He had returned...
After Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni explained the nature of the special pardon, Higashi Shuuichi's appearance, while still difficult to accept, gained a veneer of legitimacy.
Still, one question hung in the air—why him?
But those who harbored such doubts would find no answer.
"Though I will be the Grand Swordhunter of this new Katanagari-gumi, since the Commander has invoked tradition—requiring a trial judged by three Captains—I won't complain. So, Captains, shall we do this one by one, or all at once?"
Shuuichi stood at the doorway of the 1st Division's meeting hall, confidence radiating off him like a blaze.
"All at once, huh? Shuuichi, your mouth's gotten a lot bolder in the Human World."
Zaraki Kenpachi grinned wildly. "But I like it! Let's fight!"
He could barely restrain the tremors in his arms. With a roar, he drew his Zanpakutō and launched into a leaping overhead slash—Crescent Fang.
But as he reached Shuuichi, the world went black. His vision vanished. Even his beast-like instincts—his pride—shut down, momentarily severed.
In that void, a crescent arc streaked upward from below like a meteor. When the light returned, Zaraki was flying backward across the hall, his body scored by a crimson trench, torn by pressure alone.
"...That technique..." Yamamoto narrowed his eyes.
It awakened an ancient memory—Nimaiya Ōetsu. In Yamamoto's youth, Ōetsu had once shown him something similar.
But Ōetsu had abandoned it, uninterested in swordsmanship, turning instead to Zanpakutō forging. Yamamoto had wanted to learn it but never could.
Now, Shuuichi's technique bore its echo—but even sharper, more refined.
Where had he learned it?
Beside him, Unohana Retsu's pale fingers drifted to her Zanpakutō.
You always come back stronger, don't you, Shuuichi-kun...?
"You've fallen behind, Zaraki. You're no match for me anymore."
Shuuichi's voice held neither arrogance nor cruelty—just truth.
He had expected Zaraki's spiritual pressure to have surged after their past battles. But instead... it had diminished.
Likely Yamamoto's doing. No guidance, no worthy opponents—Zaraki had been caged, his instincts dulled.
By Shuuichi's estimate, he was now barely on par with Ōtoribashi Rōjūrō.
A max-level account, wasted by poor gameplay.
"Enough of your arrogance!" barked Komamura Sajin, Captain of the 7th Division.
Wearing his iron helm, he stepped forward, drawing his Zanpakutō.
Komamura had never interacted with Shuuichi before—he barely knew the man's history.
But if Yamamoto had personally denounced Shuuichi, then as his loyal student, Komamura would oppose him.
Anyone could lead this new squad—but not someone the Captain-Commander had rejected with his own lips.
"Just you?" Shuuichi smirked. "If any other Captains want to 'test' me, come together. Don't waste my time."
To Soifon, that voice felt... alien. Her chest tightened.
Was this really the same Shuuichi-dono she'd known?
Had the past broken him so badly?
She wanted to confront him—demand answers—but something held her back. Now wasn't the time.
Unexpectedly, another Captain stepped forward.
"Well, since no one else will do it, I'll be your third examiner, I guess~"
Kyōraku Shunsui, Captain of the 8th, strolled out, tilting his straw hat with a languid smile.
Shuuichi chuckled.
He'd thought it might be Soifon or that aloof 10th Division Captain. But Kyōraku?
No matter.
So long as it wasn't Aizen, Unohana, or Yamamoto—the three people he knew he couldn't beat.
Zaraki might've been scary in his prime, but this wasn't that Zaraki.
And Kyōraku?
His Zanpakutō was tricky, yes—but he didn't have the overwhelming pressure of his master or Unohana.
Komamura struck first, his steps heavy. But without Yamamoto's permission, he didn't activate his Shikai—too rigid to break the rules.
Unlike Zaraki's raw instinct, Komamura was methodical. He believed that in a duel without releases, he could hold his own.
He had no idea what kind of swordsmanship Shuuichi had trained in.
Even Shuuichi himself didn't fully remember the torment he'd undergone in that space where time unraveled—but his body remembered.
