"What in the world is this thing?"
Makoto muttered, casually tossing the tumor-like, sticky orb to the ground.
He glanced down at the viscous liquid clinging to his hand, his face twisting in disgust.
His Zanpakutō, ever curious, piped up in a loud whisper.
[Oh! It's deoxyribo!]
"Shut up!"
Makoto snapped, cutting off its voice with irritation.
He reached out, wiping his hands twice on Kurayashiki Ryoma's clothes.
Ryoma's face darkened with annoyance.
Hearing Makoto's words, he crouched down, using his scabbard to prod at the two halves of the "corpse" on the ground, examining it closely.
But the more he looked, the more his brows furrowed.
"No mask, no Hollow hole."
"But during the fight just now, the power coming from it was definitely Hollow energy, wasn't it?"
Kurayashiki Ryoma's voice carried a hint of confusion.
"Could it be some special breed?"
Makoto gave the scattered tendrils on the ground a light kick.
Upon closer inspection, they weren't too different from the traces he'd found in Rukongai.
He'd initially thought it was some formidable monster.
Good thing it was only this level of threat.
"But its destination was the Nest of Maggots?" Makoto mumbled to himself, still puzzled.
The events of this night felt jarringly abrupt to them.
It was baffling.
As he pondered, Makoto turned to Ryoma. "How many prisoners are currently held in the Nest of Maggots?"
"Over two hundred thirty, maybe more. The latest count hasn't been finalized." Kurayashiki Ryoma replied, his knowledge of operations far sharper than Makoto's hands-off approach.
"Captain, does this have anything to do with the Hollow invasion?"
"Hard to say."
Makoto's brows knit together as he briefly recounted what he'd found in Rukongai, musing, "The timing and locations of these Hollow appearances aren't something you can chalk up to coincidence. It feels like they've had a specific purpose from the start."
"Either way, we need to stay on high alert."
"Yes, sir."
Ryoma's expression grew serious.
As the two exchanged information, Makoto suddenly pressed a hand to his ear, picking up a spiritual communication from afar.
"Hello? Captain Makoto!"
"It's Jūshirō. Where are you right now?"
The voice on the other end was urgent.
Makoto snapped to attention. "Jūshirō? Has the prison been attacked too?"
"Attacked?"
Jūshirō Jūshirō's voice faltered briefly before picking up speed. "No! The prison hasn't been hit directly, but we found a tunnel leading underground on the south side! The surrounding barrier was somehow corroded by the enemy, and we only just noticed it."
"Over sixty prisoners are missing. I was about to notify you…"
At this, Makoto's expression froze.
Cutting off Jūshirō mid-sentence, he turned to Ryoma. "Take your squad and head into the Nest of Maggots immediately. Confirm the prisoner count!"
"?!"
Ryoma blinked in surprise but quickly led a team underground without hesitation.
Makoto himself leapt into the air, surveying the surrounding terrain from above.
Yet, he found nothing.
In just a short while, Kurayashiki Ryoma and his team emerged from a workshop district about three ri away, their faces grim.
"Captain!"
"The underground barrier here's been compromised too!"
Ryoma couldn't believe someone had the means to silently breach a barrier like that.
They'd been guarding the only exit, yet they'd completely missed it.
A feint.
But Makoto didn't say much.
The thoughts swirling in his mind weren't something he could easily share with his subordinates.
If it's just Hollows, could they really grasp the layout of the Nest of Maggots and prison barriers within Seireitei in such a short time?
If not…
Does that mean some Shinigami are working with Hollows?
If so, this wasn't just a simple Hueco Mundo invasion.
Makoto's gaze darkened.
Before he could decide who to consult, another spiritual communication buzzed in his ear.
"Makoto-kun."
"Does the Ninth Division have any spare hands?"
Senjumaru's voice came through, calm and detached as always. "The Seventh and Tenth Divisions' barracks are currently under siege by Hollows surging from underground."
"Their captains are likely tied up supporting Rukongai and can't return in time. They urgently need backup."
"Captain Shihōin has already led a team there."
"Got it." Makoto replied calmly. "I'll take some people over now."
"Also, can you predict where the Hollows will breach Seireitei next?"
"Not yet."
Senjumaru's response was brisk. "The Dangai Monitoring Section hasn't detected how they're opening spatial channels."
"Then…" Makoto paused, "can you track the current locations of all captains and vice-captains?"
At that, Senjumaru, standing on her hub and staring at a large screen, froze momentarily.
