BLEACH : THE NINTH KENPACHI

After so many years, Shutara Senjumaru never imagined she would hear of him again—

let alone from the mouth of Gosuke Shigure.

Even though she had long accepted that man's complete disappearance from this world,

hearing news about him again stirred something dormant within her.

To hear his name again—no matter the context—was still, to her, a quiet joy.

As for Gosuke Shigure's story of falling off a cliff and discovering a hidden inheritance?

It sounded outlandish.

Yet, somehow, when paired with that man's personality… it didn't seem impossible.

Back then, when boredom struck, he would jokingly talk about "leaving adventures at the bottom of cliffs,"

laughing that if he ever became someone powerful,

he'd scatter treasures across the world—

so future generations, especially commoners, might grow strong enough to surpass nobles born into power.

He'd often criticize noble society, despite being one himself—

a scion of one of the Five Great Noble Clans.

But in his eyes, the noble families were nothing but opportunists who clung to privilege.

He once said,

"Besides the original founders, what makes any noble more noble than a Rukongai soul?"

Fortunately, he only shared such views privately.

Had any noble elders heard him speak so openly, the consequences would have been severe.

Now, after listening to Gosuke Shigure's tale, Shutara couldn't help recalling those rebellious words.

She drifted in thought for a long time.

Eventually, she asked softly,

"What exactly did he say… in the letter?"

Compared to the fantastical tale of cliffside discoveries, it was the letter—his final message—that truly mattered to her.

Especially if, as Gosuke said, it mentioned her directly.

"I don't know much about this senior named 'Qiushui,' or even when he lived," Gosuke replied, his tone quieting.

"But in the letter, he wrote that he was about to undertake something… major."

"He didn't know if he'd succeed or not, so he left the letter behind.

He said if he succeeded, nothing would matter. But if he failed…

he hoped whoever found the letter would find someone named Senjumaru."

"He wrote—'Don't wait for me.'"

"'Even alone, you can live on well.'"

"'You should smile more.'"

"'Smile, Senjumaru.'"

The final sentence, Gosuke had to admit, had been embellished slightly.

The line "Smiley Smile!" was something he'd stolen from an old anime he'd watched back in his former life—Ultraman Bismarck, to be exact.

Senjumaru stared at him for a long while.

"So that's what you wanted to tell me."

A quiet pang of sorrow welled within her.

It was a sorrow that had dwelled in her heart for ages—one rooted in never having said goodbye.

She had waited, once, sensing that his spiritual pressure lingered faintly in the world.

But the years passed. Centuries. And still, no return.

She had thought her waiting had been in vain.

But now… perhaps it hadn't been meaningless after all.

At the very least, she had received a long-overdue farewell.

Smile… how could I smile now?

That thought echoed in her mind,

even as she looked at Gosuke and nodded,

her tone more gentle than before.

"No matter what… I should thank you. For bringing me this."

Gosuke Shigure waved it off.

"It's nothing. Just came to mind, that's all."

Senjumaru gave him a final glance—expression unreadable—

and then abruptly turned and walked away without another word.

Gosuke blinked, confused.

"…???"

You know, just leaving like that kinda kills the mood, he thought.

But he didn't say it aloud.

He had known Senjumaru for years—

well, as much as one could know her.

Her personality was cold, meticulous, elusive.

A smile from her was rarer than a Zanpakutō with no spirit.

But tonight, fueled by sake and impulse,

Gosuke had done what he never expected—

opened up her heart, even just a sliver.

He sighed with relief and staggered back toward the Eleventh Division barracks.

And then, he slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

Meanwhile, Shutara Senjumaru did not sleep at all.

Even though Gosuke's words had been few, they held enough truth to convince her.

That man had truly left her something.

A farewell.

And though his tone in the letter had been lighthearted—

"Smile more," he'd said—

she couldn't help the ache in her chest.

After all, he was gone.

Still, despite herself, she tried.

She forced the corners of her mouth to lift.

The motion was unfamiliar—awkward.

She had not smiled in so many years that she had forgotten how it felt.

And yet…

this night, at last, she remembered.

The next morning.

Shutara Senjumaru, sleepless but resolved, had made a decision.

It was time to let go of the past.

Within Seireitei, nobles and commoners lived intermingled—

but only in appearance.

Beneath the surface, the distinction remained deeply ingrained.

While many souls in Seireitei now were civilians,

their roots often traced back to former nobles whose families had declined,

or to descendants of Shinigami who lacked the qualifications to enter the academy.

Space within Seireitei was finite.

Not all could remain forever.

Over the centuries, many had been displaced—cast out into the Rukongai,

where conditions were harsher, and survival more uncertain.

Still, Seireitei was not all walls and towers.

It had its natural places too—

quiet hills, flowing rivers, ancient forests.

In one such forest…

A young boy sat quietly, holding a wounded rabbit in his arms,

studying it with careful curiosity.

He was too young to have entered the Shinō Academy,

and had no formal Kidō training.

But he was bright—restless—and imaginative.

He knew of Hadō, Kidō that burned or blasted.

He'd seen Bakudō, spells that bound or restrained.

But what of healing?

Why wasn't there a Kidō that could repair the wounded?

He didn't yet know of Kaidō—the formal branch of healing arts.

So, driven by intuition and fragments of self-taught theory,

he tried to invent his own.

He believed everything in Soul Society—rabbits, trees, even air—was made of spirit particles.

So, if something was wounded, perhaps its spirit particles were damaged.

What if he could repair them?

With the rabbit in hand, he began to experiment.

Clumsy, but determined.

He didn't realize he was being watched.

A passenger from the Soul King's Palace—

a member of the Royal Guard—stood silently nearby.

In the long history of Soul Society,

true genius had always emerged from the unexpected.

The boy's efforts, though flawed, were pure brilliance.

He lacked the right tools, the training, the understanding…

but not the spark.

And now, because he had been seen by the right person

at the right time…

His fate would change.

Forever.

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