{🥳Joining Patreon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please support me.🥰 You can access upto 100+ advance chapter through Patreon by using the link:
Faced with the decline of the Shiba family, Moyu's momentum surged as strategies formed behind his calm expression, ideas flowing with the calculated speed and relentless force of a captain who had already mapped every path before uttering the first word.
"First," he said with the measured confidence of someone who anticipated resistance, "merge with a major noble family—like the Kuchiki."
The words landed with undeniable weight, and the stunned silence that followed from both Kaien and Kūkaku carried more truth than any verbal rejection could have offered.
"I know you won't agree," Moyu continued without pausing, brushing aside expected objections with the ease of someone long past persuasion, "so I've prepared another path entirely."
"Second: strength—your own," he added, pivoting without losing momentum.
Kūkaku's frown deepened, arms crossing with instinctive defiance as frustration bubbled to the surface, her voice sharp with a bitterness that had clearly built over years. "We know that already, but strength doesn't come overnight. If it did, we wouldn't be here, stuck where we are."
She stopped herself there, a flicker of restraint pulling her back, though the bitterness in her voice had already spoken volumes about the burdens carried by the fallen Shiba.
Everyone in the room understood the brutal pace of Shinigami growth—how for the average soul, even a hundred years of sweat and survival might yield nothing but mediocrity.
Kaien, hailed early as a prodigy, had entered Shinōreijutsuin with a sixth-level spiritual pressure, graduated within a year, joined the 13th Division in just five more, and even reached lieutenant status with full Shikai mastery—an achievement most never saw in a lifetime—but still, despite his gifts and diligence, Bankai had eluded him for over a century.
"Still," Moyu said, the easy smile never fading, the confidence beneath it as unwavering as bedrock, "if I say there's a way, then I mean it, because others might find it impossible, but I've never been bound by their limits."
To support Kaien's advancement, Moyu had quietly collected specialized tech—some of it discreetly borrowed from Urahara Kisuke—and Kaien now found his eyes drifting toward the pile of strange devices forming at Moyu's feet, suspicion tightening across his face as he wondered where they had come from, considering Moyu's hands had been empty mere seconds ago and his sleeves revealed nothing.
"This," Moyu began, lifting a small vial containing shimmering green liquid, "is a recovery elixir designed to accelerate healing—take one per hour at most, or risk severe backlash as your spiritual network fractures under pressure."
He reached for the next object, his tone still clinical. "This is Reiatsu condensate. It compresses your spiritual pressure, giving you a burst of speed and impact far beyond your current limits, but only for a limited time."
Kaien's brow furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly. "Side effects?"
"You'll feel like death for three days afterward," Moyu replied far too cheerfully, as though intense suffering were a tolerable price for meaningful progress.
Kaien didn't laugh. Instead, his unease expanded, a cold awareness coiling in his gut like a storm waiting to break.
"You've achieved Shikai, haven't you?" Moyu asked, suddenly switching gears with such abruptness that the air itself seemed to shift.
Kaien nodded, guarded now, wary of the direction this conversation had taken.
"Good. Then it's time."
Moyu gestured toward the corner where a pale humanoid construct stood motionless, its faceless, white shell giving off an eerie stillness that felt deliberately unnatural.
"This is a Shinuchi Body—one of Urahara's early experiments before he abandoned the Gotei. It forces your Zanpakutō's spirit to take physical form, and if you can defeat it, you will earn the right to command Bankai."
Kaien's gaze fixed on the mannequin-like figure, and the unease inside him crystallized into something sharper and heavier.
"And the catch?" he asked, voice low and even.
Moyu's smile widened—not mockingly, but with the gleam of someone who had been waiting for that precise question.
"Smart question," he acknowledged. "The spirit you summon will match you in strength—or exceed you. If you lose, you die. There's no middle ground."
That was the truth of it. Traditional Bankai training required time, communion, and years of dialogue with one's Zanpakutō, but this method circumvented all that through a single confrontation—manifest the spirit, survive the battle, and claim the power through force.
Moyu had once attempted the method himself, using Urahara's prototype to try manifesting his own Zanpakutō spirit—Lanyin—but not even a flicker of her presence had appeared, not a whisper or echo, as though the device could not contain what it had tried to call forth.
Even Urahara had been left puzzled, running every diagnostic, only to conclude that Lanyin's spiritual mass was simply too immense to be forced into a Shinuchi Body without destroying the construct itself.
So Moyu shelved the method for himself—but not for Kaien.
Kaien remained silent for a long moment, and it wasn't fear that gripped him—not the kind that feared death—but a deeper understanding of the weight of failure, the knowledge that he was the last pillar of the Shiba family, and if he collapsed, there would be nothing left standing.
Moyu's gaze never wavered, sharp as a blade honed to split doubt itself.
"The choice is yours," he said, his tone devoid of judgment. "I'm only giving you a way out."
Kaien drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he processed the enormity of what stood before him.
"I understand, Captain Moyu. I'd rather stake everything than rot slowly into obscurity. If I want to protect what matters, I have to grow stronger."
Moyu nodded, the answer meeting his expectations perfectly.
That was the only acceptable conclusion.
