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A furious wind blanketed the entire training ground.
The bluish-white storm surged across several kilometers, cloaking the vast expanse in whirling breath that carved the world apart wherever it swept. No substance could withstand it—no matter, no spirit, no Bankai.
The towering golden Disha Jizō, who had moments ago raised its head in arrogance to howl at the heavens, suddenly froze mid-roar. The titanic figure, an embodiment of pride and twisted genius, shuddered—and then stilled completely.
With a final gust, the swirling wind shattered it.
Countless strands of spiritual wind blew across the Jizō's form, slicing it into dismembered lumps in a heartbeat. They scattered like dust over the shattered training field. No resistance, no delay. Nothing remained.
Kurotsuchi Mayuri's Bankai—Konjiki Ashisogi Jizō—had been utterly severed.
Moyu hovered in the center of the wind as if he were its source. Every strand of his long sleeves and dark hair floated around him, animated by the divine breath of the storm, as if the world itself moved in rhythm with his soul.
The final remnants of Kido barriers surrounding the battlefield crumbled into light, disintegrated by the roaring current that still surged violently within the borders of the training field, though none of it leaked beyond. The poisonous mist—once a living tsunami—was devoured and erased, annihilated at the sub-spiritual level. Not even the idea of it remained.
Silence gripped the battlefield.
All eyes fell on Moyu, their gazes burdened with disbelief. His figure shimmered in the heart of the tempest, a god of wind made flesh.
"Is this... Moyu's strength?" Kyoraku Shunsui whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
Even among captains, this was a power that defied the norm. He had crushed Kurotsuchi Mayuri's Bankai—without even releasing his own.
That was what unsettled Shunsui most.
Throughout the entire confrontation, Moyu had remained in Shikai.
Which meant... he hadn't even tapped into his full strength.
And the nature of his Zanpakutō—it reminded him of fire, yes, but not the devouring heat of Yamamoto's Ryūjin Jakka. This was a different domain, a fierce elemental sovereignty, and yet it had the same terrifying authority.
Perhaps, this Lan Yin would one day become the strongest wind-type Zanpakutō in Soul Society's history.
Beyond the barrier, the students of the Spiritual Arts Academy were utterly dumbstruck.
Earlier, when Moyu faced Byakuya, they had whispered among themselves that his rise to prominence was due to nepotism, propped up by the Kuchiki name and political favors. Even his selection for captain seemed tainted with doubt, further fed by Unohana Retsu's voluntary withdrawal.
But that last duel—this battle—obliterated every question they'd ever asked about him.
"This... this is captain-level battle, right?"
"He's terrifying... Madam is too strong..."
"Captain Kurotsuchi Mayuri's Bankai was... cut off! Lord Moyu is just too absurd."
"Looks like what Captain Unohana said was right. There's no way a logistics captain could stand against him."
Now that the crisis had passed, whispers filled the air again, and countless eyes turned toward Moyu—some filled with awe, some envy, others pure infatuation.
In the midst of the storm, Moyu moved. One step. Then another. Each one crushed down on Kurotsuchi Mayuri's soul, invisible yet suffocating.
The destruction of the golden Jizō had severely damaged Mayuri's body. The storm only made things worse. His weakened frame trembled, deteriorating with each gust. Yet, even battered and beaten, he stared at Moyu, eyes filled not with regret—but with manic greed, jealous hunger, a tyrant's dying madness.
Moyu's voice, cold and dismissive, carried on the wind. "Such a vile existence."
As his thoughts shifted, the wind thickened again. Stronger. Sharper.
The territory of the storm expanded. Wherever the breath of wind passed, it became his dominion.
Dust and broken stone rose in spirals, swallowing Mayuri's form. The wind howled, its roar filled with tearing, shrieking notes of spiritual dismemberment.
When the storm receded, Kurotsuchi Mayuri's body lay revealed—shredded and ruined, a grotesque ragdoll of flesh and bone. His skin hung in tatters, organs partially exposed, limbs barely attached. And yet—he clung to life.
Through grotesque self-modification, Mayuri's resilience had rivaled even the Menos-class Arrancar. He lacked High-Speed Regeneration, but his unnatural inventions made his vitality nearly equivalent. His body was a science project designed to cheat death.
Moyu stared at him with calm contempt. "Tough man."
He raised Lan Yin again, the wind rising in rhythm with his motion.
"Captain Kurotsuchi, I don't enjoy conflict. I prefer a peaceful life, one without struggle or unnecessary tension," Moyu said, voice steady. "But you've crossed a line."
"A threat must be extinguished before it spreads. Otherwise, it festers—like rot."
"So... farewell."
Without hesitation, he brought his blade down.
Clang!
The strike was intercepted mid-descent. Sparks flew, iron kissed iron, and the wind recoiled for a heartbeat.
Kyoraku Shunsui stood in front of him, eyes solemn, having broken through Byakuya's hold to arrive at the center.
"Moyu," he said evenly, "it's enough."
"This matter now belongs to the First Division—and Central 46."
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri will answer for his crimes."
"If you kill him, things will spiral out of control."
"And even the Kuchiki family might not escape the backlash."
Moyu looked at him, expression unreadable. "Unfortunate. I hate threats."
"Da Lan."
As the words left his mouth, the wind stirred again.
From the heavens, it came—wilder, more turbulent.
