Karakura Town, as a Reiryoku-rich area, had always attracted Hollows.
Shinigami stationed here were constantly busy with patrols and purifications.
But now, with the Hollow uprising, Karakura had become the deadliest hotspot of all.
Every stationed Shinigami had already perished—so quickly that not even a single report had made it back to Seireitei.
Urahara Kisuke and his companions had cleansed a number of Hollows, but due to their status as exiles, they could not fully intervene.
Above Karakura, a simple Senkaimon tore open. Dozens of Shinigami emerged, with Shimo stepping out last as the gate sealed behind them.
"Five-man squads," Shimo ordered, his voice firm. "Spread out from this point, purge Hollows across a wide range. If you encounter enemies beyond your ability, request backup immediately. Remember—your lives come first."
"Yes, Lieutenant Shimo!"
Their unified response was sharp and full of resolve. It was hard to believe these were members of Fourth Division's relief units.
The Sixth and Seventh Relief Units, under Shimo's brutal training, had transformed.
The Sixth had even joined the rescue mission in Hueco Mundo and gained real combat experience against Hollows.
Their numbers were small—many had washed out, unable to endure Shimo's intensity. But those who remained now fought on par with the elites of combat divisions.
The units split off in groups of five, fanning into the city.
Shimo stayed behind, frowning.
"The reiryoku in Karakura… it's even more chaotic than I expected. Has Aizen already made his move?"
The battlefield below churned with mixed spiritual pressure—Hollows and Shinigami clashing like a storm.
"…I'd better consult Kisuke."
With a flicker of shunpo, he vanished.
Though the World of the Living had thinner spirit particles than Soul Society, a strong enough reiatsu user could walk on air. Speed was one thing, but in truth, it looked stylish.
And Shimo's shunpo was at the peak of mastery. Even here, his movements lost no speed. Soon, he arrived at Urahara Shop.
The barrier he had set up around the shop still held. Relief washed over him.
"Good. They're safe, for now."
Tracing a golden Kidō inscription across the barrier, he slipped inside.
"Yo, Shimo!" Urahara waved cheerfully from the yard.
"Spare me the 'long time no see,'" Shimo cut in. "It hasn't even been two days."
Urahara chuckled, then tilted his head.
"So… what brings you back to the World of the Living? Orders from Seireitei?"
He was quick as always. Even without being told, he had already pieced it together.
Shimo sighed.
"Multiple divisions have been deployed. Five other lieutenants are here as well. Given the severity, we can even apply for permission to release our zanpakutō. And I… have been named the lead."
"Ah, capable people get the heavy loads," Urahara grinned. "But with you in charge, Karakura is safer already."
Shimo's gaze sharpened.
"…Before I left, Aizen approached me."
At that name, Urahara's smile faded.
"He approached you? Did something happen?"
"No. On the surface, it was nothing but kindness. He simply told me to be careful."
Urahara rubbed his chin.
"Hm. That does sound exactly like Captain Aizen. Nothing unusual, at least on the surface. Still, better to be cautious."
"Agreed," Shimo said.
After a brief exchange of information, he moved deeper into the shop. A familiar black cat dozed on a cushion.
"Mm!"
In a heartbeat, Shimo scooped her up, burying his face in the soft fur. Warmth spread across his cheek—like autumn sunlight through an open window.
"This feeling never gets old."
"Honestly, Shimo!" Yoruichi's muffled voice grumbled. "I'd just groomed my fur, and now you've ruined it again."
But once she realized it was him, her irritation softened into fond exasperation.
"Well, as long as you're happy."
Before Shimo could reply, his communicator beeped rapidly. A new message flashed across the device—a prototype designed for low-reiryoku environments like the human world.
"Hm?" Shimo muttered. "My assigned assistant has arrived in Karakura."
He set Yoruichi gently back on her pillow.
"Stay safe, Yoruichi."
With a flicker of shunpo, he left.
According to the device, the reinforcement was coming from neighboring Shiba City—another hotspot Shimo was tasked to oversee. He frowned.
"…Their reiatsu feels weak. Surely Yamamoto wouldn't assign me someone so… fragile?"
Moments later, a familiar spiritual pressure approached.
"…No way. The old man can't be that considerate."
"Shimo!" a bright voice called.
A petite figure darted into view, her short hair framing delicate features. The Fifth Seat of the Thirteenth Division—Rukia Kuchiki.
"Rukia? You're my assigned support?" Shimo blinked. "Shouldn't it have been someone… stronger?"
Rukia puffed out her cheeks indignantly.
"Don't underestimate me! I've achieved Shikai and been promoted to Fifth Seat!"
Shimo chuckled and poked her puffed cheeks with both index fingers, deflating her anger instantly.
"In that case, I'll reluctantly accept you as my assistant."
Her annoyance melted into a radiant smile.
"Oh—right! About Shiba City's purification efforts…"
"Work later," Shimo interrupted, tugging her hand. "First, I'll introduce you to some friends."
At Urahara Shop's barrier, Rukia gaped. She never would have noticed it without Shimo's guidance.
"Incredible… I'd love to meet the master who wove this."
Shimo tousled her hair.
"You already have."
Her eyes widened.
"You—you made this?"
He drew golden Kidō script with his fingertip, and the barrier parted. Inside, Urahara was sweeping.
"Welcome! A new friend, I see. I'm Urahara Kisuke."
Rukia froze.
"You… you're the one—"
"That's right," Urahara said with a smile. "Exiled from Soul Society."
Shimo explained casually.
"Former Captain of the Twelfth Division, founder of the Department of Research and Development. Or just call him 'shopkeeper.' A very unserious man."
"Now, now, Shimo," Urahara protested. "I'm a perfectly serious shopkeeper—just friendly to my customers."
Shimo ignored him, pulling Rukia deeper inside. Urahara sighed. "Tessai, let's head to Kurosaki Clinic. Shimo, keep an eye on the shop."
Rukia followed, her head spinning. Why does Shimo know someone this dangerous? Aren't exiles supposed to be criminals?
"Yoruichi, I'm back," Shimo called toward the cushions.
Rukia blinked. "Who are you talking to?"
He scooped up the black cat.
"This lazy one. She's Yoruichi. One of my most trusted companions."
The cat's eyes snapped open. "Kuchiki Rukia?"
Rukia nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Th—the cat can talk?!"
Shimo smiled.
"She's Yoruichi Shihōin. Former Captain of the Second Division and Commander of the Onmitsukidō."
"…Shihōin? One of the Four Noble Houses?" Rukia's voice cracked. "Why is someone like her a cat?!"
Before she could recover, smoke filled the room. Coughing, she staggered—then froze.
A soft, feminine voice whispered in her ear.
"Well, Rukia… do you still doubt me?"
Yoruichi, now in her human form, leaned close, eyes glinting.
Rukia's face burned crimson, steam practically rising from her head.
"Y-your clothes…!" she stammered.
In that moment, Rukia Kuchiki's worldview cracked apart once more.
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