Zhentuo Yemi's "reishi fission" could boost spiritual pressure a hundredfold inside eight seconds. It meshed perfectly with techniques like Sevenfold Flash—and even Sole Flash—which demanded total concentration and ruthless killing efficiency.
That said—
Even a casual sweep of sword pressure would erase an Adjuchas in an instant. What would it do when poured into Sole Flash?
The answer far exceeded Shinomiya's expectations—and most people's.
Reishi in the air above the whole city quivered, ringing like a distant sword chant. The air in your lungs tasted faintly of iron, like a blade; hearts beat faster and refused to slow.
At the gate of an abandoned factory sealed inside a barrier, Hirako Shinji gazed up and idly spun his beret on his finger.
"Oi, baldy! Why are you standing around? Weren't you gonna at least mop up the trash out front? If you think I'll do the work while you watch, I'm slapping you across the face with a sandal!"
Hiyori snapped from the side.
"Idiot. You don't feel that pressure? My hair feels electrocuted—it's all standing up and knotted. I can't even wear my hat."
"Hah? I think it's just 'cause you got your head shaved and it's drafty."
"…Fine. Let's say you're right this time."
"…?"
Hiyori blinked and looked at Shinji. His serious face calmed her a little.
"So… we still going out?"
"Go where? I don't know what kind of wind blew up Aizen's bald head to let a monster like that run loose under his nose—or maybe this dumb party tonight is for him—but one thing's obvious—"
Shinji turned, cursing, sweeping a look over the Vizards who had quietly gathered.
"This one's not our mess to meddle in."
…
At the front of Urahara Shop, another group came to the same conclusion.
"Talk about a lifesaver. I thought we'd be up all night. I even brewed strong tea—paid top price. They say it's great for staying sharp~"
"Do tell."
The black cat at Urahara Kisuke's feet calmly licked a paw.
"Does it also help you figure out how to clean up the aftermath?"
"Eh?"
Kisuke blinked wide and yelped, wounded.
"It wasn't me this time—why am I on mop-up duty?"
"Because how else do you cozy up to Kurosaki Ichigo and that so-called greatest prodigy in Seireitei history, and win their trust?"
Yoruichi snorted, as if seeing straight through him.
"Don't forget, the two of them are thick with Aizen. You're running out of cards. We still don't know the exact shape of his plan, but the longer we wait, the worse it gets. I can feel it—he's setting the board for something big. If he pulls it off, the consequences will be unthinkable."
"Miss Yoruichi's intuition, hm… Of course I trust it. But fate is pettier than any schemer. The more intricate your plans, the more likely you'll wind up with empty hands."
"For example, I never imagined Kurosaki's boy would end up dead."
"As for going to Soul Society and catching Aizen's eye, getting cozy like a master and disciple—honestly that tracks. It's Aizen. He loves playing with people's hearts."
Kisuke's mouth curved in a helpless smile.
"So you don't intend to do the usual—buddy up and nudge them toward discovering Aizen's plot?"
Yoruichi narrowed her cat eyes.
"That's not exactly a nice-guy move. And I don't mind getting called a black-hearted shopkeep if it gets results… but right now I worry the result would backfire. Odds are high."
Kisuke shook his head.
"So—"
"So?"
"Let's try riding the muddy current of fate for once."
"Speak human!"
"Ow—!"
Yoruichi raked his face without mercy. Kisuke pinched his nose and mumbled, "I mean—even if Kurosaki-san's son is gone, there's still a very unusual talent."
"You mean… Inoue Orihime?"
Yoruichi sounded unconvinced.
"I don't see what's special about her."
"Exactly because you don't, she stands out."
Yoruichi fell quiet, thinking.
True.
A perfectly ordinary girl had become a Substitute Soul Reaper.
While someone born extraordinary—destined from birth to be special—had died young.
It was bitter irony.
More baffling still—
This substitute wasn't ordinary at all in how she performed. Power borrowed from another Soul Reaper seemed to have broken some balance. And with a certain person's spiritual pressure no longer weighing on those around him—no, suppressing them—
Inoue Orihime had become a variable no one could predict.
No one knew what she would become.
It looked like "potential," but it wasn't quite the same.
Just as Yoruichi said, she didn't brim with obvious latent power. And yet she kept changing.
It felt like—whatever happened—if she was there, a sliver of hope remained, and people could keep moving forward.
In other words—"hope."
A chill ran through Yoruichi. She shook her head hard.
A human teenager couldn't possibly shoulder that. At most she'd be an "exception" that arose from time to time in history.
Plenty of heroes had been born poor and made by circumstance.
Karakura—now a heavy spirit zone—had always been spiritually strange. A rare "freak" or two arising from it wasn't unreasonable.
Thinking that, Yoruichi relaxed.
"Tonight's mess likely involves that girl too. To be safe, I'll go take a look."
"Then I'll count on you, Miss Yoruichi~"
"You don't sit idle either. Seireitei won't ignore something this big. Think through your next move."
Kisuke watched Yoruichi melt into the night and smiled wryly.
"…Right. I should plan too."
