling beside her aunt's throne.
"You will never receive anything from me again, is that clear?" Kōbucha seethed, not even deigning to look at her. "Did it feel good, rejecting everything I've done for you?"
"No, it didn't," Nanao shook her head. "But you left me no choice."
"You are an Ise!" Kōbucha shot back. "You had limitless choices. But now you'll be nothing more than a lackey to that oaf, a footnote in the Gotei 13's history. You certainly won't be mentioned in our family's records. I'll see to that. You will keep your name for appearances' sake, but you are no longer my niece. Understand?"
"Understood," Nanao nodded, chancing a glance up at her aunt. "You forced me to choose between being an Ise and my duty to the Gotei 13. I chose duty."
"Then be off," Kōbucha said with a wave of her hand. "We will never speak again."
Nanao rose back up, shared a look with Unohana and Ukitake, and departed the loge.
"Rurisa," Kōbucha commanded. On cue, Nisaki Rurisa unfurled a massive uchiwa with the wingspan of a crane and began to fan the Tenrai-chō.
"Now I have to suffer through this pointless trifle," Kōbucha grumbled, shooting an irate glare towards the direction of Tokinada's box seating.
This was all your idea, after all.
"That was so fun!" Yūshirō squealed, punching the arms of his throne with excitement. "Have you ever fought Yuyu before, Captain Hitsugaya?"
"I haven't, Your Highness," Hitsugaya murmured in reply. He wished they could keep the chitchat to a minimum.
"How about you, Captain Zaraki?"
"Nope," Kenpachi grumbled. "She doesn't look worth my time. Knocking out Ōmaeda ain't that big a feat."
"You mean those two are some of the weaker fighters?" Yūshirō said with awe, his eyes widening into starry saucers. "Oh man, this is gonna be so cool!"
Hinashi Yokio leaned forward and placed a hand on Yūshirō's shoulder.
"Pardon me, Your Highness," the Shikōtai Guard said in a soft, reedy voice. "I have to relieve myself."
"Wait!" Hitsugaya did a double take when the guardsman began to exit the loge. "Where're you going?"
"I have to hit the head," Yokio replied, cocking his helm back at Hitsugaya and Kenpachi sardonically. "I trust you two fine Captains of the Gotei 13 can handle watching a teenager for a couple minutes?"
"Better not be taking a shit," Kenpachi muttered.
"Well now I might just have to force one out," Yokio chuckled before disappearing through the silk curtain.
"You hear that?" Kenpachi frowned to Hitsugaya. "These Shikōtai bugs think they're better than us, don't they?"
"Please stop talking to me," Hitsugaya blushed, fixing a stare on Yūshirō. If anything happens to this brat, it'll be our hides.
"Captain Zaraki, isn't your third seat fighting in the next match?" Yūshirō broached, leaning up from his throne to get closer to Kenpachi's face. "Shouldn't you go down there to see him off?"
"Captains only do that for the opening match," Kenpachi growled back, wishing the kid would bottle his enthusiasm. "Ikkaku doesn't need me to drop him off at the dance."
"Let's see how bad the damage is," Yasochika Iemura sighed while assessing Ōmaeda in the coliseum's medical bay. "Seems like we have three broken ribs, bruising of the sternum, and… tearing of the nasal cavity?"
"The nose is Captain Sui-Fēng's doing," Ōmaeda answered with a groan. "Iemura, give it to me straight. Am I ever gonna walk again?"
"Yes, within minutes," the medic replied curtly. "In the history of the Jūsankentaikai, your wounds are among the most unremarkable."
"Oh…"
"Lieutenant Ōmaeda, someone is here to see you," a medic announced from the entrance.
One of my new brides?he hoped. "Send them in!"
To his surprise, the visitor was not one of his buxom fans but his little sister, Mareyo.
"We all saw your fight, nii-chan," she chirped, auburn hair and bright green eyes betraying that she took after their mother more. "You fought… honorably!"
"Who let you down here?" Ōmaeda grumbled, averting her gaze. "Did you come here to mock me?!"
Mareyo became crestfallen, her eyes shimmering with tears.
"I just wanted to cheer you up, nii-chan."
Ōmaeda shifted in his stretcher turning his back on her. "Go back to Marejirōsabu. I don't wanna talk to any of you right now."
He felt a pang of remorse while listening to her shuffle away.
"What a flamboyant young woman," Chōjirō Sasakibe remarked to Yamamoto while watching the triumphant Yuyu finally exit the arena field. "She is undeniably talented, though. It's rare to see the Kumakokoro technique wielded so casually."
熊心 Kumakokoro (Bear Heart)
"Her promotion is still questionable," Yamamoto said derisively. "Even Kyōraku's staffing decisions are mischievous."
"What's so mischievous about them?"
Shunsui emerged from behind the alcove's curtain, wearing a sly smile. "I don't mind if somebody wears a bit of nail polish so long as they can fight."
"What are you doing in my loge?" Yamamoto harrumphed, shooting him an annoyed glare. "Shouldn't you be helping fortify the Shisonka's security?"
"Well, my assignee doesn't want me anywhere near her," Shunsui admitted sheepishly. "The Ise Tenrai-chō isn't my biggest fan, it seems. So I figured I could watch the tournament here with you?"
Yamamoto studied him. Always such a mischievous boy.
"You won't be provided a chair."
"That's fine." Shunsui strutted over to the balcony rail and leaned against it to survey the arena below. "So… now we know the reason why the Shisonka insisted on holding this tournament."
"Aizen Sōsuke presented them a gift by slaughtering Central 46," Yamamoto concurred. "Kōbucha refilled the chamber with a fresh crop of sycophants, and now they want to install a Gotei captain who will be in their debt."
"At least that seems to have been Kōbucha's motive," Shunsui said. "The Shihōin boy just wants a show. I still believe Ginrei gave his consent in exchange for letting his family's business on Sōkyoku Hill be forgotten. But Tokinada? I still can't figure out what he wants from all this."
"To make us hop on one leg," Yamamoto answered. "For Tsunayashiro Tokinada, this has all been a show of control," Yamamoto elaborated. "He has forced us to comply with his petty whim; his motivations are no more complicated than that."
"I see," Shunsui said softly, casting a look over at the Tsunayashiro balcony. "I don't know what's a greater danger to Soul Society: traitorous captains or bored royals."
Ikkaku Madarame did some stretches at the center of the ring while glowering at Atau Rindō. He cupped his hands over his mouth to further amplify his voice.
"HEY! DON'T THINK I'M GONNA GO EASY ON YOU JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN'T HEAR, UNDERSTAND?"
"Does Madarame not understand what being deaf means?" Kira groaned from the stands. "Screaming won't help."
Rindō squinted at Ikkaku's lip movement and responded by signing 'I'd be insulted if you went easy on me.' He saw Ikkaku's flummoxed look and realized the bald Shinigami didn't understand a lick of sign language. He sighed and resorted to a thumb's up: 'OK!'
"Alright, that much I understand," Ikkaku grinned, resting the sheathedHōzukimaru on his shoulder.
"Are both fighters ready for battle?" Chiwa asked.
Ikkaku gave a nod while Rindō repeated the thumbs up.
"Let the second match of the Jūsankentaikai begin!"
The stadium echoed with fanfare, the taiko drummers picking up a furious beat to accompany the action.
Ikkaku, needing no further prompting, unsheathed Hōzukimaru and assumed a Jodan no Kamae stance. Rindō responded by unsheathing his Mumeikusaji, a Zanpakutō with a lens-shaped cross-guard. He took on a Waki Tori stance, his face placid as ever.
無名草地 Mumeikusaji (Nameless Meadow)
The two combatants slowly inched towards each other, wary of being the first to strike.
Ikkaku won't admit it, but he knows he has a lot to prove today, Yumichika thought while watching his comrade intently. Let's see if that week of intensive training paid off.
The swordsmen came within two yards of each other, studying the other's body language wordlessly. Ikakku felt a twinge. Now!
He launched forward and brought his sheath swinging down toward Rindō's head. The mute didn't take the bait by reacting to the scabbard, instead ducking to the side just in time to catch Ikkaku's blade coming in from the right. The swords connected and locked in a dead heat, their owners trembling from physical strain.
"Ah, I figured," Ikkaku chuckled, quickly sussing out Rindō's physical strength. "You're a lightweight!" He exerted his full might, pushing Rindō back.
Rindō, on the verge of being overwhelmed by pure brawn, artfully twisted aside to let Hōzukimaru grind off his blade and lunge forward. He whirled in a rapid spin and brought Mumeikusaji up for a swipe, only for Ikkaku to catch the edge with his left bicep.
Rindō let out a silent guffaw of surprise, his sword lodged deep in the bald Shinigami's coiled muscle.
Ikkaku jerked up his sword and smashed the pommel against Rindō's chest, sending him stumbling back along with Mumeikusaji. The katana's edge raked off from the meat of Ikkaku's limb like a serrated saw.
Rindō threw up his hand to sign 'Take to the skies / Dive within the cresting wave / Kiss the air and rejoice, Funshachōyaku!' His palm pulsed out a blast of wind and launched him back with great propulsion until he was skittering to the far edge of the ring.
噴射跳躍 Funshachōyaku, Hado #19 (Jet Jump)
"How come Rindō's hugging the edge of the ring like that?" Rangiku wondered. "Won't that just make it easier for Ikkaku to knock him off?"
"He knows he has to put distance between them," Tetsuzaemon surmised. "If that cut is the best he can do, he doesn't have the strength to defeat Madarame in close combat. He'll lose if they continue fighting at short range."
Ikkaku inspected the gash on his bicep; it was bloody but shallow. Not so bad.
"It's nice to finally become acquainted, Atau!" he chuckled before hocking a wad of spit. "You've got a good handshake."
He broke into a crouch and smashed the butt of his katana against the backside of its scabbard. "Grow, Hōzukimaru!"
In a flash, the blade and sheathe merged into a long Kikuchi-yari, the combined blade and haft taller than his person. Jutting the spear forward, he broke into a sprint.
Rindō, his heel kissing the arena's edge, assumed a Seigan no Kamae stance and traced his fingers along the side of Mumeikusaji's face, inscribing a command: 'Give Birth!' He swiped his Zanpakutō forward, the katana transforming into a segmented whip comprised of Shikigami talismans.
"What is that?!" Kiyone cried out.
'Usagi,' Rindō signed before slinging the line of charms like a lash. The talismans transformed into dozens of hares and surged forward, their buck teeth bared.
What the – ?!Ikkaku halted and beheld the small troop of bunnies barreling towards him. He instinctively jutted his spear forward, but to no avail.
The audience watched in gobsmacked awe as the rabbits collided against Ikkaku, one by one, and burst like confetti upon impact.
Rindō relaxed his posture, his Zanpakutō recoiling back into a solid katana.
"Not bad, right?" Shunsui chuckled to Yamamoto and Sasakibe.
"Damn," Renji marveled from the stands. "That got him good."
Ikkaku drove Hōzukimaru's blade into the ground and held onto the haft for support, his breathing haggard. His was crisscrossed with deep lacerations and purpling bruises, his Shihakushō obliterated around the torso. A steady stream of crimson was dripping down onto his white sandals.
"So your advantage is at long range?" he huffed, struggling to control his breathing. "I should never have let you get so far away from me. Damn."
Kenpachi, watching from above, spotted the subtle smile spreading across Ikkaku's cracked lips.
"Looks like Ikkaku's finally getting excited," the captain grinned.
"Just in time for him to lose," Hitsugaya remarked dryly. "Is this the sort of battle you wished to see, Tenrai-chō Yūshirō?"
He looked back to the Tenrai-chō's throne to discover it was empty.
"What?!" he yelped, stomach dropping like a stone. "Zaraki, where'd he go?"
"How'm I supposed to know?" Kenpachi mumbled with disinterest. "I haven't been paying attention to that brat all morning."
Hitsugaya leapt up and grabbed him by the collar, looking him eye-to-eye.
"If anything happens to that brat, they'll throw us into the deepest pit they can find! Help me find him!"
They both ducked out through the curtain and looked in all directions. Hitsugaya spotted Yūshirō dashing down the leftwing of the curving hallway. The welp was so far away he looked like a speck.
"There!" Hitsugaya cried out, breaking into a sprint after the Tenrai-chō.
Kenpachi remained behind. Can't be bothered.
Meanwhile, Ikkaku was charging towards Rindō once again, hoping to bridge the space between them. Rindō responded by prancing along the arena's edge, trying to maintain his distance.
"Just as I thought!" Ikkaku laughed. "You need time to recharge that attack of yours. Well, I'm gonna catch you first!"
Powering through the pain with sheer adrenaline, he galloped at full speed until he came within six yards. He leapt up, readying to thrust his spear downwards.
Rindō planted himself firmly in place. I've got you. He traced his command across Mumeikusaji and swung the whip of talismans upwards.
'Taka.'
Ikkaku's eyes widened with shock as a flock of hawks shot up to meet him at point-blank range, their beaks squawking and wings flapping.
The crowd let out horrified cries when the winged beasts tore through Ikkaku like bullets, lifting him higher into the air before he slipped through their onslaught and fell down onto the tile with a crash.
"It's over," Isane ruled somberly.
Ikkaku lay on his back with chunks of tissue nicked off from his body, tiny gouges the size of coins peppering his shoulders and legs. Blood seeped out from under him, forming a puddle.
Rindō looked down at the bloody baldie with a glassy expression that could have been mistaken for indifference.
"Damn it!" Tetsuzaemon cursed. "Madarame should have bided his time. Instead, he just charged headfirst into a trap."
"You think so?" Yumichika rejoined with a skeptical grin.
Inside the innards of the stadium, Hitsugaya was hot on Yūshirō's trail. How the hell is he so fast?he wondered while dashing at full tilt alongside the stone-carved pillars.
"Tenrai-chō, please come back!"
"Try and catch me, Captain Hitsugaya!" Yūshirō giggled, kicking up such speed that his footsteps were punctuated by crackles of lightning Reiatsu.
Hitsugaya reached out, his fingers coming within inches of grasping the nobleman's robes. Yūshirō gave a squeal of delight and clacked his heels together, bounding beyond the captain's reach again. He zipped out of sight in an astonishing display of Shunpo.
You've got the be kidding me!
Hitsugaya rounded the corner and spotted a fluttering curtain. He followed inside, only to find himself barging into the Tsunayashiro loge.
"Captain Hitsugaya?" Tokinada sneered from his plush seat. Yūshirō was beside him, bouncing up and down like an over-caffeinated toddler.
"I was giving chase to the Shihōin Tenrai-chō," Hitsugaya panted, his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It isn't safe for him outside of his loge."
"Are you implying that my loge isn't safe?" Tokinada countered before placing an avuncular hand on Yūshirō's shoulder. "He was just telling me how bored he'd become with your company. He'd prefer to watch the games with me."
"Nothing personal, Captain Hitsugaya!" Yūshirō giggled bashfully. "Can I please watch with Tokinada-san, please?"
Hitsugaya shot a helpless look at Komamura, who could only offer a sympathetic grimace in return.
"But, Your Highness, your Shikōtai Guardsman must be worried about you – ?"
"I can watch him from here, it's fine."
Hitsugaya looked back and saw Hinashi Yokio emerge through the curtain.
"Well then it's settled," Tokinada said. "How about you fuck off back to the Shihōin loge, Captain Hitsugaya? Mine is becoming crowded enough as is."
Hitsugaya turned bright pink and gave Yokio an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry."
Yokio studied the diminutive captain and leaned down to whisper into his ear.
"He's a speedy lil handful, isn't he?"
Hitsugaya offered a sheepish nod of agreement and exited the enclave while Yūshirō rested on the arm of Tokinada's throne. The lad excitedly grabbed his fellow Tenrai-chō by the shoulder and jostled him around.
"This is gonna be so rad! Have I missed anything?"
"It seems that the bald warrior from Eleventh Division has been laid out," Tokinada answered. "Let us watch the countdown together, shall we?"
"Six!" Chiwa chanted into his microphone. "Seven!"
Ikkaku lay motionless on the ground while Rindō loomed over him.
"Eight!"
Rindō sighed. It pained him to have so grievously injured a fellow Shinigami. I hope you can forgive me, Madarame –
Ikkaku's eyes snapped open, his irises blazing with demented delight.
"Nine!"
"Split, Hōzukimaru!"
He launched back up onto his feet, his spear disconnecting into its true form: a Sansetsukon. The three sections whipped around and latched onto Rindō's torso like a triangular vice, keeping his arms pinned to the sides. Ikkaku grasped the interlocked chain and pulled his opponent in close, meeting him with a devastating head butt.
Rindō's head snapped back, his nose crushed and geysering jets of blood and snot. The force sent both of them over the arena's edge and onto the sand below.
Chiwa trotted over and inspected the two unconscious fighters: while both out of bounds, it was Rindō who was touching the ground while Ikkaku rested safely atop him.
"Winner by ring out, Madarame Ikkaku!"
The audience broke into cheers and gasps at the reversal of fortune. Yūshirō could be heard over the din shouting "That was awesome!"
"See?" Yumichika grinned to Tetsuzaemon with a hint of sass. "Looks like it was Madarame who was laying a trap all along."
"You'll never convince me that was planned ahead of time," Tetsuzaemon grumbled. "At least he found a way to use that hard head of his."
"I guess it's about that time," Hisagi whispered to Kira. "We're up next. Be a little more courteous than Ikkaku and try not to bust my nose, alright?"
He realized he was talking to an empty seat: Kira was already up and heading off to get ready.
"Hey, what's the rush?"
Kira stopped in his tracks, hesitating before turning to give Hisagi a look.
"This grand prize changes things, Shūhei. You get that, right?"
"What're you talking about?"
They studied each other for an awkward duration while the audience cheered around them. Kira's eyes turned somber.
"I'll see you in the ring."
"So Renji's fighting in a tournament and I'm not even invited?" Ichigo harrumphed, sitting back in his bed to fussily tie his shoelaces.
"Only seated officers can compete in the Jūsankentaikai," Rukia replied. "I share your frustration, Ichigo."
"Well, how come you're not a seated officer?"
Rukia gave him a look that made it clear she didn't want to talk about it. He decided to change the subject.
"Alright, why is Soul Society even having a tournament right now? Shouldn't you all be preparing for war against Aizen?"
"None of the captains thought it was a good idea, but the Shisonka insisted."
"Wait, so the Gotei 13 is doing all this because some nobles asked them?"
"It's the Shisonka's will," Rukia replied flatly, unsure of what part wasn't clear. "You don't just thumb your nose at them."
Ichigo made a derp face, profoundly confused.
"I thought the Old Man was like the Big Cheese in Soul Society?"
"What do you mean, cheese?"
"The top dog. The head honcho. You know, the one who makes all the decisions?"
"Genryūsai?" Rukia frowned, a little shocked by Ichigo's naïveté. "He is certainly the boss of us Shinigami, and the leader of the Gotei 13. But he still has to answer to Central 46, and both of them defer to the Shisonka."
"What gives these Shisonka guys any authority?" Ichigo mumbled. "Just because they were born with the right name?"
"Because they are the Soul King's representatives."
"The who?"
"Ichigo!"
"I have no idea who you're talking about!"
Rukia readied to chastise him some more but relented, turning pensive.
"Come to think of it, I never told you about the Soul King. I was keeping you on a need-to-know basis, after all."
"Alright, so what's a Soul King? Is he the king?"
"Correct," Rukia nodded. "He created the universe."
"ALL OF IT?!"
"Yes, and he rules all of creation from the heavens."
"Wait, so you're saying there's a God?"
"Why yes, of course."
Well that's a lot to take in on a Saturday morning. Ichigo ran a hand through his shock of orange hair, feeling a headache coming on.
Rukia snatched some paper and markers from his desk and began drawing while she explained the hierarchy of the universe.
"You see, the Soul King lives in a realm that resides above Soul Society, called the Royal Palace… the only people he is in direct contact with below are the Shisonka, who descend directly from the first Shinigami, and they rule Soul Society by his authority. The Soul King tells them what to do, and they tell us Shinigami what to do."
She finished her sketch and held it up to show Ichigo. The crinkled illustration was a jumble of bunny doodles and crowns, complete with squiggly arrows to point to who delegated authority to whom.
"This is very crucial information!" Rukia protested. "The Shisonka are the most powerful political force in Soul Society and hold great religious importance, understand?"
"Alright, yeah. Got it."
"Good," Rukia nodded, neatly folding her illustration by squares and pocketing it. "You're already well-acquainted with two Shisonka clans: the Kuchiki and the Shihōin."
"Huh?" Ichigo bleated. "You mean you and Miss Yoruichi are at the very top of the food chain?"
"I don't really count," Rukia clarified with a shake of her head. "Brother may have adopted me, but the rest of his family only see me as Rukon."
"Is that so?" Ichigo said, seeing the hint of hurt in her eyes. "So they're even bigger buttheads than him, huh?"
Rukia's eyes widened. She involuntarily let out a chortle, only to stuff it deep down.
"Yes, you could say that."
"Are you ready for more examples of gallantry?" Chiwa asked the crowd. He was met with thunderous affirmation.
"Outstanding," the emcee nodded, extending a hand towards the ring. "Brace yourselves for a treat! We have two lieutenants, rumored to be close friends, and they were both the right hands of traitors! Let us see if they can redeem themselves through the holy ritual of combat! Behold, Kira Izuru and Hisagi Shūhei!"
Hisagi shot a resentful scowl at the referee before returning his glare to Kira from across the ring. He listened as a mixture of boos, cheers, and even some hisses emanated from the crowd. The stink of Gin and Tōsen's treason had definitely rubbed off on them.
"Sure we can't just settle this over a game of Janken?" He hoped the jest would get a smile out of Kira. It didn't.
Instead, the blonde-haired mope was wearing that annoying, morose stare of his.
"Are both fighters ready for battle?" Chiwa asked.
Hisagi and Kira both nodded.
"Then let the third match of the Jūsankentaikai begin!"
The moment Chiwa finished his declaration, Hisagi and Kira unsheathed their Zanpakutō and launched at each other, clashing at the center of the ring like wisps of wind. Spectators with limited spiritual awareness craned their heads forward and struggled to make out the movements of the two speedy combatants.
Hisagi and Kira disappeared and reappeared across yards at a time, their clashes sending ripples of kinetic energy down against the arena floor and jostling the carefully slotted tiles.
"Interesting," Tetsuzaemon remarked while watching. "Their movements, the intensity of their strikes... this isn't a friendly contest."
"What do you mean?" Isane asked with a hint of concern. "Are you saying they want to hurt each other?"
"I'm saying they don't seem to be in agreement about the stakes of this match," Tetsuzaemon answered measuredly.
Kira brought Wabisuke down against Hisagi's Kazeshini with furious force, the two swords colliding and grating against each other's edge.
"Why am I sensing anger in your swings, Izuru?" Hisagi asked, staring searchingly into his friend's eyes while they wrestled blades.
"You're not fighting to win, Shūhei," Kira answered.
"This is just a tournament."
"It's become more than that!" Kira hissed, pushing Kazeshini away at last and swinging Wabisuke down with an underhand stroke.
Hisagi nimbly parried the swing and retreated a yard.
"You want to become a captain," he said accusingly, his patience run thin.
"Of course I do," Kira replied hoarsely. "You're a fool for not seizing the opportunity, too."
He held his katana aloft, honing his focus. With a slight nudge, he knocked Wabisuke's hilt and sent it into a rotation. The blade spun in place, suspended in the air until it whirred with the velocity of a turbine.
Hisagi watched with grim resignation while the blade began to crackle with Reiatsu.
"Hadō #58," Kira called out, catching his sword mid-spin. "Tenran!"
闐嵐 Tenran (Tornado)
A torrent of wind erupted forth, surging towards Hisagi with expanding breadth and cracking the tiles in its wake.
Hisagi answered by jutting forth his right hand.
"Bakudō #39, Enkōsen!"
円閘扇 Enkōsen (Round Lock Fan)
A torch of canary yellow emanated from his palm and twisted into a countervailing fan. The two Kidō spells collided and canceled each other out, Tenran dispersing in diverging directions. The kinetic force surged out from the ring and forked towards the audience, only to crash impotently against the Kidō Corps' barrier.
"Have you really been so easily seduced by ambition?" Hisagi cursed. He flash-stepped within a yard of Kira, his sword outstretched. Kira ducked down nearly flat on his back and dived feet first between Hisagi's outstretched legs, sliding behind him and jutting Wabisuke up for a counterstrike. Hisagi hopped up and thrust his katana down. Both their blades slid along each other's length and ignited sparks.
The audience watched in awe as the two officers traded a series of sword swings, their strikes narrowly missing flesh each time.
"Ambition?" Kira repeated while ducking Kazeshini by a hairsbreadth. "It's not ambition, Shūhei. It's duty!'
"You want to win a captain's seat like it's a game prize?" Hisagi roared between jabs and dodges. "Neither of us deserves it yet!"
"It's not a matter of what we deserve," Kira spat back, taking a bracing nick to his right cheek. "Third Division has been railroaded. My men need a leader! If I don't rise to the fill the void, who will?"
They twirled around each other like synchronized dancers, their katanas clanging and missing each other intermittently. Hisagi lunged backwards, only for Kira to catch him by the collar of his Shihakushō and yank him forward, thrusting Wabisuke to meet him. Hisagi artfully diverted the blade with a chop, sacrificing the edge of his hand. His blood splashed onto the tiles at his feet.
"Your men won't look up to a leader who hasn't earned the rank," he grit, a deep slice carved into his palm.
"They will look up to whoever does what's necessary!" Kira roared back, his temper finally frayed.
He lunged forward, only for Hisagi to launch himself above. Kira gave chase, leaping up after him.
"You're deluding yourself." Hisagi unfastened the bands wrapped around his right bicep and batted them down with his katana in a single fluid motion. Kira's eyes widened, knowing all too well the bands weren't mere adornment. The links landed against his chest, glowed bright red and exploded like a grenade.
Kira landed flat on his back, throwing up chunks of tile upon impact. He blurted out a splash of blood and phlegm and clutched at his chest, his Shihakushō singed across the abdomen.
Hisagi landed two yards away, glaring down at Kira with disdain.
"Renounce your ambition. Before I think less of you."
Kira seemed to forget his agonizing pain, his eyes snapping back open and seeming to glow with indignation. He backflipped into a crouch, his sword extended threateningly.
"Raise Your Head, Wabisuke!"
Hisagi's eyes flickered with disappointment while watching the katana remold into a 90 degree hook. Kira rose back to his full height and brandished the true face of his Zanpakutō.
"Unseal Kazeshini, Shūhei."
"I will not." Hisagi assumed a Tachi no Tori stance and shook his head.
"Then you've chosen selfishness," Kira jeered before flash-stepping forth and cleaving his hook down. Hisagi dived aside, narrowly missing Wabisuke's swipe. He skid away, his sandals digging smoke trails into the arena tiles before coming to a stop at a distance of six yards from Kira.
They stared each other down, both equal parts frustrated and winded. Hisagi clenched his jaw until he couldn't repress his agitation any longer.
"How the hell am I the selfish one here?"
"You're letting your pride get in the way."
"What're you talking about?" Hisagi sighed, exasperated.
"Your division has been disgraced, Shūhei!" Kira roared. "The only one who can restore its honor is you."
"I'm not a damn captain!" Hisagi cried back, thoroughly provoked. He swiped two fingers across the air. "Hadō #10, Enban!"
円盤 Enban (Discus)
A buzzsaw comprised of crimson light materialized before him and sailed forth. Kira, not missing a beat, dashed towards the incoming Kidō and jumped up, stepping over the disk and using it as a springboard to somersault over his opponent.
While the Enban flew out from the stage and smashed against the encircling Kidō barrier, Wabisuke shined as it landed a thwack on Hisagi's shoulder.
Hisagi tumbled over and spilled across the ground before springing back unsteadily onto his feet.
So that's what double the weight feels like, he grimaced while nursing his weighted-down limb. It was as if his arm had been filled with lead.
Yūshirō leaned forward in his seat, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow. "How come that Hisagi guy isn't fighting back with his Shikai? Is he saving it for a big finale?"
"Perhaps he's just a fool," Tokinada mused.
"Lieutenant Hisagi has a distaste for his own Zanpakutō," Komamura interjected with a hint of wistful understanding. "He will not release Kazeshini unless the circumstances are a matter of life and death."
"I see," Tokinada hummed. "Well at least you're good for some color commentary, dog."
They watched as Kira made a slow approach, his hook held low.
"Unseal your Shikai, Shūhei," he warned. "You can't beat me without it."
"I'd sooner lose!" Hisagi shot back.
"What's wrong with you?" Kira whispered, wide-eyed. "Somebody is going to win this tournament. Why are you so afraid it's going to be you?"
Hisagi huffed and launched forward in a blitz of Shunpo, only for Kira to intercept him.
My arm! Hisagi realized. His arm was weighing him down just enough to slow his Shunpo by mere milliseconds. That was more than enough. Before he could adjust, Wabisuke was within inches of reaching his abdomen. He broke into a cartwheel and kicked the hook away, sacrificing his foot. There was a hollow clang as his ankle connected against the flat-faced blade.
Kira watched Hisagi spin out and land with a painful splat.
"I don't want to win only because you held out on me," he sighed.
Hisagi grunted and awkwardly hobbled back up. He spat and wiped a blood trickle off from his nose.
"That's my business. Why do you care so much?"
Kira looked wounded. He lowered Wabisuke.
"Because you'd make for a fine captain."
"The Ninth Division already has a captain!" Hisagi cursed.
Kira gasped, his already pallid face draining of color until it took on a positively ghostly pallor.
"Are you telling me that… somewhere in your heart, you're holding onto hope for Tōsen's return?"
Hisagi flinched at the accusation. All he could do was bristle in response.
"Of course not!"
"He still holds a place of respect in your heart, doesn't he?" Kira intuited, his expression gaunt with disgust. "Shūhei… he was nothing but a mirage. A jape at your expense – "
Hisagi, in a fit of rage, flash-stepped right beside Kira and swiped up with his katana, only for Wabisuke to catch his strike. They were locked in a standstill for an agonizing moment. Hisagi sweated profusely, his arms growing wobbly. It felt like he was holding a bucket being filled with the ocean.
"Don't you know it's unwise to cross blades with Wabisuke?" Kira queried pitilessly. "With each passing second, it is doubling the weight of Kazeshini until – "
The katana slipped through Hisagi's raw fingers and landed onto the tiles with a sickening crunch, indenting a pockmark into the arena.
Hisagi bounded back in retreat, only for Wabisuke to catch his right leg with another swipe. He fell back awkwardly and rolled along the ground until finishing face-first against the tile. He was on his stomach, his joints aching from strain.
Before he could struggle back up to his feet, he felt something hover along his throat.
"No," Rangiku gasped. "Kira wouldn't…!"
Hisagi gulped, his adam's apple bobbing within a hairsbreadth of Wabisuke's edge. Kira was hanging his Shikai around him like a noose.
"Concede."
Hisagi's face scrunched up in defiance.
"You feel like a big man, threatening me like this?"
Kira was perfectly still for a moment, then withdrew the noose.
"Fine, then."
Wabisuke's face smacked against Hisagi's shoulder one time, two times, three times. He collapsed in a full-body flop, pinned to the ground.
"Bastard," he hissed.
Kira reached down, grasped the scruff of Hisagi's Shihakushō, and began dragging him across the stage. Their fellow lieutenants watched from the stands with horrified fascination.
