A Death Soldier from the Ninth Team immediately recognized the figure standing in the air—the man who had once held the title of the fifth seat of the Ninth Team. It was Tosen.
Tosen floated gracefully in the air, pulling out his sword and striking it forward with precision. His voice, though low and steady, carried an air of authority as he muttered something under his breath:
"Talk, clear insect!"
With those words, a powerful shockwave radiated from the tip of his blade, spreading out in all directions. The once-chaotic battlefield seemed to freeze for a moment as the giant hollows, which had been wreaking havoc on the area, suddenly stopped in their tracks. The Death Team members, who had been trapped in intense combat, found themselves freed from the relentless assault as they swiftly retreated to safety.
Tosen, undisturbed by the sudden shift in the fight, stood poised. His movements were fluid and deliberate as he prepared to deliver the next blow. The air around him seemed to shimmer with an almost imperceptible afterimage.
"Two Styles of Clearing the Insects—Red Locust!" Tosen intoned, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
In that instant, hundreds of sharp blades materialized around him, raining down upon the giant hollows below. The virtual enemies, once so formidable, stood no chance. One by one, the blades pierced through their forms with deadly precision, cutting down several of the monstrous creatures in mere moments.
"It's truly remarkable," a portly member of the Death Team remarked in awe. "Tosen is as powerful as they say—defeating so many giant hollows with such ease!"
Tosen's form flickered as he appeared suddenly in the midst of the onlooking Death Team members. He spoke calmly to the chubby soldier who had just complimented him.
"You stay and take care of things here," Tosen said, his voice carrying the weight of a command. "I need to report to the captain about the raid from the Hollows ."
With that, Tosen turned and began to move away. His departure was swift, yet in the moment before he vanished, the keen-eyed Makoto Ito noticed something unusual. As Tosen moved, his hand clenched around several small, rice-sized crystals that emitted a faint blue light, their glow barely visible to anyone but the most observant.
Makoto Ito's eyes narrowed as he watched Tosen disappear into the distance.
"It's Aizen," he muttered to himself, his suspicions immediately confirming what he had feared. "He's behind all of this."
As Makoto Ito began to retreat, planning to return to his quarters, a voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
"Oh? Is someone peeking around here?"
Makoto Ito froze and turned to see a young boy standing behind him. The boy, dressed in a dark, imposing uniform and with silver hair that shone in the dim light, was smiling at him with an air of amusement. His eyes, however, were sharp and calculating.
"Ichimaru Gin!" Makoto Ito hissed under his breath, recognizing the third seat of the Third Team.
The boy before him, Ichimaru Gin, had always exuded a strange, almost unsettling charisma. His smile was as much a weapon as his blade, and the spiritual pressure radiating from him was palpable, almost suffocating. Makoto Ito, who had only recently been reincarnated as a new soul, felt a sense of unease flood over him. In his past life, he might have held his own against Ichimaru Gin, but right now, he was powerless—a soul with no spiritual energy to defend himself.
Ichimaru Gin, sensing his unease, chuckled softly, the sound almost predatory.
"What's the matter? Too scared to speak?" Ichimaru Gin's voice was lazy, almost playful, as he narrowed his eyes. His zanpakuto, which was as long as a dagger, seemed to shimmer in his hand before he suddenly extended it forward, slashing with lethal speed.
Makoto Ito barely had time to react as the blade of Ichimaru Gin's zanpakuto sliced through the air, narrowly missing his left ear. The attack didn't stop there, though. As if guided by some unseen force, the blade continued its path and struck one of the hidden hollows lurking behind Ito, cleaving it in two with surgical precision.
Makoto Ito, trembling from the close call, collapsed to the ground, his body shaking in fear. His mind raced, struggling to make sense of the situation.
"In the coming days," Ichimaru Gin said casually, his voice barely more than a whisper, "it's probably best if you don't go poking around places like this."
With that, Ichimaru Gin pulled his zanpakuto back, and in a flash, he was gone—vanishing into the shadows without a second glance at the shaken Makoto Ito.
As the boy's presence faded, Makoto Ito slowly pushed himself off the ground. His hands trembled slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. The fear he had just felt seemed to melt away, replaced by cold indifference. The terror of the moment was gone, leaving behind a calculating calm.
Makoto Ito had long known that he was far from the powerful soul he had once been. His spiritual pressure was non-existent, and his ability to fight was practically nonexistent. But his mind, sharp and analytical as ever, would be his greatest weapon. He knew that in this new life, his every move would be scrutinized. His weakness, the fact that he was a newly reincarnated soul with no significant power, had to remain hidden for as long as possible. Revealing his lack of strength now would only lead to suspicion and unwanted attention.
As he dusted off his clothes and stood to his full height, Makoto Ito cast a final glance at the spot where Tosen had disappeared. There were no blue crystals left behind this time, no trace of the virtual crystals he had seen earlier. Still, his mind was already piecing together the puzzle.
Tosen had been carrying something of importance. The crystals—tiny as they were—held significance. And if his suspicions were correct, Aizen was behind all of this chaos, manipulating events from the shadows.
With a sigh, Makoto Ito turned and walked back to his quarters. There was much to be done, and he needed to stay under the radar. The game was just beginning, and he couldn't afford to make a misstep.
The shadows of the Soul Society were thick with secrets. It would take all of Makoto Ito's cunning and intellect to navigate them and survive this time.
