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"Remnants of Menos Grande Reiatsu?"
Urahara Kisuke nodded, his expression calm but thoughtful. "Yes. I've looked into the seal on the Kuchiki Hibiki River. After all, he was sealed in Karakura Town."
The weight of that information caused Moyu to lapse into a contemplative silence. According to the details Kisuke provided, the breaking of that seal was closely connected to Menos Grande—and there was only one person capable of manipulating such creatures.
Aizen.
Only Aizen could command Menos Grande with that kind of precision and force.
"But... wasn't Kuchiki Hibiki already dead?" Moyu asked, his voice low.
"It doesn't matter who broke the seal," Urahara said solemnly. "There's only ever been one true enemy."
Moyu understood the meaning behind his words. In the face of Aizen's shadow, all other details faded into insignificance.
"Still, that wasn't the part that surprised me most," Kisuke continued, his gaze drifting toward Nilu, who rested lightly against Moyu's shoulder. His voice took on a curious note. "Given Captain Yamamoto's disposition, it's rather remarkable that he granted her the official status of a Menos Grande-level Arrancar Shinigami soldier. That kind of trust from the old man... is extraordinary."
Moyu nodded slowly. "I thought the same. It didn't make sense at first, but I suppose... the Captain expected more of me than I realized. Maybe it was his way of making up for things. After what Tsunayashiro Tokinada and Kurotsuchi Mayuri did..."
"Ah!" Kisuke raised a finger as if struck by a sudden recollection. "Yamamoto's judgment can be rigid, but when he does trust someone, it's unwavering. Even with the Kuchiki precedent, he still chose to believe in you. That says something."
Following the direction of Kisuke's gesture, Moyu turned his attention to the glass panel, where a strange, dark mass of Reiatsu twisted unnaturally. The shape pulsed against the confines of the containment, an unsettling silhouette to ordinary eyes.
"Even detached from your body," Kisuke said, tapping lightly on the glass, "your Reiatsu remains incredibly active. But don't be mistaken—it lacks true thought. What you're seeing is just a raw, instinctive response to external stimuli. Its so-called 'activity' is simply the manifestation of how absurdly over-strengthened it's become."
He paused, allowing the implications to settle. "To put it plainly, your Reiatsu has already exceeded what's considered standard for any Shinigami."
Beneath the low brim of Kisuke's hat, his eyes met Moyu's. They held none of his usual mischief.
"Kuchiki Moyu, your life itself has begun to evolve."
This wasn't an exaggeration. As his research progressed, Kisuke had come to a startling realization—Moyu's Reiatsu was transcending the limits of Shinigami evolution, all without the use of the Hōgyoku. In fact, the first time Moyu came into contact with it, the Hōgyoku had reacted with something close to fear, refusing even to acknowledge his presence. It was a reaction that baffled Kisuke, and no matter how deeply he probed, the core reason remained elusive. He suspected the answer lay at the level of the soul itself, but even with all his knowledge, he lacked the ability to examine that deeply.
"Well, it doesn't seem like there's anything conclusive yet," Moyu murmured, stroking his chin.
Kisuke smiled faintly. "Still, everything is in place. A leap in life's level may be fleeting... but if it continues, you may reach a height where replacing the Spirit King isn't just possible—it's inevitable."
Moyu froze, stunned. "What did you say?"
"Replacing the Spirit King," Kisuke repeated, his voice light, but serious.
"What kind of nonsense—" Moyu shook his head, waving the idea away. "I have no interest in that. Leave it to someone more power-hungry."
He understood exactly what the Spirit King was—an omniscient, omnipotent being shackled to act as the linchpin of all realms. Despite his vast power, the King had no true freedom. Moyu wasn't interested in trading liberty for a prison of cosmic responsibility.
"Anyway, enough of that," Kisuke said, rummaging through the instruments behind him. "Here. The newest version of the spirit mask cloak. This model can render you nearly invisible, even without Bakudō: Bent Light."
Moyu accepted the black cloak, tucking it away. It wasn't especially useful, but a backup was always welcome.
This journey to the human world had been fruitful. While the information Kisuke offered wasn't game-changing, it confirmed a theory Moyu had already begun to form. His cultivation—particularly on the physical level—was shifting. Slowly, yes, but steadily.
And there was other news.
Shiba Isshin had opened a clinic in Karakura Town and integrated seamlessly into human society. He had even married Kurosaki Masaki—Jiang Muyouxiang—and according to Kisuke's latest update, they'd already had a child.
"Tch. That guy Isshin. Moving faster than I expected."
While Shiba Kaien and others carried the Shiba family's burden in the Soul Society, Isshin—the supposed elder—had vanished into domestic bliss. Moyu couldn't decide whether to scoff or laugh.