There's no need to humiliate him like that, Rangiku thought disapprovingly.
Kira stared straight on while he heaved his comrade like an anchor, slowly but surely bringing him to the arena's edge.
"I already told you," he whispered somberly. "Everything changed the moment they announced the prize. This was no longer a game. It was a battle. Battles are terrible things. Friendship cannot survive a battle."
Hisagi's face twisted with irrepressible fury. All he could do was stare down at the moving ground while it ground his face like sandpaper.
"I don't know if I can ever forgive you for this."
Kira had no response until they were finally at the ledge.
"I pray you never forgive me."
Hisagi felt himself lifted up, and then he was thrown into the dirt.
"So what's this mission of yours?" Ichigo asked after finally being brought up to speed about the goings on at Soul Society.
"There have been disturbing reports coming from neighboring districts here in the Material World," Rukia explained. "We have reason to believe that a great menace has become stronger than ever before and is on a rampage."
"Who?"
She hesitated to answer, knowing full well she was about to prick at a painful wound in Ichigo's heart. With a short breath, she finally blurted it out.
"Grand Fisher?" Ichigo repeated, his eyes glinting with hatred at the name. "What do you mean he's gotten stronger?"
"There have been a concentration of Hollow attacks that all fit his pattern: human women murdered during rainfall," Rukia recounted. "Last week, a Shinigami named Saidō Eikichirō was dispatched to investigate one of the crime scenes. He was an expert on Grand Fisher; the first and only Shinigami to fight him and survive until you came along. However, he disappeared during his investigation and is now feared dead."
"Isn't Grand Fisher one of your biggest repeat offenders?" Ichigo murmured. "How's any of this different than before?"
"He eluded us for 54 years because he was careful and selective with his targets," Rukia explained. "He would go weeks at a time between consuming souls, but this recent string of murders is an escalation. We believe he's become emboldened."
"He was pretty tough when we fought, but I think I'd make short work of him now," Ichigo said.
"That may very well be true, but SDRI believes he's gotten exponentially stronger since you last fought," Rukia said.
"How'd that happen? Has he been carb-loading on souls or something?"
"No," Rukia shook her head. "He would have to consume thousands of humans to make any dramatic improvement. However, there is another way for a Hollow to attain greater strength: Arrancarization."
Ichigo cocked an eyebrow. Arrancarization?
"Alright. What's an Arrancar?"
"Hollows who have removed their masks."
For dramatic effect, she palmed her face and slid her fingers away with a whoosh!
"It would take decades of study for you to understand the science, but the short and sweet explanation is that breaking their masks brings them closer to the existence of a Shinigami. The transformation yields a fearsome power boost."
"Hollows can become more like Shinigami?" Ichigo grimaced while thinking about the inverse of that equation. He could hear Shinji's voice whispering from the back of his mind.
You ain't a Shinigami anymore, Ichigo. You're a Visored.
"Wait, how come I've never fought one of these Arrancar before?" he asked.
"They're exceedingly rare, at least outside of their home world," Rukia answered. "Most Hollows never become self-aware enough to initiate the ritual. Those who do are few in number, and fewer still have any interest in the Material World. In fact, it's extremely unusual for a career Hollow like Grand Fisher to even destroy his mask."
"How come?"
"Because only the Menos Grande can successfully complete Arrancarization," Rukia said. "The natural evolution of a Hollow is to eat their own kind until they become a Gillian, the same type of Menos you fought after Ishida baited the Hollows."
"Oh, I gotcha," Ichigo nodded. "It's like what Afro-san said: they turn from a Gillian into a... um, what do ya call them? Hadouken?"
"Adjuchas," Rukia corrected him. "Who is Afro-san?"
"The new patrolman around here. He's a real pain; thinks he's my boss."
"Oh, Zennosuke? I didn't know he went by Afro-san..."
"Don't get sidetracked."
"As I was saying, the Gillian are the most numerous and mindless of the Menos. They're like foot soldiers, really."
Ichigo's expression dropped, remembering the 500-foot tall titan he had struggled against previously. That thing was just a foot soldier?!
"Each Gillian functions as an instinctual hive mind, teeming with all the competing impulses of the Hollows they've consumed," Rukia said. "When one personality subsumes the others and solidifies control, they evolve into an Adjuchas, a far smarter and stronger Menos who can order the Gillian around.
"They're also more humanlike than the monsters you've seen, which makes Arrancarization feasible. However, career Hollows like Grand Fisher avoid becoming a Menos altogether. They grow too attached to their identity and fear losing it to another personality during the transition from Gillian to Adjuchas."
"So Grand Fisher's leveled up while skipping the usual steps?" Ichigo surmised. "I've dabbled in cheat codes myself. What's this all mean for him?"
"It means he's become incredibly unstable," Rukia said. "His current evolution cannot handle the transformation. How do I put this? By tearing off his mask, he has upset the balance between his Hollowfied self and the Plus he began as when he departed his human body. Unless he starts consuming enough Hollows to become a Menos, he will soon fall prey to Soul Suicide."
Ichigo scooted a bit closer, his brow furrowed with interest. "What's that?"
"Do you recall the Balance of Souls?" Rukia asked rhetorically, interconnecting her arms and wobbling them to illustrate the tilting of a scale. "The same imbalance that would collapse the universe can happen within a Soul as well. When a Hollow Arrancarizes without the stability of a Menos body, they risk self-destruction. Put simply, he will explode and be snuffed from the Cycle of Rebirth forever. It is a permanent end."
Ichigo imagined Grand Fisher immolating into nothingness. He liked the sound of that.
"Well then just let the problem sort itself out," he hand waved. "Let that bastard pop. I can't think of a more fitting karma for him."
"I know you wish to see him suffer, Ichigo, but please consider the bigger picture," Rukia said ruefully. "Grand Fisher has eaten many souls. When he succumbs to Soul Suicide, all of those lives will be expunged from the Cycle along with him."
Ichigo's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. You mean?...
"Souls like my Mom?"
"Yes," Rukia nodded. "But if we slay Grand Fisher before he succumbs to Soul Suicide, your mother and all of the other humans he has murdered will finally pass onto Soul Society and start anew."
"But if he blows up first, her soul will vanish along with him?" Ichigo murmured fretfully, horrified by the thought. "Well then what are we waiting for? Let's go kill him."
"Excellent!" Rukia grinned, smacking her palm over fist. "We have little time to waste. Let's venture to Kagamino City immediately!"
Ichigo's determined expression dropped into a perplexed frown. "We have to go all the way to Kagamino City?"
"Why yes. That's where Grand Fisher's been carrying out his latest attacks."
Ichigo turned gloomy, looking very put off.
"... I've never been that far before."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I've never left Karakura Town before..."
Rukia blinked in astonishment before breaking into a guffaw, her laughter mingling with a snort.
"Bwahaha! Ichigo, you mean you've traversed more of Soul Society than your own world? How incurious are you?"
"It's just not my comfort zone, alright?!"
"Well, if you wish to help me pursue Grand Fisher, we will have to push past your comfort zone," Rukia nodded ruefully. "Think you can do that?"
"Yeah, fine," Ichigo grumbled. "People might notice if I'm off the grid for that long, though. Wait... I don't need to be in my bodyto go to Kagamino City with you, right?"
"No, you don't. In fact, your Shinigami form would be preferable."
Ichigo grinned triumphantly. He walked over to his wardrobe dresser and pounded on the top drawer.
"Yo, Kon! Wake up."
The drawer slotted open and Kon peeked out, drowsily rubbing his button eyes with plushie paws.
"Sheesh, what is it?" the Mod Soul yawned. He looked up at an expectant Ichigo, then glanced over and saw Rukia. Suddenly, he was wide awake. "RUKIA-CHAN!" the plushie squealed, his button eyes shining with adoration. "Oh, how I've missed that vertical slope!"
He sprung out from the shelf and dove straight for the embrace of Rukia's chest. Ichigo caught him in mid-air and gave a disapproving squeeze.
"Get a grip, sicko. I've got an assignment for you."
He promptly emptied Kon's soul candy from the doll and gobbled it up. He burst out from his human body and into his Shinigami form, with Kon now occupying the flesh suit.
"Rukia and I are gonna be off on important business, so I need you to hold down the fort. You're gonna play sick today; if anyone so much as knocks on my bedroom door, pretend you're laid out and bedridden."
"Sounds pretty boring," Kon groaned, plopping down onto Ichigo's bed and running a hand through his spiky hair. "Why can't we ever switch bodies when you've got a hot date or something?"
"Just do your job, alright?" Ichigo frowned. "And if I find out you've left the house to go bouncing around again, I'm gonna junk the lion and stick you in a rubber duckie or something, got it?"
Rukia gave the Mod Soul a polite nod. "It's nice to see you again, Kon."
"Yeah, nice seeing you, too. How's about you take me with you back to Soul Society this time? Ichigo's a cruddy roommate."
"I'm afraid that'd be unsafe," Rukia replied. "You'd immediately be destroyed by SDRI if they learned of your existence."
Kon turned pale and flopped back down onto the bed with resignation. "Alright, you two have fun on your world-saving shenanigans or whatever."
Ichigo and Rukia phased out of the bedroom and leapt down onto the street below. Kon waited a full 20 seconds, looked out the window to confirm that they had indeed left, and sprung out of the bed. He whistled absentmindedly while he burst out from Ichigo's bedroom, stomped down the staircase and strode into the Kurosaki household's living room.
He leapt onto the couch and grabbed the TV remote, flipping through channels until he came upon a soap opera starring beautiful, busty women. With a contented sigh, he nestled back into the couch cushions.
Yuzu poked her head out from the kitchen.
"Good morning, nii-chan!" she said. "I'm making myself an omelette. Would you like one, too?"
"Yes." Kon gave a serene nod. "Yes I would."
After trotting two blocks away from the Kurosaki household, Rukia ushered Ichigo into an alleyway where a mysterious vehicle rested beneath a tarp. A shadowy figure about Rukia's height stood beside it, leaning against the brick wall. The stranger was wearing a downturned ball cap, obscuring their face.
"What's this then?" Ichigo asked, motioning to the tarp and then to the stranger. "And who are you?"
The mysterious figure straightened up, marched right up to Ichigo and gave an erudite bow.
"Nice to meet you, Kurosaki-san, Hop!" a familiar voice said with absolute formality. "I am Chappy, Hop!"
The stranger rose back upright and lifted her ball cap, revealing a pair of violet eyes and a bangle of black hair. Ichigo toppled over in surprise, staring at a complete dead ringer for Rukia.
"Whoa! Rukia, is this your long-lost twin or something?"
"Bwahaha!" Rukia guffawed in a husky tenor. "No, you fool. This is Chappy, the most popular Gikon manufactured in the Seireitei. She's keeping my new Gigai warm during this mission, and she'll be our driver for today."
Chappy strode over to the tarp and, with a pirouette flourish, whipped the cover off to reveal a gleaming motorcycle.
Ichigo's eyes bulged from his head while he beheld the absolute beauty: a silver Yamaha FZR600, polished to the upmost spiffiness and fitted with a bulky sidecar.
"Whoa, where'd you get such a sick rocket?" he stammered.
"It has a pretty amusing origin, actually." Rukia scratched her chin while she reminisced. "Lieutenant Hisagi brought it back from the World of the Living several years ago. He got into a bit of trouble for riding it around the Seireitei, but our superiors deemed it worth safekeeping in case we needed to travel around in the Material Realm. This motorcycle will get us to Kagamino City in a reasonable amount of time and help us conserve our strength."
"Sweet!" Ichigo grinned devilishly, reaching for the handles. "I've always wanted to drive one of these –"
"Ichigo!" Rukia swatted his hands away like a schoolmarm. "You're not of driving age! Besides, it would alarm pedestrians if they saw this bike puttering around with a driver invisible to the human eye. Do you want Don Kanonji raving about a haunted motorcycle on his television program?"
Ichigo scowled at her, his right temple throbbing with annoyance. "But it's a friggin' FZR600. You actually wanna hand those reins over to an Artificial Soul?"
"Chappy is licensed to operate up to 18 varieties of vehicle, one of the many skillsets that make her the most prized soul candy," Rukia explained. "She will drive, I will sit behind her... and you will ride along in the sidecar."
"WHAT?!" Ichigo shouted indignantly. "You wanna stick me in the kiddy chair? Have you already forgotten that time I rescued you from certain death?"
"I am returning the favor by adhering to the rules of the road," Rukia grinned. "Hop in, Ichigo."
Chappy patted the sidecar invitingly.
"Yes, please hop in, Kurosaki-san. Hop!"
The Bushishinzui Budōkan rumbled with the murmurs of thousands of spectators debating amongst themselves about the conclusion to Hisagi and Kira's bout.
Inside the Tsunayashiro loge, Tokinada was munching on a ripe peach. Juice drizzled down his chin with each obscene bite.
"So, from what I gather, that Hisagi fellow declined to fight seriously because he was fearful of a promotion." the Tenrai-chō surmised. "How pathetic. Izuru, however? Good lad. His traitor captain may have been a disgrace, but at least he instilled some ambition into his subordinates. Tōsen, on the other hand – "
"Many in the Gotei 13 view it differently, Your Highness," Komamura interjected, unable to let the insult go. "The chain of command is sacrosanct among us, and winning a captain's seat as a tourney prize will smack of stolen valor for most Shinigami. I do not judge Lieutenant Kira's reasons, but Hisagi hasn't last any honor today."
Tokinada craned his head back to glower at the wolf. He took another chomp of peach and blew a raspberry, spraying flecks onto Komamura's hayori.
"I tolerate your presence so that you may provide me with trivia tidbits, dog. Your opinion, however, isn't worth shit."
Komamura bowed his head in submission. "Pardon me, Your Highness."
"Tokinada-san, I have a question." Yūshirō leaned over from the arm of Tokinada's throne and tugged at his fellow Tenrai-chō's robe. "Why are you so mean to Captain Komamura?"
Tokinada shot him a smile of absolute delight.
"Because he deserves it, my dear boy."
"But why?"
Tokinada, sensing an opportunity, bit off a greedy hunk of peach and chewed it slowly, stoking Yūshirō's anticipation while prolonging Komamura's dread. He finished with an exaggerated swallow.
"Tell me, Yūshirō, how much do you know about the Zanpakutō Rebellion?"
"I've heard of that before!" the Shihōin Tenrai-chō's eyes lit up with recognition. "It was the uprising that caused the Rōnin Period, right?"
"Correct," Tokinada nodded. "It was a grand betrayal, perpetrated by fiends just as depraved as Aizen Sōsuke. You see, today's Gotei 13 is not the first iteration of the Seireitei's protectors. Far from it. Genryūsai's configuration of our military force is quite new in the grand scheme of things.
"The original Gotei served the Shisonka for eons, until about 1,500 years ago, when a whole generation of ungrateful Shinigami attempted to overthrow us. They actually believed that the might of their swords superseded our divine birthright, and so they plotted against the Soul King's favorite children. These usurpers even began to arm the Rukon, if you can believe such heresy. Our forefathers would have all been butchered had the plot succeeded."
Yūshirō's eyes widened with horror. "What stopped them?"
"Their conspiracy was exposed when they made the mistake of trying to wrangle a Kuchiki officer to their side," Tokinada recalled. "You see, they mistook the Kuchiki Clan's record of military service as solidarity with their cause. But the officer they approached rightfully chose family over the ambitions of traitors. When the Shisonka learned of the Gotei's plans, the rebellion was stomped out with ease."
"How?" Yūshirō craned himself ever closer.
Tokinada cast a smirk up at Sajin while he answered, his voice a flinty purr.
"They were firmly reminded of the Soul King's power. The names of the conspirators were sent up to the heavens, and Our Father saw fit to punish each and every one of them with a rather creative curse. More than half that entire generation of the Gotei found themselves transformed into hideous beasts, their connection to their Zanpakutō completely severed. This disfiguration permanently cast them out: if they ever stepped foot onto the Seireitei's soil again, whatever was left of their faculties would quickly evaporate and they'd be rendered into feral, mindless animals.
"And so they fled to Malo Manu, the realm where Yōkai dwell, to live out their wretched existences in exile. To really make it hurt, the Soul King's curse even extended their lifespans so that they may fumble about in shame for many millennia until they eventually succumb to their transformation into filthy dogs.
"The purge left a hole in our defenses that Genryūsai eventually filled, and we never heard from the traitors again... until two of these vermin had the absolute gaul to return, tails between their legs, and beg for forgiveness. My family was unspeakably generous enough to grant them a reprieve, and these two heathens were gifted with reconnection to Zanpakutō and the privilege of walking amongst us again. However, no matter how much they may prostrate themselves, we must never forget what they are."
Tokinada looked to the stricken Yūshirō while gesturing up at Komamura.
"So you see, Yūshirō, Sajin bears the face of our greatest enemies. His disfigurement is not something to be pitied, but scorned."
Komamura was on the verge of tears, his jaw set tight while he chanced a glance down at Yūshirō. The young Tenrai-chō looked up at him with an expression of profound confusion, then suspicion, until finally... hatred.
Suí-Fēng entered the Shihōin loge. Much to her unpleasant surprise, only Hitsugaya and Kenpachi were awaiting her.
"Where's Yūshirō?" she asked, preemptively alarmed.
"The little snot scampered away," Kenpachi answered while helping himself to a spread of snacks fit for royalty.
Suí-Fēng shot him a glare that could vaporize ice.
"The Tenrai-chō decided he'd rather watch the tournament from the Tsunayashiro box," Hitsugaya elaborated bashfully. "He's being watched by his bodyguard along with all of Tenrai-chō Tokinada's men, plus Captain Komamura. He's safe as can be."
Suí-Fēng, relaxing into merely a disapproving scowl, strode imperiously past them and leaned against the balcony to survey the arena below.
"Well, even so, it's improper for a Tenrai-chō to leave his post," she muttered.
"Say, Suí-Fēng, your Reiatsu's gotten bigger than before, just like Hitsugaya," Kenpachi remarked through a mouthful of rice cake, eyeing her aura like it was a prime cut steak. "I guess both of you actually improved from that Reikinbaku-ito junk. It didn't do anything for me. What a ripoff."
"Perhaps it's because you've already reached your limit, Captain Zaraki?" Suí-Fēng shot him a mocking smirk from over her shoulder. "After all, it stands to reason that a blunt instrument can't be sharpened."
The curtains of the loge entrance billowed, drawing all their attention. Kenpachi, immediately recognizing the visitor's spiritual signature, cracked a smile.
"The coast is clear if you want some grub, Yachiru."
Hitsugaya and Suí-Fēng both blanched when Lieutenant Yachiru Kusajishi burst through the curtains and scurried in. She grabbed one of the silver platters and began heaping on treats.
"It smells so good, Ken-chan!" she giggled, paying special attention to a pot of steamed dumplings.
"She can't be in here!" Suí-Fēng hissed. "Any officers below the rank of captain aren't allowed in a Tenrai-chō's loge!"
"Well, seeing that the little squirt is hanging out elsewhere, I guess this ain't really his box for the time being," Kenpachi rejoined.
Suí-Fēng, pink in the face, watched Yachiru stack up a small mountain's worth of gourmet cuisine. "Don't get any ideas about sitting on Yūshirō's throne, Kusajishi."
"Wouldn't dream of it!" Yachiru leapt up and landed daintily onto the balcony rail, her legs swinging over the ledge while she began gobbling her bounty.
Suí-Fēng glowered at the diminutive lieutenant with disdain. "Remind me again why you aren't even competing in this tournament? There's no good reason why you can't fight, and yet you've left your division's honor on the shoulders of a Third Seat."
"I didn't feel like it," Yachiru said chirpily before popping another dumpling into her mouth. "Doing stuff like this is more Baldie's thing, anyway."
Suí-Fēng squinted at her suspiciously. By stuff, do you mean literally anything expected of a second-in-command?
"Why're you giving Yachiru guff?" Kenpachi grumbled. "At least Madarame actually won his first match. Your lieutenant got his ass handed to him."
"Ōmaeda's a fool," Suí-Fēng nodded. "A fat and lazy fool. But he will never shape up unless he's confronted by the consequences of his laziness. You should teach your own lieutenant the same lesson, Zaraki."
Yachiru had so many dumpling stuffed into her mouth that her cheeks were swollen like a chipmunk. She shot a wounded look at Suí-Fēng. "Arf youmf calling muh a fatty foopha?"
"Everyone, be quiet," Hitsugaya shushed. "The next match is starting."
They all turned their eyes to the arena. Renji had stepped onto the stage.
Ganju was more excitable than usual from the nosebleed seats.
"I actually know this guy!" he grinned to Kūkaku. "Ichigo fought him when we infiltrated the Seireitei. He was a vicious little cuss then, but he softened up a ton after getting his butt beat."
"He looks like he must have been a Rukon once upon a time," Kūkaku observed, getting a close-up of Renji with her spyglass. "That must be how Ichigo softened his cold heart: he actually had one to start with."
Renji looked on with some bemusement at Akon from across the arena stage. It was weird seeing the SDRI techie wearing a Zanpakutō around his waist. Renji hadn't even realized Akon possessed one until now.
"Alright, are you all ready for the second half of today's festivities?" Chiwa Kikazu asked the crowd, his amplified voice echoing throughout the champagne coliseum. He was met with a resounding yes as the thousands of Rukon and Seireitei citizens alike cheered for more combat.
"We have a rather interesting matchup for you teed up," Chiwa continued, theatrically gesturing to the two fighters. "Representing the Sixth Division, Lieutenant Abarai Renji! And hailing from the Twelfth Division, Akon! Can intellect overcome brawn? We shall see!"
Renji frowned, feeling a bit slighted. Is he saying I don't have any intellect? Akon sure as shit doesn't have brawn.
"Let the fourth round of the Jūsankentaikai commence!" Chiwa cried before retreating from the stage.
"Oh no, this is gonna be painful, isn't it?" Kiyone sighed from the stands, watching the stage through her fingers. "Akon doesn't stand any chance."
"Well... probably not," Rangiku replied with a carefree laugh. "I'd be worried about Renji making an ugly spectacle of things if this were a few weeks ago, but ever since he fought that Ichigo boy, he's been much more humble. He'll let Akon down gently. I'm sure of it."
"You're all so ready to jump to conclusions," Yumichika smirked at them. "Even bugs carry stingers. Wait and see."
Akon was visibly sweating and fumbling with his uniform, looking frantic. Renji crossed his arms, feeling a pang of pity.
"I'm not gonna humiliate you, if that's your concern," he said. "I know you didn't even wanna fight – "
Akon held up a finger.
"Can you just give me a second, please?"
"Oh, um... yeah, sure," Renji blushed.
"Thanks," Akon sighed, rummaging around in his Shihakushō. "I just need... alright, got it!"
He fished out a thimble-sized vial from one of his pockets and shook it, the purple mixture within swishing around.
"For a second there I worried I might have forgotten to store this," he laughed bashfully. He uncorked the vial and promptly drank it. His pupils dilated to an eerie, all-encompassing black.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Tetsuzaemon roared from the stands, bolting upright. "Are you trying to make a mockery of this tournament, Akon?! Referee, how is that possibly legal!"
"Hm?" Chiwa chirped from the sidelines, looking up at the irate lieutenant. "Is there something amiss, Lieutenant Iba?"
"Since when are performance-enhancing drugs allowed?" Tetsuzaemon protested, so animated that Isane was holding him back by the scruff of his Shihakushō. "Shouldn't that be grounds for instant disqualification?"
"I suppose some clarification is needed," Chiwa chuckled softly before brandishing his microphone.
"My dear spectators, you have just witnessed Third Seat Officer Akon drink a mysterious concoction; this may have understandably prompted confusion amongst you!" he boomed. "Allow me to explain why this is allowed: the rules of the Jūsankentaikai forbid black market drugs, true enough. However, we do permit weapons that are an honest part of a Shinigami's arsenal.
"Before this competition commenced, Akon produced several chemical compounds to our jury for inspection. He provided sufficient evidence that he invented and patented each potion, making him their originator. It was all done by the book and over the table, and so this match will continue without further argument about the validity of his techniques! Thank you."
Chiwa shot Tetsuzaemon a haughty shrug and holstered his microphone.
"Fair enough," Renji grinned, satisfied by the explanation. "So what did you whip up, Akon?"
"I'd rather not spoil the surprise," Akon replied, trying to maintain his composure despite noticeably fidgeting. "You can release your Shikai now, Lieutenant Abarai. I'm ready for you."
Renji cocked his eyebrow. We'll see about that. He unsheathed his katana.
"Howl, Zabimaru!" He whipped his arm back, the blade flashing into its true form. "It's not too late to forfeit," he warned, Zabimaru's segmented blades clinking in his grip. "You sure you wanna try me?"
Akon seemed to be in a daze; he blinked belligerently in response before his eyes refocused. After an audible gulp, he gave an affirmative nod.
"Uh... yeah, I think so."
"Alright then!" Renji nodded. He slung his right arm downward, Zabimaru launching forward and simultaneously unfurling into a fanged whip.
Cries of awe emanated throughout the stadium. Renji's Shikai was renowned for being among the most visually spectacular in the Gotei, and it was living up to its legend.
"Cool!" Yūshirō cried gleefully.
The whip surged straight at Akon, moving faster than most Shinigami could ever react, only for the techie to dodge it with a shuffling sidestep. Zabimaru retracted and returned back to an agog Renji.
How the hell did he do that?
Recovering his composure, Renji slung Zabimaru like a lasso and whipped it around for a sideswipe, the segmented blade whirring counterclockwise across the stage. It came within a foot of Akon's left shoulder... only for him to flop down flat on his side, the whip flashing over him ineffectually.
Renji recalled his Zanpakutō again. He was flummoxed.
Something's wrong. Akon hasn't gotten any faster, I'm sure of it. There's no way he's anticipating Zabimaru's movements ahead of time, either. But there's no way those reactions are instinctual. They might be sloppy, but they're deliberate. Creative, even. It's like he's gaming out different avenues of escape whenever I take a swing and landing on the exact right choice through a process of elimination... with under a second to make up his mind each time.
Up in the stands, the other officers were equally gobsmacked.
"How'd Akon dodge Renji's attack?" Kiyone murmured. "Zabimaru was moving like lightning. I couldn't even follow it!"
"Me neither," Isane laughed nervously. "Renji's become pretty terrifying. But Akon... it was like he saw it coming from a mile away."
Akon awkwardly ambled back up onto his feet and dusted himself off.
"Nice reflexes," Renji said begrudgingly. "I'm guessing your smooth moves come from whatever you juiced yourself with?"
"Correct," Akon nodded, his words disquietingly over-articulated and eyes dilated like a lemur's. "Sorry if I seem a little weird right now. The effects of this drug are pretty –"
Renji flash-stepped right beside him with Zabimaru clasped back into its solid state. He swung the blade down, only for Akon to throw himself back at a diagonal angle to avoid the edge by a hairsbreadth. He stumbled back three yards before regaining his balance.
"... Pretty, pretty intense," he finished, following up with a sheepish cough.
"I've never seen you train a single day in all these years, but you've already made the gap in our speed moot," Renji huffed. "The hell did you drink?"
"I haven't come up with a name for it yet," Akon admitted with a self-conscious tug at his Shihakushō. "Not really sure how to clearly explain it, either. I guess... you know what people say when two masters fight? Their swords appear to move in slow motion?"
"I know what you're talking about, yeah." Renji relaxed his stance, his interest piqued.
"It's like time slows down for them, right?" Akon continued. "That's because their senses are so sharpened, the whole world moves at a different pace. I wanted to replicate that effect, so I created a drug that heightens the senses in such a way that time moves a whole lot slower. I wouldn't be able to dodge Zabimaru if I was perceiving it with my natural senses. But when I can see it moving at only 1/50th of its natural speed? I can react accordingly."
"So your drug slows down time?" Renji was feeling equal parts admiration and trepidation. "That's pretty nuts, man."
"It slows down my perception of time," Akon blushed, feeling embarrassed for being a stickler. "It's advantageous, but the overall effect is terrifyingly trippy. I'm having a hard time speaking coherently right now because my own words sound so slow and drawn out to my ears. I'm going to unseal my Zanpakutō now, alright?"
He unsheathed his blade, a nondescript katana with a moss-colored hilt.
"Sorry, Lieutenant Abarai. I hope you didn't have your heart set on winning this tournament. I take no pleasure in crushing dreams. Twirl, Shunmonougeji Rinkan."
Renji's brow raised in apprehension as he watched Akon's sword refashion into a rather odd-looking contraption: five jet-black propeller blades drooped into the shape of a parasol, fringed with a viridescent crepe. The blades were conjoined by a curved handle which Akon held like a dainty umbrella.
"So that's Akon's Zanpakutō, huh?" Tetsuzaemon scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting design."
Renji assumed a Migi Gedan no Kamae stance, unsure of what to expect. "Expecting some rain?" he quipped.
"That's funny, Lieutenant Abarai!" Akon chuckled, genuinely amused. "Just a second. A one, and a two..."
The blades began a slow spin until soon enough they were whirring at a gusting speed. Akon's feet left the ground as he took to the air, his parasol emitting modest swirls of Reiatsu. Soft murmurs of awe swept through the crowd as everyone watched him levitate up into the sky.
I guess I'll just have to swat him down, Renji smirked.
He jutted his arm upward, sicking Zabimaru after Akon. The segmented sword launched and separated, its fanged blades gleaming while the metallic sinew interconnecting them hissed.
Akon realized he was a couple inches off. He tilted his parasol handle at a 40 degree angle, prompting the Zanpakutō to lift him even higher up. Zabimaru's frontal blade sailed towards him like a well-aimed spear, coming within inches of the soles of his feet until it suddenly snapped back, like a snake stretched to its breaking point.
"Huh?" Renji bleated, his determined expression dropping into a derp face.
"32 meters," Akon said while watching the Zanpakutō straining to reach him in vain. "That's how far Zabimaru extends, right? You can't reach me up here, Lieutenant Abarai."
"Akon's quite a smart cookie," Rangiku remarked.
"A cowardly cookie if he really intends on floating out of range this whole fight," Tetsuzaemon rejoined.
Dammit! Renji cursed, retracting Zabimaru back into its conjoined state with a clink. This'd be a whole lot easier if we were fighting in the World of the Living. I could just leap up there and create Reishi footholds to fight on his level. But that's impossible inside the Seireiheki.
Yamamoto, Shunsui, and Sasakibe watched from the Captain-Commander's box seat.
"Akon is faring far better than expected," Shunsui clucked. "Your battle against Lieutenant Abarai may no longer be so inevitable, Chōjirō-san."
Sasakibe looked on with a placidity that could be mistaken for boredom.
"We shall see if Abarai can overcome such a creative challenge," he said, scrutinizing Renji closely. "If this is truly the end, then I simply misjudged him."
Up in the air, Akon subtly adjusted the angle of his parasol and puttered around the coliseum's upper levels in circular arcs. Down below on the arena stage, Renji was turning pink with frustration.
"Buddy, you're being a pain in the ass!"" he barked up at Akon. "Get back down here and fight me face-to-face!"
Akon sighed. Alright. Suit yourself.
He tilted Shunmonougeji Rinkan's handle and dived down to meet Renji like a missile.
You're getting cocky. Renji grinned. That can only be good for me!
He spun around and whipped Zabimaru with an underhand swing, the blade disconnecting and surging up to meet Akon. It was to no avail: when the whip came within six feet of hitting its target, Akon swerved slightly to the right and flew down past, continuing his chopper dive unabated.
