The sky was blue, the air damp, and the reishi thick.
Higashino Shuuichi looked at the buildings around him and the people passing by and felt a moment's dislocation.
Had he returned to Soul Society?
His Zanpakutō was inexplicably back in a sealed state, and the aftereffects he should have suffered from Bankai: Kuniku weren't there at all.
But what about that human called Akimi?
It was obviously those suddenly opened eyes of his that caused all this, yet Shuuichi didn't see that distinctive green hair anywhere around.
"Hey, you! Yeah, you!"
A voice sounded behind him. Shuuichi turned to see a Rukongai commoner he didn't recognize.
"You calling me?"
Shuuichi asked, puzzled.
"Who else? You look like a new soul—don't just stand there like a post. Go register at the Rukongai Registration Office so the Shinigami can put you on the rolls!
Don't say I didn't warn you. After the Karakura Town war a lot of souls arrived from the World of the Living all at once. We don't have enough houses to go around out here. If you don't register fast, there won't be a unit left for you—then you'll be building your own shack or sleeping in the street!"
The man explained kindly.
"The Karakura Town war?"
Hearing a name both familiar and out of place for his era, Shuuichi suddenly understood.
So the "future" Akimi spoke of meant sending him forward in time?
After he disappeared, the original Karakura battle still happened?
Didn't that mean he'd already missed far too much?
And if he'd been pulled from more than a hundred years in the past to right after the Karakura battle, then what was straight ahead was the Thousand-Year Blood War.
Damn…
For a second he wanted to swear. If you're sending me to the future anyway, couldn't you push a little farther?
Did it have to land on the single most annoying moment?
Still, with his current strength, getting through the Blood War alive wasn't hopeless.
Worst case, he could turtle up and keep his head down.
Don't provoke those freakish Quincy. Wait for Hyōsube Ichibē and Kurosaki Ichigo to take care of Yhwach. After the war, he could at least carve out a captain's seat in the rebuilt Soul Society.
As for Akimi—if the guy wasn't going to show himself, Shuuichi was happy to live quietly for a while.
With that settled, his heart stopped racing. Jumping a hundred years in a blink—Sayako, Kisaragi Shūsuke, the others would be heartbroken, wouldn't they?
And Matsumoto Rangiku… in this timeline he'd meddled with, would Ichimaru Gin still die at Aizen's hand like before?
"Thanks, friend."
Shuuichi thanked the helpful Rukongai man, then used shunpo, heading for Seireitei as he remembered it.
Even if the Visored wouldn't be recognized officially right after the Karakura battle, he still had connections in Seireitei. That custom backdoor Kurotsuchi Mayuri made for him to slip in and out ought to be handy right now.
If he didn't want to use Hollowfication to tear open a garganta inside Soul Society and trigger an overreaction during this sensitive postwar period, the best move was to find Kurotsuchi and get a proper pass to the World of the Living.
But when he reached the edge of Seireitei—where the "back door" should have been—the walls were solid, seamless. He was sure the instant he set foot inside, all of Seireitei would know a high-reishi entity had breached the perimeter.
"Did Kurotsuchi scrap the back door when he heard I'd vanished?"
Possible.
Then curve through an old ally.
The "Yushima Oshu" route—save the country by a detour.
He easily found the old address—but the place was completely different from a hundred years ago.
Asking the locals, Shuuichi realized something was off.
No one had ever heard of Yushima Oshu.
More than that, none of these Rukongai souls had ever heard the name "Higashino Shuuichi."
If it were just two century-old names, fine—Rukongai folk might not know them. He wouldn't have been alarmed.
But in the Karakura war only a short while ago, Soul Society had lost two more captains than in the original history—and two of the heaviest hitters.
The former Captain-Commander, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, and the former 11th Division captain, Zaraki Kenpachi.
That smell wasn't right.
Aizen wasn't that kind of man. Shuuichi figured he could have influenced him a little, but not enough to change Aizen's character.
Besides, despite his interference, Aizen hadn't gained anything beyond the original. Deviations shouldn't be that large. So how did Yamamoto and Zaraki die—and how could they?
And they weren't the only unexpected deaths. One more who "went to Hell" with them was a name called Urahara Kisuke.
Even more absurd. If you insisted anyone's death could be explained, maybe he could talk himself into it—but Urahara Kisuke?
Shuuichi did not believe Aizen had the power to kill Urahara.
This wasn't a fixed future at all…
In that moment, he saw it.
This was a future fabricated by someone.
"So that's what 'I staked these eyes on the future' really meant?"