But what really caught his attention was the child.
The child's Reiatsu.
The wheel of fate had begun to turn again. Everything had changed... yet somehow, nothing had.
If fate stayed on its predetermined path, tragedy was inevitable. Intervening directly would provoke backlash. But if the destined role was passed to someone else...
Moyu didn't linger in the human world any longer. It was time to act.
---
Back in Seireitei, the air was calm. The wounds of battle were healing. Daily life had resumed.
Inside the Tenth Division's headquarters, Moyu leaned over a desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he poured over sketches and notes. Nilu peered over his shoulder, her gaze catching on a single line scrawled across the paper:
Fate Modification Plan.
After several quick adjustments, Moyu set the pen down, reviewing his strategy with satisfaction.
"We may not have many tricks," he muttered, "but when it comes to exploiting knowledge gaps... that's our advantage."
Though it looked like a cheat sheet, this "Fate Modification Plan" was serious. If executed properly, it could reshape not only the Soul Society but even Hueco Mundo itself.
Sensing faint Reiatsu outside, Moyu casually burned the paper, scattering the ashes into a nearby bin.
For now, it was best kept secret.
"Brother—Captain!"
At the door stood Kuchiki Rukia, arms full of documents and cheeks tinged pink. She stepped inside timidly.
"Come in."
She approached the desk and placed the documents before him. "These are the division's current financial reports. They need your signature."
Though she carried herself like any regular officer, Rukia's joy was evident. Being near her brother every day brought her a quiet happiness. Of her academy friends, most had been absorbed into other divisions—Aizen's decisions, no doubt. Kira Iziru and the others had joined the Fifth Division. But Abarai Renji... Aizen hadn't yet figured him out.
Moyu hadn't interfered. Things were proceeding as expected.
"Relax," Moyu said, placing a gentle hand on her head. "You're too stiff."
His touch was soft, the warmth in his palm instantly turning Rukia's pink cheeks a fiery red. Her heart raced.
Brother Moyu's warmth…
Just then, a voice shattered the moment.
"Captain! Captain!"
Matsumoto Rangiku burst in, but paused when she saw the expression on Rukia's face.
"Rukia?"
Her suspicious gaze darted between them.
"N-no! Miss Rangiku, wait! Let me explain!"
Waving her hands wildly, Rukia panicked, stumbling over her words.
"Oh no. You're definitely guilty now," Matsumoto teased. She leaned in and whispered, "Tell big sister—do you like our captain?"
Rukia's brain shut down. Her face burned crimson, white steam practically rising from her scalp.
"I—I'm not—I mean—!"
Matsumoto stood back with arms folded, smiling mischievously. "As expected."
"That's enough." Moyu waved dismissively. "Rukia, you're excused."
Rukia vanished with Shunpo so fast it was as if she'd teleported.
Outside, she bit her lip, heart pounding. Why am I like this? I just wanted to treat him as a brother… right?
Inside, Moyu turned to face Rangiku, completely unfazed.
"Well?" he asked. "What brought you here?"
Rangiku sighed, giving up on teasing. "Captain, that Madarame Ikkaku guy came again. It's the third time this month."
Moyu's eyes lit up.
"Really? Good. I'll deal with it."
"You... want to deal with him?"
"Of course. He's a good brother."
Rangiku raised an eyebrow, feeling an odd sense of sympathy for Ikkaku.
"But per your last orders, I sent him away," she groaned, flopping onto the couch. "There are no normal people in the Eleventh Division. Knowing they'll lose, they still come back again and again…"
"They wouldn't be in Squad Eleven otherwise," Moyu laughed, setting aside his documents. "I'll leave the paperwork to you. I'm going to see Ikkaku myself."
"Ehh?!"
Rangiku bolted upright—but Moyu was already gone.
"Damn it! He used me again!"
Grumbling, she pulled out her scented notebook and scribbled furiously.
July 2–11: Blamed again by Kuchiki Moyu. Revenge planned.
---
In the Eleventh Division barracks, the air crackled with raw energy. The team's training was more intense than any other squad's, their passion blazing like wildfire.
Muscular men shouted and sparred throughout the grounds, steel clashing against steel in an endless rhythm of combat.
Moyu followed the trail of Ikkaku's Reiatsu straight to the training arena.
There, on the raised dueling platform, Ikkaku—his blood roaring—swung his Zanpakutō with ferocity, locked in combat against a dozen soldiers.
And he wasn't losing.
In fact, he had the upper hand.
"Don't slack off, you weaklings!" Ikkaku bellowed, arms stretched wide. "Come on! Hit me like you mean it! Show me what you've got!"
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