Chapter 9: Drunkard's Chaos Escalates
"Who the hell is causing trouble in here? You're looking to die!"
Renji Abarai exploded forward in a burst of speed.
If it had just been a normal prisoner riot, subduing them would have been simple. But this time the entire black prison block had vanished—completely erased from existence. This was a disaster Renji absolutely could not take the blame for.
Dozens of meters were crossed in an instant thanks to Shunpo—almost like teleportation. He drew his Zanpakutō in one fluid motion and swung straight down at the shadowy figure ahead.
Burp…
The unsteady silhouette let out a drunken belch and swayed sideways like a roly-poly toy—yet his feet remained rooted to the ground as if nailed in place.
BANG!
Renji's blade sliced through empty air. He froze, stunned that the figure had managed such a high-difficulty dodge while clearly blackout drunk.
"It's you?"
"What? You said you wanted to peel fruit… isn't this blade a bit too dull?"
Kuroha muttered dreamily, reeking of sake. His body suddenly straightened. With a casual backhand, he slapped toward Renji's Zanpakutō.
Renji's temper flared. No Shinigami had ever been mocked like that about their Zanpakutō—the very symbol of their power. He raised his blade to block.
"No—!"
BANG!
Renji hesitated for a split second. The next instant, his tightly gripped Zanpakutō felt like it had collided with ten thousand pounds of force. His palms screamed in pain. His whole body was sent flying backward.
The Zanpakutō slipped from his grasp and embedded itself hilt-deep into the ordinary wall with a metallic thunk.
Renji staggered back seven or eight steps before barely stabilizing himself. He stared in complete disbelief. A casual slap from Kuroha had been strong enough to rip the blade right out of his hands.
For a Shinigami, this was nothing short of humiliating.
"Kuroha, calm down! It's me—Rukia! What the hell happened here? Where did you get that sake?" Rukia rushed forward and grabbed the hilt of the embedded Zanpakutō.
She was genuinely worried—if that blade ended up in the hands of a blackout-drunk Kuroha, he might actually start "peeling fruit" with them as the produce.
She yanked a few times. Nothing. Her slender arms simply couldn't budge it.
Burp "…Rukia?"
Kuroha rubbed his head, clearly struggling to focus. Then his face lit up with sudden realization. "You're my fiancée… I came here to marry you…"
Renji—who had just started to relax seeing Kuroha pause and try to remember—immediately wanted to commit murder.
Second meeting and she was already his fiancée? Was the third meeting going to involve making babies?
"Rukia, get out of the way! I'm going to cut this bastard down—he's ruining a noble's reputation!" Renji seized the hilt of the embedded Zanpakutō and yanked with all his strength.
It didn't move.
Renji froze in shock. A Shinigami—unable to pull his own Zanpakutō out of a wall?
"How about it? You guys want to peel some fruit?"
Kuroha's voice came from directly behind him.
A chill ran up Renji's spine. A hand reached past him and casually gripped the hilt.
Whoosh!
The blade slid out of the wall as easily as pulling a knife from butter. The gleaming edge now rested in Kuroha's hand—giving off the distinct aura of a death god coming to collect souls.
Rukia's eyes widened in alarm. She immediately lunged forward and snatched the Zanpakutō back from him. Thankfully, even in his drunken state, Kuroha was relatively gentle with the "fiancée" he had just claimed.
Otherwise—with that monstrous strength and a sharp Zanpakutō in hand—he could have turned them into human sticks in seconds.
"Wife… why do you look like triplets?" Kuroha tilted his head back and took another swig from his ever-present sake jug. He held up his fingers and squinted. "My fingers… look like there's thirty of them now…"
Watching him sway dangerously, on the verge of collapsing again, Renji finally snapped.
Fiancée one moment—wife the next. The escalation was absurd. At this rate, the next sentence would be about consummating the marriage.
BANG!
Renji gripped his Zanpakutō tighter and charged again—this time completely different. Reiatsu began flowing along the blade. He was preparing to release his Shikai.
For a proper Shinigami, the vast majority of their power came from their Zanpakutō. To graduate from the Shin'ō Academy, one had to master Shikai. To become a Gotei 13 captain, one needed Bankai.
Right now, Renji was truly furious. The woman he had chased after for years was being casually claimed by some nobody in a few drunken sentences. This was an insult he couldn't tolerate.
And in Renji's eyes—sure, Kuroha had raw strength. But that didn't mean he could stand against a Shinigami with Shikai and Shunpo.
"Renji, stop!"
Rukia cried out in alarm.
But Renji had already vanished in a burst of Shunpo, reappearing like a phantom right in front of Kuroha. Reiatsu swirled violently around his blade—the signs of Shikai activation clear.
"Hey hey… didn't expect to leave for a bit and come back to something this interesting. Looks like I showed up just in time."
A rough, booming voice cut through the tension.
A massive figure stepped in front of Kuroha. A huge hand reached out and casually caught Renji's blade mid-swing.
The reiatsu Renji had just gathered instantly dissipated.
"Captain Zaraki?!"
Renji's eyes widened. All his anger vanished in an instant.
He wasn't yet the powerful lieutenant of the original story. Not long ago, he had been transferred from the Fifth Division—under Aizen—to the Eleventh Division as Sixth Seat, supposedly because he "didn't fit."
In his eyes, everyone ranked above him was a monster.
"Renji, you're being impulsive. Using Shikai against a junior? That's basically admitting you're not good enough," Ikkaku Madarame said, stepping up beside Kuroha.
But Kuroha had already collapsed into a snoring heap on the ground—no need to protect him anymore.
Seeing the two sudden arrivals, Rukia's expression changed. She hurried forward. "Captain Zaraki, Seat Madarame… this is all a misunderstanding. We don't know how, but the black prison just… suddenly disappeared…"
She gestured at the empty space and the dozens of unconscious prisoners scattered everywhere. For a moment, she genuinely couldn't find the words to explain.
She refused to believe something as massive as the black prison could simply vanish. This was the Eleventh Division's detention facility—used to hold suspects awaiting Central 46 judgment. It had existed since the founding of the Seireitei and the Gotei 13—thousands of years old. Countless prisoners had been held here over the centuries.
And now it was gone.
If she tried to connect its disappearance to Kuroha… That made no sense at all.
Especially since—right now—Kuroha was once again a snoring puddle of drunk on the floor.
The idea that a blackout-drunk person could somehow steal an entire black prison block was completely illogical.
The more Rukia thought about it, the more convinced she became that this explanation was safe. After all, Kuroha's chance at the Shinigami assessment existed only because Jūshirō Ukitake had personally vouched for him. If the black prison's disappearance was tied to Kuroha, it would drag Ukitake down too.
And that was an outcome Rukia refused to let happen.
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