[Sixth Place]
[Zanpakutō — Benihime]
New subtitles appeared on the glowing screen.
And although the name Benihime sounded unfamiliar to the younger generation of newly promoted Captains—
those who had joined the Gotei 13 in recent years—
a few veterans immediately froze, their expressions shifting as a name surfaced in their minds:
That man—
Kisuke Urahara!
"Sixth place…?"
"His Zanpakutō made it this high?"
"Urahara Kisuke… it's been so long that even his name has started to fade from my memory."
Inside the First Division,
the old Captain-Commander narrowed his eyes, his expression complex yet intrigued.
For him, the name Urahara Kisuke brought to mind only one thing—
the former Captain of the Twelfth Division, predecessor to Mayuri Kurotsuchi,
and the founder and first director of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute.
It was thanks to Urahara that the Twelfth Division had evolved beyond the norm,
becoming the technical backbone of Soul Society.
In the Commander's impression,
Urahara was a scholar—a man of intelligence, invention, and unending curiosity.
But as for martial prowess?
That was… hazy.
"Chōjirō," the Commander murmured, frowning slightly as he turned to his lieutenant.
"Was Urahara ever that strong? I don't recall his Zanpakutō, Benihime, leaving any particular impression."
The elderly lieutenant paused, thinking hard before answering,
"Well… I'm not entirely sure what others think,
but personally, I always felt Urahara's combat strength was rather limited."
He hesitated, scratching his chin awkwardly.
"If I'm being honest… he always struck me as average. Nothing special."
The room fell silent.
It wasn't meant as an insult—
it was simply the truth as Chōjirō remembered it.
To him, Urahara had been a brilliant scientist, not a warrior.
And yet…
"For his name to appear here, at sixth place…"
the Commander mused. "It means that in the future, Urahara Kisuke's power must evolve dramatically."
"Or perhaps," he added softly, "his opponent will force him to such heights."
After witnessing the last four rounds of the ranking,
the Commander no longer doubted the credibility of the list.
But this—
Urahara, of all people, surpassing Nozarashi?
That was truly unexpected.
"Hm?"
"Urahara Kisuke, huh…"
Aizen Sōsuke's smooth voice carried across the quiet chamber.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before his name appeared."
A subtle smile curved his lips, interest glinting in his sharp eyes.
This man—
one of the few in existence whose intellect could rival his own.
And more than that…
because of that thing—the Hōgyoku (崩玉)—
Aizen's connection to Urahara was more personal than anyone else's.
It was Urahara who had hidden the Hōgyoku,
and Aizen who had replicated it—creating an incomplete version.
Only by fusing the two could the true, perfect Hōgyoku be born.
And with it, Aizen would fulfill his long-held ambition:
to transcend the limits of Shinigami and Hollow alike—
to become something greater.
A god beyond gods.
But not everyone shared that calm composure.
At that very moment,
in the Twelfth Division's underground research hall—
"Impossible…"
"Urahara Kisuke?!"
The shrill, metallic voice of Mayuri Kurotsuchi echoed through the room,
his face twitching beneath the blue-and-white mask.
Bloodshot eyes bulged in outrage.
Only moments earlier, he'd been gleefully telling Akon how much he wanted to dissect Kenpachi Zaraki,
to study his body and spiritual structure as a specimen of living chaos.
And now—
The name Urahara appeared.
And with it, his composure snapped like glass.
Mayuri froze.
Then rage took over.
Jealousy—
pure, corrosive jealousy—distorted his painted face.
Of all people…
that man again!
From the very beginning, Mayuri had always believed himself Urahara's superior—
in intellect, in creativity, in power.
Yet once again, Urahara was the one being recognized,
while he himself didn't even get a cameo in the rankings.
It wasn't just humiliating—
it was unscientific!
Meanwhile, across the transparent projection screen,
the image shifted—
the start of the new segment.
Blue skies.
White clouds.
The familiar outskirts of Karakura Town.
And there—
a roar broke the calm.
"Damn it… Shinigami! How are you still alive?!"
The enormous Arrancar Yammy Llargo bellowed,
his voice shaking the air as he hurled a barrage of Cero blasts across the battlefield.
But through the fiery haze—
a slim figure in a green coat and wooden sandals stood calmly amid the chaos,
a fan half-raised in his hand, a playful smile on his face.
Kisuke Urahara.
The video zoomed in—
and the watching world erupted.
"Tsk tsk tsk…"
"The first opponent is Yammy? Hah!"
From the observation chamber, Gin Ichimaru chuckled with a sly grin.
"With brains like his, he'll be toyed with in seconds."
"'Toyed with,' hmm?"
Aizen's tone was neutral, unhurried.
"In the human world, Urahara is on his home turf. With his intellect and arsenal of inventions…"
He smiled faintly. "That word fits perfectly."
Even Aizen couldn't help but admit it.
He knew better than anyone that Urahara's brilliance extended far beyond the battlefield.
The true entertainment would not be the fight itself—
but the technology he unveiled.
And sure enough—
the next moments proved him right.
"Hey…"
"Still alive over here, Arrancar."
As the smoke cleared, Urahara's voice rang out, calm and teasing.
He stepped forward unscathed, adjusting his hat with a light smile.
Yammy's face contorted in disbelief.
"What?! You—how are you not dead?!"
Urahara raised one hand.
"Because of this, of course."
From his coat pocket, he produced a small black sphere,
inflating it like a balloon until—
another Urahara appeared beside him, identical down to the smirk.
"This little gadget," he said playfully,
"is my Portable Gigai™—perfect for when I don't feel like dying personally."
The tone was almost too casual,
as if he were explaining a party trick rather than unveiling cutting-edge tech.
Within seconds, the battlefield became a farce.
Yammy raged. Urahara smiled.
And then—
"Cry, Benihime."
A deep crimson light burst from the blade.
A sharp, melodic hum—like the shriek of a thousand ravens—pierced the sky.
A wave of blood-red energy surged forward,
erupting beside Yammy's head with an explosion that split the air apart.
When the smoke cleared—
the Arrancar lay motionless.
The fight was over before it began.
"Damn it… why is it always me!?"
"Who the hell is that sandal-wearing freak?!"
Inside Las Noches, Yammy slammed a fist into the wall, roaring in humiliation.
He couldn't even deny it—
he had been toyed with, mocked, and blown up on camera.
Again.
And as always, his defeat became fuel for ridicule.
"Idiot,"
Grimmjow sneered, crossing his arms.
"Lost again? You're a disgrace to the Espada."
His sharp blue eyes glinted with disdain.
Until now, he hadn't appeared once in these ranking reels—
and seeing Yammy featured only to be humiliated made his blood boil.
He refused to believe this was his limit.
Someday, he'd surpass even the likes of Starrk.
But for now…
Urahara Kisuke stood victorious—
and Benihime had taken her rightful place among the legends.
(End of Chapter)
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