[Memories of Nobody Arc] Part 141: Self-Knowledge

As the members of the Onmitsukidō lay incapacitated, felled by Yato's red threads, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. All the captains and lieutenants present—save for Ukitake—drew their zanpakutō in unison, their movements deliberate, their focus now entirely on the young man standing defiantly before them.

They knew Yato and Ichigo were powerfull, capable of feats that had surprised even the most seasoned shinigamis. Many assumed the duo would immediately engage the captains directly, seeking to match strength for strength. But Yato had a different strategy.

He had no interest in a direct clash with a captain, not yet, at least. His strategy was more calculated. To tip the scales in his favor, he intended to weaken their numbers, starting with the most vulnerable. The Onmitsukidō had been his first target. Now, his gaze turned to the weakest of the lieutenants: Iba.

With calm precision, Yato began channeling his spiritual energy into his zanpakutō. The blade shimmered with a vibrant green glow, its hue stark against the tense backdrop of the battlefield. The gathered shinigami braced themselves for his strike, but instead of attacking, Yato vanished.

In a blur of movement, Yato utilized a combination of the Fullbring high-speed technique and Shunpo, appearing directly in front of Iba. The lieutenant's eyes widened in shock, caught off guard not only by Yato's incredible speed but also by the transformation of his zanpakutō. Its blade had changed to a sleek black, with a flame-like pattern etched across its surface. Without uttering a word, Yato had unleashed his shikai, his reiatsu spiking dramatically in the process.

<< Yon no Uta, Zankyōsanka…>> • Fourth Song, Reverberant Song •

Yato murmured, his voice low but filled with power. The energy swirling around his blade ignited into fiery crimson flames, dancing along its surface like a living entity.

Komamura, standing protectively beside Iba, reacted immediately. The massive captain lunged forward, his zanpakutō aimed to intercept Yato's strike. But as Komamura's blade descended, it was suddenly ensnared by the same red threads that had immobilized the Onmitsukidō. The threads emerged around Yato, weaving into a barrier that stalled the captain's attack just long enough.

Yato's blade struck. Flames surged from his zanpakutō, engulfing Iba and launching the lieutenant backward with explosive force. The sound of the strike echoed like a firework display, its booming reverberation shaking the ground beneath them.

<< Tenken! >>

Komamura roared, releasing his shikai in a surge of power. A colossal, spectral arm materialized behind him, mimicking his movements as he swung his blade once more. The enormous appendage descended toward Yato with devastating force, leaving no room for evasion.

But before the attack could connect, Chad intervened. The towering figure of Yasutora Sado stepped between Yato and Komamura, his right arm already transformed into its armored form. With a grunt of effort, Chad unleashed a massive blast of reiatsu from his arm, colliding with the spectral arm of Komamura's shikai. The resulting impact sent shockwaves rippling through the area, momentarily halting the captain's assault.

"You've grown stronger since the last time we crossed paths, Yasutora Sado," Komamura acknowledged, his deep voice carrying a mix of respect and resolve as he faced Chad directly.

"Thanks." Chad replied, his tone calm but resolute. He shifted into a boxer's stance, his armored arm raised and ready. "I wish it didn't have to come to this."

"I know," Komamura admitted, his tone somber, though his stance remained firm, his massive form braced for battle. "But we have no choice. Show me how far you've come."

"Hm." With a nod, Chad silently accepted the challenge.

Meanwhile, Ichigo Kurosaki scowled as he observed the brewing chaos. "This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a gikongan and popped it into his mouth. In an instant, his shinigami form was ejected from his human body, leaving Kon to awkwardly inhabit the now-limp vessel.

Ichigo's sharp eyes darted across the battlefield, catching a glimpse of Hitsugaya making his move toward Yato. Without a second thought, Ichigo employed Shunpo, his form blurring as he intercepted the captain's strike. Their zanpakutō clashed with a metallic shriek, sparks flying as Hitsugaya's icy blade pressed against Ichigo's oversized cleaver.

"Step aside, Kurosaki." Hitsugaya commanded, his tone low and icy, matching the aura of his blade.

"Can any of you stop and listen for even a second?!" Ichigo shouted in frustration, his voice echoing over the din of the conflict. His grip on Zangetsu tightened as he pushed back against the smaller captain's strength.