Renji squinted, spotting something in Akon's hand. The techie threw down a glass ball before tilting his parasol and swerving back up into the sky.
The hell is that?! Renji gawped, spotting the plum-shaped vial hurtling down at him. He threw his left arm up to shield himself. The vial smashed against his elbow and released a purple plume.
Don't breathe it in. Don't breathe it in! DON'T BREATHE IT IN!
Unfortunately for Renji, the concoction was designed to seep through skin. It was already in his system.
He felt his heart skip a beat. Suddenly, his his brown eyes were blotted black. He stumbled back a step, Zabimaru flailing down onto the arena and cracking the tiles upon impact. The Shikai slowly recoiled back and returned to its conjoined state in Renji's grip. He nearly dropped the blade, his hands clammy and shaken.
What did he just gas me with?!
Renji clutched at his chest to steady his heart rate. He looked around and immediately noticed a bizarre phenomena: the jostling crowd was moving like molasses, the tiny imperceptible movements of a thousand spectators fluttering like a stuttering camera stock. He craned his head up to spot his opponent in the sky. The effort of straining his neck muscles and tilting his skull back felt like it took an entire minute to complete. Everything was agonizingly slow.
Akon loomed like a vulture in the air, looking down at Renji with a sympathetic grimace. His propeller was chattering away.
I hope you can forgive me someday for giving you such a stiff dose, Lieutenant Abarai. The optimal amount of the drug is one drop diluted to 1/250,000th of its original concentration. Anything more concentrated than that defeats the purpose and severely impairs your reaction time. I just gave you a whiff of a drop that was only diluted to about 1/120,000th, so you're in for a very long haul.
Renji was sweating profusely, feeling the beads trickle down his forehead at a snail's pace. To test his new sense of time, he gingerly stomped his left foot forward.
C'mon, friggin' move! he thought while willing his leg to lurch ahead, his tendons contracting and stretching laboriously. After what felt like five minutes, his foot finally touched back down onto the tile. When he let out a gasp of panic, it took his breath two full minutes to rise up from his chest and escape past his lips. That's how it felt, anyway.
That's not good. Completing just a single step took so long that he needed to strain to remember the action he wanted to achieve in the first place.
Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!
Genryūsai carefully studied Renji from afar, intuiting what was happening through mere observation.
"How cruel," the Captain-Commander muttered. "Chōjirō, inform Central 46 that I want Akon's concoction outlawed from any further production. Turn the patent over to Captain Kurotsuchi. We cannot allow this torture to become commonplace."
Sasakibe nodded. "It will be done, Captain-Commander."
Meanwhile, the spectators were growing restless, tired of watching Akon putter around in the air while Renji seemed to fidget aimlessly.
"The hell's going on down there?" Ganju grumbled. "What did that freak tag Abarai with?"
"I'm not sure," Kūkaku murmured, studying Renji's face with her spyglass. "Whatever it was... it doesn't look pleasant."
Akon could hear the groans of discontent rippling throughout the crowd. I guess it's now or never.
He tilted his whirring parasol and dove back down towards the arena, landing onto the tile with an awkward skip. He stood only two yards away from Renji.
Renji tried to pivot and face him, but his body was moving with all the haste of a sloth. I swear, Akon, when I get my hands on you...
Akon hoisted Shunmonougeji Rinkan up like a shotgun and aimed it straight at him.
"Sorry Lieutenant Abarai, but I actually want to win this whole thing," he muttered. "Inkiakubi."
陰気欠伸 Inkiakubi (Gloomy Yawn)
Shunmonougeji Rinkan started to spin again, picking up a roaring momentum until a modest twister shot from the whirring blades, engulfing Renji like a wind turbine. The gust wasn't strong enough to knock Renji flat, but it was enough to push him back inch by inch. He strained his muscles and tried to sidestep away from the attack's vicinity, but his reaction time was simply too feeble.
Akon pressed forward, his propeller chattering away. The technique was gradually-but-surely pushing Renji out of the arena stage like the sweep of a broom.
"If Akon actually knocks him off like this, Renji will never live it down," Yumichika giggled to the other officers, practically blushing with delight at the perversity of it all.
Not good, not good! Renji thought, his dread having plenty of time to mount while he was gusted back. I'm trapped in my own body! Think of something, dammit!
He tried to lift Zabimaru, only to discover that the motion was so laborious and drawn out that he couldn't hope to sling the whip in any reasonable amount of time.
When your body becomes so slow to respond to your instincts, so does your Zanpakutō, Akon observed while watching Renji impotently flail around. He grimaced, hating how inelegant this all was. It was like picking up a helpless child and tossing them overboard.
Still, this is the only way I can beat him.
The long-suffering Vice President of SDRI had always resented the organization's leader, who also happened to be his captain: Mayuri Kurotsuchi. Akon never liked the sick sonofabitch; he hated taking orders from him and loathed being overshadowed by his technological achievements.
If he won the tournament outright, he'd become a captain and finally have the leeway to disobey Mayuri. It was plenty of incentive for him to put Renji through hell.
He pressed on, his puny technique still forceful enough to pressure Renji back towards the ledge.
"Push him off!" an excitable spectator cried from the stands.
"Yeah, shove him!" another voice chimed in.
Soon enough, the coliseum rumbled with cries of "SHOVE HIM OFF! SHOVE HIM OFF! SHOVE HIM OFF!"
Renji was at his wit's end, experiencing all of this as a slow-motion nightmare. While only a mere minute had passed since Akon began his onslaught, it felt like several hours for him. Full goddamn hours.
"Poor Renji," Rangiku sighed. "At least this will be over soon."
Renji's heels were mere inches away from the stadium's edge. Soon enough he'd topple over. He had plenty of time to mull over whether this was a good or bad outcome.
If I just stop resisting, it'll be over. He shut his eyes and desperately sought an internal pocket of zen. Akon got the better of me; he deserves to win. I should just be thankful Rukia isn't here to see this...
Try as he might, he couldn't find his zen. There was no corner of his mind where he felt at peace with the inevitability of defeat. He wondered why he couldn't just let go.
Why can't I accept the inevitable?
He opened his eyes and realized he had instinctually craned his head up to look at the Kuchiki loge that was nestled across the stadium. From a great distance, he was staring directly into Byakuya Kuchiki's eyes.
They were cold and dispassionate. But somewhere in those flecks of gray was a spark of... not encouragement, exactly, but a gauntlet thrown.
A steel thread of resolve snapped in Renji's heart. His heels were now over the arena's ledge. One more inch, and he'd topple over.
I... I... I HAVE TO WIN!
Zabimaru, as if possessing a mind of its own, separated back into its segmented fangs and surged towards Akon like a viper.
Akon hastily threw himself aside, narrowly dodging the snaking blade's bulldozing charge. Zabimaru veered past him, its teeth bared before burying itself into a tile like an axe. Renji, already falling over the arena's ledge, yelped with surprise when his Zanpakutō coiled itself and yanked him forward, as if he were a mackerel hooked on a fishing line. He fell onto his knees in a huff, safely returned to the stage.
Akon stumbled back nervously, astonished by what he was seeing. How is this possible?!
The stadium erupted with whoops, most of the spectators merely delighted by the reversal of fortune. All of the captains, however, looked on with stunned recognition.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or did your lieutenant just accomplish a marvelous feat, Byakuya?" Tenrai-chō Ginrei murmured.
"Your eyes have not deceived you, Grandfather," Byakuya replied. "Even while under the paralyzing effects of Akon's drug, Renji has harmonized with his Zanpakutō to the point that it is acting on its own accord."
"Like a phantom limb," Ginrei concurred.
It was an exceedingly rare occurrence, but sometimes, in moments of great duress, captain-level Shinigami were able to harmonize with their Zanpakutō so perfectly that the blade could act out independently and execute actions that its master was too discombobulated or physically lame to consciously command. It was akin to a synaptic reflex.
"Perhaps this is an unintended side effect of that infernal potion?" Ginrei pondered. "Either way, the lad is most impressive."
"He still has much to learn," Byakuya said. "Given his usual state of mindfulness, this is nothing but a miraculous fluke. However; Renji has recently made a habit of miraculous flukes."
Akon thrust Shunmonougeji Rinkan back up and let it rip, the whirring blades lifting him off the ground.
Renji's elongated blade whipped itself back to life, its frontal tooth ripping up the arena tile it had latched onto and slung it up at Akon like a trebuchet.
Dammit! Akon swerved his parasol to avoid the incoming brick. However, just as he narrowly dodged the projectile, Zabimaru surged up to head him off.
He spotted the hissing blade too late. This time, even his enhanced senses weren't fast enough. The head of Renji's Shikai hooked into Akon's shoulder, sawing through bone and sinew. The whip surged down like a curving rainbow, taking him along with it.
Zabimaru shot down and landed outside of the arena stage, pinning Akon into the ground.
"Yes!" Tetsuzaemon grinned.
Akon let out a gasp while his blood spurted onto the sand. His sensation of pain was being prolonged by the time-dilating drug in his system. It was absolute agony.
"Winner by ring-out, Abarai Renji!" Chiwa announced.
The spectators erupted into ecstatic cheers and jeers. The roiling applause reached Renji like a long, endless drone.
Suddenly, a fuse in his brain burst. His eyes rolled back into their lids and he slumped face-first onto the ground.
Zabimaru shuddered and went limp.
A fly flew straight at Ichigo's forehead and phased right through, none the wiser as it fluttered onwards.
The Strawberry sat in the motorcycle's sidecar, cramped and discontented, while Chappy drove him and Rukia along the country road.
It was a vast stretch of grassland, with mountains looming in the far distance and a few cars zipping across the lonely strip of turf while a bullet train ran on parallel tracks. There was a yawning gulf of rural terrain between Karakura Town and its neighboring cities, like islands floating amidst a desolate ocean.
"According to these directions, we're still about an hour away from Kagamino City!" Rukia shouted over the motorcycle's purring engine, the wind buffeting the map in her hands.
"Oh, great!" Ichigo shouted back with a touch of sarcasm.
He glowered at the endless expanse of fields, already missing the density of Karakura Town with its apartment buildings and convenience stores and trees and telephone polls. He missed the thrum of people and spirits mingling in the soundscape.
While he gazed out at the whirring countryside, he felt a heaviness grow in his chest that practically pinned him into his seat. It was as though he were leaving something precious behind in Karakura Town.
Rukia glanced over at Ichigo and saw a profound anxiety gripping him. Her brow crinkled with concern.
Yuzu stepped gingerly before Kon, blocking his view of the television.
"Nii-chan, may I ask you something?" she prompted with a nervous smile. She was hiding something behind her.
"Yeah, yeah, what is it?" Kon said impatiently, craning himself to try and look past her and continue drinking in the sight of a buxom hottie on the screen.
"Well, I was wondering if I could borrow Bostov for tonight?" She produced the lion plushie: Kon's receptacle.
His eyes nearly popped out of Ichigo's head.
"Where'd you find that?" he barked.
"You left your bedroom door open and I saw Bostov lying on your dresser," Yuzu blushed, not expecting her big brother to react so strongly. "I didn't go snooping for it or anything. But Karin and I have a sleepover at Midori's tonight, and Bostov's ~so~ cute and I think he'd have a lot of fun playing tea time with us tonight. I'm bringing Cookie and Melon, too."
Kon remembered the time Yuzu cleaned him up with a bath, only to dress him up like a little baby and appointing the dolls Cookie and Melon as his parent. She even glued a totally lame plastic flower onto his ear. The whole ordeal had haunted him ever since.
"Can I take him, please nii-chan?" Yuzu asked with starry eyes.
"No!" Kon hissed, wresting the lion plushie away from her. He cradled it protectively, as if it were his own child.
"But... but why not?" she whispered, her eyes welling up with hurt.
"Because tea time is totally lameand Bostov wouldn't like it!" Kon harrumphed.
Tears streamed down Yuzu's face. She burst into an uncontrollable sob and ran way. Kon watched her flee, realizing too late he had messed up big time.
Aww, dammit. Shoulda just stayed in bed.
Chappy drove the Yamaha FZR600 into a bustling side street and put it into park. "We're here! Hop!"
Ichigo couldn't climb out of the sidecar faster. He spilled out onto the cement, let out a deep sigh and stretched his legs while looking around.
Kagamino City looked much like Karakura Town, slightly smaller and more compact, being the least populous of the three cities in the region. It's distinguishing features were more planted trees, making the sidewalks thick with foliage, and an abundance of billboards.
"Alright, so where do we start?" Ichigo asked.
He turned to Rukia. She was agape, her eyes wide and staring up at the sky with awe.
"W-What is that?" she whispered breathily.
Ichigo looked up in the direction she was drooling towards and saw a billboard with a cartoon flying squirrel hovering above them. The cartoonish critter had a jolly face and was wearing a ball cap, its webbed arms outstretched as if offering a hug.
"Oh, you mean Nuts?" Ichigo said. "He's the mascot for the baseball team around here, Kagamino Flying Squirrels. They're actually pretty good"
"Squee!" Rukia cried, her body trembling from the sheer kawaii. "Do they sell merchandise of this creature? I must have it!"
"We're here to find and kill Grand Fisher, remember?" Ichigo barked.
Rukia's expression of delight cracked and turned pink while she collected herself with a cough.
"Ahem. You're right. Perhaps we can seek out a token of this Nuts fellow after we accomplish our mission? In the meantime, follow me."
She bounded up onto the adjacent building and skipped across the skyline, Ichigo keeping beside her while Chappy followed along on her motorcycle below.
They stopped nine blocks over at a vacant lot tucked between two abandoned buildings. Chappy stood by on the street and patiently waited by the puttering motorcycle.
They're really letting this town rot, Ichigo thought while surveying the neglected surroundings.
"So Grand Fisher killed somebody here?"
"Yes, a woman during rainfall," Rukia replied, squatting down and running her hand through the muddy soil. "This was also Saidō Eikichirō's last known whereabouts before he disappeared. His body hasn't been recovered, but the patrolman for this region was discovered dead several neighborhoods over. Soul Society hasn't sent a replacement yet. They will only do so after we've flushed the Hollow out."
Ichigo looked out at the field. There were holes in the ground, as if a tree trunk root were violently ripped out.
"Grand Fisher hid beneath the ground and sprung a trap," he intuited. "He can shape-shift parts of his body. Maybe he tricked Saidō by impersonating a friendly face?"
Rukia looked up at the Strawberry and nodded. "Perhaps. Saidō was the only Shinigami who had gotten the better of him. It's possible that all of Grand Fisher's killings in this city were intended to draw Saidō out so he could exact revenge."
"If he wants revenge, then why's he terrorizing this place and not Karakura Town?" Ichigo wondered. "Wouldn't I be on the top of his list?"
Rukia rose back up and dusted herself off. "Maybe he knows you're too strong for him now, so he's exacting his petty grievances on whoever he can, wherever he can. Either way, he's a coward – "
An explosion erupted several blocks over. Ichigo and Rukia both snapped to attention, sensing a spiritual pressure spike.
"That's not Grand Fisher," Ichigo said.
"No, but it's a Hollow," Rukia rejoined. "Come!"
They bounded towards the mayhem while Chappy revved up the motorcycle and followed. After dashing across a dozen city blocks in mere seconds, they came upon a scene of calamity: several upturned cars and a shattered fire hydrant, with a geyser of water shooting up and raining down on the devastation. Scores of bystanders were running around in panic, fleeing some invisible force that had crashed from the sky like a meteor.
Ichigo and Rukia could see what the humans couldn't: a winged Hollow with leathery pinions of black and green, its talons a polished pair of razor bone tridents. It was a massive, hulking beast, its mask pointed forth into a buzzard's beak and scarlet eyes smoldering with hunger. It skulked across the cracked pavement and honed in on a bowled-over family of three.
"I recognize this Hollow," Rukia said breathlessly. "He's called Skulldover."
Ichigo reached back over his shoulder to grasp Zangetsu's handle. "Well he picked a bad time to score a meal. I've got him –"
"No, you don't." Rukia placed a hand against his chest and shook her head. "You are authorized to slay Hollows in Karakura Town and you have special permission from Captain Ukitake to engage Grand Fisher wherever he may be. But you do not have jurisdiction to slay Hollows outside of Karakura Town's border. I will handle this monster."
"But... Rukia," Ichigo mumbled, flustered while he watched her approached Skulldover. Can she handle this guy? The Hollow that attacked us on the night we met got her good, and this one's a lot stronger...
"Do not underestimate Lady Rukia!" Chappy declared. "Hop!"
Ichigo flinched, startled that the Artificial Soul had skulked right up next to him without his notice. Chappy looked on with a casual confidence, her arms akimbo.
"Many Hollows have underestimated Lady Rukia at their peril. Stand back and witness what I mean. Hop!"
Ichigo gave Chappy some grumpy side-eye before returning his attention Rukia. Just be careful.
Skulldover opened its beak and let out a steam of rotting breath, its talons digging into the pavement as it approached a teenage girl trying to get her two younger siblings back up on their feet. The Hollow felt a tingle of excitement as it came within inches of gobbling them all up.
The sound of Rukia unsheathing her Zanpakutō drew his attention. The Hollow spun around and let out a piercing hiss at the approaching Shinigami.
"Skulldover, right?" Rukia said, her eyes shining with the light reflecting off her brandished sword. "You thought Kagamino City was undefended, didn't you? You thought wrong."
"Buzz off, Shinigami!" Skulldover hooted, spreading its tattered wings and exuding malevolent Reiatsu. "I've killed many of your kind before!"
"Then I will take great satisfaction in avenging them."
Rukia turned her katana over and aimed its point at the ground, clapping her free hand over her sword-wielding forearm.
"Dance, Sode no Shirayuki."
袖白雪 Sode no Shirayuki (Sleeves of White Snow)
Her katana drained of color until it was pale as snow, a white tassel sprouting from its handle and extending far as a ribbon. There was a chill. Flecks of crystalline frost materialized around Rukia and she let out a breath thick as steam yet fragile as glass.
"Whoa," Ichigo said softly.
Skulldover hesitated to attack, surprised by the white Zanpakutō in Rukia's grip. It had never seen a blade like that before.
It matters not! the Hollow reasoned, letting out another hideous hiss and lunging forward, ripping up concrete beneath its talons. It charged at Rukia like a bucking bull while she maintained serene poise.
"San no mai, Shirafune," she intoned.
参の舞·白刀 San no Mai, Shirafune (Third Dance, White Sword)
The air bent itself around her milky blade, encasing it with frost and turning it into a curved shard of ice. She leapt forward and met Skulldover head-on, her Shunpo faster than the Hollow could account for. She flash-stepped right above him and drove her sword straight through his cranium.
The light in the Hollow's eyes immediately snuffed out and it collapsed with a crash, frost seeping over its mask until its head was a cracked cube, completely frozen through. Skulldover reflexively tried to pick itself back up, only to fall forward again, its chin shattering upon impact with the ground, the rest of its head disintegrating into brittle snow.
Rukia whipped her Zanpakutō to fling bits of frost from the blade while Skulldover's corpse flaked away into black smoke.
Ichigo looked on with amazement, his eyes entranced by the bone-white sword.
"That Zanpakutō..."
"That's Sode no Shirayuki," Chappy said reverently. "One of the most beautiful Zanpakutō in Soul Society. Its blade, its guard, its hilt... all completely white. Befitting its snow-type powers. It is wholly unique. Hop!"
Rukia resealed her Shikai, color returning to her katana while its tassel melted away like a wisp in the wind. She sheathed the sword shut with a clack and turned to regard the three siblings who Skulldover had targeted. They were back on their feet and stumbling away, completely unaware of how close they came to being a Hollow's lunch. Satisfied, Rukia returned to Ichigo and Chappy.
"That guy didn't stand a chance against you," Ichigo mumbled.
"Of course he didn't," Rukia replied matter-of-factly.
"OK, what gives?!" Ichigo shouted indignantly. "Where the hell was all that power the night my family was attacked? After all this time, I figured you were just a foot-soldier."
Chappy grabbed him by his ear and twisted it, making him wince with pain.
"Don't you dare speak to Lady Rukia like that!" the Artificial Soul chided him. "She may not be a seated officer, but her strength would surely merit the rank! Hop!"
"Ow, ow, ow!" Ichigo yelped.
"Ichigo, I indeed wasn't this strong on the night we met," Rukia said knowingly. "I was sealed by a Gentei Reīn: a spiritual limiter that kept me at only a fifth of my full power. High-ranking Shinigami officers and those of equivalent strength are given these seals so that their Reiatsu doesn't wreak havoc in the Material World.
"If I had had enough time, I would have requested permission from SDRI to remove the seal and fight that Hollow with my full ability. However, some idiot invited the Hollow to attack them and I had to shield the fool with my body. Do you recall?"
Ichigo blushed, remembering how he had baited Fishbone D to attack him. Rukia threw herself between them and got nearly bitten in half for her trouble. The Gentei Reīn also rang a bell; he remembered Renji explaining the spiritual limiter to him when they fought in Soul Society, accounting for why he was so much stronger compared to their first scuffle.
"I'm on special business to defeat Grand Fisher, an especially dangerous foe," Rukia concluded. "Captain Ukitake gave me special permission to come here without a Gentei Reīn as a precaution against further foolish acts."
But wait...
"Are you saying you're as strong as a lieutenant, Rukia?" Ichigo asked.
She answered with a haughty smirk and strode past him. "Come along, we have more ground to cover."
Ichigo looked at her with a funny feeling: renewed admiration. He had underestimated her.
Chappy leaned over to nudge him between the ribs. "Between you and me, Lady Rukia has the skills and power to be a seated officer. Truly, if she were recognized with a rank, she'd be strong enough to stand as Captain Ukitake's very own lieutenant. However, her candidacy was nipped in the bud as early as her training at Shin'ō Academy. No official reasoning has ever been given, but many of her peers gossip that it must be Lord Byakuya's doing. Hop!"
"Byakuya, huh?" Ichigo sighed. Figures.
"Lady Rukia has always denied such rumors, to others and herself," Chappy added. "Hop."
The sun began its descent, casting a golden farewell glow over Kagamino City. Ichigo and Rukia stood draped in the shadow of an alley, looking down together at the blot of dried blood overlaid with trash.
"They haven't even cleaned the space up?" Ichigo gritted. "A woman gets butchered beside a dumpster and the authorities won't even cleanse the ground she died on."
"I see humans disrespecting the dead like this all the time," Rukia sighed. "You grew up fully aware of spirits, Ichigo. You're one of the few humans who truly understands how important their dying place is for them."
Ichigo clenched a fist and looked around. "I don't sense Grand Fisher at all."
"Neither do I," Rukia concurred. "I had hoped our presence here would draw him out, but it's been hours and there's no sign of him yet. This is the last of his known victims in Kagamino City. Another woman struck down during rainfall…"
Two shadows entered into the alleyway, drawing their attention. Ichigo gazed back at the gauzy curtain of light along the alley's edge, spotting a pair of humans approaching. One was a man and the other a young boy clutching a bouquet of flowers. They looked poor, based on their shabby clothing and hygiene, and they were unmistakably father and son. As they drew closer, Ichigo made out the tears welling in the child's eyes. He saw the flowers and understood immediately.
This murdered woman... was a mother.
The father and son reached Ichigo and Rukia, unable to see their spiritual bodies and phasing right through them. Rukia retreated to a polite distance while Ichigo was rooted to the spot, staring straight down at the young boy.
The child couldn't have been any older than eight. He was standing right where Ichigo was, mingling with his ghostly body and completely unaware he was being observed.
"Let's clean this mess up," the father said gruffly, squatting down to shove the trash aside, building a clean spot around the blood stain. "Alright, give mommy her flowers now."
The boy choked back tears and knelt down to place the bouquet of white and yellow chrysanthemums on the concrete. He broke down and fell into a crouch.
His father hauled him up and dusted him off.
"Stop crying!" he ordered, his own voice quavering. "She wouldn't want you to cry! You have to be a man now, understand?"
The boy kept on sobbing, and so the father began to shake him.
"I said stop wailing, you brat! This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't wandered in here. You hear me? She'd still be alive! It's your fault!"
He raised a hand to slap his son and brought it down with furious force, only for it to halt in mid-air.
The man let out a gasp, feeling as though an invisible hand was gripping his forearm. He looked up and saw nothing, but his hand was firmly held in place. It was like the very air had intervened.
Rukia, her eyes wide with shock, watched as Ichigo held the man's arm in a firm lock. The Strawberry's face was downcast, staring at the crying child.
The father paused for a moment and, his shame dawning on him, broke into a font of tears. He threw his other arm around his son and drew him in close, hugging him desperately.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. Forgive me, please!"
They wept together while Ichigo loomed over them. He finally released the father's arm and watched it drape defeatedly on the ground.
After a long pause, Ichigo turned away and marched out of the alley. Rukia followed, finding him standing still on the amber-hued street.
"Ichigo?"
"Let's go home. Can we go back to Karakura Town, please?"
Rukia signaled to Chappy from across the street. The Gikon nodded and started up the motorcycle.
Renji was adrift in darkness until finally he felt a spark of light. He bolted upright from his medical bed, eyes wide and heart racing.
"Ah, you're finally awake," said Yasochika Iemura, the Third Seat of Fourth Division.
The medic leaned forward and pried open Renji's eyelids to inspect his dilating irises.
"What the hell happened?" Renji gasped.
"You won your match and promptly passed out," Iemura answered. "At first we thought it was an adverse effect from Akon's drug, but it turned out your synchronization with your Zanpakutō put too much of a strain on your mind. You could have died. Fortunately, Captain Unohana herself treated you. Officer Akon was kind enough to provide her with the antidote as well, so your sense of temporal reality ought to be back to normal. Is it?"
Renji looked to him with wide-eyed bafflement. After a beat, he gave an uneasy nod.
"Things feel really fast all of a sudden, yeah. I guess I'm back to normal."
"Akon did warn us that there would be some lingering side effects. The most likely being – "
Renji suddenly became green in the face and turned to the side, upchucking a fountain of vomit onto the floor.
"Nausea," Imeura finished. "Officer Yamada, could you please fetch a mop and clean that up?"
"Yes sir," Hanatarō Yamada nodded before running off.
"And bring a bucket for Lieutenant Abarai as well!" Iemura added.
After a half hour of inspection, Renji was discharged from the medical station, equipped with a wooden pail in case he became sick again. He trudged through the bowels of the Bushishinzui Budōkan's interior, feeling groggy as hell and furious with Akon. When he finally happened upon an exit, he discovered Ikkaku and Yumichika awaiting him.
"Well look at you, back from the dead!" Ikkaku cackled.
He was heavily bandaged, his wounds from Rindō's attacks now sealed up into fading scars.
"For a minute there, I thought you were gonna take a dirt nap, too," Renji grimaced back. "Am I really the last one to be discharged?"
"Oh yes; everybody else has been patched up and sent back to the barracks," Yumichika cooed. "Madarame and Akon required some extra attention, but you were the only one who was touch and go for a while. I'm afraid you missed the final two matches of today's games."
"Damn. Who won?"
"Rangiku and Tetsuzaemon," Ikkaku said. "Both the Kotetsu sisters got knocked out. Isane put up a good fight, but Kiyone... well, Zaemon went easy on her."
"A predictable result," Yumichika snickered. "You didn't miss much."
"How's Shūhei doing?" Renji asked.
"His pride hurts more than his body," Ikkaku said. "I think Izuru might've broken something between them more important than bones, though."
"It's felt like a long year for me," Renji sighed. "I don't know about you guys, but I wanna head back and collapse into bed."
They all turned to exit the tunnel, only to be headed off by Hinashi Yokio.
The three officers stopped dead in their tracks, completely unnerved by the sight of the Shikōtai guardsman's shimmering samurai armor.
"Kneel," Yokio said plainly.
They all fell down onto their knees and fretfully bowed, their noses kissing the sand.
"Tenrai-chō Yūshirō wants an audience with you, Lieutenant Abarai."
"Huh?" Renji grunted, looking up from the dirt.
The diminutive leader of the Shihōin Clan was squatted down and inspecting him. They were practically nose-to-nose.
"Hiya!" Yūshirō giggled, his golden eyes glinting with delight. "I'm your biggest fan!"
Renji fell back onto his ass and scooted several paces away, nearly frightened to death.
"Thanks, Your Highness!" Please don't execute me, Your Highness.
"You were such a badass out there today," Yūshirō added, miming the way Renji whipped around Zabimaru. "Your Shikai totally lived up to the hype!Tokinada-san and I agreed your fight was definitely the best."
Ikkaku and Yumichika shared a look, both of them just as baffled as Renji.
Yūshirō continued to playact his recollection of the battle, getting carried away with his imagination before remembering what he came there to ask. He looked back down at Renji with a bright grin.
"Is it true what they say? That you challenged your own captain, Kuchiki Byakuya, to save the life of that girl?"
That girl? He must mean Rukia.
"I did, Your Highness."
"That's so badass!" Yūshirō cried with glee, clapping his hands to his face and shaking back and forth. "So foolhardy, so suicidal! You're just like all those legendary Shinigami I've read about. Maybe they'll write about you too, Abarai Renji."
The nobleman took a moment to collect himself before letting out a contended coo. He savored his thrumming excitement with a deep breath and shot Renji another sly smile.
"I also hear you've got a Bankai. Is that true, too?"
"Uh… yes, Your Highness. I do."
"Wicked! You totally gotta show that off in the arena. If it's half as cool as your Shikai, then gee I can't wait!"
"But you forbid me from using Bankai in the ring, Your Highness." Renji furrowed his brow, completely confused.
Yūshirō's smile dropped. He was just as confused.
"Who told you that? I don't recall consenting to any such decree."
"My cap – "
My captain. Sonofabitch.
He had been a fool for taking Byakuya's word for it. A knot of anger balled up inside his chest.
"Never mind, there must have been a miscommunication, Your Highness," he seethed through a forced smile.
"Good." Yūshirō resumed his grin. "I expect to see your Bankai in the matches to come, Abarai Renji. Don't let me down."
The tiny Tenrai-chō and his bodyguard zipped away in a flash of highly adept Shunpo, leaving a gentle breeze in their wake.
Renji, Ikkaku, and Yumichika all sat in the dirt, gobsmacked by what had just occurred.
"Well good for you, Abarai," Ikkaku chuckled with a hint of envy. "It's not everyday you win a Tenrai-chō's favor – "
Renji dunked his head into his bucket and violently puked, not hearing a lick of Ikkaku's congratulations.
Evening was descending over Japan while Chappy drove like a bullet through the countryside, her motorcycle purring while she hit the gas. She could faintly make out the Karakura Town skyline in the distance. They were close.
"Nearly there, Lady Rukia!" she shouted over the engine roar and whipping winds. "Hop!"
Rukia nodded and looked over to Ichigo in the sidecar. He hadn't spoken a word the whole drive, his head craned back and eyes staring up at the dusky sky.
They finally reached Karakura Town and puttered through the streets until they reached the Kurosaki Clinic. Ichigo wordlessly phased out of the sidecar and took a few steps towards the entrance, only to stop short.
"Ichigo, are you alright?" Rukia looked out at him searchingly, unable to see his expression.
He was still as a stone for what felt like a long time before turning to look back at her. He was wearing a casual, easygoing smile.
"Yep! Feels good to be back. You coming inside?"
Rukia was taken aback by his brave face. She studied him before relaxing into a fond smile.
