"Come on, move over to the left a bit—make some space for me."
"It's been a while since I've woken up this early… still feels weird."
"Is there some kind of emergency? Why aren't you sleeping and making all this noise so early in the morning?!"
"Hey, guess what? I actually snagged the latest issue of that… magazine! The one you've been dying to see!"
"Let me see! Let me see!"
Looking at the chaotic heap of squad members sprawled before him, emanating the unmistakable scent of laziness and defeat, Gojus felt utterly drained. The stress was like a mountain pressing down on his shoulders. If it weren't for the future captain's insistence, he wouldn't have bothered interacting with this motley crew—each one more absurd than the last.
"Good morning, Vice-Captain Gojus!"
The cheerful greeting from the crowd only added to his exhaustion. He looked at them, exasperated, and sighed:
"How are you all supposed to complete the tasks issued by the Eleventh Division? How are you supposed to work properly… or even make a living for yourselves like this?!"
From the crowd came a chorus of answers:
"Wait for the orders. The mission file appears, then we try our best to kill whoever's on the list."
"And if we can't find the target?"
"Then we come back and wait for the next mission."
Gojus… sigh. Sure enough, this group was exactly as hopeless as ever. Let's just hope Kisaragi Akira can whip them into shape.
Soon enough, a figure strode toward the group with decisive, almost disrespectful steps, scanning the sprawled, dried-up team members with a critical gaze.
"Third Seat Kisaragi, everyone's here."
Though Gojus was the acting captain and also the vice-captain of the Eleventh Division, he immediately lowered his posture in front of Kisaragi Akira. The squad members noticed, but after a cursory glance, they quickly returned to their own business. Who cared about the Third Seat? Until the true Kenpachi was chosen, no Eleventh Division member would bow to anyone but a genuine powerhouse.
Even now, rumors persisted among the Eleventh Division that Captain Shirogane might have been imprisoned in Endless Hell as part of a plot by the 46th Chamber. They said the high-and-mighty members of the 46th Chamber feared Shirogane's power, so they fabricated charges and locked him away. Among the squad, this story was widely circulated—and in some ways, closest to the truth. Kisaragi Akira, upon learning of it, had even wondered if there was a traitor in the 46th Chamber.
"Some of you are pretty rough around the edges, but… barely usable," he noted, nodding after sizing up the crowd of slackers.
"I had Gojus gather you all here for a new mission. I expect everyone to cooperate fully."
"Because only then will I be happy—and when I'm happy, everyone else can be happy too."
His words silenced the chaotic chatter. Hundreds of eyes focused on him, searching for a hint that he was joking. Sadly for them, he was deadly serious.
After a pause, the Eleventh Division erupted into laughter so loud it seemed capable of lifting the roof off the building behind them. The grass quivered beneath their uproar, sending up gusts of wind—a true spectacle.
These slackers might have been a bit off their game, but their skill still placed them in the top three among the Thirteenth Division. It was mostly because joining the First Division—the pinnacle of power under Yamamoto's command—was the dream of any shinigami. The tests were brutal, even elite shinigami from other divisions often failed. Success meant prestige, higher standing, and recognition; the allure was irresistible.
Similarly, the Second Division was tied closely to the Kisaragi family and known for elite warriors willing to sacrifice themselves to complete missions, while the Sixth Division was composed entirely of nobles. In the Soul Society, nobles' innate abilities still outclassed commoners in many ways, and the majority of the Eleventh Division came from the Seireitei's streets.
Despite this, the Eleventh Division's combat power was indisputable. Though, at present, there wasn't a familiar face among this particular crowd.
Scanning the laughing, chaotic squad, Kisaragi Akira suddenly asked:
"By the way… if you get injured on a mission, how is reimbursement handled?"
Gojus, puzzled by the question, answered honestly:
"There's a set reimbursement quota each month. Because we're a combat division, it's slightly higher than other divisions. Plus, Captain Unohana gives us extra support for basic medications."
Kisaragi Akira nodded thoughtfully. Not bad—no wonder most commoners dreamed of becoming shinigami. At the end of the day, structure and benefits made all the difference.
"Good. In that case…" He stepped forward, unleashing his reiatsu. A gust of wind whipped around him as he arrogantly faced the crowd.
"You may be lazy and ugly, but I'm still willing to give you a chance."
"Come at me!"
"Kill me… or be killed by me!"
The challenge ignited the slackers. They roared, a thunderous uproar shaking the grass beneath their feet, almost lifting the roof behind them.
