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Days Later…
Fourth Division Wards
The air in the Fourth Division smelled faintly of herbs, disinfectants, and quiet suffering. Rows of bandaged Shinigami lay on futons or sat on benches, groaning as the healers moved about with calm efficiency. It had taken days, but most of the Minato capture squad were now well enough to leave.
Most, except Lieutenants Ikkaku Madarame and Yumichika who had nearly been killed by Minato..
On one side of the ward, Isshin Shiba sat shirtless on his bed, wincing every time Rangiku pulled the bandages across his ribs.
"Ouch! Take it easy, Matsumoto!" he cried, gripping the sheets with both hands.
"I am taking it easy!" Rangiku shot back, her eyes flashing dangerously. The exhaustion in her voice betrayed her, dark circles hung under her eyes like shadows. The past few days had weighed heavily on her, far more than she let on.
Isshin hissed when the cloth tightened around his torso. "Try harder…" he groaned.
"You're so annoying!" Rangiku snapped. "You're lucky you're a patient. Now shut up and keep still! It'll hurt worse if you keep fighting me."
For a moment Isshin opened his mouth as if to retort, but then he saw the strain in her face, the way her lips trembled, the faint glassiness in her eyes, and he stopped himself. He shut his mouth and swallowed the words back.
The distress was written all over her. Facing off against Central 46, standing alone before their judgmental gazes, could break even a seasoned officer. Rangiku was tough, but Isshin knew how fragile even tough people could be when the weight was too much. He hated that he hadn't been there for her.
"Rangiku…" His tone shifted, quieter, almost serious. "How are things?"
Her hands paused for just a fraction before she forced a smirk. "The Division? Don't worry, Captain. I've been handling everything. Reports, logistics, patrol assignments, you name it. Nothing's falling apart."
Isshin chuckled, but his eyes didn't leave hers. "I wasn't asking about that."
Her fingers froze. He saw the tears welling at the corners of her eyes before she blinked them away. She shook her head, smiling faintly as if that could cover it.
"I don't want to trouble you, Captain. I promise, I'll be fine…"
Isshin reached up and caught her arm gently. "Rangiku...."
Before he could press further, a calm, measured voice cut through the air.
"Thank you, Lieutenant Matsumoto, for stitching him up."
Both turned. Captain Unohana stood behind them, her serene smile as disarming as ever. But there was always something beneath her gentleness, an invisible weight that made Rangiku's back straighten automatically.
"Normally, I would have done it myself," Unohana continued, "but the Head Captain required my presence."
Rangiku bowed her head quickly. "It's alright, Captain Unohana. Thank you as well."
Unohana nodded, her eyes lingering briefly on Rangiku before shifting to Isshin's wounds. "Well, Isshin is restless to return to his duties, so I will not keep him. I've decided to discharge him today. But..." her smile never wavered " you will return tomorrow for additional treatment."
Isshin gave her a playful salute despite the wince in his ribs. "Thanks, Captain Unohana. Really appreciate it."
With a grunt, he rose to his feet, leaning on Rangiku for support. She muttered under her breath about "reckless Captains," but she still steadied him as they made their way out, pausing only to offer a respectful nod back to Unohana.
Unohana's smile remained, but her eyes followed them until they disappeared into the corridor. Only then did she turn, her expression unreadable.
Ikkaku lay propped against his pillows, his torso still heavily bandaged. At his bedside, the room was crowded, members of the Eleventh Division had gathered, their Captain looming like a mountain among them.
Zaraki Kenpachi stood with his broad shoulders hunched and his single eye fixed squarely on Ikkaku. On his shoulder, Yachiru grinned down at the bald Lieutenant with open mischief.
"Wow, you really got your butt kicked, Baldy!" she exclaimed, poking her tongue out.
"Shut it, brat," Ikkaku muttered, though there was no heat behind his words.
Kenpachi leaned forward, his voice like gravel grinding against steel. "Oi, Ikkaku. I'll need a report on that Minato guy."
"From me?!" Ikkaku's eyes darted to Yumichika, who stood nearby with his arms folded and his own injuries still bandaged. "Why don't you ask Yumichika?! He'll explain it way better than I will!"
Yumichika's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You bastard…"
Kenpachi's glare sharpened. "Oi. Quit wasting my time unless you want me to cut you open again."
A bead of sweat rolled down Ikkaku's head. He forced a strained smile. "W-what do you wanna know, Captain?"
"How strong is he?"
The room went quiet. Even the rowdy Eleventh Division members fell still, waiting for Ikkaku's answer.
He thought for a long moment, his usual bravado nowhere to be seen. Finally, his tone dropped, grim. "Strong enough to go toe to toe with Captain Yoruichi. Strong enough to incapacitate her. Then he faced Captain Isshin… and nearly killed him."
