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The carved wooden door creaked open, revealing a wide, spotless room bathed in soft daylight. Su Li stepped into the captain's office of the Second Division, eyes scanning the space with faint satisfaction. Clean lines, polished floors, fresh ink, crisp paper, and a sense of unfamiliar luxury greeted him.
Once, this had been Sui-Feng's office. But after his promotion, she had moved out without a word. Her new office now sat just across the corridor, quiet and spartan as always.
"My lord," Omaeda said, puffing his chest proudly, "for forty years, I've cleaned this office every single day with my own hands. I wanted it to be ready the moment you returned. All the tea leaves, inkstones, brushes—even the chairs—were chosen by the servants just for you."
He bowed deeply, eyes gleaming with flattery. Behind him, Shimizu Ken and the others lined up like well-trained dogs, expressions locked in sycophantic admiration.
Su Li picked up a writing brush, feeling its soft bristles with quiet appreciation. This was no common tool; the craftsmanship was unmistakably high-end. Even the furniture radiated refinement.
To Su Li, who had grown up scraping by with Aunt Inoue, this much comfort felt surreal. Her meager earnings had barely fed the two of them. Their home had been modest—cramped, dusty, and perpetually cold. Later, after becoming a captain, Su Li had chosen to isolate himself at the barren Yuanzi School, a place not fit for even common living. Compared to that, this office—clean, well-stocked, and lined with polished wood—was nothing short of overwhelming.
"You've done well, Omaeda," Su Li said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Tears welled instantly in Omaeda's eyes. "T-Thank you, Captain! That one compliment makes forty years of effort worthwhile!"
"Since you've been handling the division in my absence," Su Li added, "continue overseeing team affairs. You've managed it well."
The moment those words fell, Omaeda's eyes went glassy with emotion. "Yes, sir! I will serve with all my strength!"
"We'll follow Captain Su Li to the end!" Shimizu Ken and the others chimed in, voices trembling with loyalty.
Su Li nodded, the faint trace of amusement in his eyes betraying his calm face.
"What are your orders, my lord?" Omaeda asked eagerly, eyes shining.
Everyone leaned in slightly, eager. They had waited for this moment—forty years of anticipation pressing on their shoulders. The genius who had once turned the Gotei 13 upside down was back. What would his first move be? Some brilliant strategy? A revolutionary maneuver? A strike that would shake the very fabric of Soul Society?
Su Li's tone was mild. "Omaeda, head to the Jing Band."
"Yes!" Omaeda responded sharply, nearly saluting. "And then?"
"Tell them I'm buying drinks later," Su Li said with a laugh.
Silence dropped like a stone.
The officers froze.
The legendary captain—missing for four decades—had returned. Expectations surged. Cheers erupted throughout the barracks. For veterans who'd seen the horrors of Hueco Mundo, who remembered the way Su Li had once turned a single sword swing into a battlefield miracle, his return was cause for celebration.
The younger recruits, though they had never seen him in action, caught the fever of the moment. The Second Division had always felt... incomplete. No third seat. No vice-captain. Just veterans holding the line. They longed for a real leader. Someone they could follow. A proper captain.
And now, they had one.
Hopes ran wild. Rumors spread. Plans formed. What would the first order be? Would he lead an elite squad into Hueco Mundo? Launch a reformation of the OnmitsukidĹŤ? Would he crush Arrancars with a glance?
But the truth soon came out.
Su Li's first move... was a sake party.
Over the next month, Su Li did nothing resembling work. He wandered. Spent afternoons drinking with the Eighth Division. Took slow strolls through Rukongai. Smiled too much. Laughed too easily. Like a retiree with nothing left to do but breathe and sip tea.
Second Division members were stunned. Their dreams had been vivid—now reduced to wine fumes and idle chatter.
Sui-Feng, more than anyone, couldn't make sense of it.
She had trained beside Su Li for decades, watched him sweat blood in silence, watched him push himself past breaking points without a word of complaint. And now—he was… this?
She tried confronting him, once, twice, many times. Her words never seemed to land. He would nod vaguely, offer a clever remark, or divert with a smirk and a joke.
She couldn't take it anymore.
One morning, Sui-Feng submitted her leave request, locked herself in her family estate, and refused to answer her door.
The rest of the Gotei 13 wasn't silent either.
Some captains whispered of Su Li's newfound "freedom" as a sign of enlightenment. Others called it disgraceful, the mark of a man who had abandoned duty. A few even wondered if forty years in solitude had fractured his mind.
Zaraki Kenpachi, unsurprisingly, was the loudest. "If that kid dares call himself a captain now, he's not even worth my blade."
Even Yamamoto, though less vocal, felt the sting of disappointment.
"This child still has emotions weighing on his heart," the old man said quietly. "He's not over the edge of death he walked once."
And so, Yamamoto said nothing. No reprimands. No pressure. Only silent hope—that one day, Su Li would return to himself.
The whispers only grew. Veterans murmured in private. Recruits muttered openly. Eventually, someone gave voice to what everyone had started thinking.
Captain Salted Fish.
A mocking title. But it spread like wildfire.
At first, only outsiders said it. Then, quietly, some Second Division rookies adopted the nickname, frustration boiling over into disrespect.
"You don't get to call Captain Su Li that!" Shimizu, now a mid-seat officer, snapped one afternoon.
But it didn't matter.
Even when his voice broke from yelling, the name persisted.
Captain Salted Fish.
Su Li's reputation—once a rising flame—slid into ridicule, his name drifting from glory into gossip.
One night, in the Eighth Division captain's dormitory, Su Li sat cross-legged in front of a Go board, staring at the game while Kyoraku Shunsui spun his sake bottle.
"How's it going, Captain Salted Fish? Can't make your move?"
Kyoraku grinned, eyes twinkling with playfulness.
"Tch… don't rush me," Su Li muttered, brows drawn tight.
He studied the pieces. Then, just as his fingers reached for one, a knock broke the silence. A member of the Eighth Division slid open the door.
"Captain," the man said, bowing. "A report from the Technology Development Bureau."
Kyoraku waved him in with a lazy flick of the wrist, eyes barely lifting. "Speak."
"There was a Hollow surge in Karakura Town. Multiple Gillian-class Menos followed."
Su Li's hand paused mid-air, his fingers hovering above the board.
Kyoraku leaned forward, voice lower. "Then?"
"All targets were neutralized. No spiritual residue, no collateral. Even the Gillians were repelled. The force responsible remains unidentified. The Bureau is still investigating."
Kyoraku's brow creased, thoughts tightening. "A full surge crushed without a trace. That's not just strange—it's surgical."
Across from him, Su Li's lips curved slightly as he dropped the Go piece onto the board with a soft click, then rose without hesitation.
Kyoraku looked up, confused. "You're done playing?"
Without turning, Su Li answered, voice steady. "I've played long enough."
He crossed the room and stepped through the door, leaving behind the scent of ink and the fading echo of footfalls.
Kyoraku stared at the empty doorway, still seated beneath the quiet weight of that moment.
Whatever had stirred in Karakura Town wasn't just an anomaly. It had awakened something else.
And the real game had finally moved to the board.
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