Sui-Feng's Bankai
The words hadn't come from Oda Nobunaga. The frivolous tone was unmistakably Shiraishi's—like a man strolling through his garden, idly commenting on a flower.
Sui-Feng reacted instantly, leaping from Nobunaga's back. But she was a step too late.
Shiraishi was already upon her. His hand clamped her right wrist, twisting downward, sealing her Zanpakutō in one smooth motion. Her Shikai was locked.
Half her fighting strength was gone in an instant.
She struck back without hesitation. Her left elbow slammed backward, but Shiraishi caught her other wrist and twisted it painfully behind her. Her hands were so small he could pin them both in one hand.
Sui-Feng's right leg lashed backward.
"Don't waste your energy," Shiraishi said coldly, gripping both her wrists with one hand and seizing her ankle with the other, forcing it upward. "You were careless."
Sneak attacks never went out of style—past, present, or future. They worked because they were practical. If the ambush succeeded, the target was powerless.
Sui-Feng had proven it against Nobunaga. Shiraishi had simply returned the favor.
"Bastard!" she spat, silver-gray eyes blazing. "You've fallen this low? I misjudged you completely!"
"Who forced me into debt?" Shiraishi shrugged. His debts had ballooned to nearly twenty thousand kan. To a noble, it was pocket change; to him, it was a lifetime's burden. With no family name, no fortune, and hunted by Soul Reapers, he'd never pay it off with an ordinary salary.
So he turned to the only lucrative path left—one hidden even within Seireitei's laws.
Nearby, Nobunaga grimaced as he forced his dislocated shoulder back into place and retrieved his sword. "Do you want me to kill her?"
"No," Shiraishi replied. "Put all the money in the safe. Forget the antiques and paintings. If you want them, keep them for yourself."
Sui-Feng writhed, straining her arms and legs, spiritual pressure flaring like a wild colt.
Shiraishi's grip held steady. "You swore you'd show no mercy the next time we met. Don't act spoiled now."
Her glare could have cut steel. She lowered her head suddenly and sank her teeth into his chest.
"Argh!" Shiraishi cried out. The bite wasn't lethal, but it hurt.
"What are you, born in the Year of the Dog? Let go!"
She only bit harder.
"You'll make me angry!" His passive ability pulsed, threatening to activate if the damage pushed him further. If it triggered, Sui-Feng might lose her teeth.
He hardened his resolve and bent low, baring his own teeth.
But instead of biting, he pressed lightly against her cheek.
Sui-Feng froze. It wasn't pain—it was the ghost of a memory. The touch of a cheek on a carousel. The brush of skin while sharing ice cream on a bench. The warmth of laughter on a Ferris wheel.
Moments she had known in the World of the Living—through her gigai.
Never in her true body.
Her eyes flew open, shaken. Her jaw slackened just enough.
Shiraishi seized the opening, chopping the back of her head.
Buzz— golden stars danced before her eyes. Her limbs weakened, swaying like a drunkard's.
Shiraishi didn't waste the chance. He darted to the massive safe, driving a kick into it.
Boom!
The iron giant blasted free, tearing through the pavilion and into the sky.
Shiraishi landed atop it, arms folded, feet braced wide in a horse stance. Wind and thunder wrapped him, his posture sharp and arrogant.
Yumichika, fighting nearby, caught sight of the safe flying overhead. His expression twisted. Captain Sui-Feng—defeated? That fast?
Even Minamoto no Yoshitsune and Okita Sōji faltered, their resolve shaken. But Squad Eleven pressed on mercilessly.
When Sui-Feng regained her senses, the hall was empty. Nobunaga and Shiraishi were gone. A ragged hole yawned in the eastern wall.
She leapt to its edge, catching only a shrinking black speck in the distance.
Her thoughts split in two—one self panicked, scattering, the other grim and mercilessly cutting down her doubts.
Her rage boiled over, tearing through restraint.
"Shiraishi!!"
How dare he underestimate her.
Calm mask discarded, she revealed the truth: she was too weak.
Her hands trembled, then clenched.
"Bankai! Jakuhō Raikōben!" (Hornet Thunder Whip)
Furious, she cast aside stealth. This was no assassination—only destruction.
Brilliant lightning crackled, lancing skyward and crashing down again.
Even Ikkaku, mid-battle, felt the air turn frigid under sunlight. A mortal sense of crisis seized his gut.
Boom!
The golden missile's head shattered tiles as Sui-Feng leveled her arm at the fleeing speck.
Her Bankai, a colossal missile, was devastating—but flawed. It was massive, blindingly conspicuous, and could be fired only once every three days. Worse, its recoil tore the body apart without proper restraints.
But Sui-Feng no longer cared.
Better to cripple herself than let Shiraishi walk away unscathed.
Her reiatsu blazed bluish-white, her face calm now, as she whispered:
"Go."
Boom!
Flames erupted as the missile detached from her arm, shrieking toward the distant mountain.
The recoil destroyed the pavilion beneath her, cracks splitting the ground. She tumbled through the air, her insides twisting violently.
"Gh—ack!" She spat blood, vision swimming.
Through the haze, a mushroom cloud bloomed into the sky.
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