However, the most comfortable time in this "leisurely" life had been when Shigure was still the vice-captain—back when Kenpachi was Azashiro Soya.
At that time, life was far simpler. Shigure only needed to manage team affairs, approve mission reports, and make sure the paperwork didn't pile up too high. As for the fighting, that was Kenpachi's domain. The captain's hunger for battle was enough to fill a hundred lifetimes.
But things were different now.
He was the captain, and the Eleventh Division's vice-captain's seat was still empty. That meant the battles were his to fight—and the mountains of administrative work were his to finish afterward.
Even so, this lifestyle was still far better than the life he had lived a thousand years ago—one that had been nothing but blood, steel, and the endless sound of screams.
Still, for someone like him, who had experienced death and rebirth, being a captain wasn't exactly the "peaceful afterlife" one might imagine. It wasn't even a proper 9-to-5 job.
If anything, it was overtime without end.
He could be sleeping soundly at midnight and suddenly—flutter—a Hell Butterfly would land silently by his ear, its tiny voice whispering the next mission. Within moments, he'd be dragging himself from bed, tightening his haori, and heading out to fight whatever had crawled its way into the Soul Society this time.
After a few such nights, anyone would feel drained.
"So tell me," Shigure muttered to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "why is it that people like Zaraki Kenpachi can run the Eleventh Division just fine… and I find it so damned troublesome?"
He wasn't wrong. Zaraki, as depicted in history, never struck him as someone capable of managing paperwork or logistics. And yet, under Zaraki's leadership, the Eleventh had thrived—so much so that it was once referred to as "the Zaraki Squad".
Of course, Shigure knew part of that success came from Zaraki's "little helper"—Kusajishi Yachiru.
That pink-haired imp might have been prone to getting lost and leading her captain in circles through Seireitei, but at crucial moments, she was surprisingly dependable.
And besides Yachiru, Zaraki had others.
Madarame Ikkaku—stubborn, powerful, and one of the rare few in the Gotei 13 who could wield Bankai. Ayasegawa Yumichika—vain, clever, and far more dangerous than his mannerisms suggested.
With people like that under him, it was no wonder Zaraki could focus solely on fighting while others handled the rest.
Shigure, on the other hand, had no such luxury.
The current Eleventh Division, though once full of strong women under the previous captain, was not what one might call "administratively gifted". These women were no delicate clerks—they were brawlers, berserkers in black uniforms, women who'd joined the Eleventh for the thrill of combat, not the calm of counting forms.
Even his third seat, Nitta Ichinosuke, was hopeless in that regard. Normally, the third seat was meant to act as an assistant to the vice-captain, taking care of daily records, mission logistics, and the like.
Nitta, however, treated such duties as beneath him.
He had the heart of a warrior and the patience of a child.
"Sooner or later." Shigure sighed, flipping through a stack of half-finished reports, "I'll have to find a way to get that old man replaced. What's the point of a third seat who can't handle even basic administration?"
But he didn't follow through on that thought. Not yet.
Nitta was a veteran—a relic who had served under three generations of Kenpachi: Kuruyashiki, Azashiro, and now himself. To dismiss him without cause would only disturb the delicate balance of the division.
Besides, technically, the third seat was supposed to assist the vice-captain.
And Shigure had no vice-captain.
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. "We'll have to settle that soon." he muttered.
Being captain came with its perks—a larger salary, a private office, a haori tailored just for him—but those privileges came with the burden of doing two people's jobs.
He stared at the lantern light flickering on his desk and rubbed his temples. "If I'm going to do this." he muttered, "I at least want someone to share the damn workload."
Then, an idea flashed through his mind.
"Wait… maybe I've been thinking about this wrong."
Traditionally, in the Eleventh Division, the captain fought and the vice-captain managed the team's affairs. That was the balance that had existed for centuries.
But what if he reversed it?
What if he found a vice-captain who could shoulder the fighting instead—someone with the strength and instinct of a true warrior—so that he could stay behind, manage the team, and finally get some sleep at night?
He smirked at the thought. The Eleventh was a combat division; their paperwork was negligible compared to other squads. There was no reason the captain himself had to be the one bleeding on every battlefield.
Once that idea took root, it blossomed rapidly.
And then, he thought of a name.
"Zaraki Kenpachi…"
Yes.
In the original history of the Gotei 13, Zaraki was a legend even before joining the ranks. He was old—older than many captains—born in the lawless wilds of North Rukongai's Eightieth District, the infamous Zaraki District.
Even Unohana, the First Kenpachi, had met him when he was still a boy. A boy who wielded death like a toy.
For centuries, he wandered, seeking stronger opponents. He joined the Gotei 13 only after Soul Society suffered a string of captain losses—seeking battle, not duty. Not long after joining the Eleventh, he slew its captain, Kiganjo, in a duel and claimed the name Kenpachi.
'If I can find him early…' Shigure thought, 'I could bring him in now—train him, maybe even temper that raw madness before it's unleashed on Seireitei.'
The idea wasn't without risk, but then again, what in his life wasn't?
He rose from his chair, fastening his haori as his decision solidified. "Let's see what kind of monster you've grown into, Zaraki."
…
The Zaraki District—North Rukongai, Eightieth District.
The name alone conjured an image of death.
When Azashiro Soya had plotted his rebellion, it was here he had chosen to conduct his experiments—using the lost souls of the district as test subjects.
It was also here that Shigure had confronted him, that their titanic battle had carved craters into the land and split the earth itself.
And it was here that Shigure had defeated him.
Now, even after all this time, the land remained scarred and sun-baked. The air shimmered with heat. Even the wind that swept across the plains carried grit instead of comfort.
The sun blazed harsher here than anywhere else in Rukongai. It wasn't an illusion.
The soil was dead, the rivers little more than dry scars. In such a place, survival was a battle in itself.
Those who endured became devils.
The people here fought over water, food, scraps of shelter. There was no law, no order—only the rule of the blade.
It was no wonder Azashiro had chosen this place for his research. The souls here were strong. Brutal. And easily molded into soldiers.
Shigure looked out over the cracked horizon. "Still the same as ever." he murmured.
Finding Zaraki here wouldn't be easy. The district was vast, filled with ruins, tribes, and killing grounds.
But Shigure was no ordinary man wandering into hell.
He had his ways.
*****
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✓ Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!
✓ Naruto: Senmei Asahi
✓ Naruto: Uchiha's Intelligence Dealer
✓ Naruto: The Fifth Hokage Is Naruto's Uncle
✓ Naruto: Who Made Him a Ninja?
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✓ To Love-Ru: Spoiler Route [R-18]
✓ Naruto: The Accidental Incubus [R-18]