The purpose of Akimi's forged future was still to kill him.
Would killing him inside a fiction do anything?
Unless—
"Unless this fabricated future can affect reality."
If that hypothesis was right, his path cleared.
Maybe he didn't need to break the board right away.
A week after he arrived in this future, alarms howled again in Seireitei—now a year past the Karakura battle.
In an instant, the citizens of Rukongai watched towering barriers wrap Seireitei once more.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Ikkanzaka Jidanbō, the White Road West Gate guardian who had somehow survived Aizen Sōsuke's coup, knelt in pain. Before him stood a Shinigami in a shihakushō with a dark-green-sheathed Zanpakutō at his waist, radiating a terrifying reiatsu.
With a lazy flick of the finger, the stranger had floored him; the leakage of pressure alone was crushing his breath.
"Have I just been away too long—or has Soul Society really rotted this much? The proud gate guardian of Seireitei… this weak?"
The nameless Shinigami, of course, was Higashino Shuuichi.
"Been 'away too long,' huh? Heh. Name yourself, no-name Shinigami!"
A flutter of white dropped from above, landing between Shuuichi and Jidanbō—captain's haori emblazoned with "11."
"No-name… fair enough. I've been gone long enough that no one remembers me."
Shuuichi eyed the familiar bald head. In this hypothetical future without Yushima Oshu, without Kisaragi Shūsuke, without himself, this man indeed hadn't seen him.
"My name is Higashino Shuuichi. Once a retainer of the Dōma clan, one of the Five Great Noble Houses. And you—Captain of the Eleventh—how should I address you, 'Kenpachi'?"
"One of the Five Great Noble Houses, eh? Heh. Then listen up. I'm Madarame Ikkaku! Or… you can call me Madarame Kenpachi!"
Ikkaku spoke with absolute confidence.
Behind him Shuuichi soon saw Ayasegawa Yumichika—and another captain approaching: Tenth Division's Hitsugaya Tōshirō.
"State your purpose, Higashino Shuuichi."
Unlike Ikkaku, Hitsugaya's hostility was much sharper.
His eyes all but wrote: Say one wrong word and I cut you down.
Would Shuuichi care?
If he'd made such a noisy entrance, it was to establish weight.
He didn't care what Akimi wanted in this fabricated future. He cared about the Soul King Palace—and training under the Royal Guard.
If what happened to him inside this fiction could feed back into reality, there was no reason it would be only negative. Positive effects should carry over, too.
In other words, if he played it right, he could fleece Zero Division twice.
With the Blood War likely close, there wasn't time to scheme slowly. Otherwise he'd have crafted himself a little "Kurosaki Ichigo" narrative and let the Zero Division haul him up to the Palace on their own.
Time was short. He'd cut the knot, reenter Soul Society's official ranks as fast as possible.
At least—get Zero Division to treat him as one of their own.
"My purpose? Isn't it obvious? I've finished the Dōma clan's assignment. Now I'm returning to Soul Society. That's all."
Shuuichi spread his hands, smiling.
"Heh. We don't even know who you are, and we're supposed to accept you as a Shinigami again because you said so? Higashino Shuuichi, you're oversimplifying."
Even a year later, Hitsugaya still held the betrayal trauma close. An unknown who broke procedure and tried to barge into Seireitei triggered his disgust.
"Then, young Tenth Division captain, how do you want me to prove it? As far as I know, my former liege's line—the last Dōma head who remained in Soul Society—passed away decades ago."
Shuuichi said with regret.
That was why he'd picked this identity. Fitting—and untraceable. There was nowhere for these people to confirm it.
"That's not your concern. For now, you'll wait outside Seireitei—quietly. Don't take another step."
Hitsugaya's blade was already out, pointed at Shuuichi as the latter shifted a foot forward.
"You make fair points, young Captain. But since the Eleventh's captain is here, I'd say it's fine to uphold the Eleventh's tradition, isn't it?"
Shuuichi ignored the warning and stepped forward, eyes locking on Ikkaku.
"Hahahaha—you want to challenge me? Fine. I'll give you the chance!"
Ikkaku's fighting spirit spiked.
"Captain Madarame!" Hitsugaya snapped. "This isn't the time for your Eleventh's 'traditions'!"
If objections could stop it, it wouldn't be the Eleventh's tradition.
In the heartbeat of his protest, Ikkaku was already charging.
"Let's have a good, cathartic fight, Higashino Shuuichi!"
"Cathartic?"
Shuuichi's smile was merciless.
Ikkaku had no idea who he was facing.
"Bakudō #75: Gochūtekkan!
