The aftermath of the Vasto Lorde incursion hung heavy over Seireitei. Burned rooftops and shattered stone paths marked where the battle had raged, and though the surface damage was swiftly repaired, the undercurrent of unease remained.
Lan Yan sat cross-legged atop a training platform within the eleventh division's sparring grounds. The morning wind tugged at his robes. Zhuoyin lay across his lap, quiet but warm, the blade pulsing faintly.
Across from him stood a visitor: Kutsuki Renjiro.
"You didn't hold back," Renjiro said, rubbing his arm where the wound had barely begun to scar. "Your Bankai tore through that Hollow like it was nothing."
Lan Yan didn't respond immediately. His eyes were distant, watching the sun creep across the Seireitei skyline.
"It wasn't nothing," he finally said. "It retreated. That's the difference."
Renjiro frowned, then nodded. "You're saying it could've killed more—but chose not to?"
"Or was told not to," Lan Yan replied. He stood, adjusting his sheath. "You wanted to test my strength. Why?"
Renjiro's mouth quirked. "Because we're the same."
Lan Yan turned slightly. "You're not like me."
Renjiro's expression darkened. With a whisper of steel, he drew his blade. The reiryoku that poured out was twisted—a strange mix of Hollow corruption and Shinigami clarity.
"I'm worse," he said.
The blade shifted in his hand, flickering between solid steel and obsidian flame. Lan Yan's brow twitched. Zhuoyin responded with a hum, almost eager.
They clashed. CLANG!
Renjiro's strikes were brutal, aggressive, pulsing with hybrid instability. Lan Yan parried without activating Bankai, dancing between arcs of darkness and heat.
Whoosh!
A blast of crimson energy roared from Renjiro's hand. Lan Yan leapt backward, feet skidding across the training platform.
"You were trained," Lan Yan said, now convinced. "By someone who understood both sides."
Renjiro spat. "By someone who wanted me to survive. That's all."
Another surge. This time Lan Yan responded with a sliver of Zhuoyin's light, not enough to overwhelm, but enough to sting. Renjiro's blade cracked with the clash.
THUD!
Renjiro fell to one knee. Not from injury—but from fatigue. His body shuddered under the weight of his own reiryoku.
Lan Yan didn't press. He stepped forward and held out a hand.
Renjiro looked up, blood on his lip. Then he took it.
"They sent you, didn't they?" Lan Yan asked.
"To test you. To delay you. To see how far you've come."
"And?"
Renjiro's lips curled into a tired smirk. "Far enough to make them nervous."
From the shadows beyond the platform, a new reiatsu flickered. Cold. Unfamiliar.
Lan Yan turned his head slightly.
Zhuoyin pulsed. "Danger."
Author's Note:
A Hollow-Shinigami hybrid? A test, or a warning?
Lan Yan doesn't need a reason to fight. But now he has a name to chase.
The next shadow steps closer.
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