"Something's wrong."
Shiki murmured softly—only Ashido and the just-arrived Kaien Shiba heard him.
"That rift… it has no intention of closing."
Ashido and Kaien's expressions darkened immediately. They followed Shiki's gaze. He was right—the tear in the sky remained wide open.
Even if Captain Kuruyashiki could cleave through Menos with a single swing, how many more would follow through that gaping wound? Ten? A hundred?
Even a captain's Reiatsu wasn't infinite. The others wouldn't last long under this kind of pressure.
This wasn't a battle. It was an endless war of attrition.
Kuruyashiki Kenpachi suddenly let out a questioning grunt, glancing back up.
At that moment, the same repulsive, chaotic Reiatsu surged forth from the depths of the rift again.
As the Shinigami below froze mid-cheer, their smiles curdling and their eyes locking upward, a second monstrous white Menos clawed its way through the gap, descending into the Human World.
"Oh?" Kuruyashiki raised a thick brow, genuinely surprised.
"What's this? A liquidation sale from Hueco Mundo? Overstocked Menos going cheap?"
His tone was almost bored, teasing.
With a flick of Reiatsu at his feet, he vanished, reappearing midair. A single blade swing.
A flash of violet.
The second Menos followed the first—its howl cut short, body reduced to drifting Reishi.
"Too strong! He's invincible!"
The cheers erupted again—but this time, the joy had an edge of nervousness. Some of the squad members' smiles had gone stiff, their eyes drifting, almost unwillingly, toward the rift.
Shiki's brow furrowed. Something was very, very off.
Then, without warning, the battlefield's edge shimmered—like water disturbed.
A plain wooden sliding door appeared in midair, unassuming but ancient in design.
Clack.
"Whoa!"
The first head to poke through the Senkaimon was Hirako Shinji, Captain of the 5th Division, his blond hair tousled in the battle-heated breeze.
He looked up, spotted the gaping, grotesque tear in the sky, and immediately pulled a face.
"What the hell? Big ol' hole in the ceiling and no one called the repair crew? Who's this supposed to scare?"
He stepped out fully, his haori worn sloppily.
Then his eyes settled on the pale giant peering down from the rift.
"Huh. Menos, huh? Haven't seen one in over a century. Still ugly as ever. Bad for the environment."
"Captain Hirako."
A gentle voice chimed in beside him.
Hikifune Kirio, Captain of the 12th Division, had somehow appeared at his side, smiling warmly—though her eyes were fixed sharply on the sky.
"I'll leave battlefield support to the 5th Division. As for that… troublesome matter…" She tilted her head slightly, smile deepening.
"We'll handle it in the 12th. For research, of course… or perhaps to 'resolve' it."
"Yeah, yeah, got it." Hirako scratched his ear, making a face like this was all a pain in the ass.
Another figure approached silently.
Tall. Black-framed glasses. The division flower on his armband was the Deutzia—"5" stitched beneath it.
His expression was calm, tinted with concern, and his voice was gentle:
"Captain Hirako, the situation is urgent. Our comrades in the 13th and 11th Divisions are still locked in fierce battle. Since we've arrived, we should assist swiftly and minimize further casualties."
Hirako glanced sidelong at Aizen Sosuke, and internally scoffed. 'What a perfectly polished front.'
"Yeah, yeah. 5th Seat Aizen's absolutely right," he drawled, unsheathing his Zanpakutō. "Let's get it done quick so I can knock off early and hit the bar."
With a flicker of Reiatsu, he shot into the air.
But as he caught sight of Kuruyashiki Kenpachi reducing a third Menos to glowing confetti like a kid chopping wood, he lost all motivation to interfere.
"Never mind. Doesn't look like he needs help." He mumbled, dropping back down and joining the mop-up of lesser Hollows.
Almost simultaneously, another Senkaimon opened. The 4th Division's medics flooded the field in efficient silence, their soft green Kaidō light blooming among the wounded.
The arrival of reinforcements finally allowed Ashido and Kaien to exhale—just a little.
Shiki Mirai, too, dropped silently to the ground.
He no longer engaged in direct combat. Instead, his form flickered across the battlefield, appearing beside Shinigami who were clearly running on empty.
"Support has arrived. You've done more than enough. Fall back and rest," he said calmly—cold, but reassuring.
"Yes, 5th Seat Shiki!" one exhausted soldier answered gratefully, stumbling backward.
"Your resolve is admirable. But leave the rest to others now." He steadied another staggering comrade.
"Thank you, sir!" The man nearly burst into tears.
In just a few minutes, over a dozen near-collapse fighters had been "persuaded" to withdraw.
Not far off, Hirako Shinji casually backhanded a Hollow with the blunt edge of his blade—but his golden eyes never strayed far from Shiki.
His gaze narrowed.
'This guy… When did he become such a helpful teammate?'
'Zipping around the battlefield, cherry-picking the most worn-out soldiers to "rescue"? What's his angle?'
Shinji prided himself on reading people—especially his own kind.
The first time he met Shiki Mirai at the Maple Tavern, he'd sensed it: the guy wore a mask.
His words danced between truth and falsehood, his emotions filtered through a veil of mist. Always presenting the most rational "surface facts" to deal with others.
So Shinji had kept an eye on him. Never caught anything concrete—but he remained wary.
And now that Aizen Sosuke was here too… ha. That mask was even tighter.
And how could Shinji sniff both of them out so fast?
Easy. Kindred spirits always recognize each other.
Soon, Shinji's eyes drifted from Shiki to Aizen, also moving across the battlefield.
Amidst chaos and crisis—what better stage for a schemer?
Aizen's behavior was textbook.
He too darted between allies in peril, rescuing and stabilizing the wounded with crisp efficiency. His tone was gentle, his face wore a warm concern that made you feel bathed in spring sunlight.
Shinji's jaw tensed.
These two… it's like they were trained by the same damned teacher.
Everything about them felt calculatedly perfect. Impeccable. Unassailable. And utterly irritating.
Still, under the leadership of the two captains and the coordinated support teams, the Hollows were swiftly purged.
After that string of Menos throwing themselves to the slaughter, nothing else came from the rift. The cleanup became routine.
Hirako slid his Zanpakutō back into its sheath, clapped dust from his hands that wasn't there.
His eyes wandered lazily across the battlefield—until they landed on Aizen, who had just completed another "rescue" and was now walking in a different direction.
At the far end of that path stood Shiki, having just handed off a wounded 13th Division soldier to a 4th Division healer. He now stood alone on a raised patch of scorched earth, quietly staring at the rift in the sky.
Shinji's brow arched.
Oh?
Was it starting?
…