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Moyu felt no guilt for luring Abarai Renji into Karakura Town. In terms of environment, it was more than enough to challenge him. Though the Hollow chaos from years ago had settled, its echoes still lingered, and from time to time a Menos Grande would appear. In the eyes of the Technology Development Bureau, such incidents were no longer a major threat. To an ordinary Shinigami, Gillian-class Menos were still formidable opponents—but repeated skirmishes had honed their skills. The Thirteenth Division's overall strength now stood almost equal to the Eleventh Division, though at a heavy cost in casualties, and over the years many had been transferred into its ranks. Renji was among them.
"With Karakura's density of spiritual particles, attracting Menos from nearby cities is easy enough," Moyu said, his tone serious. "I'll leave the details to you, Urahara." Kisuke gave two quick "OK" signs and smiled. "No problem. But Mr. Moyu… that red-haired boy's potential seems—" His eyes flickered toward Renji's retreating figure. Moyu admitted that if the Spiritual Academy hadn't expelled him back then, Renji would have been the strongest student of that year. He had no trouble recognizing the boy's potential; as one of the era's leading fighters, his constant presence on the front line spoke volumes, and his true power was likely beyond most current captains. "To be acknowledged by the Eleventh Division? Mediocrity isn't an option," he said lightly. "Ah, I see," Urahara replied with a brightening tone. "Leave him to me."
When Renji arrived in Karakura, the Fate Modification Plan had already begun, and the Soul Society slipped into a short-lived peace. Aizen, for his part, showed no reaction to the deaths of the two Espada in Hueco Mundo—unsurprising, since pawns with no further value never stirred his composure. Yet beneath the calm, Seireitei's air grew heavy. From the day Hirako Shinji returned, the atmosphere shifted, and Moyu was already making his own preparations.
In the Eleventh Division barracks, an unrestrained surge of Reiatsu crashed down, followed by a second wave of golden pressure. The wall exploded inward, rubble scattering as a tall, broad figure stepped through the dust. Zaraki Kenpachi's lone eye glimmered with savage delight. "Moyu! Let's fight—I've been waiting!" Moyu replied calmly that if they fought here, old man Yamamoto would lose his temper, so Rukongai was where they could cut loose. Kenpachi studied him, faintly surprised at his change, but dismissed it; the fight was all that mattered. He had no fear of Moyu running—his instincts as a beast told him Moyu's fighting spirit was already spilling into the air.
In the Zaraki District of Rukongai, the familiar wasteland lay under flying yellow sand and harsh sunlight. Kenpachi's grin twisted into something feral as he lifted Nozarashi, blade tip angling toward Moyu. From the far side of the ruins, Kusajishi Yachiru waved cheerfully, warning Moyu to survive because Ken-chan was extra happy today. She knew him well—well enough to sneak into the Kuchiki estate's meeting rooms, and just recently she had even dragged Nel into the Women's Shinigami Association. Moyu's smile was faint as his left hand rested on his Zanpakutō's hilt, thumb easing the guard upward.
Cold steel caught the light, reflecting the clash of spirits between them. Golden Reiatsu swirled around Kenpachi, dense enough to make the air quake as gravel shuddered underfoot. Moyu drew Lanyin fully, his fighting spirit spiking, pure killing intent wreathing him in a tangible aura that collided with Kenpachi's golden blaze. He had no intention of using his ultimate Reiatsu—this would be sword against sword. Kenpachi's laughter rolled like thunder as Nozarashi swept up and down in an opening strike. The first clash of steel sent a shockwave tearing through the ruins for miles, annihilating what little structure remained.
Kenpachi's excitement grew with every exchange. His golden Reiatsu flared wildly, each swing able to gouge deep scars into the earth. Freed from restraint, his battle-lust drowned out thought. To him, kendo was nothing but chains on pure instinct; only instinct could lead to victory. He slashed like a storm, blows falling like lightning and rain, each strike threatening to bury Moyu. His tone turned arrogant as he declared that if this was all, then Moyu should die here, because the weak didn't deserve to live. His strikes hammered down like a smith at the forge.
Moyu's expression didn't waver. From the start, he had fought from the weaker position—without Reiatsu, his strength was a tenth of normal, and against Kenpachi, surviving at all was a feat. Kenpachi's swings were pure instinct, but Moyu's were the opposite—each slash layered with the shifting logic of the sword, from the basic ichidan to the pinnacle jūdan, and even the self-forged gale style he had created. The wind gathered, his stance lowered, and Lanyin slid back into the scabbard. Then, a blinding arc split the air as Moyu roared forward.
Kenpachi blinked, then grinned in delight, swinging straight into the storm without defense. Blood fountained, staining the wind red. "Reason is what commands instinct," Moyu said, his gaze like a blade cutting into Kenpachi's will—the best way to face a beast was to be stronger. Kenpachi's bloodlust spiked as he declared the battle had only begun, tearing off his eyepatch with a grin. Golden Reiatsu exploded skyward, splitting the clouds, and across Zaraki District, criminals froze under the familiar terror of domination.
Unshackled, Kenpachi's power multiplied, and blood loss meant nothing. Steel rang against steel in a brutal rhythm, golden energy forming a ghostly skull above his head. Moyu's eyes sharpened as wind swirled along Lanyin's edge, and he struck—Way of the Sword, Blasting Gale. Their blades met in a single instant, force shredding the ruins around them into dust. Light flared, and the fight roared on.
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