Hadō #90: Kurohitsugi!"
Five iron pillars dropped from the sky and pinned Ikkaku. The chantless Kurohitsugi surged up and swallowed him.
Shuuichi slid his right foot half a step, leaned in, fingers closing along the hilt, reiatsu flooding the blade.
"Fuzan!"
One stroke. The huge coffin split at the waist. Blood geysered. In full view of the assembled Shinigami, Ikkaku's body tumbled limply out of the air onto his back.
"Captain Madarame!"
"Ikkaku!"
Shouts of shock and fear rippled outward.
Fresh from war, none of them had imagined their trusted Eleventh captain would be flicked aside like dust.
For Shuuichi, it was expected.
Against the old-guard captains of his own era, he'd weigh things carefully.
Against the new generation's captains—he could only apologize.
The display lit Hitsugaya's fuse.
"Damn you! Sit upon the frosted heavens—Hyōrinmaru!"
Glacial cold and water erupted. Air froze to crystal; a crimson-crested dragon of ice formed.
"Ice Dragon's Spinning Tail!"
He didn't give Shuuichi a word—just cut. Frost from the blade froze everything along its path.
And as the distance stretched, the ice ridge rose like a dragon's tail.
If Shuuichi had to pick a handful of tricky young captains, Hitsugaya would be among the top. The only peer might be Kuchiki Byakuya, new head of the Kuchiki clan.
He didn't take it head-on. He sprang up, slipping past the sweep.
Hitsugaya had expected that. As Shuuichi rose, Hyōrinmaru tilted up.
"Ice Dragon's Spinning Tail—Empty Sky!"
The ice ridges that had been growing straight back all twisted on command, spearing up for Shuuichi midair.
"You're overdoing it, kid."
Shuuichi frowned, pressed his left palm down, and a transparent wall flared.
"Bakudō #81: Dankū!"
Shards of ice smashed against it, a pallid chill blanketing half the field.
He condensed a foothold of reishi beneath his sole, tapped once, and slipped past the barrier and storm of ice.
A dull thud. In Hitsugaya's view, a blot of black cut through the white.
"Bungetsukiri!"
Shuuichi's cross-slash met another blade braced against it.
"Captain-Commander?!"
Hitsugaya looked from Shuuichi to the newcomer, both surprised and relieved.
Seeing his true target finally arrive, Shuuichi let out a breath.
"Captain-Commander? Heh. So you're the new one replacing Old Man Yamamoto—Kyōraku Shunsui?
I've heard of you—one of his earliest students. Strictly speaking, I suppose I should call you 'senior.'"
Shuuichi smiled at the unchanged Shunsui, drew back a step, and sheathed his sword.
If the man hadn't shown up, he'd really have had to scrap with Hitsugaya. That wasn't what he wanted.
He was here to join Seireitei, not tear it apart.
"I heard about you on the way. You claim to be a former retainer of the Dōma clan. As Captain-Commander, I'm willing to believe you—but you need to show me something, don't you?
Otherwise how do I explain this to everyone?"
Shunsui's tone was mild.
He could tell this man was flamboyant, but not malicious toward Seireitei. With what he'd just shown, he could have thrown the place into chaos before Shunsui arrived.
"That's easy enough. It's just… inconvenient to show you here. The place I've been isn't exactly friendly."
Shuuichi said with confidence.
At that, Shunsui had a guess.
Once he'd become Captain-Commander, he learned what the Dōma clan had truly overseen.
A retainer of Dōma with strength like this—and no record anywhere? Where else could he have come back from?
He was curious how Shuuichi intended to prove it.
The standoff evaporated the moment Shunsui stepped in.
Under Hitsugaya's glowering stare, Shuuichi swaggered into Seireitei at Shunsui's side.
Their destination lay below Central 46: Muken, the Great Underground Prison.
There Shunsui understood why Shuuichi had said it was inconvenient to demonstrate.
The gray sea of wailing shadows. Soul-seizing skeletal arms. The creeping, ashen tint of Hell's power on Shuuichi's body.
For a heartbeat he considered locking Shuuichi in Muken forever.
The power was simply too frightening.
No one knew what happened once Hell's hands dragged you down.
The Dōma clan might have known—but that knowledge had died with its last survivor in Soul Society.
In the end, Shunsui held back.
If he couldn't tell black from white, how was he different from the pampered nobles?
If he could welcome the Visored home, why not a Shinigami who wielded Hell's power?
The next day, Seireitei shook again.
The 11th Division captain—barely two years in the seat—had been replaced.
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