Alliance
Shiraishi's outfit stood out with a modern flair: a golden leather jacket, a white T-shirt, black overalls, and sneakers.
On the back of the jacket was the Aape logo—a round smiling face in a hood with only the mouth visible. The same logo was printed on his T-shirt, though usually hidden beneath his shoulder bag.
When Shiba Kūkaku put it on, the logo's smile twisted unnaturally, as if about to split apart. The snug shirt pulled tight against her chest, while the overalls below seemed loose but still hugged her hips.
"Your top is too small," she complained, tugging at the high collar of the shirt. Yet she didn't complain about the faint scent of men's sweat clinging to it.
"It's better than what you had on before," Shiraishi replied. He himself wasn't wearing much—just a white apron with a leather jacket tied around his waist. His arms and back were exposed, but as a man, it didn't bother him.
Kūkaku pouted, unconvinced. Still, she dropped the matter and instead focused on the steaming noodles in front of them.
"Never mind. Let's eat."
"Yeah."
Shiraishi blew on the ramen, the savory aroma filling his senses. One sip of broth made his tongue tremble. He had thought Nemu's cooking was remarkable, but this broth was on an entirely different level. Rich, mellow, and deep—it was pure mastery.
He slurped down the noodles, savoring the blend of meat and vegetables that never grew greasy. When the ramen was finished, a plate of pan-fried salmon was placed before him, and he kept eating until he was utterly full.
At last he leaned back, groaning, "I can't eat another bite! It's too good… such a shame I don't have money to pay."
"It's fine," Kūkaku said casually. To her, the food was average compared to what she was used to.
Shiraishi, not wanting to argue, shifted the subject. "Has your Reiatsu recovered?"
"Fully." Kūkaku rubbed her stomach. The meal had completely replenished her spiritual energy.
"Good. Then let's move."
He wiped his mouth, bowed politely, and with a step disappeared into Shunpo. Kūkaku followed, keeping to the rooftops where the crowds thinned.
It didn't take long before they reached the gates of Noble Street. Shiraishi pushed through a small gap and slipped outside.
The gust stirred by their movements drew the attention of nearby seated officers. The vice-captain of the Sixth Division opened his eyes, then closed them again, feigning ignorance. At his age, he no longer had the passion of youth; better to look away than invite trouble.
The two sped toward the White Road Gate—Shiraishi intent on moving quickly now that Kūkaku's Reiatsu was restored. Carrying her had been slowing them down.
Suddenly, Shiraishi stopped short. Kūkaku halted behind him, about to ask why, when she felt it herself: the spirit particles around them condensed into the form of a man.
He wore the garb of a Shinigami captain—black inside, white outside. His appearance was that of a listless young noble, dark hair slicked back, with two long sideburns dangling like antennae.
"Who are you?" Kūkaku demanded, alert.
"Zaraki Fūya," the man replied in a flat, emotionless tone. "The Eighth Kenpachi."
Kūkaku froze. The current Kenpachi was the eleventh. By tradition, each successor earned the title by killing the previous one. The eighth generation should have been long dead.
Shiraishi narrowed his eyes. "What do you want with me?"
"Silence," Zaraki Fūya snapped, then added, "I want to form an alliance."
Kūkaku glanced at Shiraishi, tapping her temple. "He's crazy." The captain's haori could very well be fake.
"Maybe he has an agenda," Shiraishi muttered back. He couldn't reveal what he suspected—that Fūya had been addressing his Zanpakutō spirit—so he played along.
"What makes you think I'd ally with you?"
"I've heard of your deeds," Fūya said evenly. "Though wanted by Seireitei, you still devote yourself to purifying Hollows. Our goals align: the eradication of all Hollows."
Shiraishi remained expressionless, but Kūkaku frowned. "You talk of killing all Hollows. Do you even understand how they're born?"
"I do. I intend to destroy their source. The theory is incomplete, but I'll refine it. For that, I seek Shiraishi's aid."
Kūkaku could only shake her head. This man wasn't ignorant—he was a zealot. To him, Hollows weren't just corrupted souls. They were enemies to be annihilated, redemption be damned.
Shiraishi spoke up. "If you can open a path to Hueco Mundo, I'll join you."
Fūya answered calmly, "With my power, I can command Hollows and open the Garganta between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo."
Shiraishi's face lit up. "Good. When do we go?"
"Not yet," Fūya said. "I'll go once I've planned it fully."
"Thinking while fighting won't slow you down," Shiraishi pressed.
But Fūya shook his head. He wouldn't act without certainty. "I'll remain at the White Road Gate. For now, I'll send you out of Soul Society as proof of my sincerity."
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