Gasps rippled among the Eleventh Division.
"And us…" Ikkaku's shoulders slumped. "He one-shotted me and Yumichika. Didn't even break a sweat."
Kenpachi's lips peeled back into a grin, sharp and hungry. His eye lit with unrestrained excitement, as if someone had just whispered the promise of paradise in his ear.
"What exactly was his Zanpakutō?" Yachiru tilted her head, curious.
Kenpachi barked a laugh. "Why would you ask that, Yachiru?! Don't spoil the fun!"
"Sorry, Kenny!" She giggled, covering her mouth.
Kenpachi turned back toward the door, his grin stretching wider. "Heh… sounds like fun." Without another word, he stalked out, his laughter echoing faintly down the hall.
Ikkaku exhaled heavily, dragging a hand over his bald head. "Damn it…"
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Second Division Barracks
Omnitsukidō Training Grounds
BANG!
The courtyard shook as dust exploded outward. Two figures clashed in midair, locked in a stalemate, Kisuke Urahara, his blade braced, and Yoruichi Shihōin, her bracers gleaming.
Kisuke grinned, whipping his hair backwards. "Is it me, or has your Shunpo gotten even faster, Yoruichi? I can't keep up these days."
"Hehe… Don't sweat it, Kisuke. I've always been faster." Yoruichi smirked and twisted, hurling him down with a brutal spin kick.
Kisuke's eyes widened. He barely blocked with his forearms before crashing down like a cannonball, the ground splitting under his feet. His arm trembled from the impact.
He sighed, sitting cross-legged on the cracked earth. "Well, that stings."
Yoruichi landed with a flip, stretching her shoulders smugly. "Come on, no need to feel bad. About time I surpassed you at something."
Nearby, Soi Fon poured wine into two small cups, expression cold as ever. She placed the goblet between them without a word and walked away.
"I didn't know you felt that way," Kisuke teased, rubbing his neck.
"It's not what I feel, it's fact," Yoruichi replied, settling beside the wine with a grin. "You've got Kido, Zanjutsu, your gadgets. I gave up the blade entirely just to beat you in Hakuda. Took years. But look at me now."
Kisuke chuckled as he lifted the cup. "You're right. You're terrifying."
They clinked cups under the glow of the sunset. For a while, they sat in companionable silence. Then Kisuke's gaze flicked sideways. "Your Hakuda… your Shunpo. You've improved. It's him, isn't it?"
Yoruichi didn't answer immediately. Her smirk faltered as memories resurfaced. "You should've seen him fight, Kisuke. The way he read me, forced me to change tactics just to keep up. It was… humbling."
Kisuke laughed softly. "That's saying something. You've never spoken like that about anyone. Not even me."
She swirled her wine. "And he wasn't bluffing. When he went after Isshin, he meant it. If not for Isshin's stubbornness, he'd be dead."
Kisuke's fan snapped open, hiding his grin. "Careful, Yoruichi. People might think you're falling for him."
Her fist swung, and he ducked, laughing.
But when she spoke again, her tone was sharper. "His Zanpakutō… Kisuke, it wasn't just speed. He could appear and disappear at will. It felt like instant teleportation. More than that, he bent space itself."
Kisuke's laughter faded. He lowered the fan slowly. "Space-time manipulation…"
The words hung heavy. Even Yoruichi grew quiet. Both of them knew the truth: such powers weren't just rare, they were forbidden.
"If Central 46 confirms it," Kisuke said quietly, "they won't stop at confiscation. They'll order execution."
Silence stretched, broken only by the wind. Yoruichi's jaw tightened.
"I see…" she murmured. "Despite that, his skills would be invaluable to the Omnitsukidō."
Kisuke arched a brow. "What's this? Looking for a successor already? What about Soi Fon?"
"She's strong," Yoruichi said simply. "But anything could happen."
She reached into her sleeve and tossed him a folded document. He nearly fumbled it before catching it.
"It's the report you wanted. My operative made sure it won't be traced back to us."
Kisuke's eyes scanned the pages. For just an instant, his grin faltered, his pupils narrowing at something he read. He quickly masked it with a chuckle, tucking the paper away.
"I trust you, Yoruichi."
"I trust you too, Kisuke. But are you sure you're not overreacting? Do you really think everything happening here is orchestrated?"
His smile lingered, but his eyes didn't. "I'm not sure of anything. But paranoia keeps me alive. Someone's pulling strings, and I intend to find out who."
He drained his cup, dusted his robes, and rose to leave. As he walked away, the last rays of sunset burned across the courtyard.
Yoruichi sat alone for a long while, staring at the horizon.
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