"Yes, of course. Just let me slip into my Gigai first."
"Why d'you need to be in your Gigai?"
"It's protocol," Rukia said. "So long as I'm in my Shinigami form, my Reiatsu can attract Hollows. Our spiritual bodies were appropriate for Kagamino City because we were trying to bait Grand Fisher, but here we must seal ourselves lest we attract danger. You too, Ichigo."
"Lady Rukia, before I exit this body, I have something for you. Hop!" Chappy reached back and opened a pocket compartment in her motorcycle. "While you and Kurosaki-san were investigating one of the crime scenes, I noticed a vendor selling this..."
The Artificial Soul produced a plush doll in the likeness of a flying squirrel wearing a baseball cap. It was Nuts the baseball mascot.
Rukia's eyes widened and then watered. Hearts materialized and burst around her like bath bubbles, and she let out a squeal of kawaii.
"Squee! Chappy, you're the best!"
"Anything for my Lady, Hop!"
Ichigo watched them with a derp face. It's just a squirrel, man.
Rukia fitted her hand with a Reioshi Glove and pressed it to Chappy's shoulder, prompting the Gikon to spit up its soul candy straight into her outstretched palm. Rukia phased into her emptied Gigai and, with a devious smile, plunked Chappy's marble into Nuts. The doll shivered to life and gave a salute.
霊押 Reioshi (Soul Shover Glove)
"Reporting for duty, Lady Rukia. Hop!"
"Hehehe!" Rukia squeezed the squirrel's cheeks. "This is a fitting vessel for you, Chappy! So cute. Now remember to play dead if any mortals see you."
"Yes, ma'am. Hop!"
"Let's just get into my goddamn house," Ichigo grumbled.
He picked Rukia up by her shoulder and leapt them both up onto his bedroom windowsill. After phasing through the glass, he opened the pane and let her slink inside and onto his bed, where Kon was awaiting them in a fetal position.
Ichigo and Rukia squinted down at the Mod Soul, wondering what had gotten into him.
"I messed up, big time," Kos was preemptively cowering before his master. "Forgive me, Ichigo. I got you intobig trouble."
"What?" Ichigo frowned. "I'm gone for one day and you ruin my week?! The hell happened?"
Kon recalled his argument with Yuzu and winced when Ichigo punched him over the head.
"Ouch! Hey, watch it! This is gonna be your cranium again in just a minute."
"How dare you make Yuzu cry!" Ichigo hissed. "Unforgivable!"
There was a knock. Ichigo, Kon, Rukia, and Chappy all looked up at the door.
"Uh... who is it?" Kon called out nervously.
The door creaked open and Karin poked her head inside to see Ichigo and a strange woman sitting on together on the bed. The little Kurosaki sister looked briefly confused before narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Ichigo, invisible in his Shinigami body, gave Kon a fierce pinch. The Mod Soul winced and looked to his master, who pantomimed Speak! She thinks you're me, remember?
"Uh, this is just my friend," Kon pointed at Rukia. "Pay her no mind."
"Salutations!" Rukia waved with a fake smile. "Please pay me no mind."
"Alright, well I just wanted to let you know Yuzu is still really upset and doesn't want to go to the sleepover anymore," Karin said.
Ichigo raised a threatening fist at Kon, as if to say 'Apologize now!'
"I… I'm very sorry," Kon said bashfully. "I just got carried away. I'm very protective of, um... Bostov."
"So Bostov's actually your doll?" Karin said with a confused arch of her eyebrows. "I didn't realize you played with dolls, nii-san?"
"Well, now you know," Kon mumbled. He let out a nervous laugh, then looked up at Ichigo. The Shinigami Deputy was so red in the face that steam was shooting from his nostrils.
"Okay, okay, I'll make this right," Kon sighed. "I'll give her Bostov, alright?"
Karin studied him and glanced over at Rukia, pointing at the squirrel plushie cinched around her waist.
"Is that a Nuts doll?" she asked. "Can we borrow that, too? I think it might really help lighten Yuzu up. She loves Nuts."
"Oh, this?" Rukia laughed nervously, holding up Chappy. "Well... sure you can! Can we just have a moment?"
Karin scrutinized Rukia for a long while before giving a nod.
"Sure. I'll go let Yuzu know." She shut the door.
"Phew!" Kon laughed bashfully "Well, problem solved, right – ?"
Ichigo smacked him upside the head so hard he upchucked his soul candy. Ichigo's human body flopped back onto the mattress, lifeless, while the Shinigami Deputy took Kon's marble and shoved into the lion plushie.
"Okay, okay, so maybe that wasn't ideal!" Kon waved his cherubic lion limbs frantically. "What are you gonna do to me?!"
Ichigo grinned down at him with diabolical portent.
"You're gonna go to tea time with Karin and Yuzu, and you're gonna like it."
"Great, now I have to hand over Chappy as a peace offering," Rukia sighed. "Please just grin and bear it for tonight, Chappy."
"Yes, Lady Rukia!" the squirrel plushie saluted. "Hop!"
After reentering his human body, Ichigo visited Karin and Yuzu's room to deliver Kon and Chappy along with many apologies.
"I promise I'll never talk like that to you again, okay?" He knelt down and brushed away his little sister's tears.
"Okay," Yuzu smiled, snorting back tears.
"I want you to go have a fun time with your friends. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, nii-chan!" Yuzu chirped, hugging the two dolls close. "And I promise I'll bring back your beloved Bostov without a scratch!"
Ichigo frowned, nearly bursting a blood vessel.
You can dunk that good-for-nothing pervert in acid for all I care.
He brought his sisters downstairs, where their father was awaiting them.
"Alright, Dad, here they – "
"You fool!"
Isshin launched forward and kicked Ichigo square in the face, sending him somersaulting back into the wall with a crash.
"Don't ever make your sister cry again, you punk!" Isshin shaked a fist down at him. "Toys are never more important than family, got it?!"
Ichigo was splatted against the wall like a pancake, a goose egg sprouting from his forehead while his eyes saw swirling stars.
"Got it," he mumbled dazedly.
Isshin ushered the girls out to walk them to Midoriko Tōno's house. The coast was finally clear.
"We've both handed off our Gikon, Ichigo," Rukia said while descending down the stairs, finding him still in an upturned heap. "I hope you have your Shinigami Deputy badge handy, in case you need to access your Shinigami body."
"I got us covered." He got back up onto his feet, dusted himself off, and produced the placard out from his back pocket. "We've got nothing to worry about."
Rukia's expression turned serious.
"I've been meaning to ask you... what happened back there in Kagamino City?" she broached.
He hesitated to answer, looking lost in reflection while turning the badge in his fingers. With a sigh, he pocketed the placard and headed for the door.
"I wanna take you somewhere," he called back to her. "Let's go for a walk."
They walked through Karakura Town until they came upon the river. Ichigo strolled down the hillside and onto the concrete slope leading to water while Rukia gingerly followed.
He finally reached his destination and sat down, hugging his arms around his knees while staring out at the gentle river. Rukia plunked down beside him.
"Why are we here, Ichigo?"
He was quiet for a while, listening to the trickle of water and the sway of grass.
"This is where it happened."
Rukia's eyes widened. You mean this is where your mother died?
Ichigo nodded feebly, as if reading her thoughts.
"When I realized I could see ghosts, I came here every day. I sat down, right at this spot, and waited for her. I didn't know her spirit was gone, too. So I just waited here whenever I could, afraid that if I ever moved on, if I ever left Karakura Town even for a day, I'd miss my chance to see her again."
Rukia placed a hand on his shoulder. They sat together, in silence, and gazed out at the river. Droplets began to fall and gradually multiplied.
It had started to rain.
"That's a very touching story, Kurosaki Ichigo," a voice said.
Ichigo and Rukia bolted upright and turned around to see a Shinigami standing six meters away, clad in Shihakushō and a straw hat.
"Saidō Eikichirō?" Rukia whispered, recognizing the interloper's face. "We thought you were dead."
"Almost," Saidō replied with a smile, rainwater sloshing down the brim of his hat. "Grand Fisher nearly got me, but I managed to escape. Been laying low ever since."
Something's not right. Rukia felt a chill run up her spine.
"What are you doing here?" Ichigo asked tersely.
"I'm here to help save your sisters, Kurosaki," the Shinigami warned. "I'm afraid they may be Grand Fisher's next targets."
"What?!" Ichigo gasped, his fists tightening. "How do you know that?"
"There's no time to explain." Saidō extended out his hand. "If you want them to live... then please hand over your Shinigami Deputy badge."
Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "What'd you just say?"
"I said hand over your badge, sonny, or your sisters will be picked clean to their bones before you can ever hope to reach them," Saidō chuckled, his voice lowering into a deeper brass with every word.
A aura of rot emanated from him, expanding in all directions and taking on a familiar shape.
Karin plunked herself down in front of the television and adjusted the channel until she came up "Cazh Soul," Don Kanonji's program. It was her favorite show. She never missed an episode. Especially of late.
Don Kanonji stared back at her through the television screen, twirling his hands like he was casting a spell.
"Phenomena we cannot explain, the chill that runs up our spines: these are not fanciful delusions, faithful viewers," the medium said in a spooky tremble, as if he were addressing Karin directly. "There are spirits among us. Do not distrust your own eyes... "
"Karin, stop watching TV!" Yuzu called from across the room. "You're being misanthropic!" She was sitting in a circle with their classmates Midoriko Tōno, Kiori, and Chihiro.
"What's mis-an-thropic mean?" Kiori asked.
"Oh, it means she's being a total butt," Yuzu replied with a tee-hee.
They all laughed together at Karin's expense while she remained stubbornly planted in front of the tube.
"I never skip Cazh Soul," she grumbled. "This is important. Tea time can wait."
"Psst," Chihiro whispered to Midiriko. "Yuzu's sister is kinda weird, huh?"
"Don't say that," Midiriko shushed her, afraid the others would overhear. "Don't let Karin catch you badmouthing her. She's scary when she's angry."
The group carried on performing the ritual of "tea time," playacting a dainty lunch with their assortment of dolls. Yuzu mimed bringing a cup up to Bostov's mouth so he may sip some nonexistent tea.
This is my nightmare, Kon thought, remaining completely motionless while Yuzu doted on him like a baby. She had even fitted him with a bib. The disrespect was almost too much to take.
Chappy, however, didn't mind the arrangement one bit. She was more than happy pretending to be an inanimate object while the girls passed her back and forth, bringing invisible tea cakes to her squirrel vessel. As far as the Gikon was concerned, it was all part of the mission. Lady Rukia entrusted her to these girls to help assuage suspicion. She would play her part to her upmost.
Karin frowned when everyone's laughter threatened to drown out Don Kanonji's monologue. She scrunched up closer to the television, enough that her nose could feel the screen's static field.
"Spirits are real, faithful viewers," Don Kanonji concluded with an ominous drawl. "If you are among the lucky few who can see them, do not be afraid. Be prepared. Now, we'll be right back after these quick advertisements."
The program cut to commercial, prompting Karin to scoot back and spare her eyes more strain. She sat dutifully and waited for the show to resume.
A gust of wet wind began blowing into the living room. A storm had arrived.
"Oh no, it's raining," Midoriko said fretfully, looking over at her open windowsill.
"Karin, can you please get the window?" Yuzu asked from over her shoulder. "It's the least we can do for our host."
Karin shot her sister an annoyed glance. Yuzu was the one who had accepted Midoriko's invitation to the slumber party. Yuzu was the one who insisted that she come along, even though she found Midoriko trifling. And now Yuzu was ordering her around like a Queen Bee.
"Sure," Karin said curtly, hoisting herself up and trudging over to the billowing curtains. She shut the window closed, only to freeze in fear when she saw an eye staring at her from the other side of the pane.
There was a streak of lightning, briefly illuminating Aisslinger Wernarr and his partially shattered mask. Then came a thunderclap that sounded like a horn.
Aisslinger's massive claw burst through window, shattering the entire wall with the ease of tearing apart tissue paper. Karin let out a shriek as glass and plaster showered around her. The Arrancar's talons clasped around her waist and snatched her up.
The rest of the party shrieked as well, witnessing the unexplainable phenomena of some invisible force bursting through the wall and lifting Karin up towards the ceiling, as if by levitation.
"Karin!" Yuzu cried, jumping up and running to her sister's aid.
Chappy instantly sprung to life and squeezed out from between Midoriko's hands to give chase.
"Kon, come!" the squirrel plushie yelled back at her lion counterpart. "We have to protect the girls! Hop!"
"What?!" Kon reanimated with an exasperated double take. What the hell can WE possibly do?!
Aisslinger stuck his head through the wide gouge he had punched through the wall and spotted Yuzu charging towards him. Another of his twisted arms burst through the drywall and scooped her up. Yuzu, unable to see the hand wrapped around her, kicked and squealed with fright when she was lifted up towards the ceiling.
Kon saw Karin and Yuzu wail. He felt something well up within him. A protective instinct. He picked himself up off the floor and scurried after Chappy.
The remaining girls all shrieked when they saw the dolls they were just playing with run and talk. What sorcery was this?
The two Gikons jumped up after Yuzu and latched onto her sneaker before it was lifted out of reach.
Aisslinger withdrew from the apartment, carrying Karin and Yuzu with him as he leapt onto an adjacent building and climbed up its surface like a spider.
I've done my part.Now have your fun, Grand Fisher.
Grand Fisher had wanted to exact his vengeance against Ichigo Kurosaki immediately after dispatching Eikichirō Saidō. It took Aisslinger's best efforts to dissuade him from attacking the Shinigami Deputy too hastily.
When they retreated to the dense forests that bordered Kagamino City after Saidō's murder, they had another spirited debate about the subject.
"I've observed this boy, he has grown far stronger since you last fought," Aisslinger warned. "Immeasurably stronger. If you engage him directly in battle, you will perish and all of our work will be for naught."
Grand Fisher frustratedly swung a tentacle and smashed a tree trunk into smithereens.
"Is that why you keep insisting I feed in Kagamino City instead of Karakura Town?" he seethed. "Is that why we gotta hide like bottom feeders?!"
"If you'd begun working your way towards becoming a Menos when I first suggested, you'd already have a much better shot at killing the boy," Aisslinger reminded him.
Grand Fisher reared upon his handler and let out a screech, his red eyes flaring like hot coals.
"I don't take orders from you! I ain't eating a single fuckin' Hollow before I've had my fill of Kurosaki and his kin."
Aisslinger stood his ground, trying his best not to look intimidated.
"We're running out of time," he noted. "If you must kill the boy before you become a Menos, then you'll have to do it my way. The prudent way."
Grand Fisher's burly torso sprouted another fleshy, hideous tentacle. The appendage swirled up serpentinely around Aisslinger and rested around his neck like a noose. It began to slowly constrict.
"What do you suggest?" Fisher chuckled.
Knowing his answer would decide his life, Aisslinger thought hard before replying.
"We continue observing him from afar, wait for the prime opportunity to strike, and then we leverage those he loves against him."
Grand Fisher liked the sound of that. He withdrew his tentacle from around his handler's throat and gave a big gleaming grin.
"Good. Heh, heh, heh. Good!
Ichigo felt an icy twinge, sensing his sisters' abduction. His face went pale. Rukia could feel it, too.
"That's right," Saidō grinned, outstretching his hand expectantly. "My friend is babysitting them for now. You could say we have a deep connection: with just a thought I can order him to wring their little necks. Heh, heh, heh. Now, give me your badge, Kurosaki. It's the only way you can leave your human body, right?"
Ichigo gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with equal parts fear and hatred. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his Shinigami Deputy badge by its chain. He held it aloft, the placard swaying in the rain.
"Toss it over, sonny," Saidō ordered. "Now."
"Ichigo, don't!" Rukia begged, her eyes wide with apprehension.
Ichigo gave her a look that made it clear his compliance wasn't up for debate. He threw his badge to Saidō, who caught it and let out a triumphant laugh.
"Good! Heh, heh, heh. Now you, woman. You've got one of those Shinigami gloves, right? Hand it over."
Rukia bristled. If I surrender my Reioshi Glove, we're all as good as dead...
"Rukia!" Ichigo shouted. "Do as he says."
She gave him a pleading look but could only see resignation in his eyes. Everything she had ever learned in her training told her to disregard his wishes and slip on her Reioshi Glove. Karin and Yuzu were expandable hostages; her duty was to defeat the Hollow at whatever cost.
She produced the glove from her pocket and dangled it hesitantly, unsure of what to do. Ichigo would never forgive her if she sacrificed his sisters. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself. But she already knew what it was like to live with that kind of burden. Kaien's face swam up to her, smiling wistfully.
Saidō watched while she negotiated with herself. He narrowed his eyes, his patience run thin.
"Time's up."
A fleshy root shot up from the ground, spearing into Rukia's armpit and out through her shoulder. The tentacle curved back down to coil tightly around her wrist and, with a fierce twist, ripped her arm clean off, taking the Reioshi Glove along with it. Her eyes turned faint and she toppled over, completely in shock.
"Rukia!" Ichigo cried, racing over to her.
Another slimy tendril shot up from the ground, this one spearing through the back of his right leg. He let out a cry of pain and fell flat on his face. The tendril yanked back, dragging him towards Saidō.
"Gigai... flesh and bone... they're all so fragile, heh, heh, heh," Saidō clucked.
Ichigo felt himself dragged back until he lay at Saidō feet. With a searing pain shooting up his leg, he glared up at the imposter.
"Coward!" he spat, his teeth bared and eyes wide with rage.
"Y'think I care?" Saidō replied mockingly, looking down at the Strawberry with smug satisfaction. "Bravely, cowardly. Don't make a difference how I do it, I'm still gonna savor every cry of pain. Just like I savored mommy. Ain't that right, sonny?"
Ichigo lunged up at Saidō and grabbed him by the face. Ignoring the agonizing pain in his leg, he reached as high as he could until his fingers were digging into the bastard's eyes, bursting them like pustules.
"You think that hurts, sonny?" Saidō cackled, blood spilling down his chin. "That's just a paper cut."
The Shinigami contorted and shifted before Ichigo's eyes, reforming into the Lure. It was long and slimy, like a wriggling worm sprouting up from the dirt. It retracted back, cutting like a shark's fin through the moist soil until it reached its progenitor underground.
Ichigo let out a cry of hatred when his true attacker rose up from the earth. It was Grand Fisher alright, but he looked radically different compared to their last encounter.
Gone was that bloated hamster body and smiling mask. In its place stood a hulking behemoth of a humanoid, black stripes running down his broad chest and reaching the fringe of fur around his waist, a yawning hole punched between his pectorals. Thick locks of black hair sprouted from the back of his bony head, their tips hooked through tiny talismans. He was frocked in a white cloak that slung around his shoulders, its ends looped through the silver bracelets adorning his wrists, his fingernails rectangular juts of faded silver.
The Arrancar's eyes were scarlet and eyelids pitch black. His gnarled nose reached down and kissed the underbite of the gleaming jawbone wrapped beneath his lower lip, a partial remnant of his discarded mask.
The two mortal enemies stared at each other with murderous intent, rain streaking down their faces.
"You wanna fight me, right?" Ichigo snarled. "Then let's fight. Just you and me. Give me back my badge and – "
"Nuh-uh-ah, sonny," Grand Fisher chuckled, wagging one of his swollen fingers. "No fighting tonight, heh, heh, heh. Just you begging for mercy until your dyin' breath. But first I'm gonna make you watch me rip apart your little girlfriend… "
He trailed off, looking over Ichigo's shoulder and discovering that Rukia had vanished.
"Where'd the bitch go?"
Getting his answer, he spotted a wisp from the corner of his eye. Rukia had flanked him, her remaining arm outstretched. She was muttering something under her breath, her voice a barely audible whisper. When they locked eyes, her chant rose to a defiant roar.
"... The sea barrier surges, march on to the south! Shakkahō!"
赤火砲 Shakkahō (Hadō #31, Red Flame Cannon)
An orb of ruby-colored energy formed around her palm and fired straight at Grand Fisher's face. The Arrancar sprouted a tendril to shield himself, his fleshy whip surging up and colliding with the fireball. The head of the tentacle splattered upon impact, blown the smithereens but keeping its progenitor unfazed.
It was a feeble Hadō attack, but it would've been damaging enough if it had reached its intended target. Fisher, glowering with displeasure, sprouted another tendril for a killing strike.
Rukia narrowly dodged the sharpened appendage, her hair follicles nicked by the tentacle when it surged passed. She fell into a barrel roll and ended up in a crouch, glowering up at him.
"What's with the Kidō?" Grand Fisher grumbled. "You oughta still be trapped in that useless body."
"You misunderstand our technology, monster," Rukia panted while clutching at her bleeding shoulder. "We might not be able to eject ourselves from our Gigai without a Gikonkan or Reioshi glove, but we aren't forever helpless in them. They're designed to unseal our Reiatsu in increments the more we're damaged. By maiming this Gigai, you've given me access to Hohō and Kidō."
Grand Fisher's eyes bulged with annoyance.
"You ain't doing nothing to me with that puny amount of power. Try something clever again and I'll command my friend to gobble Kurosaki's sisters up."
"No you won't," Rukia chuckled. "They're your only leverage. When the tide turns against you tonight, they'll be the only bargaining chip for you to make your escape."
When the tide turns against me, eh? Grand Fisher's swollen lips curled into a bemused smile that peeked up over his jawbone mask.
He swerved his tentacle that was hooked into Ichigo's leg farther away, pinning the Strawberry haplessly out of reach. Ichigo writhed furiously on the ground while the Arrancar began a slow approach towards Rukia.
"You've got a big mouth, Shinigami. Let's see if you talk tough after I pry it off. Heh, heh, heh."
His eyes gleamed red as rubies.
He knows I'm bluffing, Rukia gauged grimly. She knew full well that Grand Fisher would order Karin and Yuzu's execution on a whim, stratagem be damned. Provoking him only exacerbated that possibility. But their deaths were already a foregone conclusion if she allowed Fisher to have his way with her and Ichigo.
Moreover, they had allies in Karakura Town: formidable allies like Kisuke Urahara, Uryū Ishida, and Yasutora Sado. If she could stall the monster long enough, maybe one of them would come and save the day.
It was their only hope.
On the other side of town, at the Murakami corner store, Chad was slumped over the Invaders Must Die arcade tower, sound asleep and drooling on the console. He had spent all day slotting yen into the machine and practicing with torturous dedication, trying again and again to better his score. He only took breaks to buy more rice cakes and get Miss Harumi off his back.
The hours and hours of rigorous repetition, single-minded focus and tedium had finally caught up with him. He snored away, lost in a deep and bottomless sleep whilst hunched over the game tower, his dreams filled with alien invasions and sweet peppers.
Harumi stood behind the register with her arms crossed, her right temple pulsating while she eyed the sleeping giant.
"Y'see what letting that delinquent into our shop has gotten us?" she harrumphed to her husband. "The squatter is making himself at home!"
"His purchases made up 80 percent of our business today," Takashi sighed while sweeping the floors. "Leave the boy be."
Dozens of blocks over, Uryū was looking out from the balcony of his father's penthouse. His hands gripped the rail nervously while he surveyed the Karakura skyline, sensing Ichigo's plight from afar.
What are you doing, Kurosaki? he cursed. How did you get outsmarted by a Hollow this badly?
He hung his head in shame, wishing he could banish his spiritual awareness altogether and spend his night blissfully ignorant of all the mayhem happening only a few short kilometers away. He was an unremarkable human now; there was nothing he could do. Reduced to a mere spectator. Rain fell upon him in buckets, soaking through his crisp white clothes.
Meanwhile, Orihime Inoue was snoring away in her bed, dreaming of pickle cakes and Ichigo wearing a unicorn onesie. She had retired at 8:30pm sharp, her usual bedtime.
Nine blocks over from her apartment, Shinji Hirako was strolling through Karakura's Night Market alongside a compatriot named Love Aikawa. They were both shielding themselves from the downpour with umbrellas while strolling down the busy market.
"That kid's gonna get himself killed," Love remarked, sensing Ichigo's predicament.
"Yup," Shinji sighed.
"You're seriously not gonna get involved?"
"He ain't our responsibility." Shinji rolled his eyes. "Humans get killed by Hollows every day. Wanna get some udon?"
Back at the Kurosaki Clinic, Isshin opened a window and listened to the slosh of rain. He was horribly anxious, but the sounds of nature calmed him. He sighed and let the drizzling plops calm his unease.
He wasn't sure why, but something felt horribly wrong.
Kisuke Urahara and Yoruichi Shihōin were trudging through a world of void, a billowing swirl of purple surrounding them in all directions. The terrain was shapeless, like smoke above water, thick and weightless at the same time. Everything echoed with the chatter of whispers within a cauldron, infinity's soundscape an intimate hiss straight into their ears. The misty matter flitted by with the force of raindrops, prompting them to scrunch their eyes while they pressed on.
A third figure, clad in Shihakushō and shielding his face behind a scrunched arm, followed close behind.
Their footsteps landed upon Reishi steps that they cohered into being through concerted focus, providing themselves a pathway through the nothingness. Yoruichi pulled her scarf up over her nose, as if afraid to inhale the vapor twisting around her.
"Can we turn back now?" she shouted over the whistling din. "This is as deep as I wanna venture into this hellscape."
"Oh, c'mon now, it's not that bad!" Urahara shouted to her. "You're just not used to it yet. Look at Shiba back there. This is no sweat for him."
Yoruichi chanced a glance back at their companion, who was certainly marching with a more confident stride than her but hardly looked at ease.
"Honestly, I've never gotten used to it," Shiba replied. "I don't think anybody could ever really get used to it. This isn't a place meant for people. But you do forget to be afraid of it after a while."
Yoruichi squinted. "I never said I was afraid."
"~Scaredy cat~" Urahara hummed.
"Oh, shut up!"
As if obeying her command, Urahara came to an abrupt halt at the front, bringing them all to a stop.
"What is it, Kisuke?"
The shopkeeper looked at them with wide-eyed alarm. "Trace your spiritual awareness back to the World of the Living, in Karakura Town. Do you feel it? Ichigo, Rukia... Karin and Yuzu. They're all under attack."
"What?" Shiba whispered, his voice cracking with concern. He turned his attention to the south and grimaced: he could feel it now. The peril shot through him like a bolt.
"The girls are being held in a different point of entry from Ichigo," Urahara sussed out, his Reikaku winding across dimensional time and space to approximate their locations.
"We're too far away," Yoruichi noted with dread. "The path back is too slow-going. It'll take us hours to reach them."
Shiba gazed at the endless chasm yawning behind them. He braced himself, his jaw set tight and muscles coiling.
"I can reach them."
Yoruichi's eyes widened with surprise when the Shinigami broke into a sprint towards the south. Reishi planks sprouted beneath his feet like a starry conveyor belt, the path shattering in his wake while regenerating ahead to catch his next stride. He dashed away towards Karakura Town's entry point, leaving them in the dust.
He can traverse the Garganta that swiftly? Yoruichi blanched. How is that possible?
"Don't look so surprised," Urahara chided, seeing her disbelief. "You might have him beat in a footrace anywhere else, but nobody's got better sea legs in the Garganta. Years of exploration will do that."
"Even so... he won't make it in time," Yoruichi said somberly.
Urahara watched as the galloping Shinigami grew faint in the amorphous horizon.
"Yeah, probably not. But we can hope."
Aisslinger situated himself atop a 12-story office building, his monstrous silhouette invisible to all the humans walking below. Agitated by how much Yuzu was wailing, he gave her a shake.
"Shut your mouth, brat."
"Let us down, you freak!" Karin cried, punching at his claw.
Aisslinger turned his one unmasked eye to the dark-haired twin and inspected her.
"So you can actually see me?" he mused. "Then you must be able to hear me, too. Tell your sister to stop crying or I'll twist her head right off its shoulders."
The color drained from Karin's face. Feeble with fright, she slowly craned her head to address her sister. "Yuzu... don't make a sound."
"W-What?" Yuzu mumbled, her tears of distress mingling with the raindrops on her face.
"He wants us to be quiet," Karin said nervously.
Yuzu's heart forgot to beat for several pronounced seconds. She gulped and shut her lips tight, her whole body trembling.
"Good," Aisslinger purred. He glared down at Karin. "You have only your brother to blame for your situation. If I'm given the command to tear you apart, know that he sealed your fate."
Ichigo? Karin felt an icy disquiet prickle her all over. Why's he talking about Nii-chan?
Ichigo tried to crawl across the ground, but his leg was pinned firmly down. He could feel Grand Fisher's tentacle pulsate, its width burgeoning within the hole it had punched through his calf, stretching the wound. He gritted his teeth, eyes blinking through tears of pain.
He watched helplessly as Rukia was batted back and forth by Grand Fisher's tentacles.
She evaded one tendril with her modest Shunpo, only to be struck over the head by another fleshy branch. She plummeted down onto the slick concrete with a nasty thunk. Grand Fisher strolled ever closer, grinning when he saw her face swell up with purplish bruising.
"So you said the more I pick you apart, the more power you get?" the Arrancar mused. "Then I'll just keep you in one piece while I wring the life out of you. He, he, he."
Rukia struggled back up onto her knees, panting with exhaustion. I hope you try and kill me, she wished. If you destroy this Gigai, I'll be free.
Even so, regaining her spiritual body wouldn't put her in a better position. While her true form wasn't incurring the physical injuries being inflicted on her vessel, all of Fisher's attacks were chipping away at her Reiatsu.
A Gigai's wounds placed a heavy toll on its wearer's spiritual pressure. At this rate, Rukia would be completely depleted by the time Grand Fisher finished off her vessel. Her partial access to Hohō and Kidō had already grown faint.
"What's wrong, Shinigami?" Grand Fisher gloated. "That smart mouth ain't got nothing left to say?"
Rukia hung her head, her face obscured by a hazy halo brought on by the rain. She began to emit a soft chuckle.
Grand Fisher craned his ear forward, disbelieving what he was hearing. "You're laughing?"
She threw her head back and sounded out a bellowing guffaw. Grand Fisher began to chuckle in kind, amused by the demented display.
"What's so funny, Shinigami?"
"Oh, it's just that... bwahaha!" Rukia chortled, blood running down her brow. "It's just that... no matter what happens to us tonight, you're still going to die, Grand Fisher. You're an incomplete Arrancar expending far too much power for your body to sustain. Soon enough you will burst into nothingness. You're nothing but a two-bit Hollow reaching far beyond his grasp. How pathetic."
Grand Fisher swung his boulder-sized fist straight into her face, knocking her flat onto the concrete. She lay in a daze for a moment before resuming her laughter. She tasted rain and blood in her mouth while hooting away.
"Stop laughing!" Grand Fisher roared, grabbing her by the legs and swinging her up like a sack of potatoes. He spun around, picking up ferocious momentum before tossing her. She somersaulted through the air and landed in a heap six yards away from Ichigo.
The grass may have provided a softer fall, but Rukia landed awkwardly on her head, her vision going black upon impact.
Ichigo looked at her broken body with sheer horror while Grand Fisher stomped back over to them, repeatedly pounding his chest with his fist.
"I'm not going anywhere!" the monster barked. "After I feast on Kurosaki's entrails, I'm gonna eat my way through Hueco Mundo and become the strongest Arrancar to ever live. Aisslinger will bring me to Las Noches and I'll take my rightful place as an Espada. All while you two burn in the furnace of my gut!"