Slowly, a faint smile curled her lips.
"Oh?"
"Found a clue, Makoto-kun?"
Makoto's tone remained steady. "Just taking precautions."
"I understand."
Once the communication cut off, Makoto exhaled slowly, his fingers gently massaging his temples.
Conflicts between Shinigami were far more perilous than battles with Hollows.
…
Clang!
The blade tore through a bone-like mask, scraping with a piercing screech.
Under the cover of night, dark figures darted over low rooftops like birds, charging toward the tide of Hollows surging in the distance.
Perhaps to vent the frustration pent up in his chest, Kurayashiki Ryoma moved at a blistering pace, leading the charge at the front of the formation. Like a hot knife through butter, he carved a dramatic gash through the dense swarm of Hollows, his blade sweeping through thousands of enemies with ease, unmatched in combat.
Makoto trailed slowly at the rear, his gaze sweeping over the relatively intact houses around them.
His senses clearly picked up the presence of ordinary souls cowering in their homes, trembling behind windows.
In stark contrast, the Seventh Division barracks ahead were stained with blood.
Countless Seventh Division members and Hollows clashed like a meat grinder, throwing their forces into the small courtyard in a frenzy of mutual slaughter.
Even on the relatively clean path Makoto walked, several mangled Shinigami corpses lay scattered.
As for the Hollows' bodies, they had already dissolved into clouds of dust under the Zanpakutō's strikes.
The more he saw, the tighter his brows furrowed.
This situation was clearly abnormal.
Normally, Hollows targeted the delicious, vulnerable souls of the living.
That's why, despite most Hollows naturally possessing the ability to tear through and traverse space, their primary hunting grounds were always the soul-rich World of the Living and the poorly defended Rukongai.
A situation like this, where Hollows recklessly charged Shinigami barracks as if they had no regard for their lives, was unprecedented.
The more he observed, the heavier his thoughts grew.
The only silver lining was that, so far, there weren't many Adjuchas-level Menos Grandes in sight.
Just as he thought this, a cold, sharp shout rang out from the distance.
"Hadō #63: Raikōhō!"
A golden bolt of lightning flared in the depths of the night, sweeping hundreds of meters like a torrent, piercing straight into the heart of the retreating Hollow swarm, wiping out a vast swath of enemies in an instant.
Immediately after, a young man with long hair, clad in a pure white haori and wearing a Kenseikan, drew his Zanpakuto and charged into the center of the Hollows.
As he did, his blade, under the pressure of condensed Reiatsu, abruptly dissolved into wisps of pure white dust, slashing toward the countless Hollows blocking his path.
At the same time, he called out in a low voice:
"Soar, Fūsenpu!"
The moment his voice rang out, intense winds suddenly rose around him, carrying fine white threads like hair, spreading out in all directions.
The moment the surrounding Hollows sensed the immense source of Reiatsu, their already blood-red pupils flared with uncontrollable madness. Like ravenous beasts driven to the brink of starvation, they lunged toward the man, devoid of any shred of reason.
Yet, faced with this onslaught, the long-haired man remained unfazed, his expression cold and unyielding as he watched them.
Only when the Hollows breached within a few dozen meters of him did he act.
He closed his eyes, raised two fingers forward, and spoke in a chilling tone:
"Tear them apart."
The instant his words fell, the faint white threads drifting in the air, previously unremarkable, suddenly connected as if drawn by a magnetic force.
The once-separated strands wove together under his command, forming a massive net that enveloped the area within dozens of meters around him.
In that same moment, the seemingly soft, fragile threads transformed into filaments sharper and tougher than steel.
In a single breath, the dozens of Hollows charging him were sliced apart as if caught in a laser grid, their bodies collapsing into scattered, irreparable fragments across the ground.
With the gentle night breeze, the man's long hair fluttered, his gaze cold and resolute as it swept the surroundings.
The remaining Shinigami in the barracks, catching sight of him, erupted in shouts:
"Captain Kuchiki!"
"The captain's here!"
"Counterattack! Begin the counterattack!"
A clamor of voices rose around them.
Kuchiki Ginrei ignored the commotion, sweeping his hand forward. The net-like "wind threads" Shattered into countless blade-like fragments, spreading toward the Hollow swarm ahead.
They effortlessly obliterated a vast swath of enemies.
Clearly, for a captain-level Shinigami, a Hollow swarm of this scale, however numerous, was merely a matter of expending a bit of Reiatsu.
