Gillian are indeed the lowest class of Menos Grande—true.
But that doesn't make them easy prey.
Perhaps to a captain, Gillian are just cannon fodder—slow, mindless, and lumbering targets slain with a flick of the wrist. But for an average Shinigami, even engaging one requires the strength and composure of at least a seated officer.
And Gosuke Shigure hadn't faced one. He'd faced six.
Dispatching all six Gillian in mere moments was not something just any vice-captain could do. It was a display of refined technique, hardened instinct, and efficiency born of countless battles.
Mole City Kenpachi couldn't help but think of the previous Kenpachi—the eleventh, Tsukiyashiki Keiyashiki—who had died by his hand.
Even someone as emotionally distant as the current Kenpachi had to admit: Tsukiyashiki was a true warrior. His strength was overwhelming, a terrifying force even among the captains. If Tsukiyashiki hadn't lost access to his Bankai for reasons still unclear—and if Mole City Kenpachi hadn't resorted to his now-infamous air-blade technique—he would never have won that duel.
In his eyes, Gosuke Shigure was more than just a leftover subordinate. His ability to remain vice-captain even after the change in command was proof enough of his value.
When Mole City Kenpachi first took over the 11th Division, he had no interest in restructuring or asserting dominance. He simply needed a vice-captain, and Gosuke remained. Team operations? Delegated entirely to him.
Over the past few weeks, Gosuke had proven his worth beyond administration—handling squad logistics and discipline with precision. After today's battle, Mole City Kenpachi saw him in a new light.
No longer just a competent vice-captain—
He was someone with potential.
Still, that was the extent of it.
"Let's return," Kenpachi said simply.
Gosuke nodded.
Back at the 11th Division barracks, life resumed its semblance of calm.
But calm was always relative in the 11th.
Mole City Kenpachi was unlike any Kenpachi that came before. He lacked Zaraki's chaotic joy, Tsukiyashiki's comradery, or even the charisma of older captains. He was a silent blade—cold, precise, and withdrawn.
He barely interacted with his squad, preferring solitude in the rear training chamber behind the captain's quarters. He didn't even train publicly—just sat in silence, motionless for hours, as if meditating… or brooding.
Most team affairs were left entirely to Gosuke Shigure, who handled them without complaint. Over time, the division had come to accept it: their new Kenpachi was a recluse.
Still, there was one saving grace.
Even if he was distant, he never disgraced the title of Kenpachi.
Whenever Menos Grande or other Hollow threats appeared in the outer districts, Mole City Kenpachi never hesitated. He would lead the charge—alone if needed—and cut them down without theatrics. His power was never in question.
After all, he had defeated a Kenpachi in single combat.
But if the division members were forced to choose between the two Kenpachi…
They'd choose Tsukiyashiki.
Because Tsukiyashiki had been one of them.
He laughed with the unseated. He treated even the greenest rookies as equals. After every successful mission, he would host a celebration in the mess hall—drinks, stories, laughter, and the clamor of shared victories.
But those days were gone.
Mole City Kenpachi didn't drink. He didn't laugh. He didn't stay after a fight. He simply vanished into the barracks without a word.
Some struggled with the change.
Gosuke Shigure wasn't one of them.
After all, he'd died once. He'd been reborn with centuries of experience, and the memories of wars long faded from public record. In his eyes, death was common. Tsukiyashiki dying? Inevitable.
His focus was on living again—this second life, this new opportunity.
Compared to the old Soul Society that burned with endless war, this era was… peaceful.
Team paperwork, an occasional Hollow skirmish—it was practically a vacation.
One day, while processing daily logistics, an unexpected presence entered the captain's office.
"Well, Gosuke, I see you're still playing vice-captain with style."
The voice came lazily, almost playfully, from the doorway.
Gosuke looked up, instantly recognizing the speaker by silhouette alone.
"Captain Kyoraku."
The man in the doorway wore a straw hat over long brown hair, a pink-flowered haori over his standard captain's cloak. His laid-back appearance was famously deceptive—there was only one man in the Gotei 13 who dressed like this.
Kyoraku Shunsui, Captain of the 8th Division.
Beloved student of Yamamoto Genryūsai, the first captain to graduate from the Shin'ō Academy, and one of the oldest surviving captains still active.
And as Gosuke well knew, in the Gotei 13, age and seniority were rarely divorced from raw power.
"What brings you to the 11th today, Kyoraku-taichō?" Gosuke asked.
Kyoraku scratched his chin with a sly smile.
"Just taking a stroll, really. Haven't visited in a while… Funny, everything looks the same, but something feels… different."
In Tsukiyashiki's day, Kyoraku was a regular guest. He and the former Kenpachi would drink together long into the night, their conversations half-laughs and half-swordplay.
At one such feast—following a victorious defense against a Menos incursion—Tsukiyashiki had stood, drunk and proud, and challenged Mole City to a duel. It was the beginning of the end.
Kyoraku's words now felt like double-edged blades.
On the surface, he claimed nothing had changed. But he felt what Gosuke and everyone else felt:
The soul of the division was different.
The barracks were cleaner, quieter.
But quieter didn't mean better.
Where once there had been songs and sake, there was now silence. Where laughter echoed, now there was only discipline. Tsukiyashiki had never dismissed a soldier's joke. Mole City never cracked a smile.
The 11th Division was still full of warriors—but the fire had dimmed.
Kyoraku hadn't come just to reminisce. He'd come with a plan.
After Tsukiyashiki's death, Kyoraku had personally investigated the new Kenpachi—looking into the old Mole City family, the tragedy that had destroyed it, and the closed-off man it had produced.
He understood the coldness.
But he didn't accept it as permanent.
His hope was that if he could get Mole City Kenpachi to attend a few post-battle celebrations, maybe it would open him up. Bring some life back to the barracks.
So he extended the invitation. Personally.
Mole City Kenpachi declined. Flatly. Without even standing.
Kyoraku wasn't often denied, and it stung.
Gosuke, on the other hand, was far more receptive.
Kyoraku turned to him with an exaggerated sigh.
"Tell me, Gosuke—how do you put up with this? All this paperwork. You ever think about just sneaking out and getting a drink with me?"
He grinned.
"It's got to be better than staring at requisition forms all day, right?"
After all, Kyoraku never liked paperwork. And he believed firmly that some truths were best shared over a cup of sake, not buried under stamps and schedules.