Under Hell's vault.
The ancient Menos that had been so arrogant a moment ago lay prone and trembling, and the two that had started drifting closer wisely peeled away.
Higashino Shuuichi stared at the familiar face before him, more than a little excited.
"Captain Kuruyashiki, you probably don't know me, but I definitely know you."
Once he'd confirmed who stood there, the knot in Shuuichi's chest finally loosened. Kuruyashiki Kenpachi was the man said to stand shoulder to shoulder with Genryūsai. Maybe not quite Genryūsai at his peak—nobody was—but more than enough to keep Shuuichi alive down here in Hell.
"Over two hundred years ago, when you were still captain of the 11th Division and I was just a Rukongai kid, I saw you lead your squad back from Hueco Mundo in triumph!"
Shuuichi put on quite a show; to anyone passing by he'd look exactly like a diehard Kuruyashiki fanboy.
And, well, anyone who can wear the 11th Division's haori—aside from a certain antisocial first bearer—usually isn't famous for finesse in social reading.
Puffed up by the praise, Kuruyashiki sat astride a round white sphere-creature, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips.
"Mm! I remember that. Over two centuries back.
A Vasto Lorde strutted out of Hueco Mundo to challenge us. I didn't like his face, so I chased him home and butchered all his underlings.
If some Vasto Lorde calling himself 'Baraggan' hadn't stuck his nose in at the end, there'd have been one more Vasto Lorde on my tally."
The way Kuruyashiki spoke of killing a Vasto Lorde like wringing a chicken's neck made Shuuichi suck in a sharp breath.
That's what a true top dog sounds like.
Sōsuke, Retsu—always acting like they've got nothing special up their sleeves when I'm around.
Even Kenpachi (the current one) had lost himself, bit by bit, in the joy of the fight.
If you've got the strength, own it—like Kuruyashiki!
"No wonder you're Captain Kuruyashiki!"
Shuuichi laid it on thick.
"But from the way you talk, you're from two hundred years after I died?"
To his credit, Kuruyashiki didn't drown in the flattery; he fished the key detail out right away.
Two centuries.
So he'd been stuck in this damned place for two hundred years—or more—without even noticing?
"Yes, Captain. Ever since I heard your story, I've been inspired. Because of you, I set my heart on becoming a shinigami!
I've yearned to be like you—coming and going through Hueco Mundo at will, suppressing Vasto Lorde with my own hands!"
Shuuichi's eyes shone with worship.
For a heartbeat, Kuruyashiki looked almost embarrassed.
"Oi, kid, you're laying it on too thick. In Soul Society there are plenty stronger than me. I don't need to tell you about the Head Captain.
And Azashiro, the lad who inherited my title of Kenpachi—he was stronger than me. I'll bet he's doing fine, eh?"
Memories leapt: that victory banquet after Hueco Mundo, the cool, composed Azashiro; the duel no one saw coming; that absolute will to win. Kuruyashiki never resented Azashiro for killing him that day, and never regretted keeping his Bankai sheathed.
That was the 11th Division's fate—the legacy of the name "Kenpachi."
Lose and you lose. Blaming "I didn't use Bankai because I didn't want to wreck the Seireitei" isn't a Kenpachi's mindset.
But Shuuichi's awkward face made Kuruyashiki's expression shift.
"So Azashiro… got killed?" His brow furrowed. "Recently, yeah? Otherwise, someone that strong dropping in—I'd have noticed long before now."
Silence answered him.
Shuuichi bit his lip, eyes wandering; gone was the shining look of adoration he'd worn seconds earlier.
"Hey, kid. You're Gotei 13, and from the sound of it we're on decent terms, so I'll keep you safe down here. But I hate it when people play coy with me."
Annoyance creased Kuruyashiki's face.
Maybe Hell's endless grind had worn his patience thin. The model captain of the old days didn't have as much to spare.
"Alright, Captain…" With the ultimatum given, Shuuichi stopped dodging and explained, aggrieved, "Azashiro Kenpachi was locked in Muken—the 'Infinite Hell'—by Central 46."
"What?!"
His reiatsu exploded with his rage, blasting outward.
The ancient Menos sprawled nearby merely brushed that wave—and instantly triggered Hell's special 'revival' cycle.
Shuuichi, much closer, swallowed, throat dry.
Thank goodness Kuruyashiki still knew friend from foe. If that pulse had been reckless, Shuuichi would be paste.
"Tell me—those nobles, they're settling scores, aren't they? Azashiro made it clear he wouldn't hate the nobles for consequences his own clan had earned!"
Kuruyashiki knew nothing of how Azashiro's thoughts had radicalized after brushing the Spirit King's will; instinct told him to tie Azashiro's fate back to the clan's tragedy.
"Sorry, Captain. I don't know. I can't give you an answer."
Head bowed, fists clenched, Shuuichi answered, dejected.
It sounded like no answer—and yet it was answer enough.
Watching that same stubborn anger in Shuuichi's posture, Kuruyashiki's conviction hardened.
Azashiro had been framed—by those damned nobles.
"Kid—if I'm not wrong, that strange Zanpakutō you used can take you out of here, yes?"
Kuruyashiki looked straight at Shuuichi; the easy humor was gone, replaced by iron.
"Yes, Captain. My name is Higashino Shuuichi, Gotei 13, 4th Division, vice-captain.
I came to Hell at the request of the Kabuma—one of the Five Great Noble Houses—to subdue a sinner or Togabito (Condemned), guide their reishi back to Soul Society, and complete a purification."
Shuuichi answered plainly.
No need to bury this one in lies.
Truth wrapped in truth—no seams to find.
"One of the Five Great Houses—the Kabuma?"
Kuruyashiki clearly wasn't satisfied with that answer.
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