In a dense forest, somewhere on Liuhun Street, a man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing a dead domineering uniform and black-framed glasses. His expression was always adorned with a faint, ever-present smile, exuding an aura of both elegance and ease. He appeared calm and composed, almost as if nothing could disturb his tranquility.
At that moment, two figures slowly made their way toward him. It was Tosen and Ichimaru Gin.
Tosen, as always, moved with grace, his eyes set on the man standing ahead, his expression slightly downcast. With a quiet motion, he kneeled on one knee, his hands clutching tiny crystals that emitted a soft, blue glow. He spoke, his voice tinged with frustration:
"Mr. Aizen, the experiment failed. Those giant hollows still couldn't maintain their consciousness for long periods. Another giant hollow, which had separated from the main force, was likely killed by other team members."
Tosen held out the glowing crystals, his gaze unwavering, as though he could not escape the weight of the situation.
Aizen, however, merely smiled and gently took the crystals from Tosen's hand. His demeanor was unfazed, as though the failure was a minor inconvenience rather than a significant setback.
"It doesn't matter," Aizen said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "The experimental data we've gathered is valuable nonetheless."
Turning his attention toward Ichimaru Gin, who stood quietly beside him, Aizen's smile grew slightly more pronounced.
"Yin," he said, addressing the young man with a soft tone. "Have you noticed anything unusual?"
Ichimaru Gin, ever the playful figure, scratched his head with a lazy grin. "I've dealt with an escaped hollow. Aside from that, everything seems normal."
The conversation, though brief, hinted at the larger machinations at play, and Tosen's quiet frustration only emphasized the ongoing tension within their operations. Aizen, as always, remained focused on the bigger picture, undeterred by minor setbacks.
Meanwhile, in District 57 of the East District,
Makoto Ito and Eri Iwasaki sat together at a small table, enjoying a thank-you banquet prepared by Grandma Sanhua. The elderly woman had gone to great lengths to cook for the young couple, particularly for Makoto Ito, who had recently helped them out of a dangerous situation.
As they dined, Eri's eyes sparkled with admiration as she looked at Makoto Ito.
"Makoto," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "You're amazing. To think you managed to get us this far in such a short time!"
Makoto Ito grinned, giving her a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe I was an athlete in my past life. That's why I could break through and act so quickly when it mattered," he said with a playful tone. "It took a lot of effort to lead that hollow away, but I managed to keep it occupied long enough for the Death God to arrive."
Ito's words were full of exaggerated modesty, though neither Grandma Sanhua nor Eri noticed his earlier act of eliminating the giant hollow with a flash of white lightning. They were oblivious to the true scale of his power.
Grandma Sanhua, still shaken from the ordeal, spoke up, her voice tinged with lingering fear. "These Soul Society Death Gods are really frustrating. We pay them a lot of money every year, and they can't even ensure basic safety! If it weren't for you, Ah Makoto, we'd have been done for today!"
Their conversation drifted to complaints about the inefficiency of the Soul Society's Death Gods. Despite the gravity of the subject, the three of them seemed to bond over their shared frustration, with Eri Iwasaki growing closer to Grandma Sanhua after only a day of knowing each other.
As the evening wore on, with three rounds of drinks and five different dishes consumed, Makoto Ito set down his chopsticks and asked a question that had been weighing on his mind.
"Mother-in-law, I plan to apply to Shin'ō Spiritual Art Academy. Do you know how to register?"
The question caught Eri by surprise. She seemed a bit taken aback, her expression darkening for a moment. Meanwhile, Grandma Sanhua fell silent, contemplating for a few seconds before getting up and walking toward the cabinet behind her.
She returned moments later, holding two envelopes and handing them to Makoto Ito with a soft sigh.
"You really don't give up, do you?" she said, her voice filled with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "With your identity as a newcomer to Liuhun Street, you won't be able to apply to Shin'ō Spiritual Art Academy for at least three years. Take these letters of recommendation to Oda Yo. He'll make sure you can undergo the assessment ahead of time."
Makoto Ito took the envelopes gratefully. "Thank you, Mother-in-law!" he said sincerely.
Grandma Sanhua gave him a playful scolding. "You little rascal. You've only known me for a day, and you've already managed to get me to write a recommendation letter for you! But be warned, the assessment is tough, with a pass rate of less than 10%. Whether you succeed depends entirely on your ability."
Makoto Ito nodded eagerly. "I'll do my best!"
As Grandma Sanhua picked up the leftover rice bowls, preparing to wash them, Eri and Makoto Ito quickly got up to help. They insisted on washing the dishes, not giving the elderly woman a chance to do it herself.
Grandma Sanhua stood there for a moment, her gaze distant, lost in thought. She seemed to be reminiscing about something long past.
"What energetic children," she murmured to herself. "If only Maruta were still alive..."
The unspoken words hung in the air, and in that brief, quiet moment, Makoto Ito and Eri Iwasaki both realized that Grandma Sanhua, despite her tough exterior, carried a heavy weight of memories and loss that shaped the way she viewed the world.
And as the three of them worked together in the kitchen, their bond deepened, further cementing their connection. It was moments like these—small, fleeting exchanges—that made life on Liuhun Street feel a little more hopeful, despite the shadows that loomed just beyond their doorstep.