But when he cleared the Hollows and caught sight of the figure at the barracks' entrance, his eyes involuntarily narrowed.
"Makoto-sama."
Kuchiki Ginrei's voice carried respect as he gave a slight bow.
Compared to the hotheaded child from three hundred years ago at the negotiation table, he had matured significantly.
"Hm."
"Clear out the remaining Hollows first."
Makoto dismissed the formalities with a wave of his hand.
Kuchiki Ginrei nodded naturally, his demeanor neither warm nor cold, and turned to charge back into the Hollow swarm.
In just a short time, the beastly roars within the barracks faded into silence.
But when Kuchiki Ginrei emerged again, his expression was noticeably darker than before.
Something had happened.
Moments later, Chika and Yorita arrived.
"Makoto, Ginrei!"
Yorita, now sporting a beard and looking far more mature, retained his brash personality, speaking urgently:
"How's it going here?"
Kuchiki Ginrei's face was grim. "These Hollows are acting strangely."
"All the elite heirs of the Kuchiki, Kyōraku, and Kasumioji on duty at the barracks today are dead."
"Meanwhile, the ordinary squad members suffered minimal casualties."
"What?"
The other three froze at his words.
Could Hollows really choose their targets so precisely?
Sensing their confusion, Kuchiki Ginrei wasted no time, turning to another figure. "Third Seat Kisaragi, repeat what you told me."
"Yes, sir!"
Kisaragi Nobutake stepped forward, blood still staining his shoulder, though he seemed oblivious to it. His voice was low and somber:
"After the barracks were attacked, I led the seated officers on duty to resist."
"But the Hollows, upon encountering us, acted as if they had no fear of death. They completely ignored those of us at the front and charged straight for Ninth Seat Kuchiki and Tenth Seat Kasumioji at the rear."
"We at the front couldn't get back in time to help. They were torn apart."
"It was… almost like they had specific targets from the start."
"Highly abnormal."
His tone carried a trace of hesitation, but he laid out his suspicions fully.
"Is it the same on your end?!"
Yorita blurted out after hearing their account.
Makoto paused, turning to Chika.
The dark-skinned captain nodded. "When we arrived, the Tenth Division had several young noble heirs under siege as well."
"The ordinary squad members around them were ignored."
"We thought it was a coincidence…"
The precision of these targets was uncanny.
Moreover, since when had Hollows, typically cowardly and self-preserving, become so fearless?
Questions piled up in their minds.
And when the issue touched on the divide between former nobles and common squad members, it became dangerously sensitive.
Though three hundred years had passed, the massacre of Seireitei's nobility by the Genji School had not faded with time.
Instead, as former noble families rose within the Gotei 13, the issue had resurfaced. Compared to the majority of common-born squad members, the great noble families, with their million-year legacies, undeniably possessed superior talent.
Naturally, their presence among seated officers and higher ranks was increasingly significant.
"No matter what, we must investigate this!" Kuchiki Ginrei, after a long silence, growled through gritted teeth. "This was clearly a premeditated, targeted attack on the nobility!"
"Calm down."
Makoto's voice was warm but firm as he tried to reason. "The Nest of Maggots and the prison were also attacked, and we still haven't found the culprits."
"Do the squad members you lost have anything in common?"
"How can that compare?!"
Kuchiki Ginrei's temper flared, his eyes locking onto Makoto's with a scowl as he raised his voice. "How can lowly prisoners compare to the safety of the Five Great Noble Family's heirs?!"
"We need to focus our forces immediately to protect-"
But before he could finish, Makoto cut him off, his voice suddenly chilling:
"I told you to calm down."
His words landed heavily.
Makoto cast a cold, indifferent glance at Ginrei.
A glint of azure flashed in the depths of his pupils.
The moment their eyes met, a piercing, almost unbearable buzzing erupted in Ginrei's ears.
His once-clear vision warped as if distorted by intense heat.
An overwhelming Reiatsu crashed over his entire body, as if an invisible mountain pressed down on his shoulders and back. His muscles and organs strained downward, his knees trembling as though they might buckle at any moment.
His throat felt constricted by an unseen hand, his breathing labored and heavy, his lungs burning as if scorched by fire. Suffocation crept in unnoticed.
His eyes filled with web-like veins of blood in an instant.
"Guh…"
Ginrei instinctively opened his mouth, his trembling wrist inching toward his sword's hilt.
But in the next moment, the crushing pressure vanished as abruptly as it had come.
