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Sui-Feng walked away in silence, the weight of Moyu's words settling deep within her chest, heavier than any blade she had ever drawn. She no longer chased after Shihouin Yoruichi's fading shadow, nor did she seek answers about her sudden disappearance. The truth had already been delivered, and it struck harder than she expected.
For years, she believed that relentless training, unwavering discipline, and utter devotion would one day carry her past the towering silhouette of Shihouin Yoruichi, allowing her to stand at the summit her idol once claimed. But no amount of sweat could match the cruel velocity with which reality evolved. Yoruichi's disappearance had cracked her heart in silence, but Moyu's calm revelation hammered that crack into ruin.
And yet, every word had been real.
If even a former Espada like Nilu couldn't withstand a single blow, what right did she—someone still clinging to loyalty and pride—have to claim the resolve to follow Yoruichi into the abyss?
—
At the edge of the ruined stronghold, Moyu exhaled long and slow, wiping away sweat that never existed, as if shaking off tension born from navigating the dangerous emotional terrain of a loyal warrior.
"One crisis averted. Barely."
Muttering under his breath, he glanced toward the shadows with narrowed eyes.
"If she'd kept pressing, that might've been a problem... and you, stupid cat hiding and spectating the whole scene, don't you think it's time to show yourself?"
From behind a rooftop tank, the silhouette of a black cat stepped forward with an almost theatrical gait, voice lazy yet tinged with amusement as it addressed him with the rich baritone of a middle-aged man.
"Sa~ not bad, Moyu. Didn't think you'd have the verbal dexterity to drive off Sui-Feng so smoothly. If it were Byakuya in your place, he wouldn't have bothered with words. He'd have drawn his blade."
Moyu, half exasperated, half resigned, glanced toward the feline figure.
"Sui-Feng idolizes you. Was it really necessary to treat her like that?"
Before Sui-Feng had even arrived in the human world, there hadn't been a single message exchanged between her and Shihouin Yoruichi. Now it was clear that Yoruichi had already made peace with that choice, despite the consequences.
Yoruichi's golden feline eyes met his, sharp with annoyance and awareness.
"I didn't have time to contact her. Everything happened faster than expected, and once it did, the risk of exposure outweighed any sentiment. The things we're dealing with don't belong in the hands of ordinary Corps captains."
Her tone held no apology, only clarity, and as she approached him with steady, feline grace, the weight behind her voice settled over them both like a veil.
"Sui-Feng may have lived in the dark for years, but that doesn't mean she's mastered it. If we'd shared our plans with her, even a minor slip could have exposed everything to Aizen. You know what that would've meant."
Beneath her calm explanation lay a familiar fear, one they both carried—of the illusionist captain who had already ensnared so much of Soul Society in the mirage of Kyōka Suigetsu.
Moyu nodded once, absorbing her logic, though his eyes shifted downward as she waved a paw toward the small head poking from beneath his sleeve.
"Enough about Sui-Feng. Let's talk about this little one instead."
She didn't need to say her name. Nilu's presence spoke for itself. That earlier explosion of Reiatsu had pierced through spiritual barriers like a beacon, its weight heavier and deeper than what even Nnoitra had unleashed during his incursion into the human realm. A Vasto Lorde-level Arrancar walking unchecked on Earth was the sort of threat Soul Society couldn't afford to ignore. Had Nilu not appeared stable and non-aggressive, Yoruichi might already have decided to eliminate her.
Moyu reached down and placed a steady hand atop Nilu's head, brushing her soft hair in quiet reassurance.
"There's no need for concern. Just as you trust me, I trust her."
Nilu tilted her head upward, her wide eyes catching the sincerity etched in Moyu's expression, and without hesitation, broke into a radiant, childlike smile. Her world was simple. Trust given was trust returned. Yet as a former Espada, genuine belief in her had always been scarce.
Yoruichi observed the moment in silence, a quiet sigh escaping her feline form. She understood Moyu's stubborn nature, and once he chose a stance, there was rarely room for argument.
"Even if you've made your choice, I still have to say it—Nilu's existence is a ticking blade. The moment she loses control..."
Moyu lifted a hand, not with dismissal but finality.
"That day will never come—not while I'm still breathing."
He added, voice cold as steel and twice as resolute.
"There's no such thing as assumptions. Just as there's no such thing as maybe... when it comes to Kyōka Suigetsu."
The mention of Aizen's Zanpakutō silenced even Yoruichi, who fell quiet, acknowledging that Moyu's resolve, like hers, was forged in the heat of necessary mistrust.
The matter was closed.
With the Second Division arriving to assist with restoration, Karakura Town recovered at a miraculous pace. Memory-alteration units activated en masse, reshaping the perceptions of countless humans. Damaged buildings reassembled under the technological miracles of the Twelfth Division. Reality, bent and rewritten, returned to the illusion of normalcy.
Moyu relocated to a new base—larger, quieter, strategically nestled near the Urahara Shop. More secure, more suitable, and better hidden than before.
Sui-Feng, since that final exchange, had become an invisible shadow. Stung by truth, she pushed herself harder, focusing all her energy on completing her mission and returning to Soul Society to resume her training in solitude. What she didn't understand was that in this world, effort alone was meaningless without the right foundation.
Talent—and overwhelming advantage—were everything.
