The Squad 8 barracks were alive with routine when Captain Shunsui Kyōraku stepped into the courtyard, wearing his trademark straw hat and laid-back smile. Behind him stood a young man—tall, poised, his eyes concealed beneath a black cloth tied securely around his head.
"Attention, everyone," Shunsui called out, his tone still lazy but carrying the weight of authority. The chatter among the seated officers and unseated shinigami faded into silence.
"This young man here is Mohit—our newest recruit."
The silence didn't last. A sudden hum of whispers spread across the courtyard like wildfire.
"Wait, is that the blind guy?"
"Didn't he injure Sakazuki-sensei during the Academy exam?"
"Why would the Captain pick someone who can't even see?"
Shunsui glanced sideways at Mohit, chuckling softly. "Well, aren't you a popular one already," he said, folding his arms with an amused grin.
Mohit remained still for a moment before answering calmly, "You know, Captain… when you've had the courage to take your own eyes, you're bound to get talked about."
That silenced the murmurs. The tension in the air shifted. Shunsui's grin faded into something more serious. He stepped forward, adjusting his haori slightly before speaking in a firmer tone.
"Now, now—let's not judge too quickly. This isn't our first recruit, and it won't be our last. But let me tell you all something. This one here?" he pointed toward Mohit with a lifted brow. "He holds the sixth-highest hollow elimination time in the entire history of the Academy. He's no charity case—he earned this."
He turned to Mohit. "I've set the stage for you, kid. Don't mess it up."
With a subtle nod, Mohit stepped forward. The squad's eyes were glued to him.
He bowed deeply, hands by his sides, then raised his head slightly.
"I'm Mohit," he said, his voice calm but clear, every word landing with quiet weight. "You've probably heard about me. Maybe the stories are true. Maybe they're not. I don't care."
"I'm not here for pity. I'm not here for sympathy. I chose this path—and I will walk it, with or without anyone's approval."
He straightened up and added firmly, "I've earned this place in Squad 8 through sweat, pain, and persistence. All I ask is this—don't hold back on me just because I'm blind."
He stepped back into line without waiting for applause or acknowledgment.
But he didn't need to.
The entire squad stood still, quietly absorbing his words. There was no laughter, no pity—just a new kind of silence. One that came with respect.
Three Months Later – Life in Squad 8
Since that day, Mohit had integrated into Squad 8 with unwavering discipline. Now serving as the 17th Seat Officer, his daily routine had become a model of consistency:
Mornings began with spiritual patrols across Squad 8's jurisdiction in South Seireitei. Despite his blindness, Mohit never missed a step, using spiritual awareness to navigate like a blade in fog.
Afternoons were spent on paperwork, assisting with mission logs, supply tallies, and administrative support for higher-seated officers. His focus was meticulous.
Evenings were sacred—reserved for training. Rain or shine, Mohit could be found in the squad's private grounds, practicing his sword strikes with rhythm and resolve. Occasionally, others joined him—but none stayed longer than he did.
Even skeptical veterans had changed their tone.
"Kid's got fire," one murmured after sparring with him.
"He doesn't fight like he's blind. He fights like he's ready."
Captain Shunsui, observing from his favorite rooftop spot, sipped his sake and said to Nanao with a grin,
Looks like the squad finally sees what I saw."
The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the window of Captain Shunsui Kyōraku's office, casting long shadows across the tatami floor. Nanao Ise stood near the window, her gaze fixed outside where a lone figure—Mohit—moved through the courtyard with calm, deliberate steps during evening patrol drills.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Captain…" she said, her tone thoughtful, almost uncertain.
Shunsui lazily tilted his straw hat up from his face, reclining further in his chair with a bottle of sake cradled in one hand.
"Hmm?" he murmured. "That tone tells me something serious is brewing, Nanao-chan."
Nanao didn't turn around. "Don't you think it's strange?" she said softly. "A man who moves so fluidly during patrol… who handles his duties without error… who trains until he's the last one standing on the grounds. And yet…" Her voice faltered for a second. "He blinded himself."