Lan Yin's blade gleamed, the blue-white glow darkening with ink-like markings that crawled along the metal. Moyu raised his sword high—and swung.
Kyoraku, having seen what this wind could do, tensed immediately and raised his Zanpakutō to block.
But no clash came.
"The wind is impermanent," Moyu murmured.
Kyoraku's eyes widened. He turned instinctively.
Behind him, Kurotsuchi Mayuri's mutilated body convulsed—then erupted.
The wind hidden within his body tore outward, hollowing him from the inside. His limbs split, torn apart by the surging current. His expression twisted in final shock before life drained completely from his body. Blood drenched the ground.
Reiatsu faded. He was gone.
Kyoraku's expression tightened. "Moyu..."
But Moyu only exhaled quietly.
Among all the captains, Kurotsuchi Mayuri had the greatest array of life-saving tricks. His strength was secondary—his cunning, unmatched. In a way, he reminded Moyu of Orochimaru from that strange shinobi village whispered about in wandering tales—always coming back, never staying dead.
Even now, Moyu sensed it. Hidden deep within that shattered body, tucked away in a secret recess of soul and bone, was a faint pulse. Indetectable to most. But not to him.
The man was still alive.
Kyoraku, unaware, had already pulled the broken corpse aside. If Moyu acted again, he would be blocked entirely.
What a loathsome man.
Countless thoughts churned behind Moyu's eyes. He'd have to kill Kurotsuchi Mayuri another way. A clean death wasn't good enough for someone like that.
"It's over," Kyoraku declared at last, his voice tinged with resignation.
"Your actions have violated Soul Society law. The captain assessment is irrelevant now."
"Prepare for a formal investigation."
But another voice, low and cold, cut him off.
"There will be no investigation."
Petals danced as Byakuya Kuchiki stepped forward, calm and unflinching.
"I will report this matter to Captain-Commander Yamamoto directly."
"The Kuchiki clan will take full responsibility."
His stance was final. He stood before Moyu, silently declaring: This man is under my protection.
Shunsui blinked in disbelief. This was not the Byakuya he knew. The man who worshipped tradition, who bent for no one, now broke the rules to protect his younger brother?
"Such intensity," came a sly drawl from the edge of the crowd.
Ichimaru Gin's fox-like grin sparkled as he stepped out, voice laced with mischief.
"Kurotsuchi-taichō's death... so tragic. What a pity, hmm?"
More captains began to arrive, drawn by the Reiatsu. Shunsui's headache deepened.
Of course they'd come. Not to mediate—but to watch the fireworks.
"I regret not acting sooner," Komamura Sajin muttered, barrel-helmet tilting down.
"Had I intervened, perhaps this tragedy could have been avoided. I will not forgive those who violate the system."
Shunsui sighed. Komamura, ever loyal to Yamamoto, wouldn't budge. But this wasn't a simple matter anymore.
"Heh!"
Laughter exploded from behind them.
Scarred and crackling with battle-lust, Zaraki Kenpachi strode forward, eye gleaming.
"He killed that trash Mayuri? Finally, someone interesting."
Yet another headache.
Chaos descended. The students of the Academy watched their captains, eyes wide. None of them matched the calm, noble image painted in their textbooks.
"Hey," a soft voice said beside Moyu.
Unohana Retsu had appeared, arms crossed lightly.
"I don't believe Moyu did anything wrong."
"It was all self-defense."
Shunsui blinked in disbelief.
Self-defense? Moyu had been on the offensive from start to finish!
Still—no one wanted to defend Kurotsuchi Mayuri, either.
"I wouldn't be so quick to pass judgment," Moyu said calmly, voice drawing their attention again.
He pointed to the corpse.
"That man isn't dead."
Everyone froze. Shunsui glanced between Moyu and the broken body.
No Reiatsu. Nothing at all.
But Moyu didn't seem to be lying.
"Leave it to the Fourth Division," Unohana said gently, her tone edged with cold threat.
"If Captain Kurotsuchi still lives, they'll confirm it."
Shunsui's intervention had halted Moyu—for now. But what happened next was inevitable.
Soon after, Moyu was summoned to the First Division.
—
Commander's Office.
Two figures sat in silence, cross-legged before a vermilion table.
Steam rose quietly from twin cups of tea. The air was still.
Yamamoto Genryūsai, eyes closed, sat motionless. No power, no presence—an old man waiting for death.
Opposite him, Moyu watched the tea leaves swirl in his cup, silently counting their dance.
Then Yamamoto opened his eyes.
In a breath, the air grew heavy. The room darkened with sheer spiritual pressure. Power surged like a tide, and Moyu felt time itself freeze.
The strongest Shinigami of the millennium.
"Kuchiki Moyu," Yamamoto said, his voice like iron, "explain your actions during the captain's assessment."
Moyu met his gaze. Knowing Kurotsuchi Mayuri still lived gave him confidence.
"Honestly, it wasn't my fault."
"Kurotsuchi-taichō's been after my Reiatsu since I arrived in Soul Society. He tried everything—offers, bribes, even blackmail. Wanted a copy to use in his experiments."
Moyu exhaled slowly, voice steady.
"I refused. For someone like him, giving away Reiatsu is like feeding poison to the world."
Yamamoto remained silent. But his stillness now had weight.
The air remained heavy.
Judgment was coming.
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