He came to a stop five paces away from Ichigo, snarling contemptuously. A crevice split straight down his forehead and from the flap sprouted his Lure. The teardrop-shaped tendril dangled forth and morphed gradually before Ichigo's eyes, going through several grotesque permutations before finally settling on the likeness of Masaki Kurosaki.
Ichigo let out a gasp. The light went out in his eyes while he gazed up at the visage of his mother: she looked just as he remembered her from the day she died.
"Ichigo, sweetheart, don't let your friend die," Masaki cooed, her face creased with concern. "Don't let her die the way you let me die. My heart couldn't bear you failing again."
Ichigo made a sound that hit high above his natural register. It was a hiss from deep within his core, shooting out from his lips like a steam whistle. He attempted to lift himself up, but his leg was pinned firmly to the ground. It hurt so bad, but he'd happily rip it off to free himself and reach Grand Fisher.
The Arrancar grinned from behind his Lure, his red eyes gleaming happily.
"If you really loved me, then why'd you let me die?" Masaki wondered, her eyes shifting from a maternal shimmer to a cold, pale stare. "Was it because you lacked the strength... or because you lacked the will?"
"Stop it!" Ichigo screamed, shaking his head and desperately trying to banish her taunts from his mind.
She produced something from her pocket: it was Ichigo's Shinigami Deputy badge. She held it forth, daring him to reach up and grab it. She even dangled it by the chain, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.
"Do you have the will now, Ichigo?" she pondered. "Or are you still the stupid boy who led mommy to her death? Come on, reach up and grab your badge. Or are you too useless to even do that?"
Rukia had come to. Nursing her pounding head, she squinted through the curtain of rainfall until her eyes landed on Ichigo and Grand Fisher.
"Ichigo!" she cried. "He's baiting you!"
The Strawberry struggled to raise himself up, feeling Grand Fisher's tendril rip through the muscle of his calf. He didn't care. He couldn't feel any pain anymore, only fury. He reached his hand up to touch the medallion, his quivering fingers coming within inches of it.
It was so close and yet so unattainable.
"He, he, he, that's the spirit, sonny!" Grand Fisher clucked.
The beast sprouted a tendril from his chest, the branch spearing right through Masaki's visage and surging straight for Ichigo's face.
In that split second, the protection charm cinched to Ichigo's belt loop burst with amber light, sending a bolt of energy straight up to head off the tentacle.
There was a crack and boom like lightning and thunder. The Arrancar was thrown back, Lure and all, while Ichigo was sent back like a tumbleweed caught in a twister. Fisher landed in a crouch, eyes glaring with surprise at the smoldering stump that had been his attacking tendril.
Ichigo lay flat on his back several yards away. He felt Fisher's tendril unhook itself from his leg and slither back. A whoosh of wind filled the void of his wound, hurting like hell. Regardless, he smiled weakly.
Rukia had seen the whole thing, and had a better idea than either of them about what had just occurred.
That was a protection barrier, a powerful one. Shinigami who are especially adept at Kidō can enchant material objects with such spells, designing them to activate when their wearer is threatened by a head-on attack. But who in the world gave that charm to Ichigo?
Grand Fisher let out a roar of frustration.
"That's it! Say goodbye to your sisters, sonny!"
Aisslinger felt a twinge shoot up his spine. It was the telepathic command from Grand Fisher to execute the Kurosaki twins.
"Seriously?" he gritted, looking to the direction of Fisher's fight and cursing the madman's heedlessness. "You haven't even finished Kurosaki off yet…" He cast his one unshielded eye down at the two cowering girls and studied their petrified faces. "Like I said, child," he grimaced at Karin. "You have only your brother to blame for this."
She looked up at him in horror. This was the end. Struggling to maintain calm, she looked over to her sister. She didn't want Yuzu to be scared in their last moments.
"Yuzu," she said softly. "It's going to be alright... "
Just as Aisslinger readied to squeeze the life out of them, he suddenly became cognizant of something small and fluffy crawling atop his head. He roved his eye up to spot the interloper but couldn't make it out: it was situated right above his brow.
Chappy reached down her stubby squirrel paws and grabbed the Arrancar's upper eyelid, yanking it up with all her might and twisting it in every direction.
It really fucking hurt.
Aisslinger let out an agonized yelp, reflexively releasing Karin and Yuzu to shoot his claws up to snatch at the meddlesome Gikon. Chappy, with an artful twist, dived down and evaded the Arrancar's grasp while holding onto his eyelid like a swinging rope.
Karin and Yuzu fell down five feet and landed on the rooftop, both of them startled. Karin looked up and watched in slack-jawed astonishment at the sight of a Nuts doll scurrying around the Arrancar's face, pinching him here and yanking him there. Aisslinger hissed, clawing at himself to try and snatch the plushie, raking his own flesh and mask fragment.
"Guys, c'mon!" Kon shouted from behind the Kurosaki twins. "Let's get the hell outta here!"
Karin and Yuzu both swung their heads around and saw the lion plushie speaking directly at them. They simultaneously let out a horrified scream.
"Bostov, you can talk?!" Yuzu wailed.
"Yeah, yeah, I know you don't see something like me every day," Kon explained as calmly as he could. He couldn't maintain his composure for long, though. "If you don't come with me right now, then we're all gonna die, alright! Let's get the heck outta here! Get meoutta here!"
His plea was enough to get Karin to regain her wits. She wordlessly got back onto her feet and helped her shellshocked sister up. Holding hands, they leapt over Kon and sprinted for the rooftop door.
"Hey, wait for me!" Kon cried after them, scurrying to catch up. He heard a snarl behind him chanced a look back. Aisslinger had finally cornered Chappy with his claws.
Oh no!
Chappy's beady eyes met his. The flying squirrel gave a final salute: her job was done.
"Hop!"
Aisslinger snapped his claw shut around the plushie, obliterating it. Pieces of felt, stuffing, and shards of Chappy's soul marble squeezed out between the Arrancar's fingers. He unclenched his hand: the Artificial Soul was now just dust in his palm.
Kon stopped in his tracks. He looked over to Karin and Yuzu, who had hit a roadblock at the entrance to the staircase.
"It's locked!" Karin cried, jostling the doorknob desperately.
Kon looked back to Aisslinger. The Arrancar was livid, blinking his poked eye belligerently while bearing his four claws, ready to pounce again.
All Kon could think about was how brave Chappy was in her final moment. I can't stop you from grabbing them again, he thought while staring Aisslinger down. But you're still gonna have to go through me first!
Marshaling all of his adrenaline, the lion plushie launched himself up in the air, bouncing forth to meet the monster head on.
Ridiculous, Aisslinger thought while watching the Mod Soul hurtling towards him. What a stupid -
A beam of light shot down from the sky and cast a curtain over Aisslinger. Kon reached the luminescence's perimeter and face-planted against it, sliding down the pillar until he reached the concrete ground with a flop.
Aisslinger instantly became frantic, darting back and forth while recognizing his prison.
This was Negación.
"No, no, no!" he breathlessly hissed. Soon enough he was levitating, his gnarled body involuntarily rising up towards the clouds.
Kon, realizing he hadn't died, dazedly watched while the Arrancar was sucked into a yawning portal above.
"Please, stop!" Aisslinger pleaded fearfully, clawing impotently at the air and trying to swim back down to earth. "I'm not ready. Don't take me!"
He slipped into darkness and the portal snapped shut. The glowing pillar dissipated like a torch extinguishing in the rain.
Kon lay motionless for a moment, then ambled back up onto his feet and dusted himself off. He looked over at Karin and Yuzu, who stared back at him with petrified astonishment.
All he could offer was a shrug. "I think we won?"
Grand Fisher let out a howl when he sensed Aisslinger vanishing without a trace.
"Incompetent little welp!" he cursed, eyes bulging from their sockets. "After I'm finished here, I'm gonna track you down and eat you whole."
He returned his attention to Ichigo and saw something strange: the Strawberry was smiling.
"Why're you smiling, sonny?" the Arrancar glowered. "Nothing's changed. You played your little trick, but it won't work again. Now I'm gonna rip you apart, then your Shinigami friend, and then your sisters. So what do you have to smile about, huh?"
Ichigo's grin only broadened in response. He closed his eyes and savored the rainfall on his face. It was cleansing.
"I'm smiling because Karin and Yuzu are safe," he said serenely, opening his eyes to smirk up at Grand Fisher. "I'm also smiling because... "
He raised up his right fist and turned it over. His fingers unclenched, revealing the Substitute Shinigami badge in his palm.
"You dropped this."
Grand Fisher's expression went blank with panic.
Ichigo sprung out from his battered human body and stood before Grand Fisher, facing him nearly toe to toe. The Shinigami Deputy was clad in his Shihakushō while the broad butcher's blade Zangetsu loomed over his shoulder.
Grand Fisher, momentarily stricken, hesitated before letting out a bloodcurdling roar. He sprouted a tentacle straight from his chest to pierce through Ichigo.
I've got you point blank, sonny!
With a swiftness that the Arrancar couldn't even track, Ichigo unsheathed Zangetsu and swung it right across the tendril before it could even bridge the five inches of distance between them. The severed appendage flopped to the ground like a limp noodle.
Fisher instinctually lunged away to put some distance between them, but not before Ichigo cleaved his blade down with thunderous force across his chest. The Arrancar stumbled back, blood spraying haphazardly from his left shoulder down to his right hip. He let out a faint grunt, eyes wide with fear.
Aisslinger was right: the boy had gotten immeasurably stronger.
"Does that hurt?" Ichigo wondered, staring pitilessly at the crimson curtain seeping down Grand Fisher's torso. "I hope it hurts."
Fisher let out a rebellious cry, honing all of his focus into merging his torn flesh back together. Ichigo watched passively while the Arrancar's chest stitched itself back, staunching the bleeding. Grand Fisher huffed effortfully, his chest now ridged by a fleshy scar.
"I told you before, sonny: that's just a paper cut," he seethed.
"Good to know," Ichigo replied, his blank affect unnerving. "Today you die by a thousand cuts, Grand Fisher."
He clapped a hand over his sword-wielding forearm, eyes welling up with wrath.
"Ban-KAI!"
The Shinigami Deputy erupted into a spiky torrent of golden Reiatsu, the spiritual pressure sending a tremor of dread through Grand Fisher.
This brat has Bankai?!
The gush of spiritual exhaust dissipated, revealing Ichigo in his sleek grim reaper's garb, clutching a jet black daitō.
Fisher retreated a step back, the full scale of his predicament dawning on him. Before he knew it, Ichigo had flitted past him again, this time taking both his arms. The Arrancar squealed with horror when the stumps below his elbows sprayed scarlet. He looked over his shoulder and spotted Ichigo standing a mere three meters away, tossing his severed arms aside.
"Go on and regenerate," the Strawberry commanded, viscous red sliding off from his black blade. "Regenerate so I can give you a fresh batch of scars. So I can hurt you some more."
Fisher responded with a tetchy grunt, his black pupils contracting into microscopic pins. I'm not done yet. This ain't how it ends. I WON'T ALLOW IT!
The Arrancar's humanoid musculature began to swell, pulsating veins seeping pronouncedly beneath his hide. His body groaned like a tree trunk bent to its breaking point. With a horrible snap, he burst apart into a horrid tangle of tentacles whipping in every direction. He was now an amorphous, slithering mass. His face split apart with a brutal crunch of bone and tissue, the Lure slinking out and twisting above the fray. It swiftly, disgustingly morphed back into Masaki Kurosaki's visage.
This fabrication didn't bother feigning the loving look Ichigo remembered. Its eyes were gaunt and gleaming with hatred, lips curled into an evil smile. She hovered above the coiling monstrosity, swaying back and forth like a plumage.
"I have ascended beyond my limits, sonny!" the Lure bellowed, speaking simultaneously with the voice of Ichigo's mother and the rumbling timbre of her killer. "I'm going butcher you just like I did mommy!"
Ichigo gritted his teeth, his eyes ablaze with unchecked anger. His spiritual pressure billowed around him, black torrents whipping about with the velocity of hurricane wind. He could feel his rage and bloodlust surging up from his core. He squeezed Tensa Zangetsu's handle until his fingers bled.
"Shut your mouth!" he screamed.
He launched up from the ground and ripped right past Grand Fisher, shearing off four of the monster's whipping tendrils with one impassioned swing. Fisher sprouted eight more limbs in response, swinging all of his sharpened tentacles up at Ichigo. Tensa Zangetsu's black blade flashed and parried the onslaught with concentric whips, hacking off the head of each incoming appendage.
Rukia watched from afar, unnerved by what she was witnessing. She wasn't concerned by the tide of battle, recognizing that Ichigo clearly outclassed Grand Fisher. But she was alarmed by the tenor of Ichigo's spiritual pressure. His Reiatsu was smoldering around him like a black torch, emitting a silent, malevolent screech. It was subtly changing, turning into an unrecognizable aura. The bloodlust was pungent and vicious.
She finally felt it clear as daybreak, her breath catching in her throat. Her Reikaku was telling her that this slugfest wasn't a match between a Shinigami and Hollow, but a contest between two Hollow Reiatsus.
"Ichigo, withdraw!" she pleaded.
He couldn't hear her over the chatter of rain, the slither of Grand Fisher's endless tendrils, and the hiss of his own sword. With every piece of Grand Fisher's flesh he sliced off, the more he felt alive.
The next thing Ichigo knew, he was no longer fighting by the river but plummeting down an endless sky, encircled by skyscrapers that stretched up to infinity. He recognized this place: it was where he met Zangetsu. He fell into the abyss, discovering that there was no bottom.
Down, down, and down he fell. A cackling ringed in his hears, the same peals of laughter he heard on Sōkyoku Hill. His vision darkened, and then everything became white.
Ichigo began twisting in the air, letting out an agonized scream. He clapped a hand to his face, his eyes rolling back into their lids. A torrent of white material sprung out from his mouth and molded itself onto his features.
The Lure squinted up at the odd display. What the fuck is he turning into? the Arrancar wondered before concluding it didn't matter: the Shinigami Deputy was vulnerable now.
Fisher's tentacles surged up in unison, but Ichigo's body instinctively parried every organic spear, swinging Tensa Zangetsu around in balletic arcs. After fending off the onslaught, he let out a hideous hiss and fell from the sky, landing on the wet concrete below and rolling down its slope until he reached the edge of the river.
The Lure twisted from its perch to glare down at the immobile Shinigami. Ichigo was perfectly still for a moment, then slowly rose back up, letting loose a high-pitched cackle.
He turned back to regard Grand Fisher, revealing a white mask with stripes of red growing across his face. His smiling eyes had turned into a lantern yellow.
Rukia was aghast, her violet eyes wide and welling up while she beheld the transformation. The memory of Kaien Shiba's possession came to mind, and she felt her heart split apart.
"Ichigo…" she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The Lure couldn't believe what it was seeing. What luck! The monster in Masaki's likeness threw back its head and laughed maniacally.
"All this time you were infected by a Hollow, sonny?" it gloated. "Oh how delicious, heh, heh, heh. I like you much better this way, Kurosaki Ichigo."
The Shinigami Deputy levitated back up, rumbling with a hearty chuckle. "Don't call me Kurosaki Ichigo," he said, his voice now a simpering purr. "That's not my name."
"I suppose you're right," the Lure nodded in agreement. "You'll have to make a new name for yourself."
"Stop talking," Ichigo grinned, his mask expanding its borders across his face. "I'm not here to chat; I'm here to make you bleed."
The Lure frowned. "What've you got against me? That brat's grudge died the moment you took over -"
"It's really very simple," Ichigo smirked, his eyes widening with madness. "You killed mommy, right?"
Before the Lure could retort, Ichigo closed the distance between them with a flash-step and thrust his black blade through its chest. The Lure gurgled, staring down in disbelief at the sword impaling its solar plexus.
"That's just a paper cut, right?" Ichigo chuckled, leaning in close. "Kurosaki was too soft to cut up something that looked like Masaki. But me? I don't have that compunction!"
He grasped Tensa Zangetsu's hilt with both hands and ripped it down, tearing through the Lure's entrails. With a gleeful hiss, he tore the black sword out and used its flat face to strike the shapeshifting tendril like the swing of a baseball bat. The concussive force ripped the Lure right out from its socket, sending it flying across the downpour and landing in a heap in the mud.
Ichigo turned his attention to Grand Fisher's remaining mass of tentacles and let out an excitable whoop. With a flash, he began darting around the knot of fleshy branches and hacking them apart with abandon. Blood splattered in all directions, Grand Fisher's screams echoing throughout the riverside.
Rukia watched in shock while Ichigo diced the monster into countless wriggling nubs, cackling while he did it. He tore through the beast until it was nothing but a pile of chunks. But he didn't stop there; he began excitedly dicing up the slabs of flesh into even smaller bits, blood splattering onto his Shihakushō.
"Ichigo, stop!" Rukia commanded, voice quavering. She summoned her courage and approached with a shuffling limp.
Ichigo looked back at her, but he had become nigh unrecognizable. His mask was nearly complete, eyes crazed and pitiless. He lifted a skewer of Grand Fisher's remnants and whipped them off his sword before pointing the blade tauntingly at Rukia. She stopped dead in her tracks. Is going to cut me next?!
Ichigo shook with mirth and took a step forward, only to suddenly freeze. He became rigid as a corpse and let out a confused groan while his limbs contorted. A crackle of black lightning hissed around him, but it wasn't his own spiritual pressure. It was an alien, constricting energy.
What is this?! The Hollow struggled to move Ichigo's body, incredulous that he was being clamped down by some invisible force. This isn't Zangetsu's doing.
"What the hell is this?!" he screamed, his demonic eyes turning furious. His Reiatsu drop precipitously, his body scrunching up like it was being fitted with a straitjacket.
Rukia looked on with a stupefied stare, unable to make sense of what was happening. She spotted something rising up in the distance: it was the Lure, slinking back up from the ground like a serpent. With a shudder, Masaki's features melted away, the severed tendril reshaping back into Grand Fisher's humanoid form.
He's still alive?! Rukia gasped.
Fisher let out an exhausted grunt, mending the slice across his belly with high-speed regeneration. Seemingly unaware of where we was, he stumbled around belligerently before regaining focus and turning his red eyes onto Ichigo.
"You shoulda obliterated my Lure too if you wanted to kill me outright, sonny," he hissed, nostrils flaring with fury.
He was pleased to see that Ichigo was immobilized. The tide had turned once again.
"Stay just like that, nice and frozen," Grand Fisher seethed, beginning his approach. "I'm gonna rip your heart out and feed it to you."
Ichigo struggled against his invisible bonds, the forks of alien Reiatsu crackling around him. His own power was dimming as if it were being lowered by a dial. His mask cracked and sizzled, its white material bubbling.
"No!" he cried, struggling so hard he threatened to snap his own bones apart. "This... isn't enough... to... "
The air beside him shattered apart like glass, a broad arm swinging out from a pocket of swirling darkness. The limb brought the butt of a sheathed Zanpakutō right against Ichigo's mask, smashing it into smithereens. Ichigo stood dazed, flecks of white falling from his face and his yellow sclera turning back to white. With a soft groan, he fell forward in an unconscious heap.
Grand Fisher stopped in his tracks, baffled by this unforeseeable interruption.
Rukia watched while a burly Shinigami emerged out from the jagged dimensional pocket, the air resealing behind him. He stood with his back to her, clad in Shihakushō with a white sash festooned around his left shoulder by an iron pauldron and purple knot, the bottom of its tattered cape fluttering by his side.
Rukia's eyes widened when she recognized the black patterns stitched into the trim: it was the remnants of a captain's hoari. The sigil belonged to the Tenth Division.
"Who the fuck are you?" Grand Fisher grunted.
"I'm this knucklehead's father," the Shinigami answered, gesturing to Ichigo.
Rukia gasped, countless shards of her memory now interlocking. This was unbelievable, and yet many things that hadn't added up for months suddenly formed a coherent picture.
"Captain Shiba?" she murmured.
The Shinigami looked over his shoulder to look at her. She recognized his square jaw, the wisps of stubble, and the spiky black hair. Features so solid they seemed carved from rock.
He was unmistakably Ichigo's father, Isshin Kurosaki, but he had a wholly different countenance now. There was none of the overbearing franticness she remembered observing from afar. Instead, there was a serene calm about him.
"Hey there," he smiled. "I'll be right with you after I deal with this guy."
Rukia gulped and gave a meek nod. Isshin returned his attention to Grand Fisher, who was bristling with umbrage.
"You're gonna deal with me, sonny?!" the Arrancar gritted. "That right?"
Grand Fisher flinched, disturbed by how casually the threat was spoken. Amiable, even.
"Ridiculous!" the Arrancar bellowed. "I've heard enough empty bluffs today. You're just another scrub."
Isshin scrunched his brow sympathetically and ran a hand over his rain-slicked hair.
"Y'know, I never held Masaki's death against you," he admitted. "You were just doing what Hollows do. I was willing to let bygones be bygones, really... but you've made it clear you're never gonna stop threatening my kids. So you've left me without much choice."
Grand Fisher frowned swelled up his chest, his veins swirling beneath his hide again as he readied to sprout a fresh thicket of tendrils.
"If you really are Kurosaki Ichigo's daddy, then you can - "
Before Fisher could finish his threat, Isshin unsheathed his katana and cleaved the Arrancar cleanly in half with an effortless stroke.
Wh-What?! Grand Fisher realized he had been split right down the middle, his two diverging halves flaking away into raw matter. Did I just lose? No, that's ridiculous! Ridiculous! This can't be happening! This is unfair! I don't want... to... die...
Rukia watched with astonishment as the bifurcated Arrancar dissipated like smoke, his soul cleansed at last.
He killed Grand Fisher in just one blow without even unsealing his Zanpakutō? she observed with awe. He's extraordinary.
Isshin sheathed his sword back into its scabbard and walked back to pick Ichigo up from the ground, holding him under his arm. With his son in tow, he made his way over to Rukia.
"You… you are Shiba Isshin, right?" she stammered warily.
"That depends," he replied with a wry smile. "Do you trust your own eyes?"
Rukia blushed. "It's just hard to believe. We all thought you were dead."
"Shiba Isshin is dead. If it's all the same to you, call me Kurosaki Isshin."
Rukia thought of Kaien. She hesitated to ask. "Do you know who I am, sir?"
"Of course I do, Rukia. You were squatting in my house all summer."
"What? You knew the whole time?!"
"Well, I wasn't around for most of your stay, but Pupples kept me in the loop."
Rukia recognized that name. Pupples was the third most popular Gikon model in the Seireitei. He was renowned for his loyal and loving nature, although he also had well-publicized drawbacks like overeagerness and uncontrollable horniness.
Wait, does that mean...?
"When you say Pupples, you don't mean... are you really saying... that the Kurosaki Isshin who's been running your household this whole time... is an Artificial Soul?" she gawked.
"Well, about 70 percent of the time, yeah. He holds down the fort while I'm away."
You're away 70 percent of the time?! Rukia processed.
"Wow, you're away from home... a lot."
"The night that Hollow attacked our house, I was somewhere else very far from this world." Isshin's face hardened, his eyes taking on a sincere sheen. "If it weren't for you, I would've come home to a massacre. Thank you for saving my kids, Rukia."
She looked up at him with a mixture of bashfulness and bafflement.
"I... "
A towering figure landed five yards from them, having seemingly dropped out of the sky. It was Tessai Kotsubaki, his glasses fogged up and mustache dripping wet in the rain. He held two bundles in his arms: Karin and Yuzu. Both of them were passed out and snoring away.
"I found these two on a rooftop," Tessai announced. "The Hollow who abducted them vanished before I arrived."
"I sensed they were out of the woods on my way here," Isshin replied with a fond smile. "Thank goodness. I don't think I would've reached Ichigo in time if I had to save them first. Thank you for collecting them, Kotsubaki."
"I also took the liberty of administering a Kiokuchikan to make them forget tonight's events, Captain Shiba," Tessai added.
Isshin made a derp face. "Please don't call me that."
"Wait, what?!" a small voice piped up from over Tessa's shoulder. Kon climbed up and stared in bafflement at Isshin. "Why's Ichigo's dumb dad wearing a Shinigami suit?"
Isshin waved over at the Mod Soul. "Yo, Kon!"
The lion plushie froze up in shock.
"You know who I am?"
"Yeah, you're the Mod Soul who's been tagging in for Ichigo."
Kon furrowed his felt brow. His pride at being a convincing Ichigo felt dinged a bit. "How long have you - ?"
"I knew from the beginning," Isshin replied. "Pupples knew, too. You can't fool fathers when it comes to their son's mannerisms, right down to the way he picks nose."
He carried Ichigo over to his battered human body while the others watched. Getting down onto his knees, he delicately overlaid Ichigo's spiritual form over his flesh and watched them merge back together. Isshin reached down and affectionately tousled Ichigo's hair before patting the protection charm tied to his waist.
I told you it'd come in handy, he smirked. He got back up and looked over at the others.
"Grand Fisher did a real number on him. We'll take him back to the clinic and patch him up. I suspect Miss Inoue will help erase that nasty hole in his leg when she sees him next. Tessai, you ought to head back to Kakkōībaibusu Shop. Urahara and Yoruichi are making their return through Garganta and they might need your help arriving safely."
Tessai nodded. "Of course."
"Wait, the Garganta?" Rukia questioned. "What are you talking about?"
Isshin looked at her reticently, realizing he had probably said too much. He gently shook his head.
"Sorry, but it's best you don't know," he said. "On that note, I have a favor to ask of you, Rukia and Kon. Please don't say a word of my identity to Ichigo. He can't know."
"Aye aye, sir," Kon mumbled, happy to fully pretend Isshin wasn't actually a Shinigami. Tonight had already been freaky enough.
Rukia, however, began to bristle.
"Now hold on!" she shouted, her violet eyes turning a deep shade of purple while she shook a fist. "You're telling me you've been relying on someone else to raise your children all these years, and you want me to lie to Ichigo about his father being a part-time imposter? You're... you're a deadbeat, Captain Shiba!"
Isshin crossed his arms and nodded in agreement.
"Yeah... I was there when it counted, though," he said wistfully, reflecting on that time he spoke with Ichigo at Masaki's grave a couple months back. It had been a good father-son talk.
He gave Rukia a profoundly sincere, sad smile.
"I'm a bad parent, and I'm not much of a Shinigami, either. But I got my reasons. For Ichigo's sake, please keep my selfishness a secret. He'll learn the truth someday. I'll tell him myself when the time is right."
Rukia's frown relented into an uneasy grimace. After some hesitation, she gave a nod.
"Alright."
"Not to change the subject, but you're missing an arm," he noted. "You gonna be okay?"
"Oh, this?" Rukia nodded to her limbless shoulder. "This Gigai is ruined unfortunately, but I'll be fine once I escape it. Speaking of which, where's Chappy?"
Kon hung his head, unable to look her in the eye. He hated bearing bad news.
Aisslinger awoke and groggily surveyed his new surroundings. He was in a cramped chamber, the bone-white walls oppressive in their blankness. He immediately recognized the place and began to thrash around, but he was bound in obsidian chains that kept his gnarled arms fixed to the floor.
To his great dread, the door in the wall before him slid open with a groan. An elegant silhouette emerged from the dark passageway and stepped inside. It was an Arrancar clad in a white trim, his pink hair falling over a posh set of bone-rimmed glasses.
"Welcome home, Wernarr," the Arrancar grinned, his voice like oil seeping over ice.
"Szayel-sama," Aisslinger squeaked fearfully. "Please, I can explain - "
"That's hardly necessary; I can already surmise the riffraff you've been getting up to," Szayel simpered.
The door slid closed behind him, sealing with a disquieting creak.
"Were you really so desperate to get back into Lord Aizen's good graces?" the Arrancar mused, stroking his chin knowingly. "Was it really so hard for you to wander around in the cold night? You must have clung to the first ally you could find. Why else would you work with a delinquent like Grand Fisher? He had great potential, that much is true. But you made the mistake of thinking you could tame a rabid dog. So what was your long game? Groom him into a formidable fighter and hope that Lord Aizen took a shine to him? No doubt you expected to be among his Fracción and get to bask in Las Noches' light once again. Which Espada did you hope he'd replace? Me, perhaps?"
"No, master, never!" Aisslinger cowered, delirious with fear. "I only wished to serve - "
"Unfortunately for you, your scheme ran up against Lord Aizen's design," Szayel continued. "He has some interest in Kurosaki Ichigo, and your meddling has made him most unhappy. So he's given me carte blanche over your fate."
He grinned, his expression shifting from detached to demented while Aisslinger's eye widened with primal horror.
"I've thought up a most fruitful experiment that you'd be an ideal subject for: to see what happens to an Arrancar when he's fed bits and pieces of himself." Szayel clapped his hands together with delight. "What do you say? Have you an appetite, Wernarr?"
Aisslinger's screams never escaped the chamber. Outside, beyond the room's sleek white door, not a sound could be heard.
Nighttime had ebbed into early morning. Rukia stood outside the Kurosaki clinic, still trapped within her maimed Gigai and holding a torn squirrel tail in her palm, its stuffing spilled out. It was the last remnant left of Chappy.
She sighed and looked up at the clouds rolling across the night sky. The rain had finally dissipated, and now it was cool and foggy. The clinic's doors slid open and Isshin stepped out to join her, clad in his lab coat.
She looked up at him with suspicion.
"Are you Shiba Isshin... or Pupples Isshin?" she asked.
The surgeon gave her a bashful smile and slunk his hands into his coat pockets.
"Nobody's called me Pupples in a long time. I heard about what happened to your Artificial Soul. I want to give you my thanks for her sacrifice. She saved my daughters."
"Your daughters?" Rukia furrowed her brow skeptically.
Pupples considered the question sincerely and gave a shrug. "I guess you could say Shiba-sama and I share joint custody. I love them like they're my own. It's funny: you play a role long enough it eventually becomes real. Maybe I'm just programmed to care for them, but that's alright. Helping raise them satisfies my purpose."
Rukia suddenly felt ashamed for demeaning him. Her expression softened while she nodded sympathetically.
"You two getting along?" the real Isshin chuckled, phasing out from the glass entrance to join them.
Rukia's face scrunched back into an uneasy frown. It was surreal to see doubles of Isshin like this, even if one was distinguished by a lab coat and the other a Shihakushō.
"There was one more matter I wanted to speak to you about, Rukia," Isshin continued, his merry expression turning serious. "What you saw happen to Ichigo tonight... I'd appreciate if you didn't mention it to anyone back at Soul Society."
"His Hollowfication, you mean?" Rukia said reflectively. "I've never seen a Shinigami survive it before. I thought he was lost forever."
"He's got a unique case," Isshin sighed. "He can maybe learn to control it, if the blockhead could just get out of his own way."
"What do you mean?"
"There are Shinigami with a similar affliction who could help him, but he's been too proud to accept their invitation. Maybe if somebody he actually listened to pushed him in the right direction…"
He looked down at her with a sly smirk.
She caught his drift. "I'll talk to him. And I promise I'll keep his condition a secret."
"Good. Unfortunately, Genryūsai and the others wouldn't understand."
"And while you're pushing Ichigo in the right direction, maybe you can ask him for a date, too?" Pupples suggested, cocking his head coyly and miming a smooch.
Rukia and Isshin both blushed with mortification.
"Damn, you are so corny!" Isshin chastised him. "Having to mimic your mannerisms over the years has been more embarrassing than you'll ever know."
"I see where the pervertedness comes from," Rukia harrumphed disdainfully.
