Gillian may be the lowest form of Menos Grande, but that didn't make it easy to kill.
Perhaps for a captain, such creatures were nothing more than disposable fodder — trivial beasts that could be cut down without effort.
But for ordinary shinigami, even facing a single Gillian required the strength of an officer.
And Gosuke Shigure hadn't faced one. He'd faced six.
To annihilate all six in such a short time spoke volumes of his ability.
Kenpachi Azashiro couldn't help recalling the previous generation's Kenpachi — the man he had slain with his own hands.
Even for someone as emotionally distant as Azashiro, it was impossible not to acknowledge Kuruyashiki's power.
He had been a true hero, a monster of strength.
Had Kuruyashiki not been forbidden from using his Bankai, if he had not been wounded beforehand, or if Azashiro had not relied on the dishonorable Air Blade technique during their duel — the outcome might have been very different.
'Even now,' Azashiro thought, 'that man remains an unshakable mountain.'
Gosuke Shigure's capability as that man's vice-captain was, therefore, no coincidence. His composure, his precision — they weren't flukes.
When Azashiro first took command of the Eleventh Division, he hadn't cared much about the structure of the squad.
He needed a vice-captain, and Gosuke Shigure had already filled the role, so he left things as they were.
He didn't interfere with team affairs, didn't issue sweeping reforms, didn't change a thing.
Everything — every form, mission, report — remained under Shigure's management.
In the days that followed, Shigure handled everything flawlessly.
And after witnessing the vice-captain's performance in battle, Azashiro's opinion of him shifted slightly.
No longer just an administrative deputy — but a man of genuine capability.
That was all, though.
He quickly pushed the thought aside and said curtly, "Let's go back."
Shigure nodded.
…
They returned to the Eleventh Division.
Days passed in silence.
Life settled into an odd sort of peace.
Kenpachi Azashiro was the opposite of his predecessor in every possible way.
Where Kuruyashiki had laughed loudly, mingled freely, and joined his subordinates for drinks, Azashiro was reserved, cold, and distant — almost to the point of being unreadable.
He rarely spoke to his squad members. Most of the time, he stayed secluded in the training hall behind his office, not training — just sitting there, silent and unmoving.
No one knew what he thought about, or if he thought about anything at all.
As for the running of the squad, everything remained in Shigure's hands.
Before long, the members of the Eleventh Division began whispering among themselves:
"Captain's… kind of a weirdo, isn't he?"
But despite that, they respected him. Because when it came time for combat — when hollows appeared or Menos Grande were sighted — Kenpachi Azashiro never once hesitated.
No matter how distant or detached he seemed, he never refused a fight.
He led every mission personally, always at the front, always the first to strike — and always victorious.
Whatever his personality, his strength was unquestionable.
He was, after all, the man who had defeated the previous Kenpachi in a fair duel.
Still, if the members of the Eleventh Division had been given a choice — between Kuruyashiki and Azashiro — almost all of them would have chosen the former.
Kuruyashiki had been approachable, cheerful, and generous.
After every major battle, he held grand receptions — singing, drinking, and laughing alongside his soldiers until dawn.
Those had been golden days.
But now, under Azashiro's cold leadership, that laughter had vanished.
There were no more songs, no more sake, no more celebrations — only silence and steel.
…
For Shigure, however, it made little difference.
Unlike the others, he wasn't troubled by the change.
Having been reborn, he viewed death differently. The fall of Kuruyashiki hadn't shaken him. In his eyes, everyone was destined to die eventually. If not Kuruyashiki, then someone else.
'People die.' he thought simply. 'That's just the way of things.'
What mattered more was that he was alive again.
Even if the Soul Society was still steeped in conflict, even if Hueco Mundo remained a threat — it was nothing compared to the chaos of a thousand years ago.
Now, he could spend his days calmly handling paperwork, occasionally fighting when duty called, and otherwise living in peace.
'A quiet life,' he thought one evening as he worked through the last of his reports, 'something I could never have had before.'
He smiled faintly.
Maybe this was the reward for surviving long enough to be reborn.
…
That same evening, as Gosuke Shigure sat in the captain's office finishing his tasks, the door slid open with a clack.
"Gosuke, you really do your best!"
A voice carried in — warm, teasing, and just a little mocking.
Shigure looked up. Standing at the doorway was a tall man in a flowery pink robe and wide-brimmed bamboo hat.
A familiar figure.
"Captain Kyoraku." Shigure greeted with a small nod.
Indeed, it was none other than Kyoraku Shunsui, the captain of the Eighth Division — the only man in the Gotei 13 who dressed like that.
Student of Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryusai.
The first graduate of the Spiritual Arts Academy to become a captain.
One of the oldest and most formidable captains alive.
In the Gotei 13, the longer a captain had survived, the stronger they tended to be.
The weak didn't live long in this world.
…
Shunsui smiled lightly and walked in, the brim of his hat casting a lazy shadow over his eyes.
"Is the hardworking vice-captain busy, hmm?" he said playfully. "I thought I'd drop by for a visit. Haven't been to the Eleventh Division in a while. Looks the same as always — and yet, somehow, different."
Shigure paused his writing and looked up. "Is there something I can do for you, Captain Kyoraku?"
Shunsui chuckled softly. "No, no. Just taking a stroll. You know me — I get restless when paperwork piles up."
His tone was as easygoing as ever, but there was an undercurrent of melancholy beneath it.
When Kuruyashiki had still lived, the two captains had been close friends. They'd often drunk together, laughed together — Kyoraku had even attended the fateful celebration that ended in the fatal duel between Kuruyashiki and Azashiro.
He had witnessed that night firsthand — the laughter, the sake, and then the blood.
So now, walking through the same division, seeing the same walls but hearing no laughter, the contrast weighed on him.
On the surface, nothing had changed.
The division still ran efficiently.
Its members were still fierce, still loyal, still ready to fight.
And yet, something was gone.
Something human.
'Laughter.' Shunsui thought. 'That's what's missing.'
…
Kuruyashiki had been a hero in every sense — strong, kind, and approachable. He never looked down on the weak, and he treated even the lowest-ranked recruit with warmth.
He had made the Eleventh Division more than just a squad — he had made it a family.
And now… that family was silent.
Shunsui understood why Azashiro was different.
After Kuruyashiki's death, he'd looked into Azashiro's past — the tragedy of his murdered family, the isolation, the bitterness that had shaped his cold, restrained personality.
Still, people could change.
And Shunsui hoped to be the one to help that change along.
'Maybe if I can get him to come to a few receptions,' he thought, 'it might soften him up a little.'
That was his goal when he'd come to visit today.
But Kenpachi Azashiro had turned him down flat — no hesitation, no interest, no excuses. Just a quiet, absolute refusal.
Even Shunsui, who prided himself on being easygoing, felt stung.
'So even my charm doesn't work on this one, huh?'
He sighed inwardly.
Compared to Azashiro, the rest of the Eleventh Division were far easier to approach.
So, turning toward the vice-captain who seemed perpetually calm, Shunsui decided to try another approach.
He smiled. "Gosuke, you've been buried in all this work for days now. How about joining me for a drink?"
Shigure blinked once, his pen still in hand.
"It must be boring," Kyoraku continued with a lazy grin, "being stuck with team affairs all the time. I promise, it's much better to let the sake handle your stress for you."
That was pure Kyoraku Shunsui — the man who dodged paperwork whenever possible, choosing a bottle and a sunset over duty and desks.
*****
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