Shunsui's expression sobered slightly. He let her words linger in the air before replying. "You were at the Academy when it happened, weren't you?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. He was in his third year when he did it. I had just started as a first-year."
Finally turning to face Shunsui, she said with quiet intensity, "When the news spread that Mohit had taken a blade to his own eyes in the dead of night… the entire school was paralyzed. People whispered theories, made assumptions—some called it madness, others thought it was some spiritual breakdown."
She paused, then added, "But none of us could understand it. He was second-ranked in the entire Academy. Brilliant in swordsmanship, adaptive in combat. He could've gone to any squad he wanted. So why would someone like that… destroy the very gift that made him stand out?"
Shunsui gave a slow, thoughtful sigh and rested his hat over his chest.
"You ever ask him?" he asked softly
Nanao hesitated. "No. But… I did hear something."
She stepped away from the window and leaned slightly on the edge of the desk.
"Arthur—the student who found him that night—he told a few people what happened. He said when he heard Mohit's scream in the training grounds, he rushed there and found him drenched in blood… his hands trembling, knife on the floor." Nanao looked away. "And when Arthur asked him 'Why?'… Mohit just said: It was necessary."
Silence followed. Even the wind outside seemed to quiet, as though listening in.
Shunsui ran a thumb along the rim of his sake bottle, staring at the ceiling.
"'Necessary,' huh?" he echoed with a murmur. "A man who blinds himself to see something the rest of us can't… sounds like a poem waiting to happen."
Nanao turned toward the window again, her voice quiet. "Do you think he regrets it?"
Shunsui smiled faintly. "I don't know. But I think he understands it. And maybe that's the difference between a madman… and a visionary."
Nanao stood in silence for a moment, her gaze distant as if remembering something deeply etched into her memory. The quiet hum of cicadas filtered in through the open window. Shunsui watched her, sensing she wasn't finished
She finally spoke—calmly, but with an underlying heaviness.
"Captain… I didn't ask Arthur this I heard it from shinji he was same year as Mohit and was one of his friend he told this to his friend love about this that's when I heard it I don't know why—maybe curiosity, maybe because I still couldn't understand. But I needed to know what he saw that night."
Shunsui sat up a little straighter, no longer lounging. His usual easygoing aura dimmed with the weight of her words.
Nanao turned slightly, eyes sharp with memory. "Arthur told me everything. Word for word."
[Flashback – As Told by Nanao]
Arthur was in the dorm that night, already half-asleep, when he heard something—faint at first. A scream. Not the kind from a nightmare or a prank… something real. Sharp. Hollow.
He bolted upright, sensing something was wrong. The sound had come from the training grounds.
When he arrived, the night air was thick with tension. The moon hung high, casting a cold glow across the field. But what he saw froze him in place.
Mohit was there—on his knees, soaked in blood, a knife lying beside him, its edge glinting red in the moonlight.
His hands… Arthur said… his hands were trembling, soaked and slick, as if dipped in fresh crimson ink. His mouth hung open, breaths ragged and desperate. And his face—
Arthur almost vomited when he saw it.
Mohit's eye sockets were torn, not neatly, not cleanly—a jagged wound carved by his own hand, not through kido, not some spiritual ritual, but with a knife. A human blade. Blood ran down his cheeks like tears, staining his white academy uniform into a dark maroon mess.
He was screaming while rolling on the ground . clutching his face, rocking slightly. Whispering something.
Arthur ran to him, shaking, yelling his name. He said, "What the hell did you do, Mohit!? Why!?"
And Mohit just muttered, over and over, "It was necessary… it was necessary… it was necessary…"
Arthur grabbed his shoulders, shouting, "Necessary for what!?"
That's when Mohit finally stopped rocking, his blood-covered face tilting toward Arthur—as if trying to look at him despite the gaping holes where his eyes once were.
And he said, in a low wispher That's all he said before collapsing in Arthur's arms.