"Yeah, well, I have to meet him halfway to give the kids some consistency," Isshin grumbled. "I always wanted to be a cool dad, but with Pupples I gotta work with what I got."
Pupples laughed in response, completely unbothered. Being cringe was just part of his programming.
"Anyways, now that we have an understanding, how about we get you out of that Gigai?" Isshin suggested. "I found this back at the river."
He produced the Reioshi Glove from his robes, fitted it on and clapped his hand onto Rukia's shoulder. She instantly burst out from her damaged Gigai, back in her Shinigami robes and sporting both her arms again.
"That's much better, thank you," she sighed with relief.
With that, Isshin and his doppelgänger began making their way back inside.
"Mr. Kurosaki?" Rukia called after them.
Isshin looked back at her. "What's up?"
"I… I hope you feel a measure of peace tonight," she offered with an earnest bow of her head. "Now that your wife's soul has finally passed on to Soul Society, where she belongs."
To her surprise, Isshin's expression betrayed no relief. His jaw tightened into a forced smile, eyes mournful and reflective.
"Someday she will," he said cryptically. "But not today."
Ichigo stirred awake, feeling like he had taken a sledgehammer over the head. He bolted upright in his bed, clammy and startled.
"You're finally awake," Rukia said sweetly, sitting by his bedside. "It's already past noon."
"Rukia?" He looked at her, his panic still fresh. "Are Karin and Yuzu alright?!"
"They're going to be fine. Their memories have been modified and they will have no recollection of what happened."
"What about Grand Fisher?" he said, his eyes turning dark with rage.
Rukia stared at him uncertainly for a beat, remembering the promise she made to Isshin.
"I killed him," she lied. "You fell unconscious after Hollowfying, but I managed to escape from my Gigai. You had already done most of the work; I just finished him off."
Ichigo exhaled wearily. He was awash with conflicting emotions: relief, disappointment and dread.
"I blew it," he grit. "I could have killed him myself, but I just toyed with that bastard instead. I lost control of myself."
"Ichigo, was this the first time?" Rukia broached. "The first time you've Hollowfied?"
He looked at her vulnerably for a beat, then shook his head.
"No. It happened when I fought Byakuya on Sōkyoku Hill. I was able to break free then, but not this time."
Rukia was surprised. Byakuya had made no mention of this to her. She wondered whether he had told anyone else about it. She watched Ichigo sorted through his feelings for a while before he met her gaze again.
"I'm scared," he admitted. "I can feel him all the time, whispering from the back of my mind. He's growing stronger. I don't... I don't think I can use Bankai again without risking that thing taking me over."
"Well then you just have to get stronger, too," Rukia shot back.
"Huh?"
"You heard me," she nodded, growing stern. "If the Hollow inside of you is so terrible, then get strong enough to crush it down. When you infiltrated the Seireitei, you weren't close to being a match against my brother. But you reached his level by never quitting. If there's a challenge you can't overcome, then build yourself up until you tower over it! Whatever it takes. Do you understand, Ichigo?"
He looked at her wide-eyed for a moment, then smiled. Her words were exactly what he needed to hear.
"Yeah. I understand. Thanks, Rukia."
He grimaced and looked down at his leg; it was encased in a chunky cast. "Damn, this hurts."
"You should call on Orihime to come heal you," Rukia suggested. "I wish I could stay and say hello to her, but I'm afraid this is where I leave you, Ichigo. My mission is complete and I have to report back to the Seireitei. I'll tell them I slayed Grand Fisher with your assistance. The knowledge of your Hollow will stay between us."
Ichigo sighed. He was sad to see her go again so soon, but her returning in the first place had already been such a gift.
"Alright… until next time?" he asked hopefully.
"Until next time." She got up and headed to leave.
"Wait, Rukia…" Ichigo called after her.
"What is it?"
"There's something I can't stop thinking about. The protection charm my dad gave me; it saved me from Grand Fisher. It looked like Shinigami magic. But that's crazy, right? Why would my dad give me something like that?"
Rukia winced, realizing she needed to lie one more time.
"I gave it to you indirectly," she answered. "Back when I had a feeling my brother was coming for me, I had Urahara whip up a protection charm for you. I left it lying around your father's bedroom, figuring him for a superstitious type. I knew he'd gift it to you."
She watched while Ichigo digested the explanation. He was placid for a while, then smiled. He bought it.
"You're always looking out for me, huh?"
She stared back at him for what felt like a long time, straining not to betray emotion. He looked so much like Kaien, and now she finally understood why.
"Always."
It was midnight again and the clouds had cleared out to reveal a starry sky above Karakura Town.
Shinji Hirako stood on Yūjō Bridge, listening to jazz on his walkman. He gazed out at the shimmering water, bored and wondering if tonight would be another waste of his time.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approaching. He clicked his walkman off and slunk back his headphones, cracking a smile when he recognized Ichigo Kurosaki.
Renji had already thrown up three times that morning before breakfast was served. The time-dilating toxin Akon poisoned him with in the arena had thankfully faded, but it left a godawful hangover in its wake. He marched miserably with his sick bucket in tow through the Sixth Division Barracks and groggily made his way towards the mess hall.
His company was housing all of the Jūsankentaikai competitors and their captains for the duration of the tournament. The Seireitei was so vast that it would be wildly impractical for everyone to adjourn back to their respective barracks for a day of respite before returning back for another round of games at the Bushishinzui Budōkan. The Sixth Division's barracks were the closest to the Red Hollow Gate and Captain Byakuya Kuchiki was duly honored to house and feed the best and finest of the Gotei 13.
Captain Kuchiki, that sonofabitch, Renji thought. He had a bone to pick with his superior and wasn't in any mood to bottle his anger for another day. The confrontation would happen as soon as possible, he decided. He turned a corner and spotted his captain unhurriedly striding towards the mess hall. He followed, hesitant in his trudge, working up the courage for their confrontation.
Byakuya noticed his subordinate following purposefully in his wake and halted, casting an impatient eye back at Renji. "It's unseemly to tail your superior like an unwanted dog. What is it?"
"You lied to me, Captain." Renji clutched at the bannister for balance, cradling his vomit bucket against his chest.
Byakuya's eyes were cryptically passive. He pivoted around to regard his lieutenant face to face. "What was that?"
"When you told me that the Shisonka forbade Bankai from the tournament... that was a lie, wasn't it?" Renji seethed. Byakuya did not respond. He stared blankly at Renji, as if unimpressed by the accusation. "You said I acquired Bankai through 'underhanded means,' right?" Renji continued, loud enough for anyone nearby to overhear. "Well guess what? Zabimaru appeared before me right after I fought Kurosaki. My Zanpakutō showed me its face, just like anybody's does right before they achieve Bankai. I didn't cheat. It was my time and I reached the height of Shinigami power fair and square, the same way you did. And you refuse to believe that's possible, don't you?!"
Byakuya betrayed no displeasure, remorse, or surprise. He stared coolly at Renji until the lieutenant began to feel embarrassed, like a child settling down from an outburst.
"I see," the captain said softly. "Is that all?"
"... Yeah."
After a protracted moment of stillness, Byakuya wordlessly turned away and continued his march, leaving Renji alone in hideous silence. Renji waited for what felt like an eternity before he could summon his wherewithal to press on and join everybody else. He heard the bustle and chatter emanating from the mess hall before he even entered. The introduction of other division lieutenants and third seats had created an irrepressible energy inside the barracks, with decorum giving way to a festive atmosphere.
Glad they're all having fun, I guess.
He retched and dunked his head back into his pail, unsure of whether he needed to upchuck again. He thought about Akon, another name on his shit list. He'd lay out that miserable cur the moment he saw him next. He collected himself as best he could and pushed through the towering oaken doors to enter the mess hall, a cacophony of clinking ceramic bowls and stuffed-mouth gossip. He drew the admiring gazes of his division subordinates but could only manage a queasy nod in reply as he made his way past them, heading straight for the table where the other champions sat.
Tetsuzaemon pounded an empty bowl onto the table and spotted Renji. "Ah, Abarai! So you've worked up an appetite after all?"
Renji dry heaved at the thought of food. "Absolutely not. I just wanted to see how everyone's doing."
He surveyed the long bench. Nobody seemed to be in as bad of shape as he was. Ikkaku's many cuts sustained from Rindō's barrages had already healed so seamlessly that he merely looked scuffed. Kira was quiet and downcast while Yuyu Yayahara was chirpily wolfing down a fourth helping of mackerel and miso soup. Tetsuzaemon and Rangiku looked to be in pristine condition.
"I guess the Kotetsu sisters didn't give either of you two much trouble?" Renji asked them while he gingerly sat down.
"Isane was actually awfully tricky with her Kidō," Rangiku laughed demurely. "She nearly bowled me over with a Hado #49, but I put all those days honing my Ashikubihaku to good use. Kiyone performed heroically, but I'm afraid she just never stood much of a chance against Lieutenant Iba."
足首掃く Ashikubihaku ["Ankle Sweep," a Zanjutsu technique]
"She fought well." Tetsuzaemon crossed his arms and gave a brisk nod, leaving it at that.
Renji craned his head around and spotted all the contenders who had lost, sitting together at an adjacent table. It was customary for the losers of the tournament to congregate during meals while the ever-shrinking pool of victors ate separate from them.
Hisagi looked to be in fine condition but was clearly sulking. Rindō's nose had a big purplish bruise where Ikkaku's thick skull broke it; the medics had mended the cartilage but the contusion would have to fade away on its own. Ōmaeda was visibly nursing his injured pride. Meanwhile, the Kotetsu sisters were energetically conversing and laughing together, neither seeming too bothered by their defeat.
"Where's Akon?" Renji asked, noting his felled competitor's conspicuous absence.
"He hightailed it back to SDRI in early dawn," Ikkaku replied between spoonfuls of soup. "Said he needed to oversee things while Captain Kurotsuchi was busy with a pet project. That's what he said, at least. I think he's just afraid of what you'd do to him, heh."
"He's wise to worry." Renji frowned. It might have been petty to begrudge Akon for what had happened in the ring, but the ordeal of experiencing time at a nightmarishly slow crawl was hard to forgive.
"You're looking a little green, Renji," Rangiku observed. "Will you be fit to fight tomorrow?"
Renji scrunched up his face and forced a smile. Pure bravado. "I'll be ready to handle any of you guys."
"You mean me, right?" Ikkaku grinned. "They've already announced the next matches. Kira's taking on Yayahara, Matsumoto and Iba are squaring off, and then you and me are gonna dance."
Renji studied him skeptically. You don't stand a chance against me in Shikai. But maybe you'd have a shot in Bankai...
From the corner of his eye he spotted his captain, Byakuya, dining with most of the other Gotei 13 captains at an elevated table overlooking everyone. They made eye contact for a brief moment before returning to their respective conversations. Renji sat in contemplation and listened to the others chit-chat until he noticed Yuyu staring moony-eyed at him.
"Got a problem?"
"Nuh-uh, no problem at all," she giggled, batting her lashes. "You're just so haaawt, Abarai-nyaaaan. Such a wunka-hunk with squeegly-wiggly cool tattoos. Y'know, I've had a crush on you ever since Academy, kui kui..."
Renji's eyes went wide and his face turned pink as a cherry blossom. "You… you really think my tattoos look cool?"
Sajin Komamura sat cross legged on the floor of his lodging, his hulking form cast in chiaroscuro shadow. He tried and failed repeatedly to meditate, his brow trembling in frustration. Tokinada Tsunayashiro's mocking words were ringing in his ears, undercutting his every attempt at achieving a clear mind.
His tortured efforts ceased when he sensed Genryūsai's presence draw near. Am I imagining things? He looked up and spotted the old man's silhouette framed behind the shoji.
"Captain-Commander?"
The shoji slotted open and Genryūsai stepped inside, his expression characteristically stern. Komamura was gobsmacked, allowing an extended moment of silence between them. Finally, after an interminable standoff, Yamamoto spoke.
"Your absence was noted during breakfast, Sajin. I knew I'd find you here, sulking in the shadows. Is your miserable mood the Tsunayashiro Tenrai-chō's handiwork, perhaps?"
Komamura's whiskers twitched as his posture coiled, as if readying to protest.
"Do not insult me by feigning ignorance," Genryūsai chided. "I was informed that Tsunayashiro Tokinada levied a great deal of abuse at you during yesterday's games. Are you calling my sources liars?"
Komamura sheepishly cast his gaze at the floor. "The Tenrai-chō is quick to remind me of where I come from. It's not an issue. I will protect the Tenrai-chō with my life."
"Look at me when I address you, Sajin."
Komamura summoned his courage and raised his eyes. Genryūsai's face was still stern, but his eyes radiated a sympathetic warmth.
"The issue isn't my confidence in you, but your troubling lack of faith in yourself. Tokinada is a beast trapped inside a gilded cage. When an ill-trained monkey tosses filth at its handlers, that is merely to be expected. It is in its primitive nature, after all. But what is unnatural is when the handler assumes that he himself must have been unclean to begin with."
Komamura was taken aback. His golden eyes shimmered with unease, followed by overwhelming shame.
"Spare me those tortured eyes, Sajin," Genryūsai huffed. "Do you remember what I told you when we met?"
Komamura recalled the encounter vividly. It occurred on his first day at Shin'ō Academy, when he was so terrified of mockery he hid his face behind a burlap sack. The Captain-Commander visited the grounds to seek out the infamous "Cursed One." When introduced, Komamura felt obligated to admit he was "the descendant of heretics," only for Genryūsai to reply "And I am the descendant of nobody. Pledge your Zanpakutō to honor and you shall be an honorable Shinigami, Sajin. All else is ash."
Those words had lifted Komamura's up for hundreds of years. He recalled them and grimaced, struggling to maintain poise while the Captain-Commander studied him.
"The opinions of spoiled brats who know nothing of honor are merely ash, Sajin," Genrūsai explained. "You are a captain of the Gotei 13. Can I count on you to act like one?"
Komamura's grimace turned into a beaming smile, as if all his self-hatred had been wrung out of him like suds from a washcloth.
"Yes, Captain-Commander!"
Akon gingerly rubbed his shoulder while the elevator descended down into the depths of SDRI. The wound Zabimaru inflicted on him had been cleaned and sutured with Kaidō, but the phantom pain persisted. His drug's time-dilation effect had prolonged his agony before medical attention for what felt like hours, and he was going to remember it vividly for what promised to be a long time.
The elevator came to a smooth touchdown. Akon stepped out and was immediately besieged with analysts hoisting all manner of graphs and charts. A barrage of voices jockeyed for his attention, their overlapping volumes canceling each other out.
"Akon, sir! It happened in the dead of night –"
"It was Subject #872 –"
"There was a surge in his spiritual pressure –"
"The spike in Reiatsu was incredible!"
"It was horrifying –"
"His Hollowfication was already well-advanced –"
"So we activated the failsafe –"
"Somehow the corruption was stunted. Never seen anything like it –"
Akon pushed through the throng with a grumble. "Enough, all of you! Hiyosu, what's the situation?"
After Hiyosu regaled him with the emergency SDRI had to deal with several hours beforehand, Akon's brow furrowed with disbelief.
"This is sensitive information. It doesn't leave this room without my explicit permission, you got it?" He turned around and surveyed everyone in the chamber. "Am I clear?"
He didn't even wait for all the murmurs and nods of "yes, sir." His mind was churning, with a vicious headache brewing.
This is the last thing Genryūsai is gonna want to hear.
He returned his attention to Hiyosu. "Has Captain Kurotsuchi been debriefed?"
"Yes; I called him immediately afterwards."
"Then why isn't he here?"
"He said he has better things to do."
Akon's headache was roiling with full force. It felt as though some cosmic hand had descended down to grasp his brain and repeatedly squeeze.
"Captain Kurotsuchi, do you hear me, sir?" Akon repeated to the receiver. Hiyosu was lingering to his right, anxiously tugging at the windup affixed to his head. Akon tried again, only to be met with radio distortion. How could his signal possibly be this bad?
He had had enough of Mayuri's absenteeism. The captain had been missing for days, off on his foolhardy search for Sōsuke Aizen's secret lair he was convinced still existed somewhere in Soul Society. Yamamoto had granted him leave from tournament duties specifically so that he could begin developing Garganta technology, and yet he chose instead to traipse off in search of a hiding place that may not even exist.
Akon tried the receiver once more. There was some garbled distortion from the other end until Mayuri's voice cut through the hiss.
"What is it, Akon? I'm busy at the moment."
Akon's face scrunched with irritation. "Captain, I know you've already been made fully aware of the fire SDRI had to put out last night. When can we expect you to return to manage the situation?"
"Manage the situation?" Mayuri guffawed. "The fire has already sorted itself out. The failsafe worked, did it not? We have every reason to believe it will work again should the need arise. Just because we've been handed an intriguing development does not mean we need to pounce on it. By the way, I hope you enjoyed yourself in the Bushishinzui Budōkan, Akon. Judging by the resignation in your voice, you have already been eliminated in the tournament. How unfortunate, if unsurprising."
Akon drummed the console with his fingers, his impatience mounting. His headache had become intolerable.
"I'll be happy to tell you all about how it went when you get back here, Captain. Your presence would be very much appreciated as soon as possible. It's not just the situation with Subject #872. May I remind you that the Captain-Commander tasked you with building a workable Garganta? It's been days and we haven't even started."
"Were you not listening when I told you the first order of business was to find Aizen Sōsuke's laboratory?" Mayuri's voice purred condescendingly through the receiver. "That's what I'm doing."
"Yes, but the Garganta –"
"How have you not yet grasped that both tasks are one in the same?" Mayuri lamented. "Shinigami managed to create a facsimile of a Hollow Garganta only once before: it took a dedicated team of brilliant minds years to crack it, and no trace of their work remains. Even with my intellect, do you think I'd waste away our precious time trying to invent such ambitious technology from scratch? No, not when Aizen Sōsuke has already done most of the legwork for us. He built a Garganta here in Soul Society and used it to establish a presence in Hueco Mundo – that is a certainty. Even if he dismantled his machine, traces of it will be present in his laboratory. When I find the laboratory, I will find the information I need to complete our own Garganta in a mere week's time."
Akon's headache was finally subsiding. As much as he despised Mayuri's condescending explanations, he was relieved to finally glean at least some modicum of method to the captain's madness.
"Alright, Captain. Could you at least tell me where you are currently? Your comms are coming through with an unusual amount of distortion."
"I'm in the sewers, at about… hm?" Mayuri realized he had lost track of his exact location and lowered his transponder. He looked around in the dank darkness, a murky river surging to his left. He shined his flashlight up at a number inscribed on the cracked stone ceiling. "Sector #3952, to be precise."
Akon and Hiyosu shared a look. "What are you doing all the way down there, Captain?"
"Come now, you ought to be able to piece it together, Akon. Have you no aptitude for Soul Society history?"
"It's not my greatest forte."
"Nor mine. I find it dreadfully boring, quite in fact, which is why I downloaded all the available texts into my mind for reference."
He cheekily clacked his elongated fingernail against the thin plate of iron grafted onto his skull, shielding the part of his brain where he had implanted a disk containing all the raw data and trivia he couldn't be bothered to memorize the old fashioned way. He began to quote an excerpt verbatim:
"Histories of the Seireitei by Ōshimutsu Batō, Vol. 589, page 396, paragraph two: In the year 4861, Emperor Azashiro quietly commissioned the Seireitei's greatest scientists to develop Garganta technology. The Invisible Emperor, despite having acquired absolute control over the Soul Society, would not be satisfied until he purged all Hollows from existence.
"He was unyielding in his hatred, and his grandest ambition was to invade Hueco Mundo and slaughter everything that slithered. This senseless scheme threatened the Balance of Souls and defied the Soul King's wishes, and so the project was carried out with the upmost secrecy in the deepest recesses of the Seireitei.
"After 29 years of toil, Azashiro's scientists finally succeeded in constructing a portal that could seamlessly mimic a Hollow's Garganta. The Emperor's intentions finally became known to the world when he ordered his Gotei to ready for invasion. But before he could organize his forces, Squad Zero descended down from the Royal Realm to personally dissuade him.
"What followed cannot even be described as a battle. Azashiro Sōya, despite possibly being the strongest Shinigami in recorded history and wielding his bloodline's divine Shinken, was instantly disarmed and subdued by the Monk Who Calls the Real Name and the God of the Sword. Squad Zero removed all of the deposed emperor's limbs and turned him over to the Seireitei for judgment.
"Before returning to the heavens, Squad Zero took care to destroy Azashiro's Garganta and all the research that went into its creation. They even executed every scientist familiar with the breakthrough technology. Thus, all evidence and working knowledge of the sole Garganta successfully created in Soul Society was purged, and the proud line of the Azashiro Clan ended. The five royal families of the Shisonka irrevocably became four, and…"
Mayuri trailed off and grumbled. "Batō just droned on and on after that. Such a tiresome writer."
Akon was quiet for a while.
"… I'm not sure what you're getting at, Captain?"
"Are you an idiot?" Mayuri barked through his transponder. "I'll make it plain: Emperor Azashiro's counterfeit Garganta was constructed 'in the deepest recesses of the Seireitei' — beneath the sewers! Meanwhile, our dearly defected Aizen Sōsuke has a taste for poetic irony. It follows that a traitor as ambitious as he would hide his creation in the same place where Soul Society's first and only emperor hid his. Furthermore, if you travel deep enough into the catacombs beneath this river of shit, there is a bedrock beyond the reach of even SDRI's radar. That is how Aizen Sōsuke was able to ferry to and from Hueco Mundo without our notice."
Akon turned the radio receiver off to discretely let out an exasperated sigh. Once he collected himself, he flicked it back on again.
"I understand now, Captain Kurotsuchi. Over and out."
Mayuri pocketed his transponder and trudged closer to the sewage river's edge, waiting until Nemu emerged from the muddy water, her face fitted with a snorkel.
"Well?" he asked.
Nemu pulled the mouthpiece off and coughed out some sewage brine. "No sign of any passageways underneath, master."
Mayuri turned his flashlight to his right, staring down the next passageway of the seemingly endless cavern.
"My search up here was equally fruitless. Well, I suppose we'll just press on. I'll poke around in the next section while you follow from below. Off you go now."
Nemu nodded obediently, fitted her mouthpiece back on, and submerged herself again into the river of shit.
Rukia had only been gone for ten minutes when Karin and Yuzu surprised Ichigo with breakfast. He smiled softly as they brought in a tray of Isshin's signature pancakes topped with egg whites.
"We heard you weren't feeling so good, Nii-chan!" Yuzu announced sympathetically, gingerly setting the tray onto his blanketed lap. "Papa thought you might be hungry?"
He nodded and dug in, scarfing the meal down while they watched. Letting his fork clatter onto the cleaned plate, he let out a weary sigh and gave them a fond look.
"Karin. Yuzu. Come here."
He reached down and scooped them up into his arms before laying back for a group hug. They blushed as their elder brother brought them in for a tight embrace, both of them flanking him on the bed. They hadn't cuddled like this in years. Karin studied Ichigo's face while Yuzu was content to rest her head on his shoulder.
"Thank goodness you're both alright," he whispered quietly, his eyes somber. "I would've never forgiven myself..."
"Oh, we're fine, nii-chan!" Yuzu giggled nonchalantly. "It was pretty scary when the storm blew the wall down at Midiriko's place, but nobody was hurt."
Ichigo nodded, recalling how their memories had been rewritten to give them a different, non-fantastical recollection of the night beforehand. He had to assume Tetsuzaemon had administered a Kiokuchikan to the other girls from their sleepover as well. He gave them both an affectionate squeeze and closed his eyes.
"I need to rest a little while. Thank you, guys."
Yuzu merrily hopped off the bed and headed for the door. When she realized Karin hadn't followed, she turned to regard her sister. "Let's let Nii-chan sleep."
Karin was scrunched up on her knees and looking down at her brother's peaceful face. He was already snoring away, having drifted into a deep sleep. She kept thinking of her nightmare from the night before, when she dreamed of a monster abducting her and Yuzu.
You have only your brother to blame for your situation, the figment of her imagination had warned.
She sighed and crawled over Ichigo to hop off the bed and exit the room along with Yuzu. While they went about their morning, she periodically touched her ribs and felt a soreness, as if some massive hand had held her in its tight grip.
What are you hiding from us, Nii-chan?
When Ichigo stirred back awake that morning, he phoned Orihime. "I need your help, Inoue. Can you come over?"
She arrived a half hour later, her frayed tresses indicating that she had hurried over despite suffering a bad hair day. She repeatedly patted at the cowlicks besmirching her burnt orange mane while awkwardly stepping into Ichigo's room.
He gave her a smile and clutched at the rail of his bedpost to hoist himself up. "Can you close the door behind you?"
"Um, why?" she blushed.
Ichigo peeled off his comforter to reveal his leg in a cast.
"Oh," Orihime said softly, closing the door behind her. "You're hurt, Kurosaki-kun?"
"I got careless last night and a Hollow tagged me while I was still in my body," he said with both a grimace and a shrug. He positioned himself on the mattress so that his rigid leg could slant onto the floor. "Can you patch it up, Inoue?"
Orihime looked aghast, much to his surprise. Her eyes wide and apprehensive, she gingerly approached and kneeled down to inspect his leg as if it were a shard of plutonium. Hesitating at first, she reached out and started poking the plaster.
"Does it hurt?"
She looked up and saw that Ichigo was biting his tongue, his face contorting with pain. Realizing that she was salting his wound, she fretfully scooted several paces back.
"Gah! So sorry, Kurosaki-kun!"
"It's okay," Ichigo assured her between clenched teeth, his eyes wide with agony. "I guess my dad didn't make the cast tight enough."
Orihime bashfully crawled back to him and sat cross-legged, rubbing her hands together. "I'll take care of it right away."
She held her hands aloft over the busted leg and emitted a golden glow. Ichigo's agonized expression softened as he felt the gaping hole in his calf gradually become plugged again with bone, flesh and sinew.
"So this happened last night, Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime broached.
He nodded, his mind returning to Grand Fisher. Those ruby eyes swam up into his vision, rekindling his fury. He felt foolish for having let that monster get the better of him, and for having squandered his final shot at revenge. There was satisfaction in knowing that Rukia had put the bastard down, but something about it felt empty. It should have been a Kurosaki who killed Masaki's murderer. His mind then turned to the pale face that kept cackling from the depths of his subconscious. The Hollow living inside of him, threatening to take over his body. The beast that had spoiled his opportunity to avenge his mother.
I can't let that happen again.
Orihime glanced up at him and recognized the way his features hardened; he was retreating into some dark place where nobody else could follow.
"Kurosaki-kun... can you tell me what happened?"
His eyes met hers. After a moment of consideration, he decided he didn't want to tell her about Grand Fisher and Rukia and his sisters' abduction. He felt too ashamed of the outcome.
"Some stray Hollow took a shot at me while I was out for a walk. I guess I was pretty distracted and just didn't notice him until it was too late. He only got one hit in, though, before I used my Shinigami badge to leave my body and one-shot right him back. Piece of cake; comes with the job."
He forced a smile to help sell his lie. Orihime studied him, not quite believing it had all been so simple. She decided to take him at his word. If Kurosaki-kun doesn't want to trouble me with the truth, he must have a good reason. If he wants to pretend everything's okay, the best way to help him is to play along...
"I space out a lot, too!" she chirped, reciprocating with her own bubbly smile. "Just be more careful in the future, please? So, um, I was wondering, if you're free tomorrow afternoon... "
Ichigo had already returned to his rumination, reflecting on Rukia's advice. If there's a challenge you can't overcome, then build yourself up until you tower over it! she had said. Whatever it takes...
He pondered what it would take to squelch a parasite that threatened his very personhood. Were there Hollow exorcists around? He begrudgingly recalled what Shinji Hirako told him.
You're gonna need my help soon to tame that Hollow. Y'know that bridge about a mile south of here? Yūjō Bridge? I'll be hanging around there at midnight every night from now on. Meet me there whenever you're ready to get serious.
Ichigo hated admitting it, but he was finally ready to get serious. He couldn't think of a better option.
"... So what do you think, Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime finished.
He snapped out of his rumination and realized she had been talking the whole time, posing some sort of question. Embarrassed for having not listened, he reflexively nodded his head.
"Sure, Inoue. You got it."
She blushed and tried to repress an ecstatic smile. Her hands lingered around his leg until their lantern glow began to dim.
"Okay, you should be good as new!" she beamed.
Ichigo, with a smirk, flexed his leg and cracked his cast apart like a serrated cocoon. Orihime stared in slack jawed awe at his bare shin.
"You're the best, Inoue," he grinned. "So I'll see you tomorrow at school?"
"It's a date!" Orihime laughed back at him.
His grin softened into a puzzled look. Well that's a weird way of putting it.
She saw his confusion and turned pink in the face. "Um, I mean... it's an appointment! See you tomorrow, Kurosaki-kun."
She scrambled up and hurried out of his bedroom, forgetting to shut the door behind her. Ichigo wondered what she had meant and wound up laughing it off. Orihime was prone to saying funny things, anyway; there wasn't any profit in overthinking her non sequiturs.
Soon enough it was midnight again and the clouds had cleared out to reveal a starry sky above Karakura Town.
Shinji Hirako stood on Yūjō Bridge, listening to jazz on his walkman. He gazed out at the shimmering water, bored and wondering if tonight would be another waste of his time. From the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approaching. He clicked his walkman off and slunk back his headphones, cracking a smile when he recognized Ichigo Kurosaki.
"What are you doing out this late?" he laughed. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
Ichigo looked none too pleased to see him. He approached wordlessly until they were both leaning against the bridge and gazing out at the river. Shinji waited patiently for him to speak. Getting words outta this kid is like pulling teeth.
"I need your help," Ichigo finally admitted. "I still won't join your weird little club, but if you can help me... I'll owe you one."
"I s'pose I'm a nice enough guy to accept those terms," Shinji said with mock generosity. "But once you step into my corner, there's an unspoken nondisclosure agreement attached. You're gonna see things you can't breathe a word of to anybody, or else me and my friends are gonna make you sorry. Understood?"
Ichigo, with the dreadful inkling that he was making a deal with the devil, gave a glum nod.
"Glad that's settled," Shinji said, producing a blindfold from his pocket and wringing it ominously. "I'm gonna need you to wear this."
Ichigo glared at the blindfold warily. "Is this a joke?"
"For once, I'm not kidding," Shinji replied, his face turning stern. "Me and my friends' hideout is a well-kept secret. Nobody knows where we are: not you, not anyone in Karakura Town, and sure as hell nobody in Soul Society. I like to keep it that way."
Ichigo, with a tetchy frown, accepted the cloth and tied it around his eyes.
"So how's this gonna work? You gonna hold my hand the whole way – ?" he cracked before suddenly feeling his senses start to spin out. "Gnineppah is lleh eht tahw?"
It was like he was in a washing machine, getting buffeted around in all directions with no gravitational center. He swam in the bottomless torrent of ricocheting directions for what felt like an eternity until suddenly a hand tore off his blindfold. He flinched when a soft light beamed into his eyes, his vision sensitive and still spinning. He fell to his knees and dry heaved.
"Dammit, Shinji!" a spiky voice barked irately. "He better not puke. I just mopped this entire place today!"
"Giving him a taste of your power was probably a flourish too far," a more rugged, baritone voice noted with a reverberating echo.
Ichigo's vision twisted and turned before finally rediscovering its equilibrium. He regained his wits swiftly enough and lunged up to grab Shinji by the scruff of his shirt.