Advance. Step off-line. Parry. Spin. Slash. End with Falling Crescent.
Like flowing water, he dismantled Komamura's attack in a blur, nearly ending his life—if not for Kyōraku, who cast Hadō #78: Zangerin, forcing Shuuichi to block.
"This chamber's reinforced by the Kidō Corps," Kyōraku reminded him. "Releasing your Zanpakutō is fine, Komamura-taichō~"
Komamura's heart pounded. That speed, that pressure... Shuuichi's swordsmanship was superior, without question.
There was only one thing left to do.
"I'll hold back, Higashi Shuuichi—but don't expect mercy!"
He raised his sword.
"Roar, Tenken!"
A spectral arm formed above—spiritual particles congealing into a massive blade that mirrored his own.
"Diagonal Cleave!"
Komamura's swing was mirrored by the giant. At the same time, Zaraki—recovering—charged again, this time coordinating with Komamura.
Kyōraku struck from behind, flinging another Kidō blade.
A pincer. Pressure from all sides.
"Now this... is getting interesting," Shuuichi muttered, still calm.
Just before the blows landed—
Sheath. Obliterate the void.
Inner Form: Gentle Severance.
Zaraki's blade met his—then disintegrated. His eternally half-formed Zanpakutō, bound by its shallow state, was overwhelmed and shattered.
Komamura's Tenken crumbled upon contact.
Kyōraku's Kidō? Sidestepped.
Without binding spells, trying to hit Shuuichi with pure range was wishful thinking.
"...He was holding back that day..."
Kurotsuchi Mayuri stood silent. He'd been planning to ask Shuuichi for new "samples"—but now, he rethought his approach.
Even Tōsen Kaname, who once watched Shuuichi grow from inferior to peer, now couldn't comprehend what he had become.
Wasn't the Human World starved of reishi?
How had Shuuichi become stronger in exile?
Had he been cheating after all?
As Komamura readied his Bankai, and Kyōraku prepared to unleash his Shikai for real—
Shuuichi smiled.
"Ready to be serious?
Then so am I~"
"Bankai: Kokujō Tengen Myō'ō!"
"Blooming chaos—Katen Kyōkotsu!"
Their voices rang together.
Kyōraku wasn't just playing—he wanted every Captain to see the truth of Shuuichi's Hell-born power.
Only that would convince Yamamoto.
But Shuuichi didn't respond in kind.
He did something simpler. More terrifying.
"Strategy, origin of warfare—Bankai: Use Another's Blade to Kill."
He activated the true form of his Zanpakutō, replacing its previous power with the one he had forged in that fictional future.
And far away, beneath London, protecting Tōma Sayako, Kisaragi Shūsuke felt the tug.
"Shuuichi-dono?!"
Ice cream in hand, ready to visit Nagasawa Satomi, he froze.
That voice—it was unmistakable. Shuuichi needed his power.
Was he kidding?
If Shuuichi-dono wanted his power, he could have it all.
But it was a one-way call. No reply would come.
Still, for Shūsuke, it was the best news in over a decade.
Back in the 1st Division—
Shuuichi laid his blade flat before him.
Same blade.
Different soul.
"Blunt."
No tuning fork. No resonance. Just silent, invisible waves.
Komamura's Bankai—canceled.
Kyōraku's Shikai—failed.
A wave of unease swept the hall.
Their Zanpakutōs… felt wrong. Disconnected.
"...What did you do to my sword?!"
Komamura stared in disbelief at his inert Zanpakutō.
Shuuichi didn't answer him.
His gaze was fixed, unwavering, on Yamamoto.
"When Soul Society labeled me a traitor... I swore it would never happen again.
So, Captain-Commander—do I now have the right to lead the Katanagari-gumi?"
Yamamoto's expression betrayed nothing.
Only when silence had swallowed the room did he finally speak.
"From this day forth—Higashi Shuuichi, Captain of the new division, Katanagari-gumi.
Title: Grand Swordhunter."