Waiting for someone.
Such an answer genuinely surprised Shigure. He blinked, then asked again, his tone softer this time. "So… have you waited long?"
The woman said nothing. Her silence was thick and absolute, the sort that carried both dismissal and pain.
Realizing he had spoken too casually, Shigure exhaled and inclined his head. "Forgive me." he said quietly. "That was rude of me."
The woman's voice turned cold. "The captain haori has been completed. You should leave."
Her tone was as rigid as steel. Whatever faint warmth had existed earlier was gone. She showed him no deference—captain or not, Shigure was just another shinigami to her.
Still, Shigure didn't take offense. Instead, he smiled faintly. "I understand." he said, turning toward the door. Then he added, "But before I go, you should try to smile more. You're not unpleasant to look at, and a smile would suit you better than that icy stare. As for the person you're waiting for—whether they're alive or dead…"
He paused, his voice dropping to something almost kind. "Take care of yourself."
The woman's eyes flickered, her brow tightening. She said nothing, but her gaze followed him until the sliding door closed.
Only after Shigure's footsteps had faded did she murmur, "Take care of yourself…"
Her voice was a whisper meant for no one. Those words had once been spoken to her, long ago—more than a thousand years past.
…
Outside, the newly made haori swayed lightly from Shigure's shoulders as he walked out of the Seireitei Research Institute. Its weight was almost nothing, yet the responsibility it carried felt enormous.
His expression, however, was faintly melancholy. "Senjumaru… why are you still here?" he said softly.
It had been centuries since he'd last seen her—Shutara Senjumaru, the seamstress of legend. Seeing her now, still within Seireitei, was something he hadn't expected.
He had assumed she'd already left long ago, ascending to the Royal Palace as part of Squad Zero. But no—she remained hidden in plain sight, suppressing her name and concealing her existence.
Others wouldn't recognize her. But Shigure… he knew. How could he not?
They had been close allies—friends, in another life. When the Gotei 13 was founded, Senjumaru had played a pivotal role, crafting the uniforms and armaments that defined the shinigami of that age.
The Shihakushō was her creation.
Many of the devices and structures still used in Soul Society bore her handwork. Even the "Shutara-class" security clearance used by the Seireitei was named after her. It was a quiet legacy that most modern Shinigami had long forgotten.
Few knew that "Shutara" wasn't merely a rank—but a surname.
With such unparalleled achievements, Senjumaru should have joined Team Zero long ago. In the official histories, she indeed became one of its five members, overseeing the construction of the Royal Palace.
But something had changed. In this time, she hadn't ascended. She had remained here, quietly weaving in the shadows.
And that realization left Shigure with a complex, heavy feeling.
By recalling the faint tremor in her reiatsu, he understood who she might still be waiting for. The familiarity she had sensed in him earlier wasn't coincidence. His spiritual pattern, though transformed by reincarnation, still carried echoes of his past life.
"You shouldn't keep waiting." Shigure murmured, eyes drifting upward toward the faint light filtering through the clouds. "He's not coming back."
His tone held both fondness and quiet sorrow. Perhaps she already knew that truth, yet couldn't let it go.
…
Days later, the Gotei 13 convened once again. Because of Shigure's promotion, Captain Yamamoto held another captains' meeting—formally introducing the new head of the Eleventh Division.
In truth, most of the captains already knew him. Unlike Urahara Kisuke, who had risen suddenly and unexpectedly, Shigure had been a familiar figure in the organization for years. As vice-captain, he had often attended these same meetings alongside his late captain, Kuruyashiki.
But familiarity and equality were different things.
Now, he stood as one of them—a captain, a Kenpachi.
The room felt different. Polite nods replaced casual greetings. Even those captains who had once spoken to him as an equal now offered a trace of measured respect.
When the meeting ended, Shunsui was the first to approach him, that ever-present grin tugging at his lips. "Gosuke, you really are something." he said. "Didn't I tell you you'd pass that assessment?"
Shigure gave him a sidelong glance. "If I recall, it was you who recommended me in the first place. So in a sense, all this trouble started because of you."
Shunsui chuckled. "Trouble? Come on. You're the Eleventh Division's captain now—the new Kenpachi! You should be thanking me."
Shigure let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. I owe you a drink, then."
Shunsui brightened instantly. "Now that's what I wanted to hear. Let's go before you change your mind."
The two captains left together and headed toward the Noble Street izakaya. Laughter and the faint clatter of cups soon followed.
For the first time since his rebirth, Shigure allowed himself to relax.
…
Later that evening, the newly appointed captain of the Eleventh returned to his division—his steps steady, his breath heavy with sake. The lanterns of the barracks glowed warm against the night sky.
Yet, when he stepped into the courtyard, he immediately sensed it: the air had changed.
The members of the Eleventh Division, once so informal and loud around him, had fallen into an odd, restrained order.
When they looked at him, there was no teasing, no laughter—only respect. Even the most carefree brawlers straightened and addressed him properly.
"Captain."
The word struck deeper than he expected.
For a moment, Shigure could only blink. He had spent years with these men and women, fighting side by side, joking, sharing drinks. But now, a single title had placed a wall between them.
He managed a small smile and nodded. "Carry on." he said simply.
The days that followed were quiet. Peaceful, even.
At least, as peaceful as life could be for the Eleventh Division.
Their work was simple—brutal, but simple. No scheming, no diplomacy, no bureaucracy. Their purpose was to fight, and that was what they did. When orders came, they cut down the hollows invading Soul Society. When there were no orders, they drank, sparred, and healed.
To others, that might have seemed monotonous. But for Shigure, it was the closest thing to contentment he'd had in a long time.
He leaned against the veranda of the captain's quarters one evening, the faint hum of distant practice filling the air.
"For a division built on blood," he murmured, "this… isn't so bad."
And for a rare moment, he allowed himself to breathe.
*****
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I am working on the following projects:
✓ Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!
✓ Naruto: Senmei Asahi
✓ Naruto: Uchiha's Intelligence Dealer
✓ Naruto: The Fifth Hokage Is Naruto's Uncle
✓ Naruto: Who Made Him a Ninja?
✓ Bleach: In My Second Reincarnation, I Became The Ninth Kenpachi
✓ To Love-Ru: Spoiler Route [R-18]
✓ Naruto: The Accidental Incubus [R-18]