"Awooo—!!"
The howls of wolves echoed endlessly over the battlefield of Karakura Town,
haunting, chilling, and wild.
There stood Coyote Starrk,
his body cloaked in his fur-lined coat, arms spread wide.
All around him—
a pack of massive, spectral wolves,
born from fragments of his very soul,
snarled and circled their master,
fangs bared, eyes glowing with primal ferocity.
They gathered beneath him,
a legion of spirit-wolves led by their alpha,
towering over the two Visored captains below,
exuding the oppressive aura of absolute dominance.
By contrast—
Love Aikawa and Rōjūrō "Rose" Ōtoribashi were both on the brink of collapse.
Their bodies were burned and battered,
scorched from enduring a previous barrage of exploding wolf-shaped projectiles.
The two leaned on each other for balance,
breathing heavily, visibly struggling to remain standing.
They were seconds from falling.
And this scene—
a single Espada holding off two captains—
ignited a new wave of uproar among the spectators.
"Counting Kyōraku too, that makes three captains, right?"
"One Espada against three—and he's still winning!"
"This Primera… his power's on a completely different level!"
In the Urahara Shop,
beneath the shadow of his green-striped hat, Urahara Kisuke narrowed his eyes.
His tone was respectful.
There was no denying it—Starrk's strength was terrifying.
"Indeed," Tessai Tsukabishi agreed, nodding gravely.
"At this rate, the fight's nearly over. Love and Rose can't last much longer."
But then, after a pause—
Tessai's gaze shifted toward the lower corner of the screen,
toward the shadowed spot where Kyōraku Shunsui had last vanished.
Rubbing his chin, he murmured:
"Knowing Kyōraku… there's no way he'd go down so easily."
"I'd bet my sake on it—he's still alive."
"And when he returns…"
"…it'll be his turn again."
He wasn't wrong.
From two previous rounds of these rankings,
it was already clear that the featured Shinigami never died off-screen.
Kyōraku was far stronger and far more cunning
than either Byakuya or Hitsugaya—
there was no way he'd simply stay out of sight forever.
He was alive.
He was waiting.
And when he moved, it would be for the kill.
Tessai's instincts were soon proven correct.
The next segment of footage made the audience's hearts lurch.
"Shinigami Captains…"
Hands in his pockets, Starrk slowly descended through the air,
his tone calm, almost merciful.
"It's over. The outcome's decided."
"But if you two want to run…"
"I'll turn a blind eye."
He landed gently,
his boots touching the ruined ground—
and in that same instant,
as the world seemed to hold its breath—
from the dark shadow stretching out behind him,
a blade erupted.
No warning.
No flash of reiatsu.
Just the sudden, wet sound of steel piercing flesh.
"Shkkk—!"
The blade punched clean through Starrk's chest,
piercing just below the hollow hole, the point glinting crimson.
"Wha—"
His body froze.
His eyes widened.
Pain rippled across his face as he turned,
his expression disbelieving.
The camera followed his line of sight—
to the black shadow at his feet,
where, rising from the darkness itself,
was Kyōraku Shunsui,
grinning like a fox,
his twin blades dripping blood.
From within the shadow,
he emerged—slowly, steadily—
as though he'd been waiting for this moment all along.
The entire scene was captured in perfect detail,
and when it hit the global feed—
pandemonium.
"What?!"
"Starrk was ambushed?!"
"That damned Shinigami! He was pretending to be dead!"
"How shameless can you get? What a backstabbing rat!"
Inside Las Noches,
the outrage was immediate and deafening.
The Espada and their followers shouted furiously,
faces twisted in disbelief and anger.
Their proud Primera—
stabbed from behind like prey.
The betrayal was infuriating.
Kyōraku had gone from an honorable duelist
to the ultimate opportunist in their eyes.
And not just the Arrancar—
even the Shinigami watching were stunned speechless.
"Wait… what?!"
"He can do that?!"
"Didn't think Captain Kyōraku was in the Stealth Force!"
"Since when is he better at assassinations than the entire Second Division?!"
Before the glowing screen,
Ōmaeda Marechiyo stood frozen, jaw slack.
"That's not even sneaky—that's professional!"
Sneak attack.
One strike.
Direct hit.
If anyone had said this would be Kyōraku's fighting style,
Ōmaeda would have laughed them out of the barracks.
But there it was.
Live, unfiltered, broadcast to all of Soul Society.
And it worked.
Blood poured freely from Starrk's wound,
staining his white coat red.
His face twisted in pain,
his breathing shallow, his composure gone.
Gone was the calm, unshakable Primera Espada
who had fought three captains without flinching.
Now he staggered, his power flickering.
All from one strike—
a single, perfectly timed ambush
from the shadows of Katen Kyōkotsu.
One blow that nearly ended the battle outright.
A finishing move unfit for honor—
but flawless in execution.
And in that instant,
Kyōraku Shunsui once again proved
the terrifying depth of his skill—
and the unmatched cunning
of his Zanpakutō, Katen Kyōkotsu.
(End of Chapter)
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