His movement froze.
Sweat streamed down his temples and back like a river, his hair drenched and clinging to his skin, sending chills from the depths of his core.
Yet, when he glanced at Chika and Yorita, they seemed oblivious, merely looking at him with mild confusion.
Even Kisaragi appeared unaware, puzzled by Ginrei's odd expression.
Realizing this, the fire in Ginrei's heart extinguished.
Just Reiatsu alone could do this?
His throat bobbed with a quiet gulp.
Makoto maintained his usual warm, serene demeanor, watching him quietly.
"Calmed down?"
"…"
"Yes."
Though his face remained stern, Ginrei's emotions had shifted entirely from moments before.
The faint arrogance he'd developed after mastering Bankai began to dissolve.
Looking at the young man before him, seemingly no older than himself, Ginrei recalled the countless feats Makoto had achieved centuries ago, dominating Seireitei and the Soul Society.
His mind cleared.
Ginrei spoke quickly. "According to surviving squad members, seventeen noble heirs were killed in targeted Hollow attacks."
"Their traits… young, highly talented, but relatively weak in strength."
Chika frowned. "How many people knew about them?"
"Many."
"Or rather, the Kuchiki has been deliberately publicizing them." Ginrei admitted without hesitation, his voice low. "Haven't most of the funds from recent Conferences been allocated for this? You'd know, Chika-kun."
"Ah, haha!" Chika laughed, turning away.
He'd probably slept through those meetings.
But upon hearing these traits, Makoto's expression darkened.
He asked swiftly, "How many of your familiy's disciples are currently at the Shin'ō Academy?"
In that moment, the pupils of everyone present constricted.
What?!
…
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The earth trembled, rocks and debris scattering.
Tendrils shot forth like bullets, piercing flesh and burrowing into the ground, tearing through everything in their path, be it man or brick wall, amid flashes of steel.
Senior students in red-and-white uniforms, rallied by their instructors, drew their unawakened Zanpakutō and charged toward the towering figure.
Blood splattered across the ground.
Farther away, a small boy with yellow pigtails, dressed in a blue-and-white junior uniform, was dragged by the hand of an older girl, clearly much bigger than him.
Amid the howling wind, the boy's light frame seemed on the verge of being swept away by the gusts of her Shunpo.
The girl ahead paid no heed, fleeing desperately.
Behind them, a chorus of anguished screams echoed.
Using Shunpo, the two darted through the academy's buildings, their Reiatsu depleting rapidly.
Finally, they slipped into a narrow alley. The older girl stopped, crouching at the entrance and cautiously peering out.
The tiny boy with yellow pigtails, his face streaked with tears and snot, his eyes red and mouth trembling, struggled to stifle his sobs.
"…Y-Yoshida-nee."
His voice quivered uncontrollably. "Is that thing… a Hollow?"
Only when she heard his voice did the trembling girl turn back.
She didn't look much older than the yellow-haired boy.
But at his shaky question, something clicked. Her red-rimmed eyes softened, and she forced a strained smile.
"It's okay, Shinji."
"The instructors and the sixth-year seniors are out there, along with tons of strong upperclassmen."
"A thing like that, barging in out of nowhere? It'll be taken care of in no time!"
She spoke reassuringly, but her left hand clung tightly to her scabbard.
Her fingertips were white from the grip.
She was lying.
As a fourth-year, Yoshida Misaki had learned Reiatsu perception and excelled in sensing and manipulating spiritual particles.
Barring any surprises, she'd likely join the Kidō Corps after graduation.
Or maybe the Fourth Division, as a medical officer. That wouldn't be bad either.
She was skilled in those areas.
But that same skill let her feel the stark gap between the instructors, seniors, and the massive Hollow.
Is that an Adjuchas?
Or a Vasto Lorde?
Normally, monsters of that caliber should be lurking in the deepest reaches of Hueco Mundo.
Why was it here?
Yoshida wanted to cry.
But with an even more frightened child beside her, she couldn't let a single tear fall or show any weakness.
Suppressing her fear, she gripped Shinji's wrist tightly and spoke as gently as she could:
"Don't worry, Shinji."
"We'll be fine."
Shinji Hirako, hearing her words, tightened his small face and nodded firmly.
Yet tears still streamed from his eyes with each nod, falling in large drops.
As a first-year who'd barely started, still grasping the basics of Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō, Shinji was already remarkably brave. To witness his classmates, friends he'd spent day and night with, slaughtered in an instant and still hold onto his sanity was no small feat.