"Wonder if sitting down with Aizen for a nice chat would make him abandon that pathetic dream… ahaha. Miss Yoruichi would love that joke."
His complicated, weary laugh dissolved into the thickening night heat.
…
Wind, hot with spirit pressure, licked his face.
The glow sheathing Shinomiya's body dimmed—like a life-fire snuffed out.
Yayahara and Rindō rushed forward to steady him, but Shinomiya waved them off.
"I'm fine."
Seeing him form footholds of reishi in midair reassured them.
They didn't know he'd already burned both of his "compound potion" charges for the day the instant his Shikai ended.
In the human world, reishi was thin and recovery slow. On top of that, the situation wasn't resolved. He had no intention of backing himself into a corner.
"You look harmless enough, but your sword's ability is outrageously extreme—and that's just Shikai. I don't even want to imagine your Bankai. You're not going to take the world with you, are you?"
Yayahara clicked her tongue, eyeing him like she'd seal him in a blanket if he said "yes."
"Don't jinx it."
Shinomiya shot her a death glare.
"If you're right, I'm stuffing you into a firework and lighting the fuse."
"Ahaha… Okay, okay, definitely not. There's no such thing as a world-ending Bankai."
"Forget Bankai. Hollows are under control in this sector. Split up. Head for Kurosaki's location and push forward until we link up."
Sevenfold Flash and Sole Flash paired perfectly with his Shikai.
Now that he'd tasted it, he couldn't help wondering what tonight's special "Soul Burial Analysis" would give him next.
They had worries, but Yayahara and Rindō chose to trust him as always.
Once they flew off—
Shinomiya, having recovered a little strength and pressure, moved too.
He headed for central Karakura.
Plenty of spiritual pressures were clashing there—fights in full blaze.
…
Ishida Uryū was a Quincy.
He took pride in it—deeply.
He'd resolved to bear the honor of all Quincies as "the last Quincy."
At the same time, he didn't strut around as "ally of justice," nor did he cackle in arrogance.
As a warrior, he was almost flawless—aside from being underpowered.
And weakness is the biggest flaw.
"Faster—faster…!"
Uryū gritted his teeth and hauled the bowstring back with bloodied, split fingers to shoot down the Hollows above. Any one of them could take a life; this was his fault.
There was no point blaming bait now. All that mattered was dealing with the Hollows in front of him, pulling things back from the brink—atoning for his sin.
His shots were true, his arrows sharp. Still not enough.
"If only I had half that spiritual pressure…"
What he'd felt earlier had been unprecedented—terrifyingly strong.
A Soul Reaper, no doubt.
A group of Soul Reapers had arrived.
They'd jumped into the fray like they were flaunting their power.
They'd hit the invading Hollows head-on.
Even he had to admit it—they'd done well.
Which only made his stomach churn more.
"I can't let Soul Reapers clean up my mess!"
He fought with that grit… yet the Hollows didn't thin out.
On the Soul Reaper side, the Hollow signatures were few and fading.
The sheer disparity made him shiver—and hate his helplessness.
If he could trade away his Quincy power for half that strength, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
"You felt the Soul Reaper's pressure and still refused to stop. That mule-headed streak really does run in the family."
A figure appeared above him.
Shinomiya.
"You…!"
Uryū's pupils shrank. He didn't recognize the face, but he recognized the spiritual pressure.
Shinomiya either didn't notice or didn't care.
"I'll say this once. Stand down. You're at your limit. As one of the few Quincies left, you should value your life—you'll be more useful later."
"…Maybe you're right. But right now I want to fix what I did. At least stop it from getting worse. I'm willing to die for that."
Uryū's voice was steady.
"All the more reason to stop."
No mockery—just blunt honesty.
"Hand it to someone suited to the job."
"'Suited' meaning you Soul Reapers? Funny, you don't look so hot yourself. You sure you're okay?"
The bias slipped out of Uryū's mouth.
"Then let me ask you something."
"You're in bad shape too. Why not go guerrilla—drag the Hollows around and whittle them down—rather than digging in and drawing more to you?"
Shinomiya tipped his chin.
"Pointless question."
Uryū frowned.
Tsubakidai, just shy of the Kitakawase riverbank, fell under Karakura General Hospital. His father was the hospital director. He knew the area intimately.
That wasn't the main reason.
There were high-rises here—including the TV tower, the tallest building in town.
Stay on the roof, and you got a commanding view. The Hollows would come to you in the sky, away from the streets. Fewer civilians got hurt. You saved stamina and focused on shooting.
Wait. Was he here… for the same reason?
Realization dawned. Uryū stared, thunderstruck.
Shinomiya didn't bother to explain. He drew his sheath from his waist, flipped it into the sky, and hewed it in two with a single stroke.
Something strange happened.
Higher up, the moonlight grew thicker—as if it poured like water.
Bathed in it, the shattered scabbard broke—and then, like a human soul reassembling into a Hollow, it recombined. Using moonlight as a catalyst, it was reborn—swelling larger, sprouting a head, talons, a coat of white fur.
Uryū's pupils trembled. His bow arm slackened as he stared up into the shadow of a moon-born divine bird—or perhaps… a dragon of the dark. A black dragon.
-------
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