He still remembered Kaien's original fate—devoured by a Hollow, turned into a pawn by Espada trickery, and ultimately erased, his soul lost to madness.
"Good," Moyu said at last, but this time the approval in his voice had an edge to it—sharp and dangerous. "Then we begin your special training."
Kaien blinked, confused by the phrasing. "Special training?"
Li Fushan.
Kaien lay on his back in a field of crushed grass, eyes staring blankly at the sky as if the heavens themselves had turned on him, breath shallow and limbs trembling.
For a long moment, nothing happened, until a single tear traced a line down his cheek—confirmation that he understood now exactly what Moyu had meant.
"Actual combat is the best teacher!" Moyu had declared with almost irritating enthusiasm on day one, and for a brief, foolish moment, Kaien had felt excited, maybe even grateful for the opportunity.
That feeling didn't survive past the first sunset.
Moyu's combat style was an unrelenting nightmare; whether Kaien blocked, dodged, countered, or attacked, it made no difference—every attempt was undone with ruthless efficiency.
Moyu struck with terrifying precision, breaking bones with one blow and healing them in the next heartbeat using Kaidō, forcing Kaien to restart again and again without pause or mercy.
His body shattered, mended, then shattered again, the eerie green glow of Kaidō restoring him over and over until he could no longer tell if he was growing stronger or simply enduring torture.
Three days passed in a blur of injuries, humiliation, and failed strikes.
Kaien had hoped—prayed—that the recovery elixirs would run out, but Moyu seemed to have an infinite supply, and his Kaidō had evolved to the point of regrowing bone and aligning internal organs with brutal precision.
Training resumed after each healing, never offering rest.
By day seven, Kaien no longer fought back; he simply endured, lying unmoving on the grass while Moyu watched from above, disappointment etched clearly on his face.
He had expected more. Seven days wasn't enough time for a Shiba.
Kaien, if you break now, how will you ever achieve Bankai? How will you save your family?
A soft chime echoed in Moyu's mind as the system interface blinked to life:
[Your Kaidō is elated from repeated healing successes. Efficiency increased. Comprehending advanced Kaidō techniques.]
His Kaidō had surpassed expectations, edging closer toward regeneration mastery, but with Kaien's spirit on the verge of collapse, there was no longer a subject to apply it on.
"Kaien," Moyu said, crouching beside him, voice even and calm, "you've had enough rest. Our training ends in three days. Waste it, and this chance disappears forever."
Kaien twitched—just once.
"Three days?" he rasped, barely more than a whisper.
"You haven't noticed the change?" Moyu asked, brow arched in amusement.
Kaien looked down at his hands, where his veins pulsed with newfound energy and his Reiatsu curled tightly around his skin, visible and radiant like light wrapped in gravity.
He had grown stronger—measurably so.
"The threat of death draws out your true self," Moyu said plainly. "In seven days, you faced three hundred and three near-death encounters. If you didn't evolve, you'd be useless."
"Now get up. Three days left. Then comes the final trial."
Kaien's eyes flared with light—burning, not breaking—as he stood again, no longer staggering, but rooted in new strength.
"Yes, Captain Moyu."
Three days later.
On Li Fushan's northern slope, Moyu stood with arms folded, watching Kaien square off against the physical embodiment of his Zanpakutō spirit—Nejibana.
But this was no elegant, noble spirit; it had taken on a grotesque, humanoid shape with an octopus-like head and writhing limbs, launching crushing tidal waves that sought to drown its wielder again and again.
"The way Zanpakutō spirits manifest isn't always... sane," Moyu muttered, rubbing his chin with detached interest.
The battle was merciless. Nejibana controlled water like a deity, turning every attack into a counterstrike more brutal than the last.
Yet Kaien endured, instincts sharpened through agony and repetition, his responses now rapid and deliberate, his Kidō casting weaved into his attacks with strategic brilliance.
Far behind them, Kūkaku stood watching, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"Captain Moyu... will Kaien win?"
Moyu didn't sugarcoat it.
"Hard to say. He's stronger, but so is his opponent. Right now, he's still losing."
Two days and nights passed in that endless clash between man and spirit.
And then—it happened.
A single strike, executed with flawless timing, pierced Nejibana's chest. The spirit gave a twisted, knowing smile, then dissolved into pure light, rejoining Kaien's soul in a burst of explosive Reiatsu that flooded the mountain like a tidal wave.
Kaien had done it.
He had achieved Bankai.
Elsewhere—Seireitei, Eighth Level, Great Infernal Hell.
In a place where light did not reach, a cloaked figure moved with perfect silence between the cells of the murder-stone prison, his spiritual presence so thoroughly erased that even the guards passed him without a flicker of awareness.
He moved until he reached a rarely-visited cell where a dim glow revealed his green hair, shining faintly in the dark.
Tsunayashiro Tokinada leaned toward the bars with a slow, deliberate smile and whispered into the quiet.
"It's been a long time, Captain Kurotsuchi Mayuri."
{ Enjoying the chapters? Please Support me on Patreon and unlock 100+ advanced chapters, with 3 new chapters released every two days!
The fanfic is also available for one-time purchase on Patreon – unlock lifetime access to the full collection, no membership needed! Don't miss out –support and own it forever!
patreon.com/Oreski}