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The Tenth Division barracks.
Four people sat around a table, eyes shifting back and forth, each look carrying unspoken weight.
"Hey, are we just going to keep staring at each other like this?"
The silence cracked, and three pairs of eyes turned instantly toward the speaker.
"Do you have an opinion?" came the calm reply from golden eyes across the table.
With a sudden bang, Matsumoto Rangiku slapped her palms on the tabletop, her chest swaying dangerously, startling the others into stiff silence.
"Not at all!" she declared righteously. "But let me make this clear—the captain is mine! You latecomers can line up behind me!"
At that, Shihōin Yoruichi smirked, lips curling with disdain.
"If it's about who came first, then I knew Moyu long before you. His Shunpo? Taught by me."
Matsumoto gritted her teeth, unwilling to yield, though she knew the woman across from her was speaking the truth.
"N-Nilu only wants to stay by Moyu's side," Nilu whispered. Left behind in the human world, guilt still weighed on her for failing to help during the invasion. She asked for nothing more than to remain near him.
The others' gazes fell next on the last person.
At once, Sui-Feng's cheeks flared crimson, the flush spreading down her neck and behind her ears.
"I… the Second Division still has urgent matters to attend to."
The steely commander of the Onmitsukidō suddenly faltered, then stood abruptly, vanishing with a flash of Shunpo.
"I'll deal with it first!" Her words trailed like wind as she disappeared.
Yoruichi shook her head regretfully at the retreating figure.
"If she'd stayed, I might've gained the upper hand."
Rangiku exhaled in relief, patting her chest.
"Then it's fair competition!"
Before long, the argument reignited. Under Nilu's blank gaze, the two women bickered—wildflowers versus home flowers, first strikes, beauty, curves, and everything else Nilu couldn't comprehend. The dispute stretched endlessly.
---
Hueco Mundo.
The white desert howled with wind and sand. Vast alabaster walls pierced the horizon, and at their heart stood the colossal fortress—Las Noches. Its black towers loomed like shadows against the pale sky, a citadel radiating pressure that even Hollow beasts avoided, instinctively fleeing from the immense Reiatsu within.
Inside one chamber, two figures occupied the room. Ichimaru Gin's fingers danced across a console of dials and levers, hands moving like a performer on stage. Aizen, seated upon the throne, watched in patient silence.
After a while, Gin pressed the final switch and turned, fox-smile widening.
"Whew… that was exhausting. All done, Aizen-taichō."
A shimmering curtain of light fell before the throne, revealing a blurred chamber steeped in darkness, within which something stirred, its presence turbulent and alive.
"Good work," Aizen murmured. His tone calm, expression unreadable. "But it still requires time to ferment. Szayelaporro has already offered his final strength."
Gin's smile did not falter. He tapped lightly on another button.
"Maybe not his final strength. We'll be seeing him again—though perhaps not quite the same."
Aizen's eyes narrowed faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a thin smile.
"The root of one's existence lies in the soul. When a soul sinks into the earth like a seed, what grows after—does it remain the same seed? Or is it something entirely new? If countless seeds are kneaded together, does the tree remember its origin?" His gaze hardened, voice low and deliberate. "Gin, Szayelaporro has left us completely. What is reborn will not be him."
He rose, descending the throne's steps with deliberate calm.
"Kuchiki Moyu's soul is unlike any ordinary Shinigami's. His very existence is that of a new species. To confront him, we must be fully prepared."
---
Seireitei.
The upheaval of Aizen's rebellion lingered heavily. The annihilation of Central 46 had shattered the judiciary, leaving Soul Society's laws in ruins. Yamamoto bore the weight of reconstruction, his most urgent task the reappointment of forty sages and six judges. The process was labyrinthine—noble families pressed their influence, the Kidō Corps interfered, and factions vied for advantage. The politics of replacement were endless.
But such matters did not occupy Moyu's thoughts. He was more concerned with the condition of Ichigo and his companions.
---
The Fourth Division's north ward.
Led by Kotetsu Isane, Moyu entered the infirmary where Ichigo lay with his friends. Along the way, Isane—once timid—spoke animatedly about Kaidō. Though Moyu had not served in the Fourth Division long, his mastery of healing was acknowledged even by Unohana herself. She openly admitted that in certain aspects of Kaidō, Moyu surpassed her.
To Isane, that made him nothing less than an idol. She eagerly sought his guidance at every opportunity, and Moyu, though never indulgent, answered her simple questions with patient clarity.
As they stepped inside, the ward fell silent.
Ichigo's eyes darted nervously toward Moyu, a flicker of fear betraying him. After all, he had been beaten down by this man three times in a row—no, not merely beaten, annihilated. It was one-sided slaughter. Perseverance could withstand a fair defeat, but against overwhelming disparity there was no room for pride. Even with Bankai, even wielding his Getsuga Tenshō, he had been crushed without resistance.
Why was a captain this absurdly strong?
Moyu met his gaze and nodded gently, showing no animosity.
"There's time now. Let's talk about you."
He approached the bed, looking down at Ichigo's bandaged form. His tone softened.
"Strictly speaking, Isshin and I are friends. If you'd like, you can call me Uncle Mo."
Ichigo blinked, stupefied. Never in his life had he met an elder who treated him in such a strange manner.
"…Heh. I'll stick with 'Captain Moyu,' thanks."
The others said nothing, watching quietly. They still remembered the sight of Ichigo being crushed before the First Division captains; the memory burned into them like a scar.
"There's something I'd like to know," Moyu said at last. "That special training Urahara gave you. Tell me."
Ichigo's expression sobered.
"The shopkeeper cut my Chain of Fate, forcing me to reclaim my Shinigami powers at death's edge. Then came two days of brutal combat training. Finally, he had me train with a manifested form of my Zanpakutō to learn Bankai. Before I left, he gave me specific instructions."
Moyu's brows lifted faintly. "What instructions?"
Ichigo swallowed, throat tight. He spoke cautiously, as though repeating forbidden words.
"He said… if Captain Moyu ever asked, I was to tell you exactly what he told me."
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