Crimson clouds thickened over the sky.
The sunlight vanished behind layers of ominous shadow.
As if the heavens themselves couldn't bear the carnage below, the skies wept—rains falling in vain to quell the infernos raging across the Seireitei.
But in the courtyard of the Shiba clan estate, amidst the smoldering chaos, there was one glimmer of hope.
Higashi Shuuichi, the Daitōkarichō—Chief of the Blade-Hunting Division—had won.
He hadn't killed the Arrancar, but he'd driven it off, grievously wounded.
"...Thank you."
Kūkaku Shiba finally regained control of her body the moment Shuuichi released his Zanpakutō's Shikai, Tōgen.
She had heard of him before—from her brother, Kaien.
It was Shuuichi, Kaien said, who ensured his survival during the Osaka disaster in the Human World ten years prior.
But after that, Shuuichi vanished. There were even rumors that he had died during the incident. It wasn't until recently—when he returned publicly as the head of the Blade-Hunters—that Kūkaku remembered him at all.
Not that she expected they'd ever meet again. And yet—
This man wasn't just decent-looking. His strength was genuine.
Stories meant nothing. Watching him in action—that was something else.
"No, I should be the one thanking you," Shuuichi said, bowing his head humbly. "As Chief of the Blade-Hunters, it is my duty to protect the noble families. I arrived too late to prevent this disaster. Your grace in not blaming me is more than I deserve."
The fight between him and Tōsen Kaname had been orchestrated. They couldn't truly fight—not yet. But Shuuichi had wounded him for real. That, too, was part of the plan.
Tōsen needed injuries to explain his retreat in the report to the Gotei 13—claimed he was overpowered by Menos.
So Shuuichi's "performance" served dual purposes—proof of his might for Kūkaku, and a narrative fix for Tōsen's absence.
"I thought you only listened to the orders of the Kanyashiro family," Kūkaku said warily. "Was it Kanyashiro Kamihara who sent you to save us?"
Her romantic thrill had faded; Kūkaku wasn't some adolescent girl. The strategist in her returned fast.
"Lord Kamihara? No," Shuuichi replied. "In fact, I haven't even met with him today. I was in Rukongai recruiting new candidates for the Blade-Hunters. I sensed the spiritual pressure and returned. When I arrived, I found you under attack."
His tone was casual, yet purposeful. Shuuichi needed to rebrand himself in her eyes.
He couldn't afford to be just another Kanyashiro pawn—no one in the Shiba clan would trust a man bound to that family.
But he couldn't push the act too hard. It had to feel organic. Subtle. Let her fill in the blanks.
In that, Shuuichi excelled.
It was probably why Aizen had chosen Gin and Tōsen over him—he was too competent.
"I see..." Kūkaku replied, unconvinced.
She didn't fully believe him. His affiliation was still too sensitive.
Chief of the Blade-Hunters, the Kanyashiro-backed enforcers authorized by Central 46...
And the Kanyashiro had always despised the Shiba.
But Shuuichi understood the art of patience—slowly win her over, not with charm, but with contradiction. If she'd resisted Aizen's illusions all these years, she wouldn't fall for heroics alone.
Kūkaku wasn't Halibel. She'd seen enough court corruption to fill volumes.
Still, as a first impression, Shuuichi's entrance had been perfect.
The rest could be cultivated over time.
And Aizen wasn't in a rush.
Shuuichi didn't need to rush either.
Before Kūkaku could press further, he reversed his grip on his Zanpakutō—and stabbed it into his own chest.
A blade plunged. Blood spurted.
"Shuuichi! What are you doing?!" Kūkaku cried, rushing forward.
She'd only questioned his loyalties. Did he have to go this far?
A pang of guilt gnawed at her.
He could've summoned a reishi puppet from Tōgen's inner realm. He had reserves.
But no—this had more impact.
Let her see the price he was willing to pay.