"This kid's insane! A mere Third Seat dares challenge all of us!"
"Even captains from other divisions wouldn't dare say that!"
"Stand shoulder to shoulder—don't pity this fool!"
"Finally, someone came to die for us. Time to feel alive again!"
"You called me ugly?!"
Without warning, someone drew a sword. Chaos erupted, and the surge of reiatsu became so intense the air felt thick and oppressive.
Gojus' eyes widened. The future captain wasn't the only one crazy—the squad had gone completely berserk too. The combined reiatsu engulfed Kisaragi Akira, and even Gojus himself felt the weight of it.
Before he could intervene, a massive leg shot forward, smashing the closest opponent in the gut.
BANG!
The force was overwhelming. Eyes bulged, face red, veins popping—the poor shinigami flew backward, blade still in hand, slamming into the grass with a bone-jarring thud.
Gojus, stunned, looked at the leg—and saw Kisaragi Akira charging into the fray like a man possessed. It was like a runaway truck barreling into the crowd, sending shouts and screams echoing into the sky.
The Eleventh Division excelled at straightforward combat, thanks to a legacy of Kenpachis who valued raw strength. Most of their zanpakutō specialized in direct attacks, which made them Kisaragi Akira's ideal opponents. His formidable spirit body made him immune to their strikes, and even elite shinigami struggled to breach his defenses.
Gojus watched, slack-jawed, as Kisaragi Akira carved through the squad. Shadows flew, screams pierced the air, and bodies tumbled like dumplings in boiling water, one after another hitting the grass with sickening thuds.
Nearly an hour later, Kisaragi Akira paused, sweat dripping from his brow. The field was finally clear. He crouched beside a bruised soldier and poked the swollen face with a grin:
"Ready to cooperate now?"
The man tried to open his puffy eyes and speak, but collapsed unconscious. Excellent. Silence meant consent.
Kisaragi Akira snapped his fingers. Gojus, dripping sweat and understanding the cue, ran over:
"Sir… what are your orders?"
"Don't call me captain. Call me Lord Miyaji!"
Gojus, though confused, obeyed promptly:
"Yes, Lord Miyaji! I'll go borrow reinforcements from the Tenth or Twelfth Division and deliver these idiots to the Fourth Division."
"Perfect, Lord Miyaji!"
Soon, shocked shinigami from other divisions arrived, staring at the carnage. They initially feared an external invasion or total destruction of the Eleventh Division. As injured soldiers were transported to the medical center, Captain Unohana herself arrived, frowning at the sheer number of casualties.
"What happened? Was there a large-scale riot in the streets of the Seireitei?"
Gojus recounted the chaotic battle, shivering under the watchful gaze of the usually gentle Unohana. After a pause, she ordered:
"Prepare medical equipment. Set up a large-scale restorative kido barrier. Begin treating the wounded. I'll return shortly."
The next morning, the Tenth and Twelfth Division heard shrill screams and groans from the Eleventh Division barracks. Yet when they went to their missions, they found a beaming Unohana, serene as ever, spreading calm and motivation with her smile.
The Eleventh Division took two days to recover, while Kisaragi Akira required two and a half. When the squad finally reconvened on the grass in front of their barracks, their gazes were filled with admiration and respect. The strong always commanded attention—and in the Eleventh Division, that was especially true.
Kisaragi Akira scanned his troops, nodding in satisfaction. A small price paid for a disciplined, obedient team—well worth it.
"Good. That's how we do it!" He raised his arm triumphantly.
"Ready to make history with me?"
"Ready!" came the deafening response.
Pedestrians outside froze, staring at the march of the Eleventh Division. What chaos would this once-slacker crew unleash this time?
In the following days, other divisions witnessed a new history. The old Eleventh Division barracks were demolished, replaced with a complex, shrine-like structure. Even in the freeform architecture of the Seireitei, no other division had built something resembling a temple.
As promised, Omada Shinojin delivered the promotional haori. The craftsmanship was impeccable, with the single-eyed deity vividly depicted and accompanied by clear, catchy slogans.
The squad, now dressed in their matching haori, stood in formation on the grass—ready to follow Kisaragi Akira's lead.
"Excellent, everyone."
"Advance across the Seireitei streets! Spread the word of the Rebellion God Shrine! Let the name of the One-Eyed Deity echo throughout!"
Kisaragi Akira raised his arm, rallying his troops. Gojus, watching in despair, knew this would be even worse than before. He could already imagine the chaos these reckless warriors would unleash in the streets…