At the mountaintop.
Kuchiki Ginrei stood at the heights, observing through Kidō the scenes unfolding in that small village below.
By the time the dozen Adjuchas appeared within the Negación, the young boy's expression had already shifted multiple times.
The old man stood beside him, watching silently.
When Ginrei saw the grotesque, twisted state of the dozens of villagers, he instinctively turned to the elder beside him. His crimson eyes, usually bright, now carried a trace of incomprehension.
"Lord Shōgo... was it really necessary to use so many souls as bait?"
"They should have been..."
Ginrei wanted to say, They were innocent.
But before he could finish, his words were cut off by Tsunayashiro Shōgo.
The elder spoke indifferently, "It was their honor, Ginrei."
Ginrei's expression froze.
Despite his youthful appearance, the heir of the Kuchiki clan was no different from any other teenager at heart—questioning authority one moment, blindly trusting it the next.
Tsunayashiro Shōgo, the de facto leader of the Five Great Noble Houses, was undoubtedly one of the authorities he revered.
Ginrei dared not argue.
However, Shōgo clearly understood that his words alone wouldn't convince the boy. He continued slowly, "The Rukongai is the land where the dead are born. These souls have contributed nothing to the Soul Society, nor do they bear the responsibility of maintaining the balance of the three realms, as we nobles do."
"Their sole purpose is to consume spiritual energy, waste it, and then return it to the Soul Society upon death."
"Ginrei, you must understand."
"Those things are not like us."
"Even if we kill them now, we are merely sparing them the process of wasting spiritual energy and sending them straight to reincarnation."
"This is not a sin."
Ginrei had never set foot in the Rukongai before, nor had he ever heard such opinions from those around him. This was the first time he had encountered such a perspective, and his eyes widened in shock.
How could people who look just like us be mere 'things'?
He couldn't comprehend it.
"Hm?"
Just as he was about to voice his doubts, Tsunayashiro Shōgo suddenly frowned, the wrinkles on his aged face deepening as an expression of astonishment flickered across his features.
"That woman... could it be—?"
Without hesitation, Shōgo stepped past Ginrei and issued orders to the Kidō Corps behind them.
"Erase all traces of the formation immediately. The operation team is to retreat at once."
"We cannot stay here any longer."
"Yes!"
The Kidō Corps didn't even wait for Ginrei, a mere child, to give any orders. They obeyed without question.
Left standing alone, Ginrei wore a look of utter confusion.
There were simply too many things in the Soul Society that he didn't understand.
---
If Fujimori Makoto's battle was a desperate struggle for survival amidst a sea of corpses, where victory was snatched from the jaws of death through sheer willpower...
Then Unohana Yachiru's situation was entirely different.
The snow-white figure, her long hair cascading freely, walked toward the gathering of Menos Grande as if taking a leisurely stroll. She showed no signs of vigilance, her spiritual pressure completely undetectable.
Only when she stood before the bull-headed Menos—the one who had spoken first—did she pause.
For Adjuchas-class Menos, survival in the brutal hierarchy of Hueco Mundo depended on either overwhelming individual strength or forming small groups of a dozen or so.
Within these groups, the strongest fed first, devouring the prey hunted by weaker Adjuchas to hasten their evolution into Vasto Lorde.
To enforce this cruel order, a leader was necessary—one strong enough to command respect.
The bull-headed Menos, called "Anthony," was that leader.
Yet, from the moment Unohana approached, it had frozen in place.
Motionless.
"Hey! Anthony!"
The other Adjuchas pawed at the ground, their hunger for the intoxicating spiritual energy driving them to madness. But fear of Anthony's strength kept them in check.
"Why'd you stop moving?"
Hearing the commotion, Unohana turned her head slightly.
At the same moment the voice rang out—under the watchful eyes of the dozen Adjuchas—the massive body of the bull-headed Menos split apart with a sickening rip.
From the top of its mask down to its tail, its entire form cleanly separated along a vertical fissure, spilling its innards onto the ground with a wet thud.
Silence.
Even the most reckless and bloodthirsty among them fell quiet at the sight.
They knew Anthony's strength—and by extension, their own.
None of them had seen the woman draw her blade.
The eerie stillness lasted nearly a minute.
Unohana Yachiru swept her gaze across the encircling Adjuchas, her lips curling into a disdainful smirk.
"Trash."
Her voice, mature and measured, carried none of the high-pitched exuberance of youth. It was a flat, matter-of-fact statement.
That single word ignited the fury of every Menos present.
As Hollows, their minds had long discarded reason. What little intellect they retained served only survival, and restraint was a foreign concept.
"It's her Zanpakutō!"
"Her sword has some kind of ability!"
One of the Adjuchas roared, as if uncovering some grand secret. The others latched onto the idea, as though it could bolster their courage.
In truth, they all knew.
What truly drove their greed was the staggering spiritual energy her power implied—energy that could fuel their evolution.
And the unspoken truth none dared acknowledge...
They couldn't escape.
"RAAAAAGH—!!!"
The signature, guttural howl of Menos Grande erupted in unison.
A dozen Adjuchas charged at Unohana Yachiru at once.
The sheer size of the monstrous beasts, compared to the woman's petite frame, created a scene of overwhelming contrast. Their combined assault was like a tidal wave crashing down upon a lone sandcastle.
Unohana's smile deepened.
Her slender fingers wrapped around the hilt of her Zanpakutō, drawing it forth with deliberate slowness.
The mirror-like blade reflected the frenzied, desperate faces of the Adjuchas.
Then, the sword swung.
And everything stopped.
Unohana stepped lightly past the charging beasts, an ethereal figure moving against a stampede.
Yet with every step, blood followed.
Every Adjuchas that rushed past her was shredded as if caught in a net of razor wires—spraying blood, torn flesh, shattered masks, and dying howls filled the air.
Not just those at the front. Even the few who had hung back, urging their comrades forward while attempting to flee through the Garganta, were bisected by a single, distant slash.
The Adjuchas—kings of the Menos Forest, rulers of Hueco Mundo's lower layers—were no more durable than infants before Unohana Yachiru.
None could withstand a single strike.
Once the slaughter concluded, the woman seemed to have time to spare. She returned to the village just in time to witness Fujimori Makoto's final slash.
As Fujimori sheathed his blade, preening slightly, a cold hand suddenly rested atop his head.
Unohana ruffled his hair gently, finally showing a hint of approval.
"Not bad."
Fujimori startled.
Turning, he saw the sea of corpses behind her.
His heart sank.
Truly, your mom is still your mom.