And this wasn't the first time Shuuichi had stabbed himself. Ever since he gained regenerative immortality, he'd developed a new habit: topping off his puppet supply with his own flesh.
"No need to worry, Lady Shiba," he said gently, wincing as he drew the blade back out, feigning weakness. "The situation in the Seireitei is dire. I can't stay to guard you."
"The Arrancar I fought isn't dead. He may return. I had to leave a guardian behind."
As he spoke, the white puppet—a faceless soldier of reishi—emerged beside her.
Kūkaku's breath caught.
Such dedication.
Now she remembered Kaien's words:
"The best thing I got from the Osaka mission wasn't killing the traitor. It was learning something important:
Higashi Shuuichi, the former Squad 11 Vice-Captain who defected with Urahara—he didn't betray Soul Society out of malice. His heart's still loyal.
And you know what? He still respects nobles like us.
He was framed. I swear, I'll find a way to clear his name."
Now, Kūkaku believed him.
"But your condition—?" she whispered.
Shuuichi turned away.
"I'll protect the Seireitei."
His voice lingered like firelight.
Truth was—he had to go.
The self-proclaimed King of Hueco Mundo—Baraggan Louisenbairn—had reached the front lines.
And now stood before the Captain-Commander himself, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.
"So we meet again, Yamamoto Jūgoku," Baraggan sneered, using the ancient name from centuries past.
It was during that era that a younger Yamamoto—barely crowned with titles—had taken advantage of Baraggan's weakened state and crushed him.
Now Baraggan had returned.
"Baraggan Louisenbairn," Yamamoto said calmly, his voice a steel blade. "Who gave you the gall to invade the Seireitei? Did a thousand years not teach you anything?"
Baraggan laughed.
"You call that a lesson? You only beat me when I was crippled! Today, I'll show you my true power!"
Yamamoto narrowed his eyes.
He couldn't use his full Zanpakutō here. Not without destroying all of Soul Society.
Even his Shikai was causing damage—buildings melted, the air warped from the heat.
His Bankai, Zanka no Tachi, would incinerate everything, even the Central 46 below.
He needed to end this fast.
He drew his sword in a flash—Fushichō. A slash so fierce it split earth and sky.
But Baraggan's aging field slowed the blow to a crawl.
Yamamoto's strike, once a meteor, became a dying flame—just enough to shatter Baraggan's throne.
Baraggan laughed louder than ever.
"That's all you've got? Come on, Yamamoto! Release your Bankai! Or stop embarrassing yourself!"
Then came the moment Yamamoto had hoped to delay.
Baraggan's Resurrección.
"Rot, Arrogante."
A golden crown formed. His flesh turned to bone. Flames wrapped his skeletal form. A silver chain connected his axe to the regalia of death.
The battlefield became his empire.
Just as Yamamoto prepared to finally unleash his Bankai—
A figure stepped forward.
Higashi Shuuichi.
"Captain-Commander Yamamoto," he said, his Zanpakutō already unsheathed. "I know your Bankai would risk destroying the Seireitei. Let me fight him."
"I'll deal with Baraggan."
"You can clean up the rest of the hollows."
Yamamoto blinked.
This wasn't protocol. Shuuichi was supposed to stay near the nobles—Kanyashiro's personal hound.
But he was serious.
He wasn't asking for permission.
He was taking the stage.
Yamamoto exhaled.
He released his Shikai, withdrew, and let the scorched battlefield belong to Shuuichi.
Baraggan tried to pursue.
But Shuuichi cut him off with Fushichō—the same technique Yamamoto had just used.
Baraggan froze.
"You dare?! You mock me with his own sword technique?!"
Shuuichi stepped forward.
"Why not? We've had a score to settle for years, haven't we?"
"Let's end it. Now."
The permission had been granted—Aizen had lifted the leash.
And Shuuichi's gaze now held only one message.
Baraggan Louisenbairn. Today, you die.