It seems that people with power in this world are always defined as belonging to some category.
Either they are called Shinigami, or Quincy, or Fullbringer, or Hollow.
Is there truly no one who remains just an ordinary soul, and nonetheless possesses power?
Must one be called "Shinigami" in order to wield it?
Why do souls who bear the title of Shinigami even accept that name?
Perhaps Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō have made their peace with the title "Shinigami."
However, Yuta has not.
He is not one of them.
He is merely a civilian soul-no noble lineage, no divine duty.
He recognizes no Gotei or hierarchy above him.
In truth, the Shinigami merely guard their own small corner of existence.
From the very beginning, they have confused two ideas-guarding the Soul Society, and guarding Seireitei.
These two are not the same.
Soul Society is the world of souls as a whole; it includes Rukongai and its countless residents.
Yet the Shinigami rarely concern themselves with the lives of those civilians in Rukongai.
Their Gotei 13 protect only Seireitei, not the world that surrounds it.
Such Shinigami-and the vision of the world they uphold-are not ones Yuta agrees with.
Therefore, Yuta is not a Shinigami.
He is only one soul among the many who inhabit Rukongai.
Kyōraku Shunsui looked distinctly surprised when he heard Yuta's answer.
Afterall, the Kyōraku family had been part of the nobility for generations.
Ukitake Jūshirō, by contrast, had come from Rukongai, and perhaps because he had brushed so often against death, he carried himself with ease and openness.
Yuta continued, "Don't misunderstand me. Although I don't consider myself a Shinigami, as someone from Rukongai I will protect Soul Society and stop Yhwach. However, I'm not qualified to serve as Sōtaichō."
"Is that so…?" Kyōraku Shunsui said after a brief silence.
Ukitake Jūshirō patted his shoulder lightly and chuckled. "Haha, in that case, it seems it's better for you to take over as Captain-General."
"Spare me," Kyōraku sighed, looking troubled. He had always been one to prefer leisure over duty, and now he was being pushed into one of the most demanding positions imaginable.
---
Next day.
Kyōraku Shunsui received the official decree from Central 46.
Holding the scroll in one hand, he unrolled it slowly with the other. Neat lines of elegant calligraphy unfolded before him.
"Kyōraku Shunsui. appointed to serve as Captain-General of the Gotei 13, and concurrently Captain of the First Division."
Since the document was written vertically, from right to left, the note "right-column personnel" indicated the formality of the appointment.
---
Within the chambers of Central 46-
Since the Aizen Sōsuke incident, the new group of forty-six members had convened once again.
They sat in their high circular seats, gazing down at Kyōraku Shunsui who stood alone at the center.
"The first thing I'll do as Captain-General," Kyōraku began calmly, "is to teach Zaraki the Kenpachi-zan technique."
"What?" Several of the members exclaimed immediately in astonishment.
"Zaraki Kenpachi is already too powerful! If he masters the art of killing, who could possibly stop him if he ever turned against us?"
"When Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni tried to teach him the Art of Slashing, he abandoned the idea after just one day-have you forgotten that?"
Kyōraku's eyes dimmed beneath the brim of his hat. "And what then? Do any of you truly believe you could protect Soul Society with your strength as it is now? If you refuse to strengthen yourselves, do you honestly think you'll remain standing when the next storm comes?"
His tone silenced the chamber. No one dared answer.
"It seems we're in agreement," Kyōraku said at last. He turned toward the doorway. "Come in. I plan to entrust Captain Zaraki's matter to you-Captain Unohana."
"No... the First Kenpachi-Unohana Yachiru."
At that name, faint shadows crossed Unohana Yachiru's face as she appeared in the doorway. Her expression carried regret, faint hatred, and the calm acceptance of one who understood the necessity of what was to come.
---
Deep beneath Seireitei-
Muken (the Infinite Hell).
Rumble-
Massive bolts clanked and twisted as the gate to Muken opened inch by inch.
Thick steel pillars, each nearly one meter wide, slid free of their sockets with heavy resonance.
After the final lock came undone, the door groaned open, releasing clouds of dust that had lain undisturbed for decades.
Its four walls were built from Sekkiseki-stones that nullified spiritual pressure-materials strong enough to contain the monsters imprisoned within this abyss.
Zaraki Kenpachi stepped forward into the shadows without hesitation.
His eyepatch was already gone. The jagged sword across his back bore countless chips and scars.
"Tch. What a grand stage they've prepared," he said with faint amusement, surveying the endless black walls of Muken.
His tone carried both mockery and excitement. "Hey-you even managed to get authorization to use this place?"
Ahead of him, dressed in her white haori, stood Unohana Yachiru. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, just as it had millennia ago.
She did not look back immediately. Instead, she stepped slowly into the dark ahead, her presence merging with the emptiness.
"This is the order of the Captain-General," she said at last.
Her tone was colder-closer to what it had been in the distant past. Gone was the gentle healer's warmth; in its place lingered the faint scent of bloodlust.
"Muken is the only place where you and I may fight freely-where our battle will not endanger others."
Zaraki laughed under his breath. "Hah. If we weren't sinners, there's no way we'd be allowed down here."
She turned her head slightly toward him, her expression unreadable.
"'Sinners,' is it?"
Zaraki's grin widened. "Don't tell me you don't think we are. Without power, people would call us monsters. With it, they call us murderers."
At that, Unohana's eyes met his completely for the first time.
What he saw chilled him-the calm, merciless gaze of the true Sword Demon.
Her long black hair brushed her cheeks as she stared at him-expressionless, composed, and deadly.
In that moment, Zaraki understood perfectly.
For both of them, existence itself narrowed to one meaning alone:
To fight.
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