"The one who cut me last time was Yamamoto, okay? You guys were the ones who got killed by that brat."
The white-haired, dark-skinned young man shot back defiantly, a flicker of anger in his eyes.
"I wasn't even conscious last time, so it doesn't count!"
Furōfushi Saitō growled viciously, as if she wanted to tear the other apart.
Batsu'unsai Katori frowned, speaking with deep concern.
"But if that kid isn't here, Soul Society might really be in danger this time."
Her voice was thick with worry.
Furōfushi Saitō glanced around.
Hell hadn't just sent them—the original captains. Alongside them were monstrous beings led by the former King of Hueco Mundo, now a Hell Prisoner, as well as more than thirty captain-class Togabitos.
Everyone's expression turned grim. They were starting to grasp just how dire the situation was.
Furōfushi Saitō clicked her tongue, clearly displeased.
"Old man Yamamoto, seriously... His Bankai is so powerful, but he can only use it for such a short time."
"If he could hold it longer, we wouldn't have to worry about these freaks."
At her words, several original captains sighed, regret flashing in their eyes.
Zanka no Tachi was strong, no doubt—but this world couldn't handle its full power for long.
If it were used too long, Yamamoto Shigekuni might destroy the world himself before Hell even had to make a move.
Under the protection of Hell's power, the group landed safely. A gray-haired man slowly stood up, looking like he was still half-asleep.
It was Chigiri Shijima, the first-generation captain of the 4th Division.
He frowned and asked, puzzled,
"I heard from Chika that Zanka no Tachi got a power boost, didn't it?"
"He can store the flames in the blade now, so it should last longer, right?"
"But Hell's power is limitless—what good is just a few extra minutes?"
Furōfushi Saitō snorted in annoyance.
Not far away, Yamamoto leaned on his cane, eyes locked on the silhouettes appearing in the sky.
Rangiku Matsumoto stood with arms crossed, staring ahead.
"They're still wearing the Gotei 13 haori. Are those the former captains?"
Next to her, Chōjirō Sasakibe couldn't help but murmur,
"Genryūsai-sama, it really is them. Just like a thousand years ago."
His voice was filled with emotion and helplessness.
"Tch... those troublesome bastards. Even in death, they crawl back just to give this old man more headaches."
Yamamoto shook his head. His words were harsh, but a bitter smile tugged at his lips.
Chōjirō Sasakibe gave a light chuckle.
"Genryūsai-sama, there's no need to worry."
"Captain Masatsuki is working on a plan. Let's trust him."
"Trust him? I'd be happy if he didn't add to my problems!"
Yamamoto shot him a sideways glance and huffed.
They were facing Hell itself this time. Even he wasn't sure he'd make it through alive. That kid would be lucky just to survive.
If anyone could deal with Hell, it would have to be the Soul King.
If that brat really came up with a solution to all this, Yamamoto would gladly step down and let him be Captain-Commander!
Just then, Yamamoto noticed something strange.
The battle hadn't even started yet, and the other side was already arguing among themselves.
A loud commotion rose from the crowd across from them—they seemed to be in a heated debate about something important…
"As the saying goes, a house can't go a day without a master, a country can't go a day without a ruler, and the Gotei 13 can't go a day without a Captain-Commander."
With his back to Yamamoto and facing his former comrades, Chika Shihōin spoke with impassioned fervor, as if delivering a speech.
"Now that Yamamoto is no longer in power, as the Captain of the 2nd Division, a noble of the Five Great Houses... the former head of my clan, it's only natural that I should—"
"Natural your ass! Who do you think you are? I should be the Captain-Commander! I'm the strongest one here!"
Furōfushi Saitō leapt up and punched Chika Shihōin square in his handsome face.
Chika Shihōin crashed to the ground, but Furōfushi Saitō wasn't done—she followed up by stomping on his face.
No one paid any attention to Chika Shihōin, but Furōfushi Saitō's claim sparked immediate protest.
"Who said you're the strongest? This old man can still fight!"
"You damn runt, get lost! I'm the strongest here, I should be Captain-Commander!"
"Hah! You overindulgent old coot, better deal with those eye bags first!"
"These aren't eye bags—they're deep-set eyes! The charm of a mature man! Brats like you wouldn't understand!"
Yamamoto: "..."
Watching Furōfushi Saitō and Nobutsuna Shigyō wrestling on the ground, Yamamoto figured they might just wipe each other out without him needing to lift a finger.
At that moment, a man with a gaunt face, glasses, slicked-back hair, and a stern expression stepped forward to stop the chaos.
In a cold tone, he said,
"From a rational and objective standpoint, I, Kinroku Izuhara, Captain of the 3rd Division, am the strongest and the most suitable candidate to become Captain-Commander."
But before he could finish, a hard punch was already flying at him.
"Four-eyes, don't think wearing glasses and acting all polite will stop me from punching you!" Furōfushi Saitō growled.
Kinroku Izuhara clutched his bruised face and glared, but didn't strike back.
"Looks like it's up to me. Who else has the seniority I do?" Saizō Sakahone said smugly.
"What good is seniority? Can you throw a punch like this? Check out these muscles!" Uhin Zenjōji flexed proudly.
"Yeah, yeah, all one slab of muscle—so what?! Quit embarrassing yourself!" someone jeered.
"My sword's just as deadly!" another shouted, unwilling to be outdone.
The group erupted into chaos, exchanging insults and challenges. The scene devolved into utter bedlam.
Yamamoto and Retsu Unohana stood to the side, watching the absurdity unfold. Despite the dire situation, they couldn't help but laugh.
The moment reminded them of old times. Bloody, violent, and chaotic, sure—but not every moment in that era had been about fighting and death.
Just then, Batsu'unsai Katori seemed to come up with an idea.
She clutched her long-handled naginata to her chest and smiled kindly.
"Actually, wouldn't it be easier if we just figured out who among us is the strongest?"
The others lit up, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Exactly! What's the point of all this talk? If you've got the guts, let's fight and settle it! Just flapping your gums means nothing!"
"Damn right! Strength is what really counts. If you're too scared to fight, then get out of the way!"
Hearing this, even Chika Shihōin, still pinned underfoot, nodded in agreement.
"Sounds good to me. Let's settle it that way!"
With that, everyone began drawing their Zanpakutō, clearly ready to throw down.
However, before anything could happen, the skeletal figure wearing a crown and bearing a circular halo on his back cast them a sidelong glance.
He raised one arm slightly, and a throne of black chains formed beneath him.
The Skeleton King calmly sat down, lightly tapping the armrest with his fingers.
As the gates of Hell rumbled, crimson light spilled forth.
Countless golden Reishi particles drifted outward, flying toward the group that had come from Hell.
The original captains fell into stunned silence, each one frozen in place.
Golden skeletal armor began forming over their bodies, piece by piece.
At that moment, every Shinigami of the Gotei 13 stood in a daze.
After a while, Batsu'unsai Katori looked up and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She paused in surprise.
"Huh... this time, it didn't completely suppress our consciousness?"
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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