BLEACH : THE NINTH KENPACHI

After guiding the boy for several days, the mysterious visitor from the Royal Guard — the Zero Division — returned to meet with Shutara Senjumaru once again.

"I've already made up my mind," she said plainly, her voice light but firm.

"I can go to the Soul King Palace whenever you're ready."

The man's eyes flickered in slight surprise.

He knew well how deep Shutara Senjumaru's roots in the Seireitei ran, and how resolutely she had refused the call of the Zero Division in the past. For her to change her mind in such a short time was unexpected.

Still, he didn't press. He simply nodded solemnly.

"If that's your decision, then it is truly welcome news."

Her joining was not a mere symbolic gesture. With her formidable talents in spiritual weaving, biological engineering, and structural design, the Royal Palace — and the Soul King himself — would gain not just protection, but stability.

Her craftsmanship could reshape the very fabric of the palaces, which were maintained by the spiritual pressure of their residents. Another pillar of reiatsu would reinforce the delicate equilibrium of the Soul King's dimension.

In truth, the Royal Guard had been stretched thin. With only four active members — Tenjirō Kirinji, Ōetsu Nimaiya, Senjumaru Shutara (newly joined), and Ichibē Hyōsube — their ability to respond to threats had diminished.

Her decision had not been forced. But the message she received… the letter… that had pushed her to make peace with the past.

Still, there were affairs to settle before her departure. Even she, who wove garments for gods, could not sever centuries of attachment in an instant.

Over the following days, Shutara made quiet rounds throughout the Seireitei. She met with captains, exchanged words with those who had served under her, and offered silent farewells to places she'd long considered home.

And then, she came to the 11th Division.

Gōsuke Shigure was not expecting her.

She arrived dressed not in her typical flamboyant regalia, but in a modest robe — one that concealed the mechanical limbs that usually followed her like shadows. With the six skeletal arms tucked under her garments, she looked refined, almost gentle.

Even the unflappable 11th Division officers were caught off guard. One young officer who escorted her inside whispered under his breath,

"Captain's attracting nobles now? Damn…"

It wasn't far off from how Kenpachi Azashiro — the previous 11th Division captain before Zaraki — had behaved. Infamous for his paradoxical grace and brutality, Azashiro had a strange magnetism as well.

"You can leave," Shigure said quietly, waving the officer off.

Once the door closed, only he and Shutara remained.

"Senjumaru," he said softly.

"What brings you here?"

Part of him feared the reason. Had she seen through his drunken slip? Did she realize the truths he had buried?

He remembered the night — the words he spoke when sake loosened his tongue — and regretted every syllable. He had resolved to live this life without ties to the past. His current identity was not supposed to carry over the weight of his former self.

Yet here she was.

"I'm leaving the Soul Society," she said simply.

Shigure's brows drew together slightly.

"Leaving?"

She nodded.

"Before I go… I want you to have this."

From under her loose robe, a skeletal arm reached out, handing over a cloth-wrapped bundle.

He took it without hesitation and unwrapped it immediately. Inside was a Death God Uniform, but unlike any standard issue he'd seen.

"This is a Shihakushō," he murmured.

"But… this spiritual pressure… it's—"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"It's a unique Shihakushō — one woven from spiritual threads imbued with your former reiatsu. It's not standard Gotei issue. I made it… from you."

"You had my spiritual power?" he asked, astonished.

Shutara nodded again, serene.

"When your former self vanished from this world, he left traces — residual particles scattered in battlefields, in the fibers of garments, in places where his soul once burned fiercely. I gathered them. I used them to create this."

Shigure was silent. He could feel it clearly now — the uniform pulsed with his past self's spiritual signature.

"And why give it to me?" he finally asked.

Shutara's expression remained calm, but her eyes betrayed a softness rare even for her.

"Because you bear his legacy. And because I trust you. Also—"

She hesitated, then added:

"He left behind more than just power. He left behind a name. One that should not be forgotten."

She looked at him directly.

"Tsunayashiro Shūsui."

The name struck like thunder in a storm.

A name that once stood alongside the founders of the Gotei 13.

A name etched in history — and then deliberately erased.

The Tsunayashiro Clan was one of the Five Great Noble Families, equal to the Kuchiki and Shihōin. But unlike the others, the Tsunayashiro were eventually disgraced. The reasons remained buried under centuries of redacted records and sealed files.

Yet even in disgrace, one name among them had shone brightly.

Tsunayashiro Shūsui.

A Shinigami of peerless talent, intellect, and madness. He had rejected the suffocating hierarchy of noble birth and walked a path all his own — a warrior, a philosopher, a heretic.

Before the Gotei 13 was even formalized under Yamamoto Genryūsai, Shūsui had already reshaped the battlefield with unorthodox tactics and radical ideology.

Some whispered he had been a proto-Kenpachi. Others said he had rivaled Hikifune's invention or Nimaiya's craftsmanship.

Shigure closed his eyes.

That name — his name — echoed like an old song in his bones.

Still, he spoke coldly:

"If the world forgets the name, let it. Names fade. Memory is a burden."

He placed the Shihakushō aside. But as he did, he felt again the overwhelming familiarity of the spirit particles within.

Power he had once wielded. Power that had once torn through realms.

"So," he said slowly,

"You gathered my scattered reiatsu… wove it into this uniform… and kept it all these years?"

Shutara gave a small nod.

"Call it a memorial. Or call it hope."

He looked at her again, really looked — not as the Captain of the 11th Division, not as Gōsuke Shigure.

But as someone who had once been Tsunayashiro Shūsui, a man who left without saying goodbye.

She had waited — decades, perhaps centuries — for him to return. And though he never did, she still honored the memory.

"Thank you," he said at last.

She inclined her head in farewell.

"Take care, Shigure."

Then she turned and left, not waiting for a response.

And for a long while, Gōsuke Shigure remained alone in that room, holding the uniform in his hands.

The fabric hummed with his past.

And for the first time in many years, he considered the possibility — not of becoming who he once was again — but of honoring that legacy in his own way.

Outside, the wind blew across the Seireitei, scattering cherry blossoms across white stone.

Far away, deep within the Royal Palace, a loom waited —

And so did fate.

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