Seireitei.
The 11th Division squad room of the Gotei 13—home to Soul Society's most combat-hardened warriors.
Inside the wooden-floored kendo dojo, rows of Shinigami in standard uniforms swung their bokken in unison, shouting, "Hah! Hah!"
The 11th Division was known above all for its love of battle. Of the 13 Divisions, none matched it in sheer bloodlust. Its members lived and breathed combat—training in the dojo or fighting in the field, every waking moment honed for war.
As they often said themselves: from the moment they cracked open their bleary eyes in the morning, they were ready to face the enemy.
And naturally, the captain of such a bloodthirsty squad could not be anyone ordinary.
Unohana Yachiryu—the first to bear the title of Kenpachi, the strongest swordsman in Soul Society besides the Captain-Commander Yamamoto himself. A legend feared even among legends.
At this moment, that very woman stood silently at the edge of the dojo, hands lightly resting on her Zanpakutō, watching her subordinates train. Her face was unreadable—cold, calm, impassive. Neither joy nor displeasure stirred in her eyes. The sounds of discipline and combat did not move her. To the one who stood at the pinnacle of Soul Society's swordsmanship, it was nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
But just when it seemed this stagnant routine would stretch on endlessly—an uninvited guest arrived at the gates of the 11th Division barracks.
"...So this is the 11th Division, huh?"
The man was Araki.
He stood before the barracks, gazing at the surprisingly modest structure compared to other divisions. A smile tugged at his lips.
"Even just standing here, I can feel that spiritual pressure… 'Kenpachi' is definitely inside."
"The first Kenpachi… Unohana Yachiryu. What terrifying strength~"
He bore no disdain for the division's simplicity. To Araki, a mountain needs no temple to house a god, nor a river a palace to hold a dragon.
He hadn't come for appearances—he came for a person.
Unohana Yachiryu.
Back in the dojo, Unohana's head lifted slightly. Her eyes narrowed in subtle interest.
"...Strong."
The words left her lips quietly, barely a whisper—but from the mouth of the first Kenpachi, they carried the weight of thunder. In all the Gotei 13, there were only a rare few who could earn such a remark.
Meanwhile…
Araki strolled boldly into the 11th Division's barracks, his presence completely undisguised.
He had no intention of sneaking in. Quite the opposite.
He was here to cause a stir—to show the titans of Soul Society that Araki, the inheritor of Genryu's complete sword style, had returned.
"Hey! Who the hell are you? You dare trespass into the 11th Division's barracks?!"
Naturally, his blatant intrusion drew the attention of the patrolling squad members. In an instant, black-clad Shinigami with drawn Zanpakutō encircled him.
"It doesn't really matter who I am," Araki said casually. "As for why I'm here… I just felt like swinging my sword today."
"So I figured—why not test it against the one they call Unohana Yachiryu?"
"I heard her sword is fast. Let's see if it's faster than mine."
His tone was calm, unapologetic. He wasn't boasting—he was informing them.
"You dare refer to Unohana-sama so casually?!"
"An unknown nobody like you dares challenge her? You must be delusional!"
"Do you have any idea who Unohana-sama is?!"
"She is the strongest swordsman in all of Seireitei! If you want to face her, you'll have to go through us first!"
Fury erupted among the soldiers. This arrogant stranger not only disrespected their captain by name—he dared question her title as the finest swordsman in Soul Society.
"The best swordsman, huh… I doubt it."
"What did you say?!"
"You bastard, don't spout nonsense! Even the Captain-Commander himself acknowledges Unohana-sama as the strongest! Who the hell are you to say otherwise?!"
But Araki only chuckled.
"You believe everything old man Yamamoto says is gospel?"
"Maybe he's wrong."
"And as for Unohana's so-called title—how can she be the strongest when she's never crossed swords with me?"
He spoke plainly, not to provoke but to state a simple truth—as if the outcome was already decided.
"Arrogant! He doesn't even respect the Captain-Commander!"
"Everyone, stop wasting time on this lunatic. He's obviously here to stir up trouble. Let's take him down and hand him over to the Detention Unit—let him pay for his reckless words!"
"Okay!!"
Araki's words sent a ripple of shock through the soldiers of the 11th Division. They had never met anyone so audacious—someone who dared to question the authority of Captain-Commander Yamamoto!
As his provocations continued, the tension snapped. The bloodthirsty Division couldn't tolerate such insolence. One by one, they drew their Zanpakutō, ready to deliver a punishment worthy of their squad's reputation.
"Stop."
Araki sighed, his voice soft but firm, gazing at the surrounding warriors with a calm, almost pitying expression.
"You finally scared now? Too late for that!" one soldier shouted, a grin curling on his face.
But Araki only shook his head.
"You misunderstood," he said quietly. "Even for me… it's difficult to step over an ant without crushing it."
A hush fell over the courtyard.
"..."
Silence.
A thick, oppressive silence gripped the 11th Division barracks.
"Bastard! Still spewing nonsense even now?!"
The shout shattered the quiet like glass under pressure. With a roar, the furious soldiers surged forward, swords raised high.
"Go to hell, you lunatic!"
The first sword flashed in the sun, followed by a storm of blades. Silver arcs swept through the air like falling snow—beautiful, deadly.
Swish!
The courtyard became a blur of steel.
But when the chaos settled…
Araki still stood.
Untouched.
Unbothered.
Unmoving.
"How… how is this possible?!"
The soldiers around him staggered back in disbelief—eyes wide, hands trembling.
Pah…
With that faint sound, the Zanpakutōs in their hands cracked—then shattered—fragments scattering like cherry blossoms in the wind.
At the same time, brilliant crimson "roses" bloomed from their chests.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Bodies fell like dominoes.
In the vast courtyard of the 11th Division, only Araki remained, his white robe still spotless—pristine and silent amidst the carnage.
"I told you," he murmured, gazing at the fallen, "it's hard to step over ants without hurting them."
Creak~
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the Division's dojo swung open.
From within emerged a dense wave of black-clad warriors, their eyes burning with fury. And behind them...
A woman stood.
She wore white.
Not just any white—but the haori of a Gotei 13 Captain.
Her long black hair flowed like ink, and her eyes shimmered with twisted delight as they locked onto Araki, who stood amidst the bloodied courtyard.
"So," she whispered, the metallic scent of blood dancing in her nostrils.
"I've finally found an opponent… worth fighting."
A soft, morbid smile curved her lips as she licked away a stray drop of blood with her tongue.
"Don't disappoint me."