Seeing his dazed expression, Yoshida couldn't help but smile. She took a deep breath, calming her racing heart.
"Rested enough? We need to keep moving."
"Yeah!"
Shinji Hirako straightened, bracing his knees.
He was a bright kid.
He knew that if they could escape the academy district, they'd find patrolling Shinigami everywhere.
If they could just get out…
With that thought, Yoshida grabbed Shinji's hand.
Unbeknownst to them, the distant sounds of battle and screams had quietly faded.
"Run!"
Yoshida stepped out of the alley, shouting as she pushed her Shunpo to the limit.
Shinji Hirako followed, struggling to keep up.
But this time, for some reason, the familiar rush of high-speed inertia didn't pull him along as before.
Thud!
He crashed to the ground.
In the next moment, Shinji instinctively looked up.
A white tendril, whip-like, lashed out, sweeping just a foot from his face, so fast it left only a white blur on his retina.
The girl who'd stepped out of the alley turned back in shock.
But her body was already pierced by the razor-sharp tendril.
Crunch! Crunch!
Amid a grotesque sucking sound that pierced the eardrums, the girl, mouth agape as if to speak, melted rapidly, like a candle set aflame.
In her final moment, Yoshida looked at the tiny boy behind her, forcing words from her dissolving throat:
"…Run!"
Her Zanpakutō fell limply from her hand.
The small figure that had been impaled on the tendril was gone, leaving only a bloodstained uniform.
Shinji Hirako instinctively clutched the fallen Zanpakuto, staring blankly at the fabric dangling in the air. His voice seemed strangled by some overwhelming emotion.
Something in his mind snapped.
"Ah… AHHH!"
As if losing the ability to speak, he let out hoarse, incoherent screams.
His tear- and snot-streaked face contorted, his expression warped.
His small hands fumbled with the oversized scabbard and hilt, struggling to draw the gleaming blade.
Even lifting the blade with both hands was a monumental task for his frail frame, but he howled, raising it high, completely forgetting Yoshida's final plea.
With her blade, he pointed at her killer.
Unconsciously, his trembling legs found strength. His body tensed like steel, his steps shifting from shaky to steady.
Holding the Zanpakuto, nearly as tall as he was, Shinji let out a wail and charged recklessly at the tendril.
But miracles are rare in this world.
Just as he thought he'd cleave the obstacle in two, the tendril whipped upward like a lash.
BOOM!
His small body was flung into the air, tumbling into distant ruins, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Debris scattered.
That single strike left Shinji's body feeling like it was falling apart.
The sudden surge of courage gave way to pain and an overwhelming fear of death flooding his mind.
All his strength seemed sapped by that fleeting blow.
He couldn't even move.
He could only watch, helpless.
Just like when he saw Yoshida killed.
I'm going to fall.
The thought struck him abruptly.
Yet his body, defiantly, rose shakily.
Fall down…
Sticky blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, obscuring his vision.
Unknowingly, his blood-tinted sight warped, as if the world had inverted.
Sky and earth reversed.
Only the tendril remained, pointing at him like a spear.
Shinji could feel his core trembling, as if one step forward would send him crashing to the ground, the dull pain making him wince.
Even standing still filled him with dread.
But no matter what, he wanted to take that step forward.
He couldn't stay still!
Driven by a contradiction of bone-deep fear and courage, his voice, choked with sobs, trembled violently. Tears and snot streamed down as he instinctively shouted a name:
"Collapse!"
"Sakanade!"
The moment his voice rang out, the whip-like tendril shot past his temple, grazing his cheek, and pierced the thick wall behind him.
Golden mushroom-like hair fluttered.
A shallow cut marked the boy's cheek.
But in that same instant, blood sprayed from the tendril's severed end, drenching half his clothes.
"Not bad, kid."
The tall, lean man standing before him had a deep scar slashing across his face, his complexion sallow and his voice raspy.
He didn't look approachable.
On his captain's haori, the bold number "13" was emblazoned.
Sumashi Shin'ichirō glanced at the tendril stretching from the distance, his tone flat. "Unlike me, who's got no talent, you've got potential."
"You'd better keep living."
Shinji Hirako stood frozen, staring at him, snot seeping into his mouth.
Sumoshi didn't look back. He slowly drew his Zanpakuto, turning toward the alley's far end.
"Come out."
"You… you're not a Hollow, are you?"
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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