"A day like this is really unpretentious, quiet, and comfortable."
In the captain's quarters of the 11th Division, Vice-Captain Gosuke Shigure sat behind a modest wooden desk, steadily reviewing a stack of reports and mission logs. As his brush moved across parchment with calm precision, he couldn't help but voice a rare moment of peace in a place built on chaos.
It had only been a few days since Soya Moujo was officially recognized as the Eighth Kenpachi, taking command of the 11th Division by the ancient rite of combat. The brutal duel had ended with the death of the previous Kenpachi, and while some members of the squad still murmured uneasily about the transition, no one could deny the outcome: Moujo had earned the title in the only way the 11th Division respected—by force.
To the surprise of many, Captain Moujo hadn't imposed any radical reforms. Despite his overwhelming power, he exhibited no desire to overhaul the squad's structure or traditions. It seemed that claiming the title of Kenpachi was his only real ambition.
For now.
Because Moujo had yet to fully acclimate to the administrative responsibilities of a Gotei 13 captain, the bulk of the squad's daily operations still fell to Vice-Captain Shigure. As always, it was the second-in-command who kept the gears turning.
Unlike many in the 11th who abhorred paperwork and routine, Shigure found the work—dull as it might seem—strangely fulfilling. In his past life, long before the current age of Soul Society, he had lived during an era of lawless bloodshed, a time before the Gotei 13 had brought order. Back then, survival depended on brute strength, not structure. Governance was a concept lost in the storm of endless clan warfare and noble infighting.
In those days, nobles—many now extinct—were little more than warlords. Their alliances were fickle, and their power often short-lived. The Soul Society had no Seireitei, no central military. It was survival of the fittest. Bureaucracy was a foreign dream.
It was only after Genryūsai Yamamoto established the Gotei 13 that Soul Society found lasting stability. While the organization was initially founded to counter the threat of the Quincy, it evolved into the very backbone of order within the Seireitei. Even if the nobility still clung to power behind the scenes, the presence of the Gotei ensured that stability remained intact—for civilians and nobles alike.
Shigure, having inherited his host body's memories, and with the benefit of experience from his human life as an office clerk, had adapted quickly. What others in the 11th saw as drudgery, he saw as peace. No drawn blades, no screams, no bloodshed—just ink, brush, and silence. A rare comfort in a division bred for violence.
The 11th Division had the simplest mandate among the Thirteen Court Guard Squads: combat. Raw, relentless, uncomplicated battle. Its members shunned Kidō, looked down on Zanpakutō that specialized in ranged or binding techniques, and took pride in fighting head-on with melee-type Zanpakutō. Intelligence gathering? Stealth? Diplomacy? Those were the domains of other squads. The 11th thrived where there was blood to spill.
Because of this, their administrative work was refreshingly straightforward. Requests for combat patrols. Status updates from the front. Reports from the 12th Division's Reiatsu Surveillance Department on Hollow activity. Once identified, the task was always the same: deploy and destroy.
Shigure swiftly assigned duties for the day. Officers and seated members took their orders with visible excitement, eager to find something—or someone—to fight. Some disappointed groans came from those left without assignments. It was almost comical—soldiers dismayed by the lack of battle.
He noticed their frustration but offered no comfort. He understood. This was the 11th Division.
Just as he was finishing the last of his paperwork and briefly entertaining the idea of crafting a small ceramic teacup for afternoon use—a habit from his quieter past—a faint flutter echoed in the room. A Hell Butterfly had arrived, gliding gracefully through the open window, its black wings shimmering with spiritual energy.
In the current era, with no Shinigami Research and Development Institute established yet, Hell Butterflies remained the primary method of message transmission across the Gotei 13. A tradition both ancient and efficient.
The butterfly landed on Shigure's outstretched finger, and within moments, its encrypted message transmitted directly to his mind.
"I see," he murmured, releasing it gently to the wind.
But his relaxed expression faded.
The situation had turned.
Not long ago, Kenpachi Moujo had clashed with a Vasto Lorde-class Menos, delivering a crippling blow to the invading Hollow forces. Such a defeat would usually send Hueco Mundo into retreat to lick its wounds. And yet, barely days later, spiritual pressure from several Menos Grande—Gillian-class—had been detected near the outer districts of Rukongai.
The 12th Division had immediately relayed the information, and now the 11th was expected to respond.
Shigure briefly considered sending the mission to the officers who had been pouting moments earlier.
But he dismissed the thought just as quickly.
Even if they were hardened fighters, Menos Grande were no trivial threat. Their massive size alone made them dangerous, and although Gillians were at the bottom of the Menos hierarchy, they were still capable of killing an unprepared Shinigami.
He could not protect them forever—he knew that. At some point, every soldier would have to face greater dangers. But if he could spare a few lives now, he would.
For better or worse, he still remembered what it felt like to attend comrades' funerals.
Of course, Shigure himself was capable of handling the mission. With a lifetime of battle experience and the memories of his predecessor, the threat posed by a few Gillians was manageable.
Yet he had no intention of stepping in this time either.
He was the Vice-Captain—bound by duty to lead in battle if needed. But standing above him now was a newly minted Kenpachi, a warrior whose very title existed to face such challenges head-on.
So, with mission order in hand, Shigure rose from his desk and turned toward the inner barracks.
There was no hesitation in his stride.
It was time to find Captain Moujo.