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The Central 46 had weighed the Thirteenth Division's current burdens and decided to reassign Abarai Renji's retrieval to Moyu.
By order, Madarame Ikkaku of the Eleventh Division would accompany him.
When Moyu saw the roster, he quietly mulled over the implications.
Was this a deliberate choice to send people close to Renji?
Was it the will of the Central 46, or a move orchestrated by Aizen?
The possibilities churned without resolution. He let the thoughts go.
Thinking too much led to mistakes. Better to follow the plan.
Reuniting with Ikkaku, they headed straight for the Senkaimon.
They emerged into Karakura Town at dusk, the sky washed in neon.
The plain sliding doors of the Senkaimon dissolved behind them, leaving only the ordinary hum of city life.
"So this is Karakura Town," Ikkaku said, eyeing the streets with blunt curiosity. It was his first time in the human world.
Zanpakutō resting on his shoulder, his sharp grin radiated raw menace — the kind of look that could collect protection money without a word.
"So, Moyu. Where to?" he asked.
"Shouldn't you be handling that as vice-captain?" Moyu replied dryly.
"I'm a captain," Ikkaku shot back with a laugh. "Anyway, those tech-heads at the Bureau made some device so complicated I couldn't get a lock on Renji's reiatsu. Tried a few times, couldn't manage it… so I smashed it."
Moyu sighed. That was exactly the Eleventh Division's style. Also, calling the Bureau members 'bald guys' was rich, given Ikkaku's own head.
"At least Rangiku knows how to use one of these," Moyu muttered, pulling out a spare reiatsu detector. He turned the dial. "North. Let's move."
Ikkaku snorted. "Still no match for my Zanpakutō."
Moyu didn't bother answering. There was no comparison to be made.
Not far from Karakura General Hospital, in a shadowed alley, a figure stood over two trembling youths. Up close, their dyed hair and piercings marked them as small-time punks.
"If I see you shaking down people here again, I'll break all three of your legs," the red-haired man growled.
Under the streetlamp, Abarai Renji's glare was a blade in itself. The two thugs stammered promises and fled — only to crash into a body as solid as a wall.
Moonlight glinted off Ikkaku's bald head. His smirk was worse than Renji's scowl. "Looking for trouble?" he said, leaning in. The punks fainted on the spot.
Moyu pitied them. Facing Ikkaku in full Shinigami form was its own trauma.
He dragged their bodies aside so they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire if a fight broke out.
Ikkaku strode down the alley, Zanpakutō on his shoulder. "Found you, brat."
Renji's eyes narrowed. Of all the people he disliked running into, Ikkaku ranked high.
And when Moyu's tall frame appeared behind him, his unease deepened.
"It's been a while, Renji," Moyu said. "Seireitei knows you transferred your Shinigami power to a human. We're here to bring you back — and retrieve that power completely."
Sweat traced down Renji's temple. If Ikkaku was a menace, Moyu was another category entirely.
Before he could speak, a streak of blue light tore through the air toward Moyu. He caught it with two fingers, and the reishi arrow crumbled into particles.
A figure stepped from the street beyond — Ishida Uryū, school uniform crisp, black-and-white spirit bow in one hand, a grocery bag in the other.
"Another Shinigami. Disgusting," he said coldly.
Moyu studied him with mild curiosity. So Ryuuken hadn't told his son the full truth of the Quincy downfall. And still, here he was, standing defiant.
"Who the hell are you?" Ikkaku asked.
"I'm Renji's classmate. And I hate Shinigami," Uryū replied, adjusting his glasses.
Ikkaku grinned toward Renji. "Made new friends, have you? Let's see how this one holds up against me."
"Run!" Renji shouted — too late.
Ikkaku was already on him, Zanpakutō crashing down. The ground split under the force.
Uryū countered with Holy Arrows, but Ikkaku hacked them apart in two strikes, pressing the attack like a predator.
"Renji," Moyu said, watching, "do you think you could beat him now?"
"Maybe…" Renji murmured, uncertain.
"You're confident," Moyu said evenly, "but your situation isn't a sparring match. Transferring Shinigami power to a human carries a death sentence. Execution at Sōkyoku Hill."
A gap in Uryū's guard gave Ikkaku an opening. His kick slammed into the Quincy's gut, hurling him across the street. Blood stained Uryū's lip.
Then a slash of spiritual pressure cleaved through the night from afar. Ikkaku leapt back.
An orange-haired boy advanced, massive Zanpakutō slung in hand — Kurosaki Ichigo.
The oversized blade might have looked intimidating, but the pressure was raw, unrefined.
He glanced at Uryū's battered form, eyes narrowing. "Hey! You bastard — you dare lay a hand on my friend?"
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