Not just the First Division—the entire Seireitei was alive with the reactions of Shinigami to the escalating crisis.
In the Eleventh Division barracks, Kenpachi Zaraki had already strapped on his zanpakutō, with the pink-haired Yachiru Kusajishi perched on his shoulder, eagerly directing him. He charged out of the barracks with the force of a battering ram.
"Wait, Captain! The First Division's orders haven't arrived yet—"
"Please, just hold on a moment longer—"
Behind him, Ikkaku Madarame and Yumichika Ayasegawa—now more like glorified assistants handling Zaraki's administrative tasks—called out in exasperation. But Zaraki, drawn by the scent of battle, ignored their protests completely. Like a bulldozer guided by Yachiru's commands, he barreled in a seemingly random direction.
"Charge, Kenny!"
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
"This way! No, wait—over there!"
Moments later, however, Zaraki and Yachiru found themselves pausing, their surroundings unfamiliar yet oddly recognizable. Two pairs of eyes blinked in unison, radiating confusion.
Where am I?
And how do I get to the Fourth Division?
"Yachiru! What kind of directions are these?" Zaraki growled, visibly annoyed, like a wild beast restrained in a cage with no prey in sight.
"This is all your fault, Kenny!" Yachiru pouted, her cheeks puffed in defiance. "I pointed left earlier, and you went right!" She planted her fists on her hips before declaring, "This time, listen to me properly, okay? That way!"
With her equally unreliable spiritual pressure sensing abilities, Yachiru casually pointed towards what she believed was a strong spiritual pressure signature. Neither she nor Zaraki realized they were heading in the exact opposite direction of the Fourth Division barracks—straight toward the Twelfth Division.
---
Meanwhile, at the Fourth Division barracks, the situation had become dire.
Shinji Hirako, Love Aikawa, and Kensei Muguruma had all succumbed to the hollowfication process. Alongside Yoruichi Shihōin, four captain-level Shinigami were now fully afflicted. Chaos had erupted across the plaza, with countless Shinigami, seated officers, and even Vice-captains falling into disarray. The casualties were severe.
Shunsui Kyōraku's face darkened as he held Lisa in his arms. The girl who once embodied composure and maturity, efficiently managing the Eighth Division's affairs while chiding Kyōraku for his laziness, now lay vulnerable. Her hollowfied state left her clinging to her fading consciousness, her eyes pleading with a desperate desire to survive.
"Lisa-chan, don't worry—I'm still here," Kyōraku said softly. "Just close your eyes and rest. By the time you wake up, your useless captain will have everything sorted out."
Removing his hat, he placed it gently in Lisa's arms, as if transferring a sliver of his warmth and hope. Then, summoning a high-level bakudō, he restrained her completely, anchoring her in place.
"I'm sorry, Lisa-chan. This might hurt a little, but please endure my roughness. I can't risk harming—or worse, killing—you in the battle ahead."
Gripping his dual zanpakutō, Katen Kyōkotsu, Kyōraku stood up. The lazy, unbothered demeanor he usually wore had vanished, replaced by an unprecedented sharpness and calm.
With a quick sweep of his gaze, he assessed the situation. The Shinigami had retreated to the safety of Captain Unohana's courtyard, consolidating their defense. Unohana herself had begun treating those in the early stages of hollowfication. Despite the dire circumstances—four captains afflicted and many casualties—Kyōraku noted a faint silver lining.
It seemed Yoruichi alone possessed the ability to spread hollowfication to other shinigami. Furthermore, those who hollowfied lost intelligence and acted purely on instinct, resembling the behavior of Menos Grande. Many failed to complete the transformation entirely, their spiritual bodies collapsing mid-process.
While tragic, this significantly reduced the number of hollowfied enemies they had to contend with. At least fewer comrades would have to be struck down by their own blades.
"We must hold Captain Shihōin back at all costs, prevent further escalation, and buy time for reinforcements from the other divisions and the Kido Corps," Kyōraku murmured, formulating his plan.
Turning toward Unohana, he hesitated briefly before speaking.
"Captain Unohana, if things deteriorate to the point of no return… I ask you to draw your blade."
Unohana's hands froze mid-treatment. She lifted her head, her warm gaze sharp as frost.
"Captain Kyōraku, do these words reflect Captain-Commander Yamamoto's wishes? Because if I draw my blade…" Her tone turned glacial. "Not a soul will remain."
Cold sweat broke out on Kyōraku's forehead, but he remained composed.
"Yes. Although the situation seems to have stabilized, there's undoubtedly a mastermind orchestrating this chaos. Their goal isn't just disorder—it's likely the complete destruction of the Soul Society.
"In such a scenario, the Old Man can't leave the First Division headquarters. He must hold his position as our cornerstone. Meanwhile, this battlefield has reached a critical juncture. If the mastermind acts again, pushing things beyond control, we'll be facing six hollowfied captains rampaging through the Seireitei. The consequences would be unimaginable.
"So, if it comes to that… Captain Unohana, I ask you to draw your blade."
Even after finishing his argument, Kyōraku couldn't stop his heart from racing as he watched Unohana's unreadable expression.
As someone deeply familiar with Unohana's past, even Kyōraku could barely fathom the sheer terror of her releasing millennia of suppressed bloodlust. The choice she would make in such a moment—would it bring salvation or doom to the Soul Society?
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