"The hell did you do to me, huh?"
Shinji sighed dispassionately. "I threw in another security measure to make sure you couldn't retrace your way back to our hideout. You could've drawn a map in your mind using footsteps, sounds, your internal compass... so I muddied your senses a little bit."
"A little bit?" Ichigo fumed, his grip tightening. "This is no way to build trust, asshole!"
"Will you cut it out?" Shinji rolled his eyes. "You're embarrassing me in front of everyone."
Ichigo scowled and looked around to take in his new surroundings: they were in a massive warehouse, fluorescent lights casting a moony glow over the dingy concrete. The building was three stories tall, but oddly enough all the ascending floors had been blasted away. The yawning foyer stretched all the way up to the building's windowed ceiling, with chunks of the destroyed floors ridging the layers like the tiers of a cake. He spotted five silhouettes perched on the ridges: three on the first ledge and two above on the second. They were of varying shapes and sizes, two of them petite and feminine, another pair tall and masculine, and the fifth a hulking behemoth that reminded Ichigo of a Snorlax.
"Who are you people?"
"Name's Aikawa Love," the baritone voice announced.
"Yadōmaru Lisa," one of the feminine silhouettes offered softly.
"Sarugaki Hiyori," the spiky voice huffed.
"Ushōda Hachigen," the largest shadow said with a polite and preciously tiny tenor.
"I ain't telling you my name," the final silhouette crossed his arms. "Not until I size you up, first." He leapt from the third-story outcrop and sailed down in a corkscrew spin before landing face-to-face with Ichigo. He was a tall and sinewy man, standing close to 6 feet and garbed in a plum tank top with an orange trim, gray cargo pants, hefty black boots, and a pair of orange, fingerless gloves snug around his knuckles. He had a short tuft of silver hair and a golden earring looped through his left brow with three more cinched up along his left ear. His brown eyes studied Ichigo with bristling severity. "I ain't letting some nobody join us without a trial run."
"Join you?" Ichigo cocked an eyebrow, immediately matching the stranger's hostile energy. "I already told Shinji before I came here: there's no way I'm joining you weirdos. You're gonna tell me how to control the Hollow inside me and I'll be on my way. In exchange, I'm not gonna tell Soul Society that you're all lurking around in Karakura Town."
"Those weren't exactly the terms we agreed to," Shinji blushed.
"Did I hear that right, Shinji?" the silver fox grinned, his flinty eyes turning maniacally amused. "This kid just said he'd never join us. Listen to me carefully, carrot top: that decision isn't yours to make. What you want doesn't make a lick of difference. You're looking at the only Visoreds who exist; whether or not you become like us or get swallowed up like any other Hollowed Shinigami is for us to decide. And we're not gonna welcome some weak-kneed liability into our ranks only for you to go get abducted and squeezed for all our secrets. You're the one who has to convince us. If you're worth saving, then we can teach you. Otherwise, we'll just leave you be until you pop like a pimple. Got it? Your life's in our hands."
Ichigo's cocksure smile had eroded into an unnerved stare as he felt all his leverage drain away. When it was finally his turn to talk again, he frowned defiantly and reached into his back pocket for the Shinigami Deputy badge.
"You wanna give me a trial run first? You got it!"
His squeezed his fist around the placard and exploded out from his human body, clad in Shihakushō and brandishing Zangetsu's massive blade. Shinji grabbed the inanimate body by the foot and nimbly bounded back to a corner of the foyer, not wanting to get his clothes scuffed. He looked up at Hachigen.
"Yo, Hachi! Can you cast five barriers around these two? I don't want them kicking up dust my way."
Hachigen nodded and clapped his enormous palms together. "Yes, sir."
Ichigo's eyes darted around as he watched five domes of shimmering light form around him and his Visored opponent, cordoning them off from everybody else in a sphere about 40 yards in diameter. The forcefields were thin and translucent, stacked tightly atop each other in escalating sizes like a nesting doll.
The Visored squared up, digging his boots into the concrete floor and beckoning Ichigo with the flick of his fingers. "Show me what you got."
"Aren't you gonna arm yourself first?" Ichigo asked, motioning with Zangetsu at the Visored's katana, sheathed in a scabbard slung around his waist.
"If you can actually get me to draw my sword, you pass."
Ichigo grunted, feeling mocked. This guy isn't even gonna use his Zanpakutō? Cocky jerk.
He waited until he felt the thread of prime opportunity snap and launched forward, propelled by a seismic blast of Reiatsu in his wake. He brought Zangetsu down for an overhead swing, only for the Visored to evade the strike with a nonchalant pivot of his feet.
He's fast! Ichigo blanched. I've got –
The Visored brought an elbow up and struck Ichigo square in the jaw, focusing his Reiatsu into the singular point of impact for optimal force. Ichigo felt as though his face had been smashed by an anvil and was sent somersaulting up into the air until he crashed against the top of Hachigen's forcefield dome, cracking it.
"Oof, Kensei definitely put a little mustard on that first hit," Love remarked to Hiyori while they watched from above. "The kid must've really rubbed him the wrong way."
Hiyori looked on with a twisted smile. "Good. That orange boy needs to be taken down a peg."
Ichigo was pancaked on the dome's ceiling for a moment before sliding off and fluttering back down like a leaf, momentarily out cold before snapping back to his senses. Eyes scrunching up with indignation, he regained his battle posture in mid-air and launched back down at the Visored with a roar. His opponent glowered up at him, unimpressed. Ichigo speared Zangetsu down, only for his target to fluidly flit out of harm's way. Before the tip of his blade could pierce the concrete, Ichigo adjusted his trajectory and swung up, aiming right at the silver fox's brow. The blade cleaved straight through the sinewy warrior, who promptly dissipated like dust in the wind. An afterimage!
Ichigo, fearing an attack from behind, spun around with Zangetsu swinging. He found nobody looming at his six o'clock, realizing too late that the Visored was floating right above him instead. A hand swung down in a wheelbarrow spin and chopped right against Ichigo's neck, sending his vision reeling with exploding stars.
The Shinigami Substitute let out a grunt and stumbled down onto his knees, clutching at his shoulder. He had a throbbing pain shooting up and down his entire right side, from below his ear down to his toes. The chop to his neck had intentionally clipped a particular nerve, and the resulting agony was catastrophic. The Visored landed daintily back onto the ground two yards away and looked down at him with disgust.
"You came here acting like you were hot shit, but you can't even defend yourself against basic Hakuda moves? Get the hell outta my sight."
He turned and began to march away towards the barrier's perimeter, only to halt at the sound of Ichigo spearing Zangetsu's tip into the floor.
"Wait..." Ichigo gurgled, using his sword as leverage to hoist himself back up. "... I'm not done, yet."
The Visored looked back at him with skepticism. "You can barely stand up after two hits. Lie down and take a nap, scrub."
Lisa frowned from above and leaned over to Hachigen. "Doesn't this boy have Bankai? I don't understand why he hasn't used it yet."
"Perhaps he's afraid his inner Hollow will resurface if he escalates his power?" Hachigen mused in a lilting whisper.
Their speculation became moot when Ichigo huffed, puffed, and cried "Ban-KAI!"
Down on the ground, the Visored's eyes widened by a subtle degree as he beheld the torrent of silver Reiatsu smoldering before him. From the flames emerged Ichigo, black and sleek as the Grim Reaper himself, his tattered coat fluttering from the kinetic force of his own transformation.
Not only did his spiritual pressure just skyrocket, but he's already got a second wind? the Visored observed. He's a resilient little twerp. That Bankai's a real novelty, too. Never seen one that tiny before.
"Hey, Hachi!" Shinji yelled over the din. "How's about you add five more layers to your barrier?"
Hachigen nodded and complied, conjuring more forcefields until the dome was ten layers thick. Ichigo and his opponent studied each other from a short distance for what felt like a long time.
"So you're a Hakuda master like Miss Yoruichi?" Ichigo mused, his breathing haggard but lips curled into a smile. "Fighters like you really are my blindspot. I can throw a punch, no problem, but even my friend Tatsuki always made me eat floor back in our dojo days. I guess I underestimated you. That's my bad."
The Visored looked surprised, then betrayed a faint smile. "There's a lot more to martial arts than just hitting hard. I don't know this Tatsuki broad, but sounds like you coulda learned a thing or two from her."
"Or three," Ichigo chuckled, grasping his daitō's hilt with both hands. "I gotta warn you, I'm pretty convinced that using Bankai draws my Hollow out. Things might get out of control from here on out."
"I'm banking on it," the Visored replied. "It's not that big a deal, honestly. You've met my Hollowfied side twice already."
"Eh?" Ichigo made a derp face. "What do you mean?"
The Visored grinned and remained motionless while a white substance materialized over his face like viscous fluid bubbling up and solidifying into stone. Soon enough his sharp features were obscured by a bone-white face guard, pocked with six slanted slits arranged in two columns.
"This is my Hollow Mask," the silver fox announced, his voice warbling with distortion. "I can use it in faster intervals than any other Visored. Both times I hit you, I wore my mask for a fraction of a second to amplify the physical force of my strikes by an order of magnitude. That is the kind of power you can harness when you combine Hakuda with Hollowfied Reiatsu."
Ichigo turned pink with irritation. "Hey, that's not fair! I totally thought you were wrecking me without even trying. That's psychological warfare!"
"If you train your Hollow powers long enough, it'll feel like you're not even trying." The Visored waved a hand over his face, his mask melting away into vaporous wisps. "Now, attack me with everything you have. Don't worry about your inner Hollow coming out. When that happens, we'll disarm you, and you'll revert back to your normal, scrub self. So don't hold out on me, Kurosaki Ichigo."
Ichigo felt a bizarre comfort in hearing that, like he had just been given permission to let his freak flag fly and push himself to his limits with the knowledge that, even if he lost control, he was surrounded by a crew who could safely guide him back to sanity.
I've been fighting afraid this whole time, he realized. In our first exchange, I was self-conscious and reining in my reflexes without even realizing it. I was still spooked by what happened with Grand Fisher and scared of losing control again. But this bastard's been trying to get me to loosen up this whole time. Alright, I guess I'll give him what he wants!
They were perfectly poised for one prolonged moment, and then suddenly they were clashing with concussive force. Tensa Zangetsu's black blade flashed back and forth, up and down, all while the Visored dodged each strike with nimble twists and turns. Ichigo wasn't discouraged by each miss; instead, he grew more emboldened every time his opponent narrowly avoided his slashes and thrusts. The sheer kinetic energy of Ichigo's swings lapped at Hachigen's barriers, causing the dome to subtly creak and quake.
"Ah, looks like Kensei's finally having some fun," Lisa remarked.
"Indeed," Hachigen nodded in agreement. "It seems that Mr. Kurosaki has won him over somewhat."
"Typical," Lisa sighed. "Kensei might have a lot of bark, but he's a big softie at heart."
They watched as Ichigo and the Visored flitted back and forth balletically inside the dome. The Visored started counterattacking, flashing a kick here and swinging an underhand chop there, only for Ichigo to deflect and parry with Tensa Zangetsu. Ichigo could feel himself grow more confident as they fought, his strikes becoming more precise and his blocking more instinctual. He was feeling more like himself, like when he fought Byakuya Kuchiki atop Sōkyoku Hill. He realized then that he had been only using about half of his power ever since, cowed after his inner Hollow announced its existence.
"Well dang, would you look at that," Love muttered with surprise. "The kid's getting better as they go along. He's got Kensei on the backfoot, now."
Hiyori guffawed with surprise and leaned forward, disbelieving that her compatriot could be put on the defensive. She focused her eyes and, much to her astonishment, saw that Ichigo had gained control of the fight.
The Visored's movements were becoming more deliberate and effortful, his evasions closer shaves with every swipe. Ichigo, meanwhile, was visibly becoming more relaxed and freewheeling, his swordplay almost elastic in its adaptability.
That little shit's actually got talent? Hiyori marveled. I guess we really weren't wasting our time trying to recruit him. Dammit, I'm gonna owe Shinji a Coke after this...
Ichigo jabbed Tensa Zangetsu forward and caught the Visored by the face, slicing a thin stripe of red along his chiseled cheekbone.
"Got you!" Ichigo grinned, only to receive a knee straight into the abdomen. He doubled over in pain, draping himself over the Visored's scrunched-up leg.
"Don't get cocky," the Visored hissed.
Ichigo, shifting from a grimace to a grin, reached for the Visored's belt and grasped his Zanpakutō by the hilt. He unsheathed the blade and bounded back a pace, grinning triumphantly.
"Your sword's drawn!" he smirked, brandishing both blades. "Guess that means I –"
Before he could finish his boast, the Visored flesh-stepped mere inches away and punched him square in the face. Ichigo felt the seismic force of mastered Hakuda coupled with Hollowfied power all crash together into his frontal lobe, nearly knocking him out cold. He fell back, feeling his consciousness blot out with white.
"I already told you," the Visored frowned, snatching his Zanpakutō back from Ichigo's limp grasp. "Don't get cock–"
Ichigo's palm thrust up and seized the Visored's face with a vice-like grip. What the – ?!
Ichigo was changing, his eyes a lantern yellow and face twisted with malevolent glee while flecks of white began to armor his cheek. "You've got a big mouth, old man."
With a cackle, he threw the Visored like a rag doll to the other end of the dome, his prey landing with a crash. Before the Visored could collect himself, Ichigo ignited Tensa Zangetsu with black, crackling Reiatsu,
"Getsuga... TENSHŌ!"
The demonic Shinigami Deputy slung his katana forward and unfurled his dark current of death, the pulsating wave snaking at the dazed Visored.
"Hachi!" Shinji roared. "Reinforce the – !"
The Getsuga Tenshō collided with the Visored, igniting in a deafening boom and punching a massive hole through Hachigen's dome. The barrier groaned and spiderwebbed with cracks before shattering altogether, sending up a thick plume of smoke throughout the warehouse.
Ichigo lurched forward, cackling while a white mask rapidly solidified across his features. Before he could ready another attack, he was beset by the entire Visored crew: Shinji, Love, Lisa, and Hiyori all had their swords unsheathed and pointed an inch away from his face while Hachigen conjured a rectangular forcefield of Kidō to quarantine them all together.
Shinji thrust his katana squarely at the epicenter of Ichigo's mask, shattering it. So long as you know the exact spot to hit, any Hollowfication mask is breakable. The visor exploded into microscopic fragments while Ichigo's expression shifted back into his natural self. He fell to his knees and gasped for breath, feeling as though he had been held underwater for an impossible amount of time.
"Did... did I... did I kill him?" he panted, his tone frantic. "Please tell me I didn't kill – ?"
"Relax," a voice called out from the smoking ruin across the foyer. "I've survived worse."
Ichigo looked up and spotted his opponent's silhouette emerge from the fumes. The Visored emerged and strode over to join everybody, his outfit charred to a crisp but his body merely scuffed up.
"Muguruma Kensei," he said. "That's my name. You've earned it."
Ichigo was stunned to see Kensei's condition. While the Visored's tank top and cargo pants were singed and tattered, his musculature underneath only betrayed shallow scratches.
He took the Hollow's Getsuga Tenshō head-on. That same attack banged Byakuya up badly, but this guy's walking around like he's already ready for a second round...
"I can summon my mask faster than any other Visored, remember?" Kensei huffed after clocking his confusion. "I used it to shield myself in the millisecond before contact."
"Our masks don't just amplify our brute strength; they also fortify our durability," Love chimed in. "You'll be able to tank strong attacks too... when you learn how to channel your Hollow powers."
"When?" Ichigo said hopefully. "Does that mean you guys are gonna teach me?"
"It means we'll try," Shinji clarified, tossing Ichigo's human body at his feet. "There's a decent chance the Hollow-taming ritual will backfire. We're gonna have to thoroughly prepare before attempting it."
The warning made Ichigo queasy. He had hoped the road to wresting control away from his Hollow would be straightforward, but it was finally dawning on him how much he'd have to put his trust into this band of strangers. He surveyed each of them, recognizing in their eyes that they were just as wary of him.
"I don't have a choice, do I?"
"No, you do not," Lisa shook her head while sheathing her Zanpakutō back into its scabbard. "And neither do we. Your Hollow has grown strong enough that it's only a matter of time before it gains permanent control over you. We can't in good conscience wait around for you to wreak havoc across Karakura Town."
"So either you're going to cure me... or you'll have to kill me?" Ichigo whispered faintly. He only needed to look at Shinji's expression to get his confirmation. "So that's how it is, huh? Alright then... when do we start?"
The Visoreds were all taken aback, surprised by how quickly this teenage boy had accepted his situation. Love cracked a smile. Kid's got guts.
"We start tomorrow morning," Shinji declared. "You'll meet me at our rendezvous point on Yūjō Bridge at 7 a.m. sharp. Bring a toothbrush; you're staying here all week while we prepare you."
Ichigo blushed. "But... the school week starts tomorrow?"
The Visoreds all stared at him with disbelief, making him feel all the more embarrassed for voicing his objection. Finally, Hiyori broke into a cackle.
"We're gonna have to execute this little dweeb because he can't miss algebra class!" she snickered.
Ichigo knew in that instant he didn't like her one bit.
"I just mean people are gonna notice, OK?!" he shouted back, shaking a fist. "I can't just disappear for a whole week!"
"You've got a Gikon, right?" Shinji noted. "Let the little rag doll impersonate you at school while you're away at Hollowfication camp. Acceptable?"
Ichigo furrowed his brow, weighing whether or not Kon was up to the task. It was one thing for the Mod Soul to impersonate him during summer break, when he could make himself scarce as possible. It was quite another for the little pervert to sully his reputation at school, where he'd have to interact with others all day. I guess I have no choice.
"Fine," he glowered. "I'll meet you at the bridge tomorrow morning in my Shinigami body. So how am I getting back home tonight? You better not try to scramble my senses again."
Kensei smiled and strode right up beside him. "If Shinji's way of doing things is too harsh, we can try it my way."
He delivered a swift chop to the back of Ichigo's neck, knocking him out cold. The Shinigami Deputy fell forward and collapsed atop his human body. The Visoreds all gathered around to regard the snoring heap.
"He's an impressive young man," Hachigen nodded. "His Hollow is even more impressive: my shields should have been more than enough to contain his technique, and yet he blew right through them."
Kensei relaxed his shoulders and let out a pained sigh; he was more injured than he had initially let on. "That attack he used; a direct hit from it could lay out most captain-level Shinigami. If I hadn't masked up at the last second, Hachi would've had to spend all night patching me up. This kid's dangerous."
"Are you sure about this, Shinji?" Lisa asked, her bespectacled eyes betraying trepidation. "We've never attempted the ritual on an outsider before. When the time comes... the temptation to put him down will be strong."
"You guys just need to get to know him first," Shinji hand waved before reaching down to collect the unconscious Strawberry. "Besides, we ain't just doing this out of the kindness of our hearts. We owe Urahara a debt, remember?"
Kira Izuru could hear the thrum of thousands of spectators pulse through the layers of the stadium, reaching down and rattling the walls surrounding him in the catacomb. He took a deep breath, trying to banish any stage fright jitters before his battle with Yuyu Yahahara.
Am I nervous... or am I feeling guilty? he wondered. He had felt a heavy weight press upon him after winning his first match against Shūhei Hisagi. He had humiliated his friend in a fit of pique, and felt rotten about it ever since. Why couldn't you want this as much as I do? Why couldn't you fight back, Shūhei?!
Despite all of the commotion coming from above, he could distinctly hear footsteps approach from the other end of the stone hallway. He turned to see the last person he expected emerge of the darkness.
"Shūhei?" Kira murmured, his eyes widening with apprehension. "What are you – ?"
"Relax; I come in peace," Hisagi said, coming to a stop a yard away from him. "I'm here to apologize."
"Apologize? But I'm the one who – ?"
"Shut up. Just let me talk and then you can apologize all you like. I had to sleep on it, but it hit me this morning, clear as daylight: I was wrong to judge you. Third Division needs leadership, and they'd be lucky to have you, Kira."
They stood in stony silence for what felt like a long time. Kira was overwhelmed with a combustible cocktail of emotions: relief, regret, and surprise. Finally, Hisagi frowned with annoyance.
"Well?!"
"I'm... I'm sorry I made a spectacle of throwing you out of the – "
"That's not what I meant!" Hisagi barked. "You need to accept my apology first."
Kira gave him a baffled look before finally easing into a grateful smile. "I accept your apology, Shūhei."
"Good," Hisagi nodded. He looked like something else was troubling him. He visibly wrestled with whether or not to voice his unease before finally blurting it out. "You were right about Captain Tōsen. I... I don't know how to let go."
Kira studied him sympathetically before stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Neither of us asked for this. Captain Ichimaru elevated me, he made me feel acknowledged... but he was never my teacher."
Hisagi grimaced. They had had very different relationships with their captains: Kira was dutiful and loyal to Gin, but was always kept at arm's length. Tōsen, meanwhile, had actively mentored Hisagi and shaped his entire worldview. Kira had lost his captain, but Hisagi had lost his sense of self.
A horn sounded from outside the tunnel entrance: the second day of Jūsankentakai games had begun. Kira turned to the sound and braced himself.
"I guess that's my cue." His hand left Hisagi's shoulder and he began to march towards the light.
"Kira, before you go..." Hisagi called after him.
Kira looked back at him.
"What is it?"
"Isn't it your turn to apologize?"
Kira frowned at him. After a pregnant silence, the two lieutenants burst into laughter together.
Rukia marveled at the spectacle of the Bushishinzui Budōkan, an audience of thousands swirling around her along with the stadium's champagne veneer. She caught herself dawdling and trotted along to keep pace with Captain Ukitake.
"So Grand Fisher has been purified?" he nodded while they strode through the coliseum's yawning hallways, the fanfare thundering just beyond the pillars that towered above them. "A pernicious menace has finally been brought to justice thanks to you, Rukia. Well done."
"Thank you, Captain."
He came to a halt and studied her for an unnervingly prolonged beat. "And how is Kurosaki Ichigo?"
"He's well, Captain. He misses all of us."
"I trust you two enjoyed your brief reunion," Ukitake said with a smile before his brow hardened into a more searching stare. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Rukia felt as though she was being interrogated by the sun itself. She had only recently escaped damnation from Soul Society law, and yet her she was daring to lie by omission to her superior.
"Nothing I can recall, Captain," she answered. "Grand Fisher got the drop on us, but Ichigo was able to access his Shinigami powers and finally avenged his mother. Our story had a happy ending."
Ukitake nodded, his face relaxing back into his characteristically easygoing grin. "Very good. He deserved closure after all he's done for us. Now, I have to go perform my duties at the Ise Tenrai-chō's loge. I trust you can find the officer section of the audience?"
"But sir... I'm not an officer?" Rukia mumbled.
"They will be expecting your company nevertheless," Ukitake said sweetly. "Lieutenant Abarai will be looking for you when he competes in the arena."
Rukia blushed scarlet and watched him make his leave. After some hesitation, she scampered out from the hallway and down through the throng of attendees, squeezing her way through Shinigami spectators and merchants advertising their wares. One tried to sell her a mock Shihakushō emblazoned with "Thirteenth Division" on the back, which she politely refused before slipping down into the officer section of the stands.
"Rukia, you're back!" Kiyone waved to her, moving over a spot to make room. "Come, have a seat!"
Rukia tried her best to ignore the awkward looks from Isane and Ōmaeda, who both had stood by watching her execution ceremony on Sōkyoku Hill, and sat herself between Kiyone and Sentarō Kotsubaki. She immediately regretted the choice of seat when the two co-Third Seats immediately began to bicker with each other while she was sandwiched in the middle.
"Where's Renji?" she finally asked.
"He's with the rest of the remaining contestants, hanging out in the catacombs below," Yumichika answered. "~Why do you ask?~"
Rukia frowned at him, well aware that he was teasing her.
Deep in the guts of the Bushishinzui Budōkan, Renji had cornered Ikkaku in a darkened hallway so that they could have a discrete chat.
"You heard it yourself from the Shihōin Tenrai-chō last night: they're expecting to see Bankai in this tournament," Renji pleaded. "We're the only lieutenants who can perform Bankai. Only one of us can win today, but if we go all out against each other... maybe they'll award both of us a captaincy when this is all over."
"No," the bald-headed Third Seat said, shaking his head. "Sorry. That's staying under wraps."
"But it should be you!" Renji blanched. "You're the first, last, and only choice. Nobody deserves the promotion more, and I can't fight today knowing that you're holding back."
"You think I give a shit about what makes you comfortable?" Ikkaku growled, pressing his scabbard to Renji's chest to force him to step back a pace. "Fool. I told you when I was teaching you how to fight: I have no intention of letting anyone know about my Bankai, except for you and Yumichika. I don't want to be a captain. If I were a captain... I couldn't fight under Captain Zaraki."
Renji scowled, cursing Ikkaku's obsession with Kenpachi. He vividly recalled what the stubborn goat had told him back in their sparring days: Your dream is to surpass Captain Kuchiki, Abarai. My dream is to live and die as Captain Zaraki's subordinate.
Yuyu raised up her Fuji-film camera, sticking out her tongue and flashing a peace sign. There was a bright flash as the camera captured her makeup-slathered grin. With a giggle, she tossed the gizmo over her shoulder. The camera flew like a home run ball into the audience, one breathless spectator catching it triumphantly, only for dozens to swarm around him and wrestle for possession of the enclosed polaroid.
"No need to fight over me, pyong!" she purred to the crowd below before returning her attention to Kira. He looked sullen as ever, staring at her vacantly from the other side of the ring.
"Aw c'mon, what's with the long face?" Yuyu chirped. "We're famous now, Izuru-chan! Little Yuyu's a sex symbol, can you believe it? Meow..."
"The way you carry on is embarrassing," he replied, stone-faced. "You are completely unserious. It'd be a mockery of the Gotei 13 if you became a captain."
Yuyu frowned. She didn't like that appraisal one bit.
Chiwa finished his introductions, adding flowery flourishes to his spiel while hyping up the crowd.
"... Let the match commence!"
Yuyu drummed up her foot on the ground boisterously before flash-stepping across the arena. Her visage appeared and faded away from one spot before instantly flitting to an adjacent mark, drawing ever closer to Kira with each skip. He held his stance but swiftly unsheathed his Zanpakutō, releasing Wabisuke with a command.
"That freakish bear girl seems to be in quite a hurry," Kōbucha Ise noted while watching the Third Seat blitz across the arena. She found the erratic speed baffling to watch.
"Yayahara is taking this match seriously," Ukitake spoke up from behind the Tenrai-chō's throne. "She could afford to be a showboat during her match against Ōmaeda, but she knows Lieutenant Kira is a far more adept fighter. She's trying to disorient him with Shunpo until she finds the perfect opening to attack with the Kumakokoro technique. Kira is taking her seriously as well, immediately releasing his Shikai. The first blow by either fighter will likely be decisive."
Kōbucha's thin lips upturned subtly. While she never voiced thanks, she appreciated Ukitake's running commentary on the battles.
From the officer section of the stadium stands, Rukia looked baffled while she watched Yuyu dash around.
"That's who's fighting on behalf of Eighth Division?" she murmured. "Why isn't Lieutenant Ise fighting Kira instead?"
"It's a long story," Kiyone said. "Yuyu's very formidable, though. She made short work of Marechiyo."
"Quite a high bar..." Rukia muttered, just loud enough to draw an annoyed glare from Ōmaeda.
Hisagi, meanwhile, sat in hushed silence beside them all, his eyes nervously tracking Yuyu's every flash-step. I learned from my battle with Ayasegawa not to underestimate a lower-ranking officer. Kira, I hope you have a plan...
Kira held Wabisuke's hook aloft, his eyes not bothering to dart back and forth to keep track of Yuyu's movements. Her pattern is just a distraction. All that matters is when she strikes...
Right on cue, the Third Seat flash-stepped right above him, grinning from ear to ear. She crooked her hands and slammed her wrists together, materializing the ursine jaw of Kumakokoro right around him. In the split-second before the technique clamped down, she realized something was wrong.
He's not even attempting to dodge it?!
Kira remained rooted in place, staring up at her with grim resignation, as if bracing for pain. His left index and middle fingers pointed up at her clasped hands. "Bakudo #2: Kase."
枷 Kase [Shackle]
Right as Kira finished his utterance, the bear's jaws snapped shut around him, his torso spurting a ringlet of blood in all directions. The sight induced gasps of horror from the audience.
In that same instant, Yuyu felt an invisible tether wrap around her wrists, bounding her palms together as if by magnetism. She yelped when Wabisuke swung up and struck her knuckles with a clang, sending a shooting pain up her arms. She lost her balance midair, her hands now doubled in weight. She attempted to pry her palms apart, but they were stubbornly shackled together by the Bakudō charm.
Right as she awkwardly landed onto her feet, Kira pressed his advantage and lunged forward, swinging Wabisuke and rapping Yuyu over her knuckles again. She tried to swing her arms away, but with each strike her movements grew slower and her ability to dodge Kira diminished. By the fifth time Wabisuke connected, Yuyu's hands thunked down onto the arena tile and anchored her to the spot.
"I spent all morning thinking of a way to disarm you," Kira said with a huff, blood spilling down his Shihakushō. "How disgraceful that this was the best solution I could come up with."
Yuyu's face twisted with exertion as she tried to lift her hands from the arena ground. It was no use; her biceps spasmed as she struggled and failed to lift her paws. This absolutely sucks... but I got him good.
"Did you have a conniption or something?" she shouted, craning her head up to glower at him. "You got chomped head-on; you're gonna bleed out and die, dummy!"
Kira nodded, planting Wabisuke down against the arena tile for ballast. His free hand pressed to his chest, feeling the punctures around his abdomen and the blood freely spilling out.
"You're right," he admitted. "This is a fatal wound if I don't get immediate medical treatment. But I won't pass out before you lose." He turned to Chiwa and weakly pointed at Yuyu, his finger trembling. "Her upper body is touching the ground. Shouldn't you start the countdown?"
Yuyu gawped up at him, finally comprehending his strategy.
"My, my... you're right," Chiwa chuckled before bringing the microphone to his lips. "One!... Two!... Three!..."
Yuyu bristled. This isn't fair! She returned her attention to her pinned hands, gritting her teeth as she summoned all her strength to try and lift her limbs up from the ground. It was no use; they were too heavy.
"... And ten!" Chiwa announced. "The winner is Kira Izuru!"
The coliseum erupted into cheers. From the officer section, Hisagi smiled serenely. That's the kind of thinking that'll take you to the top of this tournament, Kira.
Kira gave Yuyu a weak nod of respect and turned to behold the crowd. He allowed himself a smile of triumph before his expression turned faint, the tiles beneath him growing crimson and wet. With a grunt, he collapsed in a heap.
While a squadron of medics rushed to collect Kira from the arena, the Tokinada loge was dealing with an unwelcome invasion: a trio of aristocratic sisters had arrived to woo Tenrai-chō Tokinada. Captain Komamura barred the entryway, shielding the silk curtains with his massive frame.
"Madam, madam and madam, please return to your seats," he commanded. "Now isn't the time – "
"Please, we just need a moment!" pleaded Nariyoshi Ryōdoji, her petite figure trying to squeeze past him. "I've brought Tokinada-sama a gift!"
"If he can only receive one of us, let it be me!" chimed in her more statuesque sister, Shudani. She gave a rather lewd shimmy of her kimono. "I've brought him the greatest gift of all."
