Hueco Mundo, outside Las Noches. At the site where Sengoku Ryū, the captain of the Soul Society expeditionary force, had fallen.
Starrk had already taken Lilynette back. Only Higashino Shuuichi remained, carrying out Aizen's order—waiting like a hunter by a snare.
He knew nothing of what was happening in Soul Society, nor that his "gentle" captain, Unohana, had nearly pierced through the veil.
Trust in Aizen left him untroubled.
Bakudō #26, *Kyokko*, fueled endlessly, cloaked him completely.
He suppressed his reiatsu to the barest trace—just enough to maintain the concealment. For extra cover, he gathered a handful of mindless Gillians and arranged them around him, their spiritual noise masking his own.
Unless someone intimately familiar with his reiatsu came, no one would sense him.
He expected to wait weeks, perhaps months.
But before a single day passed, shadows appeared.
Shinigami.
Not expeditionary troops—their attire marked them instead as the so-called "recovery squad," those sent to collect the asauchi of the fallen.
But Higashino knew better.
They didn't search. They didn't hesitate. They went straight for Raika, Sengoku's fallen blade, as if they already knew exactly where it lay.
Only the Kasumioji, the makers of the *Bakkōtō*, could have done that.
He had never heard of any technique in Soul Society that could pinpoint the location of a dead shinigami's sword.
"There it is."
One of them pointed at Raika.
The blade had lost its sharp aura, no longer drawing in reishi. It looked like nothing more than an oddly-shaped longsword, nothing at all like an asauchi.
And yet their certainty confirmed everything.
A small-framed shinigami produced a long black case, placing it beside Raika. Donning special gloves, he reached to draw it from the sand—
And a giant shinigami with long black hair turned on him.
"Bakudō #30, Shitotsu Sansen!"
Three glowing fangs shot forward, pinning him and another nearby to a rock wall.
"Ishiiwa Kyūsuke! What are you doing?!"
One of their comrades—hawk-nosed—snapped, demanding answers instead of fighting back.
Higashino shook his head silently. Fools like this had only one end.
"Hadō #31, Shakkahō!"
Kyūsuke raised a hand. A red fireball blasted forth, exploding against the hawk-nosed shinigami's chest. Flames burst bright, and he fell.
At last, the last survivor—short and wiry—realized the truth. "Kyūsuke, you've betrayed us! Bound in beast-bone lattice, crimson spires, wheels of steel—moving wind, stilling void, spears that clash—"
From the shadows, Higashino could only gape. *What?*
A high-level chant, number 63. But five meters apart? Chanting aloud? In a real fight?
Kyūsuke didn't give him the chance. He drew his zanpakutō, stepped clumsily but quickly, and drove the blade straight through the short man's chest.
The two pinned earlier shouted frantically.
"You've lost your mind! The Kasumioji will never forgive you! You're dead, Kyūsuke!"
But Kyūsuke only laughed, wild and manic.
"Kasumioji? With Raika in my hands, I'll be captain in an instant! What can they do to me? They'll have to beg for my cooperation!"
He cast aside his zanpakutō and seized Raika's hilt.
At once, the dormant blade stirred. Its aura flooded outward, sharp and terrible.
"From today, I am captain!"
He howled at the sky, then turned to the pinned pair.
"You'll die first! Sever, Raika! Raien-dan!"
Raika flared, releasing its Shikai. From its hooked tip, a blazing fireball erupted, streaking through the air and scorching a molten scar behind it.
"AAAH!"
Their screams ended as their bodies turned to ash.
"This is captain's power! HAHAHA! From today—this is mine!"
Kyūsuke shook with ecstasy, trembling all over, madness in his eyes.
"…Sigh."
The sound cut through the air.
"Who's there?! Who!"
Kyūsuke spun, panic rising.
He sensed nothing. Only Gillians drifting far away. With Raika in hand, he should have had captain-class perception. How could someone be so close without him knowing?
The answer came as a figure stepped from the shadows, less than a hundred meters away.
"Squad 13, Squad 4, Third Seat—Higashino Shuuichi."
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