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Inside a hidden chamber of Urahara's shop, the wall bore a massive screen surrounded by grotesque flesh-and-blood devices pumping out the energy needed to sustain it. The design looked more like a hollow experiment than anything a so-called ally of the Gotei would maintain, but Moyu had seen it before and no longer raised a brow.
Urahara stepped forward, long fingers moving across the console with a flourish like a musician plucking strings. The screen flickered, snow static crawling across its surface with a rasping hiss until, at last, a face appeared—green-skinned, bulbous, and ugly.
"Eh? Eh?! Pu… Captain Urahara!"
The flustered operator gaped in horror before stammering out words.
"Your communications skill hasn't improved at all, Bulbul," Urahara teased with his grin as sharp as ever. "I wonder what would happen if the Head Captain learned I'd casually broken into the Technology Development Bureau's system?"
Cold sweat beaded on the man's brow, hands trembling.
"Alright, alright, no need to quake. I'm done teasing." Urahara's tone shifted, the playfulness fading as he grew serious. "Pass this along to the First Division. I need to speak with Captain-Commander Yamamoto."
Bulbulus swallowed hard, bowing his head quickly. "Yes, Mr. Urahara!" He caught himself, realizing the man before him no longer bore the title of captain, and forced even more respect into his voice.
Minutes later, the wrinkled face of Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni filled the screen.
"Head Captain! Long time no see!" Urahara's smile was as light as ever, as if time and exile meant nothing.
The old man's voice rumbled like a temple bell. "Sinner Urahara Kisuke. You breach Seireitei's communication without permission, and yet you feel no fear that I might trace your location and have you seized?"
The weight of his words carried the reminder that Kisuke's crime—research into hollows—had never been absolved. The Hollowfication incident had tainted his name, and forgiveness was far from given.
Urahara tilted his hat, tone casual. "If I feared that, I wouldn't have called. I have something more important to discuss."
Moyu stepped into the frame. "It's about Aizen's plans."
He recounted everything that had transpired in the world of the living—Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, the Void Barrier, and Reiatsu Collapse. When he finished, Yamamoto's heavy brows knotted, the silence that followed weighed down with thought. At length, the old man let out a low sigh.
"…The old man will petition Central 46 to rescind the arrest order for Urahara Kisuke. You may bring him back to Soul Society."
Moyu inclined his head slightly. "Your understanding is appreciated, Captain."
The transmission cut.
Aizen's betrayal and the massacre of Central 46 had already forced Yamamoto to temper his rigidity. The immovable old man who once bent to nothing had learned, however unwillingly, the necessity of concession. Even if it meant ignoring the decrees of Central 46 itself.
Urahara let out a whistle, half admiration, half disbelief. "Well, that was unexpected. Times have changed indeed." He cast a sidelong glance at Moyu. "Come then. The Senkaimon is waiting underground."
---
Soul Society. Technology Development Bureau.
The moment Urahara stepped into the headquarters—clad in a green jacket, pale under-robe, geta clacking softly on the polished floor—the entire division froze. Hands stilled over instruments, eyes widened in disbelief.
"C-Captain Urahara…"
"Master Kisuke?! Impossible… he's back?!"
Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire. The return of a man exiled for a century was a shock beyond comprehension. Some looked on in awe, others with suspicion, many with conflicted reverence for a legend they had only heard of.
"Ha, long time no see, everyone." Kisuke spread his arms with that irrepressible ease. "I trust you missed me?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Bulbulus, flustered, hurried forward to break the tension. "Ahem—back to work, all of you!" He plastered on a grin as he gestured toward Kisuke. "Mr. Urahara… the Bureau has changed much since your time. Allow me to guide you."
As they walked deeper, whispers followed them, glances lingering on the former captain whose reputation had preceded him more than his presence ever had.
At last, they entered the research chambers. Towering machines crowded the room like a forest of steel, their pipes and conduits snaking through walls. Kisuke's eyes lit with curiosity.
"Oh? Not much has changed… typical of Mayuri. He polishes the surface but the structure remains the same."
Bulbulus dabbed at his forehead nervously. "This is a restricted area. Only Captain Kurotsuchi and Lieutenant Nemu may enter, so… I truly don't know what has been done here."
"Then leave it to us." Urahara waved dismissively. "Go on, get back to work."
Relieved, Bulbulus fled. The oppressive gaze of two captains—Moyu and Kisuke together—was not something his heart could withstand.
Urahara strode forward into the mechanical grove, fingers flying across consoles in a blur of deft motion. Lights blazed alive, machines roared, and the chamber lit like midday. Spiritual energy pulsed, a luminous storm filling the room.
His hat tilted up, eyes sharp, words ringing with uncharacteristic gravity.
"Now then… let's see what exactly Aizen has been building."
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