[Seventh Place]
[Zanpakutō: Nozarashi]
The new subtitles faded onto the glowing screen, bold and deliberate.
But this time—unlike the last three rankings—there wasn't a roar of shock or admiration.
There was only silence.
Nozarashi.
The name drifted across the barracks like a whisper.
Familiar to no one. Recognized by no one.
Inside the Seireitei, among the ranks of the Gotei 13, what followed wasn't disbelief or excitement—
it was confusion.
All around the divisions, Shinigami frowned, glancing at one another.
"...Nozarashi? Never heard of it."
"Who the hell's Zanpakutō is that supposed to be?"
Brows furrowed. Heads tilted.
The name stirred nothing in their memories.
Even the oldest souls couldn't recall it.
In the 1st Division headquarters—
or what was left of it, half-charred by Ryūjin Jakka's flames—
the Captain-Commander himself sat still beneath the cracked beams, eyes half-lidded in thought.
The light from the monitor flickered across his scarred face as he muttered the name aloud:
"Nozarashi…"
The ancient eyes of Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni narrowed.
In those thousand-year-old pupils, memory turned and turned again, searching through countless centuries.
But nothing came up.
He had fought more battles than any other living soul.
He had seen every Zanpakutō awaken, evolve, and fade with its wielder's death.
Yet even as he scoured his vast memory, not once could he recall hearing that name.
The realization unsettled him.
Could it be… he'd forgotten?
Impossible.
And yet—he frowned, the heavy creases of his brow deepening.
If he didn't remember this Zanpakutō, who would?
"Chōjirō," he said suddenly, his deep voice echoing through the half-burned hall.
"What do you make of this?"
The implication was clear: think. Search your memory.
Seated at his side, Chōjirō Sasakibe straightened his posture immediately.
He had served Yamamoto for centuries, through war after war.
If anyone else might recall, it would be him.
But after a long pause, he sighed and shook his head.
"Forgive me, Head Captain… I racked my brain the moment I saw the name. But I have no memory of it whatsoever."
The old man's brows twitched.
Both of them—ancient pillars of the Gotei—staring at each other in mutual bewilderment.
Could this be… a future Zanpakutō?
One yet to be born?
It was the only explanation that made sense.
"Perhaps so," Yamamoto rumbled, the edge of frustration fading into resignation.
"A new generation, then. A newcomer… one whose Zanpakutō surpasses even Katen Kyōkotsu."
He exhaled through his nose, the air trembling with heat.
"Intriguing… and troublesome."
With that, he turned his gaze back to the screen, waiting to see what kind of blade could defy his understanding.
Meanwhile, in the depths of the 5th Division's secret base—
"Gin. Tōsen."
Aizen's calm voice broke the silence, low and smooth.
"You two don't recognize the name either, do you?"
The flicker of amusement behind his half-lidded eyes was unmistakable.
It was rare—so rare—for Aizen Sōsuke to admit ignorance.
Even rarer for him to find something that could surprise him.
A Zanpakutō he didn't know?
How interesting.
Gin Ichimaru tilted his head slightly, his foxlike grin fading into a thoughtful squint.
"Nope. Never heard of it. Not once."
He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing to thin slits.
"Every famous Zanpakutō, every captain-level soul reaper's blade… none of them ever used that name."
His tone carried genuine curiosity, not sarcasm.
By now, after three rounds of rankings, Gin had already built a mental picture of what to expect.
Each featured a captain-level Shinigami—someone with history, prestige, and monstrous power.
Even the Visoreds—former captains—had only been sideshows, punching bags for greater enemies.
That much was clear:
to appear on this list, captain-class was the bare minimum.
Which only made this all the stranger.
Gin's brow furrowed deeper.
"If we exclude old man Yama and Kyōraku, the only other captains from back then were Ukitake and Unohana… and neither of their Zanpakutō go by that name."
He paused.
"So who the hell could it be?"
Beside him, Kaname Tōsen stood silent, head bowed, lips pressed together in thought.
Even he seemed unsure.
Aizen, however, was smiling faintly again.
"Curious, isn't it? A blade I've never heard of. One that even the Captain-Commander cannot remember."
He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming.
"Let's see what kind of monster wields it."
And so it was across all of Soul Society.
From the Central 46 chambers to the lowliest outer districts—
Shinigami everywhere whispered the same question.
Who does Nozarashi belong to?
Anticipation grew like a stormcloud.
Finally, the black screen began to fade, its letters dissolving into mist.
The image shifted—
and new light filled the air.
Blue skies.
White clouds.
Rows of Japanese-style rooftops, gleaming in the sun.
The familiar walls and long corridors of the Seireitei stretched across the horizon.
"This is… the Seireitei!" someone gasped.
Indeed, the scene was unmistakable.
The very heart of Soul Society itself.
But something felt… off.
"Wait…" Ikkaku squinted at the image from Squad 11's barracks.
"Why does everything look so calm? There's no fighting, no chaos. It looks like peacetime!"
He wasn't wrong.
The city stood untouched, serene and bright—nothing like the battle-ravaged Seireitei of the Quincy War.
"There's your answer, idiot," a familiar rough voice snapped back.
"Of course it's peaceful. That's because we're doing our jobs!"
Kenpachi Zaraki grinned, teeth flashing like a wolf's.
"As long as the 11th Division's around, no one dares cause trouble in the Seireitei."
He cracked his neck and gave a sharp laugh.
"As captain, it's my duty to make sure no one picks fights where they shouldn't. Not even here."
But the grin froze halfway across his face.
Because in that exact moment—
the camera angle shifted.
The blue sky vanished, replaced by a wide courtyard shrouded in dust and echo.
And then—
A voice.
Rough, deep, slightly hoarse, but charged with irritation:
"Idiots… didn't I tell you?"
"Come at me. All four of you. At once."
The audience fell silent.
Every captain, every seated officer, every Shinigami in Soul Society froze.
That voice—
It was unmistakable.
Kenpachi's single uncovered eye widened.
His grin vanished.
"Oi… what the hell—"
And then it hit him.
"Wait. That's… my voice!"
His jaw dropped, shock flickering into something like manic delight.
"Hold on… don't tell me—"
He turned toward the screen, fists clenched, eyes blazing with excitement.
"Nozarashi… is my Zanpakutō?!"
For a heartbeat, the Seireitei erupted in stunned silence.
Then, all at once—
the world went wild.
(End of Chapter)
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