Watching the proud glint in his father's eyes, Kira Shunsuke felt that everything he had endured was finally worth it.
"It seems sometimes the only way forward is through the storm itself," he murmured.
Realization settled over him as he tightened his grip on his Zanpakutō. Across the sparring grounds, Hisagi Renji watched him rise again and sighed softly.
"So, you've chosen to draw your blade once more," Renji said. "Then I'll respond in kind. But don't expect me to hold back—it might not end well for you."
The nearby seated officers exchanged glances. Renji's tone carried that familiar arrogance, one born of confidence bordering on recklessness.
"Hisagi Renji," Kira said evenly, "you'd better temper that pride. Nine times out of ten, arrogance blinds the strong faster than fear does."
"If you fall because of it, the scar it leaves won't fade easily. It'll cloud your spirit and twist your judgment long after the battle ends."
His words struck with unexpected clarity, carrying a wisdom beyond his years. Standing on the sidelines, Captain Komamura's brow lifted slightly.
"Not bad," Komamura rumbled. "To have a son who sees that deeply—it's an honor."
He turned at the sound of quiet laughter beside him. Captain Urahara stood there, fan half-open, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"Can you really talk about honor here, Komamura? You don't even have your own Division member in this match," Urahara teased.
Komamura gave him a sideways look. "And yet you do? Which one of these kids bears your insignia?"
Urahara pointed lazily toward Ichigo Kurosaki and Renji Hisagi, locked in fierce exchange across the courtyard.
"Those two," he said. "My newest pupils. I'm standing in for their parents."
Komamura's eyes widened slightly. So these two orphans had found their place under Urahara's wing. Perhaps fate had been kind after all.
In his care, their potential would soar—refined, sharpened, disciplined. Even at their young age, to see such growth was nothing short of astonishing.
For a moment, Komamura felt genuine awe. To mold souls this young without breaking them required impossible control over one's Reiatsu and insight far beyond ordinary Captains.
If another mentor had tried this, the strain alone might have destroyed their bodies, their Reiryoku collapsing before maturity. But Urahara was no ordinary Shinigami.
Once a prodigy of the Twelfth Division, his mastery of science and combat made even the failures of others into instruments of genius. Seeing what he'd achieved with Ichigo and Renji—it was impossible not to be impressed.
Urahara noticed the look in Komamura's eyes but didn't flaunt it. Instead, he smiled lightly, folded his fan, and sat down beside him to watch the duel unfold.
"To be honest," he said quietly, "your son's intellect is remarkable. But he still avoids trouble when he can. Maybe that's not so bad."
"It's enough to live with purpose," Komamura replied. "Parents only ever wish for that—and for their children to survive the chaos."
Urahara nodded with quiet respect. Both men fell silent as the clash reached its crescendo. The final strike rang out like a bell through the Seireitei.
And at last, the result was decided.
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