"A sensitive soul like Tokinada-sama wants an intellectual match, not a playground of flesh!" jeered the third sister, Ainyō. "Tell Tokinada-sama that I've come to stimulate his mind with talk of literature and music!"
Komamura frowned with exasperation. "Please, this is a matter of security. You should all make your entreaties to the Tenrai-chō outside of tournament hours."
"Oh, but this is the closest we've ever gotten to Tokinada-sama!" Shudani harrumphed. "He never leaves that castle of his..."
"And I've been sending invitations to him for years, but with no response!" Nariyoshi added, looking close to tears.
Ainyō, recognizing that Komamura wouldn't budge, linked arms with her sisters and dragged them back a pace. "Fine, we'll retreat for today, but please pass along this message to Tokinada-sama: the Tsunayashiro line hangs by a single fragile thread. If he wishes to perpetuate his dynasty, he must remarry and sire an heir. The Ryōdoji have been a proud vassal of the Tsunayashiro Clan for many millennia; any of us would be a fitting match for the Tenrai-chō. Can you relay that message for us, monster?"
Komamura's snout twitched at the aristocrat's casual bigotry, but his composure was otherwise perfectly poised. You are a captain of the Gotei 13, he remembered as he nodded and replied "I swear it, madam."
His promise was enough to finally ward the three Ryōdoji sisters away. He sighed with relief and returned to the balcony to share their message.
"I'm surprised to hear those three are still available," Tokinada mused before taking a sip of sake. "Truly pitiful that they've been saving themselves for me. I find each of them putrid in their own special way."
"There was some wisdom in Lady Ainyō's words," Komamura ventured. "The Tsunayashiro Clan is imperiled until you bear an heir. You are but one man embodying an entire Shisonka lineage. Surely you have a responsibility to remarry?"
His words drew stares from Tokinada's two Shikōtai Guards, Baiyori Magōnyo and Sobura Kisada. While their expressions were hidden behind ornamental masks, they were undoubtedly stunned by the captain's temerity.
Death had followed Tokinada Tsunayashiro his whole life. When he was still only an heir, his first and only wife took her own life after a prolonged bout of melancholy. Tokinada never remarried and became something of a recluse, rarely venturing outside of his family estate at Seidahatsume. That tragedy would pale in comparison to when a mass assassination attempt was made on the entire Tsunayashiro Clan. The whole family, all 49 members save for Tokinada himself, was butchered. The Tenrai-chō was gravely injured but miraculously survived, making him the very last living Tsunayashiro.
These misfortunes had made Tokinada a figure of immense sympathy in Soul Society. His lack of a defined public profile allowed the masses to project onto him the visage of a tragic hero shouldering unbearable grief. He was also the most sought-after bachelor in the Seireitei, fielding literally hundreds of marriage offers at a given time while being subject to constant romantic speculation. He routinely turned down any proposals and dismissed all rumors, insisting that he would only love again "if my darling Kakyō was resurrected and returned to me."
Komamura knew all of this when he dared suggest that the Tenrai-chō remarry.
Tokinada didn't look displeased, however. Quite the opposite: he was delighted that the wolf had offered himself up so he could swatted back down.
"If I'm to remarry, perhaps we ought to find a suitor for you as well?" the nobleman simpered. "Shall we rummage around in the zoo and find a bitch for you to mount?"
Komamura merely shrugged with indifference. "I am wedded only to the Gotei 13, Your Highness."
Tokinada's cat-like eyes narrowed. The dog wasn't as fun to kick around today. With a bored sigh, the Tenrai-chō took another sip of sake and returned his attention to the arena.
It was 7:20 a.m. in Karakura Town; twenty minutes after Ichigo rejoined Shinji at their rendezvous point on Yūjō Bridge. Shinji tore the blindfold off of his eyes back at the Visored hideout, expecting him to dry heave again after having had his senses inverted.
To Shinji's surprise, Ichigo looked much steadier than the night before. He was blue in the face and trembling from vertigo, but his brow was scrunched with concentration as he willed his cognitive functions to steel themselves. After swaying slightly, Ichigo planted his feet firmly onto the ground and exhaled, his nausea quelled.
He's only been exposed twice and he's already adapting? Shinji realized. This kid's really something else. It's friggin' annoying...
He gave Ichigo a hearty backslap. "Welcome back to our crib, Kurosaki! We begin your Hollow-taming training immediately."
Ichigo winced at the backslap and shot Shinji and annoyed look before turning his attention to their surroundings. To his surprise, the other Visoreds were all sitting in a circle around them, plopped down on the concrete and spaced out about six feet apiece to form a ring 36 feet in diameter.
"What's going on?"
"Have a seat and do what Hachi says," Shinji commanded before dropping into a crosslegged perch.
Ichigo looked profoundly confused but complied, awkwardly kneeling down into a crouch before resting back onto his butt and staring skeptically at the gathered faces. "So are you going to tell me what's happening, or... ?"
"This is your orientation, Mr. Kurosaki," Hachigen announced.
The rotund fellow was massive beyond the limitations of a normal person, 260 centimeters in height and shaped like a swollen pear. He had an erudite face with a well-manicured mustache and short-cropped hair, both bubblegum pink. His beady golden eyes matched the color of the bowtie cinched around his collar while his humongous frame was clad in an olive green tuxedo. The slight bow in his head revealed a black crossbones dyed atop his rosy pate.
The giant raised up his two meaty palms, a spark of electric aura zapping between them. A pink sphere the shape of a dodgeball puffed into existence, printed with the same black crossbones that matched Hachi's scalp. He bounced the ball several times to prove it had physical mass and weight before holding it aloft.
"This is my Kandaideshiberu, a Kidō technique I developed back when I was a teacher once upon a time," he explained, his voice suddenly amplified to such crystalline fidelity that Ichigo could swear he was hearing him through headphones. "It was designed to help my students learn the value of listening and sharing. Whoever holds this ball will be heard clearly while the voices of anyone else within 50 feet will be lowered into a mere whisper. Now, my compatriots here can be bullish and are prone to speaking over each other. Within this circle, we'll take turns passing this ball, and whoever is holding it will be heard clearly while those who aren't will have the roar of a mouse.
寛大デシベル Kandaideshiberu (Magnanimous Decibel)
"To ensure that nobody becomes greedy with the proverbial microphone, the ball will become hotter the longer you hold onto it," Hachi continued. "However, it will instantly cool when passed over to new hands. Now, I'd like for us to take turns introducing ourselves and sharing one of our favorite things before asking Mr. Kurosaki a question. To begin: my name is Ushōda Hachigen, the Kidō specialist amongst the Visoreds, and... hmm, well I absolutely love kittens! Wonderful creatures. They require a bit of patience, but their earned affection is immensely gratifying. Now, Mr. Kurosaki, how about you start by sharing your basic information with the group? Your age, where you attend school, and for how long have you been a Shinigami?"
He planted the ball onto the ground and gently rolled it over to Ichigo, who watched the sphere approach in dumbstruck awe.
Are you... are you... are you... ?!
"Are you kidding me?!" Ichigo roared. "My life is on the line, and we're playing hot potato?! What is this, kindergarten?!"
He realized at the end of his outburst that his shout was only just a squeak when it escaped his lips, making him sound like an angry ant. Hachi wasn't kidding about the Kandaideshiberu's power; a person would need to hold the ball if they wanted to be audible. Ichigo blushed and surveyed the Visoreds, spotting Hiyori looking very amused at his expense. Grumbling, he plucked up the sphere.
"Alright, fine," he said, his voice suddenly cranked up to an omnipresent volume. "Name's Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm 16-years-old and just started the second semester of my first year at Karakura High School. I'm 180 centimeters tall on a good day, my blood type's A, and I've been a Shinigami for a little over three months. Alright, who's next?"
As he spoke, he could feel a prickling along his palm; the ball was getting progressively warmer in his grasp. He looked around and saw Love holding up a hand. Happy to relinquish his hot potato, he tossed the ball over.
"Name's Aikawa Love, pleasure to meet cha," the Visored announced, his rumbling voice booming in Ichigo's ears. He was a tall and broad-shouldered Shinigami clad in a green jumpsuit, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses that conjoined at a slant over his strong nose while a pair of cream-colored headphones were fitted snugly around his neck. He had curious hair, a spiky afro that reminded Ichigo of a starfish, with elongated sideburns running down his temples. His skin was dusky but his ethnic makeup hard to place.
"I guess I'm not really a specialist in this operation, unless you consider being the best fighter a specialty," Love continued, drawing incredulous glares from Lisa, Kensei, and Shinji. "I'm 387-years-old and I don't know my blood type. Don't much care to learn, either. If I had to pick an interest, I'd say my first love is manga. How 'bout you, Kurosaki? Do you like manga?"
He threw the Kandaideshiberu to Ichigo, who caught it reflexively.
"I dabble; not a hardcore fan or anything, but I read a couple," Ichigo answered before tossing the ball right back.
"I've read just about everything," Love continued. "Now, I respect the classics like Golgo 13 or Hajime no Ippo, but I've gotten a real taste for the new generation. Titles like Shaman King, Berserk, Angel Densetsu, Slam Dunk, Dragon Head. Now here's a question, Kurosaki: what's your One Piece?"
Ichigo caught the ball and frowned with puzzlement. "My one piece? What're you talking about?"
"You've never heard of the Monkey D. Luffy?" Love guffawed, the ball back in his court. "Little stretchy guy who wants to be the pirate king? He's out there searching for the One Piece, which is really just a McGuffin that justifies the whole adventure. Now don't play dumb: You're a 16-year-old kid who fell ass backwards into super powers. You've got 'Shōnen protagonist' written all over you. So what's your animating goal? Do you wanna become a captain in the Gotei 13? Wanna catch all the Pocket Monsters and become number one? Or do you just like pushing yourself past your previous limits? It's gotta be something."
Ichigo was visibly irked when he caught the ball again.
"Life isn't a comic book," he sulked. "I'm not chasing after something specific, and I don't really want for anything. I guess I'd like to walk around without getting hassled for the color of my hair. That'd be nice. But I just need to keep my family and friends out've harm's way. That's it."
He threw the Kandaideshiberu back to Love, who looked crestfallen.
"Well damn, that's no fun. I thought we had a Gon Freecss in our presence when really we're saddled with a Shinji."
Shinji shot him a confused look.
"Not you," Love clarified. "I'm talking Ikari Shinji from Eva. A moody kid who finds himself at the center of events only because the universe has conspired to put him on a pedestal. They call that a passive protagonist, which means you belong in a totally different genre, Kurosaki. You better find a goal to dedicate yourself towards or else your life story is gonna be boring as shit. Be more like Luffy... "
Everyone watched with mortification as steam sizzled up from Love's hands. He was so content to hog the mic that he was completely unbothered by the Kandaideshiberu's heating penalty.
Is this guy for real?! Ichigo frowned, shooting his own steam out from his ears.
The other Visoreds were looking just as impatient, with Hiyori growing red in the face. I swear, those rags are totally rotting his brain.
Ichigo felt a profound relief when Love finally passed the ball over to Lisa. She looked comparatively normal, with her turquoise eyes shimmering behind a pair of red oval glasses and dark hair braided into a ponytail. She was garbed in a sailor outfit, her short navy blue skirt draped over a long pair of legs. She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat before plucking up the Kandaideshiberu.
"My name's Yadōmaru Lisa. My age is nobody's business, and I enjoy reading erotica. Lots of it. How about you, boy? What porn do you like?"
She tossed the ball Ichigo's way, only for it to bounce off of his scarlet face. He needed a moment to collect himself before scooping up the sphere.
"What kind of perverted question is that?!" he barked. "I thought you were going to be the normal one, but instead you're a sex maniac!"
He threw the ball back to her; she caught it by the tip of her index finger and let it spin around on the axis of her digit.
"I'm ace, actually. Never had a crush on a person, but I've yearned for many a sensual stanza. The only thing that brings me pleasure is the written word. Got a problem with that?"
Ichigo blushed while accepting the ball back. "No, of course not. That's well within your rights. But I object to talking about my own business. That's private."
"You're young," Lisa observed when she regained the Kandaideshiberu. "If you lived for a couple more centuries, you'd understand that life is too short to hide away any part of yourself."
Shinji sat back and watched, feeling mildly mortified. The group had been isolated for so long that he had stopped recognizing everyone's eccentricities. With an outsider finally in the mix, their collective weirdness was becoming painfully clear to him.
Except for me, of course, he reassured himself. Anybody who thinks I'm weird just doesn't know what real style is...
The crowd went wild when Tetsuzaemon Iba and Rangiku Matsumoto took to the stage. Two of the longest-serving lieutenants in the Gotei 13, they were both well-regarded and had barely demonstrated their full capabilities during their first round matches against the Kotetsu sisters, respectively.
Rangiku smirked at him from across the arena, recalling the wager he offered over breakfast the previous morning.
"So whoever loses has to pose for a portrait?" she recalled. "That's a funny bet, come to think of it."
Tetsuzaemon adjusted his sunglasses and spat out a pouch of snuff tobacco before miming a shush. "Don't talk about gambling here. You'll get us both busted, Matsumoto."
Chiwa Kikazu, lingering between them, merely cocked an eyebrow in amusement while dangling his microphone lackadaisically by its cord. He was content to merely eavesdrop on the two contestants' conversation while pretending not to hear anything incriminating about their extracurricular choices.
"It's just... since when do you paint?" Rangiku chirped. "Is your intention to beat a fetching young lady and then force her to model for you? I didn't take you for a dirty dog, Zaemon."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Come what may, I'll promise to explain myself after our match. So do you agree to the terms?"
Rangiku shot a cheeky glance at Chiwa before nodding. "You've got yourself a bet."
From the stands, Rukia scrunched her brow while scrutinizing the two opponents. They're evenly matched, as last looks go. This could go either way...
"Your next champions: the gregarious and iron-willed Iba Tetsuzaemon versus the exquisite Matsumoto Rangiku!" Chiwa announced to the crowd. "The two eldest lieutenants competing in the Tenth Jūsankentaikai. Who will prevail?"
Rangiku turned beet red, her temple pulsing with irritation. The eldest?! I'm certainly younger than Ikkaku. The semantic nuance that Ikkaku was a Third Seat wasn't lost on her, but she nevertheless perceived the comment as a slight. This taikomochi chooses his words carefully and knows exactly what he's doing. He's a catty one.
"Let the eighth match begin!" Chiwa cried with a pirouette bow before skipping off to safety.
Right on cue, Rangiku and Tetsuzaemon unsheathed their blades and leapt forth. They met at the center of the ring, steel ringing against steel as they traded a series of swipes. Each swing was met with a parry, each parry turning into a counterstrike. Each counterstrike was artfully dodged, begetting another swing.
It was just as Rukia had observed from the outset: a perfectly even matchup. Both Rangiku and Tetsuzaemon were highly adept at Zanjutsu and possessed more physical strength than most of their peers.
Without an obvious superior or inferior, this battle can't be predicted at this stage, Rukia thought while watching their standstill sword dance. The victor... will be decided by Shikai.
Tetsuzaemon brought his katana down for an overhead swipe, only for Rangiku to hoist her blade up horizontally and catch his edge. The katanas raked against each other while both opponents trembled, trying to force the other to budge.
"So does the loser have to model in the nude?" Rangiku wondered through clenched teeth.
"You'll dress to your own level of comfort!" Tetsuzaemon jeered back before using the opportunity to begin a Kidō incantation: "Awash and scrub rungs of the ribcage clean. Moisten the planks for uprooting, and dive down into your own doom!" He ripped his blade away and leapt up into the air, jutting his left hand to the side. "Sunekawa!"
拗川 Sunekawa (Hadō #40, Twisted Stream)
A bulb of blue Reiatsu bloomed from his palm and transformed into a propulsive water beam, firing to his left before looping like a bow and curving down to strike Rangiku. She caught the winding Hadō with her katana and tried to bat it away, only to instead be shoved back, her sandals dragging along the arena tile. The winding stream continued to twist and turn, snaking its way across the stage with Rangiku pinned by its jaws.
"She's going to get pushed off!" Kiyone cried, squeezing Rukia's hand with equal parts dread and excitement.
Tetsuzaemon landed back onto the ground, his hand still outstretched and generating the surging Hadō. He was visibly tense, unable to move lest he break his concentration. Sunekawa needed a constant supply of Reiatsu to sustain its looping trajectory, making it a particularly taxing Kidō technique. However, it was devastatingly effective at pushing an opponent out of bounds.
Rangiku strained every muscle in her body, pressing her blade forward to shield her from the Hadō's surging waves. She focused all of her strength into her sword-wielding arm, feeling the sinew and veins close to bursting while she chanced easing up her secondary hand's grip on the hilt, shoving her freed palm up to point at the sky.
At this velocity, and with our current distance... it should be about... this many degrees!
She positioned her arm at a precise angle and cried out a chant: "Belch into the fire of the dressmaker's rage, play your steady rhythm and call out the pattern! Tensekihōgan!"
転石砲丸 Tensekihōgan (Hadō #38, Boulder Cannon)
A gigantic orb of silver Reiatsu, 40 inches in diameter, fired from her palm as if slung by a catapult. The audience watched in gobsmacked awe as Rangiku's Hadō whistled over the Sunekawa and sailed through the air before bearing down on Tetsuzaemon.
He gawped up at the incoming missile, disbelieving that Rangiku could lob a Tensekihōgan at him while under so much duress and while in the thrall of such an erratic trajectory. Her Hadō was a blunt cannon ball composed of spiritual energy, dense and heavy. Brutally destructive, but its lumbering speed made it woefully inefficient against moving targets. However, Rangiku knew that Tetsuzaemon had to remain in place if he wanted to maintain his own Hadō. Even while tussling with a winding pillar of water, she had somehow approximated the exact degree she needed to calibrate her missile so it could reach his exact location.
Damn it, Matsumoto. You're amazing!
The cannon ball landed and erupted with a sundering boom, kicking up a smoldering plume that obscured the entire arena. Rangiku, feeling the Sunekawa finally ease up, clapped her secondary hand back onto the hilt of her sword. With both arms, she roared and effortfully swung the waterspout away. The Hadō swerved out of bounds and twisted towards the audience only to unwind into a fine mist and dissipate, its fuel cut off.
Rangiku sighed with relief. Her whole body trembling with fatigue, she looked over her shoulder and saw that she only had eight more feet to spare before she'd have toppled off the stage. That was close. She returned her attention to the center of the ring, which was now pocked with a smoking crater. Well drat. I sure hope I didn't kill Tetsuzaemon...
She peered through the smoke and finally spotted his silhouette. The fumes parted and dissipated, revealing the lieutenant in sturdy condition. His Shihakushō was smoldering and tattered, and the lenses of his sunglasses cracked apart to reveal his icy blue eyes. He looked raggedy, but aside from some superficial scratches he was unharmed.
"So you shut off your Sunekawa's valve and dodged in the nick of time?" Rangiku surmised.
"I avoided a direct hit, but the shockwave got me good," Tetsuzaemon admitted, taking off his ruined sunglasses and tossing them aside. "Looks like Zanjutsu and Kidō won't get us anywhere. How's about we let our Zanpakutō have a word with each other?"
Rangiku smiled softly, her fingers subtly trembling around Haineko's hilt. She wasn't shaking with fear or fatigue, but with excitement. It had been ages since she'd had a challenging fight under such amicable terms.
"You really know how to show a lady a good time, Zaemon."
Tetsuzaemon first became aware of Rangiku Matsumoto 90 years beforehand, when she was making a name for herself as the luckiest girl in the Gotei 13. The rookie's reputation started when boorish Shinigami would rope her into trying the latest fad in athletic achievement, from archery to shockput. Every time, she'd feign bashfulness and ask everyone not to judge her first attempt at the task on hand, only to then surprise onlookers with her flawless execution of the skill.
"That girl is just lucky," one Shinigami told Tetsuzaemon after they watched Rangiku ace her very first match of Hanafuda. "Apparently she was a child celebrity in the Rukongai. Brought good fortune to anybody who touched her."
Tetsuzaemon, whose officer career had up to that point been stymied by his gambling addiction and penchant for losing bets, felt a pang of profound jealousy.
What I wouldn't give to be that lucky.
Ikkaku Madarame walked up to the coliseum tunnel's mouth and leaned against the entrance wall to gaze out at the arena. He had been listening intently to Tetsuzaemon and Matsumoto's brawl, but the promise of their Shikai finally making an appearance drew him out. He wanted to witness this moment. So you're gonna unveil Tayōtōsekiki in front of all these people, Tetsuzaemon?
He had been among the very few who had ever seen Tetsuzaemon's Zanpakutō release in person. It was strange for that privilege to suddenly be afforded to an audience of thousands. Deep down, Ikkaku was slightly resentful that the full extent of his drinking buddy's abilities would now be public knowledge and not just their little secret.
And here I thought I was special.
In the arena, Tetsuzaemon took off the ruined remnants of his sunglasses and tossed them aside. His eyes were chips of ice punctuated with piercing black irises. Rangiku felt wistful looking at them: they reminded her of Gin's eyes.
"I guess there's no way around it," Tetsuzaemon huffed. He ran a thumb over his lips before streaking the digit across the face of his katana. "Let loose, Taiyōtōsekiki!" His blade beamed brightly and reconfigured into a fanned scimitar with a pick jutting forth like the hand of a clock. Spectators craned their heads forward with curiosity, many of them baffled by the odd-looking Shikai design. With a grumble, Tetsuzaemon slung the sword back and draped it across his shoulders, waiting for his opponent to reciprocate.
太陽投石機 Taiyōtōsekiki [Solar Trebuchet]
Rangiku grinned, impressed as ever by Zaemon's chivalry. She hunched forward and extended her Zanpakutō outward before carefully resting her secondary arm over her sword-wielding wrist.
"Growl, Haineko."
The Bushishinzui Budōkan's walls vibrated as the audience broke into hollers and whoops, delighted by the sight of Rangiku's sword dissipating into ash.
So Matsumoto-san has an amorphous Shikai? Rukia thought while watching the plume of embers curl and twist around Rangiku in serpentine arcs. It reminds me of Brother's Senbonzakura...
Ikkaku cocked an eyebrow as he beheld Haineko's release for the first time. So both combatants have a ranged Zanpakutō? This is gonna get messy...
Tetsuzaemon's teal eyes watched Haineko's haze sift around in the air. This was his first time beholding it, too. With a twirl of his fanned blade, he gave his rival a ceremonial bow.
"Shall you do the honors, Matsu – ?"
Before he could finish his sentence, he was beset by the ashcloud.
"I shall," Rangiku smirked while watching Tetsuzaemon squirm in the eye of Haineko's haze. His eyes darted around, trying to suss out the threat. He pursed his lips shut in case he was meant to breathe in the cinders. Could this be poison? Or is it merely a smokescreen for your Zanpakutō's true technique, Matsumoto?
Rangiku watched as patches of ash accumulated across Tetsuzaemon's musculature, coagulating around his left shoulder and right wrist. She swished her sword's hilt, prompting deep cuts to rake across the corresponding spots. Tetsuzaemon grit his teeth in pain as blood spurted from his shoulder and wrist, the sight drawing gasps from spectators. In the space of a mere second, he flash-stepped six meters away from the aschloud's domain.
"So that's how it is," he grunted while inspecting his bleeding forearm, drops of crimson trickling past his knuckle and plopping onto the tiles beneath. "Anything your ash gloms onto can be cut? Impressive!"
Rangiku gave a sassy curtsy in return, her nebulous Zanpakutō swirling in the gulf between them. "The element of surprise helps. I suppose I've forfeited that advantage from here on out."
Tetsuzaemon chuckled and gazed up at the thousands of faces watching them intently. "I suppose both our secrets are getting shared today. Watch closely, now..."
He broke into a crouch and held Tayōtōsekiki horizontally before him, running his hand over the blade's face. His movement was slow and deliberate, like a magician daring his audience to guess his next move.
Rukia watched with an irrepresible smile. They're so congenial, she thought. Lieutenant Matsumoto could have hidden her Zanpakutō's ability until she had the opportunity to deal a winning blow. Instead, she struck Tetsuzaemon with a mere warning shot. And now he's giving her the opportunity to dodge his rejoinder. They're both so kind to each other...
Rangiku watched as Tetsuzaemon's fingers grazed along the cold steel of his scimitar. What do you have in store for me, Zaemon?
Tetsuzaemon pressed his index finger to the tip of the blade's pick and drew his digit back until it was kissing the other edge of the sword. Suddenly, there was a flicker of flame the size of a thimble burning at the pick's barb.
"Tenpisekireki!" he bellowed, flicking his finger off from the sword. The flame shot forth.
天日石礫 Tenpisekireki [Sun Pebble]
The fiery thimble came at Rangiku like a bullet. She applied her swiftest footstep of Shunpo and glided aside, the projectile sailing past where her shoulder had just been. She felt a twinge of triumph, only for her breath to cut short when she felt as though a sledgehammer was smashing between her shoulder blades. She spun forward and landed face first onto the arena tiles, a smoking ember pocking the back of her Shihakushō.
"How'd she get hit?!" Kiyone wondered aloud to everyone. "Lieutenant Matsumoto dodged that attack - you all saw her dodge it, right?"
"She dodged its initial trajectory," Isane replied with a tinge of astonishment. "But the missile curved around to hit its mark."
Kiyone shot her sister a stunned look. It curved?
That's right, Ikkaku thought while watching Matsumoto struggling back up to her feet. Taiyōtōsekiki's projectiles don't just pack a mean punch. They lock onto the object of Tetsuzaemon's choosing and orbit around its center of gravity, like a moon encircling the Earth. You can't just dodge it - those suckers will follow you until they explode.
Rangiku had figured that out instantly when the Tenpisekireki hit her. She ambled up gingerly, sweating with consternation as Chiwa Kikazu took a ten count from afar. She finally got back onto her feet, silencing the referee while drawing thunderous whoops from the crowd.
"You dirty dog, Zaemon," she laughed bitterly, her shoulders smarting with scalding pain. "Is that any way to treat a lady?"
Tetsuzaemon responded by running his finger over the pick again and firing another Tenpisekireki. This time, Rangiku answered by summoning a current of Haineko. The haze intercepted the sun pebble, its grit concentrating around the ball and forcing it to prematurely detonate within two meters of its target. The resulting blast sent a shockwave ripple through Rangiku's blonde tresses, her feminine figure subtly pulsing as well - much to the fascination of onlookers. She stumbled back several steps before another volley of Tenpisekireki shot forth after her. She swished the hilt of her Zanpakutō again and commanded Haineko to head off the incendiary pebble once more, resulting in another percussive explosion.
The audience members let out a succession of oohs and ahhs as they watched an escalating exchange of Tetsuzaemon slinging his missiles and Rangiku heading them off in the nick of time. Rukia's jaw clenched more and more into a vice as she saw the tide of battle solidify. Lieutenant Tetsuzaemon was slinging his sun pebbles faster and faster with each volley, while Lieutenant Matsumoto's defenses were growing increasingly labored.
His attack is going to reach her again soon. It's an inevitability.
Rangiku recognized this, too. Her opponent's Shikai ability was simply more aggressive, and his stamina in producing each formidable shot seemed inexhaustible. She backed away until she was mere feet away from the arena's edge, racking her brain for a countermeasure until -
Tetsuzaemon saw an opening in Haineko's waves and flashed-stepped between the gap, bridging the distance between them. Rangiku let out a gasp when he appeared a mere meter away from her left, three of his fingers now pressed to the pick of his blade.
"Tenpisandan!"
天日散弾 Tenpisandan [Solar Buckshot]
A spray of embers erupted from his Shikai and reached Rangiku like a triad of heat-seeking missiles. Tenpisandan was less potent than Tenpisekireki but even harder to avoid, sacrificing concentrated power for a more diffuse spray that was nearly inescapable. The buckshot hit Rangiku right in the chest, flinging her back into Haineko's mist. She disappeared from sight, obscured by an eruption of fire.
"It's over," Ōmaeda ruled grimly.
The coliseum fell into hushed silence, everyone marveling at the smoke cloud rising up from where Rangiku once stood. The swarm of Haineko's haze suddenly went limp, the embers spilling down onto the arena floor like grains of sand.
Tetsuzaemon's icy eyes squinted through the smoke. He was suddenly seized with a piercing fear that he'd hurt Rangiku more than he ever intended. He took a step forward, readying to sprint towards her.
Much to his shock, the ground beneath him suddenly moved. Haineko's ash shifted underneath his sandals, ejecting him aside like a conveyor belt set to maximum speed. Before he knew it, he was out of bounds. The coliseum fell into an even deeper disquiet as everyone doubted what they had just seen.
Rukia shot up from her seat, shaking a fist in triumph. "You did it, Lieutenant Matsumoto!"
The thousands of other spectators slowly followed suit, Rangiku's triumph gradually dawning on them. The Tenth Division Lieutenant had given up on defense the moment Tetsuzaemon flash-stepped towards her. Even while taking an attack at point blank range, she focused her attention on relaxing her Shikai's ash, scattering it beneath the enemy. When he lowered his guard, thinking he had won, she commanded her ash to slide him over the arena's edge.
"Winner by ringout - Matsumoto Rangiku!" Chiwa announced with a haughty twirl.
Well done, Rangiku, Hitsugaya thought with a sly smile. It must be embarrassing for you, showing everyone how clever you can be when you actually apply yourself.
The smoke cloud where the Tenpisandan had connected finally dissipated, revealing Rangiku at last. She was still standing on her feet, but her Shihakushō was blown away at the bosom, her chest exposed and scuffed. The sight drew a mixture of ecstatic whoops and scandalized gasps. Mothers shielded their children's eyes while wives smacked their husbands for leering.
Yumichika looked over to Hisagi - the Ninth Division lieutenant was embarrassedly cupping his nostrils, torrents of blood blasting through his fingers.
"Phew!" Rangiku whistled, fanning the smoke away from her chafed chest. "You're lucky you didn't blow off the merchandise, Zaemon. That I couldn't forgive."
Tetsuzaemon lay on the sand in a stunned stupor for a moment before letting out a contented chuckle.
He recalled the night he caught Rangiku practicing Kendama, back when she was only a Fifth Seat officer in the Tenth Division. He had gone off to the forest for a smoke and, shortly after lighting up, overheard the young lady effortfully trying to master the toy. He silently slinked over and observed her training for several minutes before finally announcing himself. After a bashful exchange of pleasantries, he acknowledged the elephant in the room.
"Kendama is really taking off in the Seireitei," he said between puffs of his cigarette. "Are you going to pretend you've never played it before when an officer pulls you into a game?"
"That's right, Lieutenant Iba," she replied with a blush. "I'll feign total ignorance of the game. I hope you won't tell on me..."
She confessed to having obsessively kept up with all the trends reported in the Seireitei Communication. When archery became popular, she headed off to the woods and tirelessly practiced archery. When shockput became the next flavor of the month, she secretly practiced shockput until her arm nearly fell off.
"But I thought you've never had to practice at anything, Officer Matsumoto?" Tetsuzaemon pressed. "Lucky Rangiku. Isn't that what they call you?"
She gave him a peculiar look, as if she found the question amusing but the answer painful.
"I know what they say about me. I'm afraid my luck ran out back in the Rukongai, Lieutenant Iba."
She pivoted away dramatically, only to turn back around, flip her blonde hair and shoot him a bewitching stare he'd never forget.
"But that's the burden of being a lady - you work your heart out just to make it look effortless."
