Arima Shinya's reaction was definitely not slow.
Even before the enemy struck, his body had instinctively bent — yet still, he was thrown backward with no chance to defend himself.
PAAH!!
His body was lifted off the ground as if hit by a speeding carriage. Arima felt his mind spin violently, the entire world twisting, and a searing pain tore through every fiber of his body.
He didn't even know how many times he had rolled across the floor…
When he finally regained consciousness, everything around him was in fragments — pieces of tables and wooden benches scattered everywhere. Arima himself was in such pain that his face twisted in agony.
He couldn't even stand.
His whole body felt crushed by a steel wheel.
His consciousness wavered, his vision blurred, and a strange numbness overtook him.
"Something's wrong… That slap… hit my head directly…"
It was no exaggeration to say that had been a stealth attack.
From that brief moment of direct confrontation, Arima confirmed one thing: the enemy's spiritual pressure was far above a lieutenant's level.
Too fast to be captured, impossible to analyze — a strike delivered suddenly and devastatingly.
The fact that he was still alive was already a miracle.
And worse, he had no one to blame… After all, he had been far too naive to trust so easily.
Someone born in the slums of Rukongai, who rose to the title of Kenpachi just by slaughtering enemies… how could he be a reasonable person?
The best choice would have been to do as others did — get up immediately and leave at the slightest sign of danger.
After all, that would be the only way to guarantee his own survival.
"Lack of life experience, huh… me, myself."
But now was not the time for reflection. He needed to get up — fast.
Even though his mind screamed this, his body wouldn't obey.
Arima tried to rise unsteadily… and fell again.
From somewhere nearby, a laugh echoed — Kiganjō's voice.
— Oooh~ you're tougher than I thought, huh? — he mocked. — That slap was meant to kill you, you know? I didn't expect you'd survive.
— As they say… He who strikes first lives longer. — Kiganjō cracked his neck. — That's what I learned on the streets of Rukongai.
— But don't hate me for it, kid.
There was no denying it — he was a man forged by delinquency. Compared to someone like Arima — a normal, obedient civilian — their sense of combat existed on completely different planes.
Arima raised his gaze with effort.
Guh…
An almost inaudible sound escaped.
Scarlet blood, metallic in smell, ran down his forehead and into his right eye.
His vision became red and blurred.
His head was cracked.
How severe was the wound? Was he bleeding heavily?
He couldn't analyze anything — his whole body remained numb.
It was the worst-case scenario.
And then he saw… the broad silhouette of Kiganjō slowly approaching.
His voice, now full of scorn, had lost all traces of laziness.
— People like you, I see all the time — he said, dragging his words. — Those who don't understand the rules, who like playing the hero. They think that just because they entered the Gotei 13, they'll shine and change the world.
— Seriously… just thinking about it makes me nauseous.
— What I despise most… are guys like you.
The footsteps drew closer.
The metallic clink of blades echoed — he had drawn his sword.
Kiganjō bared his teeth in a wide, cruel smile, an expression of pure arrogance. To Arima, it was the perfect portrait of a worm delighting in its own power.
— "Captain"? "Duty"? "Protect the Court"? — he mocked. — In the end, it's all just a fancy name.
— What truly matters is strength and brutality. He who kills without blinking has worth. Eat, sleep, fuck, and kill — that's all a man needs.
— Tell me, don't you agree?
There was no honor, no purpose.
Only the pleasure of surrendering to one's own instincts.
Sleeping with beautiful women, eliminating those who annoyed him.
Being a captain meant impunity — as long as he didn't provoke the nobles.
Outside the Seireitei, he might pretend some control… but within the division, his word was absolute.
Even if he violated a subordinate, no one would dare question him.
Even if he caused chaos in the streets, no one would say a word.
"After all, I'm just protecting the Court, right?"
Those who disobeyed or didn't bow — would be eliminated.
Even if all the women of the 11th Division requested resignation, old Yamamoto would only say: 'Be more careful with your image.'
Yes… that's exactly how it was.
I am the captain. Maintaining the order of the Soul Society is what gives meaning to the Gotei 13.
The lives of the weak do not matter. The suffering of the insignificant can be ignored.
If to satisfy my impulses I need to use your body or your life, it will be perfectly justified.
Ah, what a wonderful, libertine life.
Living like this for centuries… I would never tire.
In fact, if there were a next life, I would want it to be exactly the same.
Kiganjō Kenpachi believed wholeheartedly in this distorted ideal of "protecting the Court." And, deep in his soul, he was satisfied with his existence.
Through his blurred vision, Arima saw the blade being raised.
— I just wanted to fuck that woman. You shouldn't have stopped me — Kiganjō murmured. — Should've pinned her to the floor, torn off her clothes, and offered her to me.
— That's my right as a captain. And your duty as a subordinate. Understand?
— Hmph… not that you'd actually listen. Fine, I'll forgive you this time.
— After all… — his smile widened — just that little "pretty boy" face of yours is enough to disgust me.
The words had barely ended — and the blade came down.
Arima's sword remained sheathed. His empty gaze reflected the deadly shine of the steel falling toward him.
His body still wouldn't obey.
But his mind never stopped. His survival instinct screamed inside him, in an explosion of pure lucidity.
I cannot die here.
I cannot simply accept this.
But what could he do?
What was left for him?
Like a man sinking in a bottomless sea, Arima struggled, trying to reach the surface.
And, for an infinitesimal instant…
His consciousness was dragged elsewhere.
The intersection.
That very same intersection he had seen countless times in his dreams.
"Ah… so that's it… I understand now."
At that moment, something inside him lit up — everything became clear.
Arima slowly raised his right hand.
Not to block.
Nor to defend.
But to grasp the hilt of his sword.
No more escape.
On the brink of despair and death, he exhaled the metallic, bitter air of blood.
— Zanpakutō…
— Release yourself.
(End of Chapter)
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