From Yamamoto to Aizen, the truly strong were born into power, their only task to polish it. The rest, no matter how hard they pushed, could never catch up, not even to the footprints left behind.
Only those with their own cheat codes could fight back against gods.
That was Moyu's truth: if the world was governed by those who'd hacked the rules, then he would break them better.
While Sui-Feng drowned herself in mission reports and silent regret, another Shinigami—fiery-haired, full-bodied, and cunning—frequented his base with relentless persistence.
Matsumoto Rangiku, ever the schemer, tried every method in her arsenal. Veiled threats, honeyed words, the occasional sultry lean—all in pursuit of answers Moyu refused to give.
No matter how she pushed, he remained unmoved. The incident at the Academy. The truth behind the Soul Burial. Not even a hint left his lips. All she received was the same infuriating line:
"I'm protecting you."
Storming from the base in frustration, Rangiku gritted her teeth and muttered under her breath, fists clenched in growing exasperation.
"That little devil... not even a drop of intel, and he got me to spill secrets about the Ganban team. Damn it."
But her frustration only reinforced her will.
"I'll get to the bottom of it. If he won't talk, then the Spiritual Arts Academy will."
She vanished down the road, resolve burning like fire.
Minutes later, Moyu stepped outside and watched the path she'd taken, his expression unreadable.
"In the original development, she doesn't uncover the truth until the Karakura War begins. Which means—for now—she's safe."
As long as there was no threat to her life, there was no need to intervene.
Right now, he had more important priorities—namely, Urahara's invention.
—
In the secret depths of the Urahara Shop, deep within a labyrinthine research facility, Urahara Kisuke stood in a pristine lab coat, goggles pressed tightly to his brow, hands full of glowing test tubes, each bubbling with unknown chemicals. His eyes, gleaming with unspoken genius, flicked between results faster than the human eye could follow.
Then, with a nonchalant smile, he poured them all into a cup of instant noodles.
The room waited. Nothing exploded.
He exhaled with exaggerated relief.
"Phew—big win!"
Removing his gloves with a flourish, he raised the cup and turned to Moyu with exaggerated pride.
"Mr. Moyu, may I present my latest masterpiece—cup noodles with a spiritual twist!"
Moyu studied the cup, now glowing with suspicious hues, and stepped backward as if facing a Cero.
"This is your culinary creation. You deserve the first taste."
Urahara stroked his chin, nodded seriously, and slurped down a mouthful.
Within seconds, his body seized.
"Urahara, don't die on me!"
Moyu leapt forward as Kisuke collapsed, his complexion cycling from deathly white to feverish red, jaundiced green, and then royal purple, matching the neon nightmare in his cup. Without a word, Moyu raised a hand, green Kaidō energy flaring as he poured every ounce of healing into his broken comrade.
Which only made the spectacle more horrifying.
—
Half an hour later, Urahara gasped back to life, his body twitching like a poisoned fish.
Moyu remained silent, eyes fixed on the system screen.
[Your Kaidō has neutralized lethal poison, cured a dying subject, deepened poison comprehension, and increased Kaidō skill mastery.]
As expected—only Urahara could nearly kill himself with noodles and still teach something in the process.
"Mr. Moyu... thank you. I was truly on the edge."
"Save it. How's the invention?"
Urahara straightened immediately, darted to the back of the lab, and returned with a watch-like device.
"This is the second-generation version. Should fulfill your current camouflage requirements."
Moyu strapped it on and channeled Reiatsu. A pulse of inverted energy burst forth, cloaking him in an unfamiliar, unstable aura that shifted his spiritual signature entirely.
"Impressive craftsmanship," Moyu remarked, his gaze steady as the device responded with precision.
Urahara's grin widened, the satisfaction of success evident in the gleam behind his goggles as he spoke with unrestrained pride, his voice laced with the thrill of completion.
"It took considerable effort, endless prototypes, and more spiritual calibration than I care to recount, but the result is stable. With this version, even a captain-level Shinigami won't be able to distinguish your presence."
Moyu's expression remained unchanged as his focus sharpened, the weight of necessity anchoring his next words with quiet gravity.
"This won't be enough. I need it to be stronger—flawless. You know exactly why."
The pride drained from Urahara's face as understanding settled into his features, the atmosphere between them shifting as the casual air dissolved into something colder, heavier, more grounded in shared knowledge and unspoken threat.
"For a third-generation prototype with the kind of spiritual disguise you're demanding, I'll need a new substrate—something powerful enough to bind the fluctuations without collapsing the signature suppression," Urahara said, voice low, calculated.
"What material?" Moyu asked without pause.
"Your Reiatsu," Urahara replied, the words sharp and direct.
Without hesitation, Moyu nodded, the resolve behind his answer cutting through the moment like a blade drawn in silence.
"Use it."
The speed and finality of his consent left Urahara briefly stunned, his thoughts catching up to the weight behind Moyu's decision before he slowly smiled, not with his usual mischief, but with the quiet affirmation of shared purpose.
"So, Mr. Moyu finally understands. We're fighting the same war, after all."
Moyu met his words with a narrowed glance, unreadable but not dismissive.
Urahara coughed, clearing the moment with practiced awkwardness before letting his voice dip again, this time slower, edged with uncertainty not often heard from him.
"You've already made your choice, that much is clear... but even so, I need to hear it from you directly—are you truly planning to take her, Nilu, back to the Soul Society?"
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