Chapter 264
"That's why I chose this place. It's suitable for you."
"I think so too. This place is really good. The victor becomes the Captain, and the loser becomes the sinner. No matter who lives or dies in battle, this hell remains unchanged."
Zaraki Kenpachi spoke calmly.
For him, destiny was bound to endless conflict - fighting until only one person remained standing, one person left alive.
---
Last night.
After Yuta finished healing Zaraki Kenpachi's injuries, the tall Shinigami pushed himself up from the bed and sat at its edge. Towering over most, nearly two meters tall and broad as a monster, he looked oddly lost in thought for once.
His zanpakutō rested against his shoulder; the hilt balanced lightly in his hand, the tip touching the bed. It was unusual to see him not gripping it tightly.
For one known as Kenpachi, letting go of the sword was unthinkable. Yet he sat there, staring down at the weapon's handle. The hilt, worn smooth from years of battle, bore the faint imprint of his grip - the marks of his fingers and palm etched into the leather from countless fights.
And now, his hand was relaxed.
What did it even signify when someone called Kenpachi loosened his hold on his blade?
Was it frustration? Regret?
Was he hating himself for losing to Yhwach?
No… he hadn't even lost to the true Yhwach - but to one of the Sternritter who merely copied his appearance.
Would someone like Zaraki Kenpachi - who had always fought without hesitation or fear - truly loosen his grasp on his sword?
Yuta stood before him, silent, unsure what ran through Zaraki's mind.
"Tomorrow, you'll be fighting Unohana Yachiru," Yuta said plainly.
"Ah... is that so?" Zaraki replied after a long exhale. "I'm happy that I'll get to fight someone I truly admire."
"Yuta…"
"What is it?"
"I have a favor to ask."
"Explain."
"I… I'll probably die tomorrow... because... I'm not as strong as she is."
---
"You've been talking quite a lot today. I prefer when you're silent - every time I hear your words, the wounds you gave me start to ache again."
Unohana Yachiru's hair flowed freely down her back, revealing the deep scar beneath her collarbone - the mark of the blade that had once pierced straight through her body. The wound had remained even after centuries; it was carved too deep to ever truly fade.
"What a joke! You're not the only one who feels the pain of old wounds!" Zaraki barked back, his jagged scar catching the light - the deep mark running from his left brow down his cheek, as if the blow had once tried to split his skull in half.
Steel hissed sharply as both swords were unsheathed nearly in unison. Before the sound even settled, Unohana and Zaraki had already collided - two blades flashing within killing distance.
Unohana Yachiru - the first Kenpachi. In the earliest age of the Gotei 13, she had been the Captain of the 11th Division, the very one known throughout history as the combat division - its violent traditions and rules shaped entirely by her hand. Even now, the title Kenpachi could only be claimed by defeating and killing its current holder.
In the Captain's meeting hall, Kyōraku Shunsui set down his notebook after recording the events so far. "I'm sorry to disguise this training as mere instruction in swordsmanship," he said softly to himself. "I know very well that when Captain Unohana fights Zaraki... one of them will die."
---
Fourth Division Barracks.
Kotetsu Isane lifted a white envelope. The words "To Isane" were written neatly across the front. After reading the letter's contents, she clutched it to her chest, shoulders trembling as she sobbed silently.
---
Eleventh Division.
Kusajishi Yachiru - small and childlike - reached out her hand, picking up the black eyepatch resting near the training ground's edge. Her small fingers traced its worn surface as she whispered softly, "Ken-chaan…"
---
Steel flashed again.
Zaraki's blade swung in from above - but to his surprise, it struck only empty air.
Unohana tilted her body slightly, dodging effortlessly. Her blade was already poised near his neck - less than a millimeter from his skin - before he could even register the movement.
Instinct saved him. Zaraki's body lurched back just as the edge sliced forward, missing his throat by the smallest margin. The blade's wind cut across his shoulder, drawing blood but sparing his life.
Before he could recover, Unohana stepped in and pinned his arm beneath her foot, bringing her blade down toward his head. Zaraki kicked sideways, deflecting her sword with the thick guard of his own blade and forcing her back.
Her haori fluttered through the air as she twisted and flew backward, using the flow of reiryoku to spring off the stone pillar behind her. The white fabric spread out like wings before she descended, slashing again from above.
Their swords met - sparks erupted outward with the ringing clash of steel against steel.
Kenpachi's grin widened, his eyes alive with excitement. The force of their strikes bent the blades slightly, pressure waves shaking the ground beneath them.
Unohana gazed at him steadily. "You removed your eyepatch before the battle even began. I'll commend you for that - but your power after doing so is... disappointing."
Zaraki's grin faltered for half a second as he felt warmth spreading from his shoulder - another cut. "What...?"
He quickly stepped back and parried her next strike, noticing the thin, diamond-shaped blade fragment embedded in his shoulder. He gripped it and tore it out roughly before glaring back at her.
"You're too weak," Unohana said calmly. "You swing your sword with one hand and keep the other idle. Do you truly find this fight enjoyable?"
Zaraki spat out blood and grinned, lifting his sword once again. "Funny... I was about to say the same thing to you. You've changed. You're nothing like the woman I admired back then!"
"You actually said you admired your enemy in battle!"
Both shouted at once as they charged again.
Their swords blurred.
Zaraki's weapon was knocked from his hand, spinning wildly through the air before embedding itself into the ground behind him with a deep metallic clang.
Unohana's blade was already at his throat - the edge poised at the skin of his neck. One small thrust would be enough to pierce his throat clean through.
Behind him loomed the tall stone pillar - leaving him nowhere left to escape.
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