The tension crackled in the air as Tatsuki Arisawa rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. Her eyes began to glow with an unearthly golden hue, their pupils elongating into slitted, dragon-like forms. A faint, almost predatory grin spread across her face as her reiatsu surged. "Finally, a little action." she murmured, her voice tinged with anticipation.

Locking her gaze on Soi Fon, Tatsuki made her decision. If everyone else was pairing off against an opponent, she had no intention of being left out. Besides, she'd been waiting for this. Her last encounter with Soi Fon in the Soul Society had left her with an uneasy sense of victory. The captain hadn't been fully focused then, and Tatsuki had longed for a proper rematch ever since.

With a sudden burst of speed, Tatsuki launched herself toward Soi Fon, her movement a blur. Her foot arced forward in a powerful kick, only to meet Soi Fon's left forearm, raised to block. The captain retaliated instantly, her zanpakutō flashing in an attempt to strike, but Tatsuki disappeared, reappearing a few paces away, standing confidently.

"Hey there, Soi Fon-senpai." Tatsuki teased, her grin widening into a challenging smirk. "How about a round two?"

"You fool..." Soi Fon snapped, her eyes narrowing. Her mission was clear: capture the Shinenju. It was a task made infinitely more complicated by the humans standing in her way. Killing the Shinenju outright would have been simpler, but her orders were absolute, and she intended to follow them to the letter. However, the thought of eliminating the humans crossed her mind more than once. Eliminating the humans might have seemed appealing, but the threat of Aizen loomed too large. She knew the commander would need the cooperation of the substitute shinigami, both Yato Yasakani and Ichigo Kurosaki. Despite her personal feelings, she understood that harming Yasakani or Kurosaki's allies would risk losing their cooperation against Aizen, a gamble even she wasn't willing to take, no matter how much Soi Fon didn't care for diplomacy.

Still, Soi Fon's pride simmered just beneath the surface. Her defeat at Tatsuki's hands, regardless of the circumstances, was a sting she couldn't forget and a part of her itched to settle the score with the girl. Their last battle had been a humiliation in her eyes, a result of distraction and luck favoring Arisawa. Now was her chance to correct that.

"This time, the result won't be the same," she stated coldly, her voice carrying an edge of determination. She sheathed her zanpakutō in a deliberate motion, her eyes never leaving Tatsuki. Shrugging off her haori, she let the captain's cloak fall to the ground, revealing the sleeveless uniform beneath.

Tatsuki's grin grew sharper. "Good," she replied, lowering herself into a ready stance. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

The two women squared off, their gazes locked in mutual understanding. Slowly, they began circling each other, each step deliberate, each moment a test of the other's resolve. Then, as if on cue, both disappeared in bursts of speed. Their reiatsu clashed mid-air.

Renji's eyes widened in alarm as he caught sight of Yato raising his index finger, pointing it toward the spot where Iba had been sent crashing moments before. Without hesitation, he sprang into action, his body launching forward in a blur of motion. He had seen enough to know that Yato wasn't wasting movement—whatever he was about to do, it would be decisive.

<< Hadō #31, Shakkahō. >> • 赤火砲, Red Fire Cannon •

A sphere of deep crimson energy crackled into existence at Yato's fingertip, pulsating ominously before it shot forward like a comet, streaking through the air straight toward Iba's downed form.

<< Howl, Zabimaru! >>

With a guttural command, Renji's zanpakutō transformed mid-air, its segmented blade snapping apart and extending forward like the fangs of a serpent. Zabimaru lashed out, aiming to intercept the incoming Kidō before it could strike Iba.

But it never reached.

Without warning, dozens of nearly invisible red threads shimmered into existence, weaving a complex web across the battlefield. Zabimaru's extended segments collided against the unseen strands, snagging in their grasp and halting its momentum entirely. Renji's breath hitched.

"Tch... Damn it!" he cursed, realizing too late that Yato had already prepared the area with his threads, turning the battlefield into a deathtrap. The Kidō continued its course, the sphere of destructive energy mere moments away from hitting the defenseless Iba.

Then, in a blink, a figure appeared between them.

Moving with effortless grace, Captain Jūshirō Ukitake positioned himself protectively in front of the injured lieutenant. Without drawing his blade, he extended his left hand, and with a single swift motion, he backhanded the Shakkahō aside.

The Kidō, which should have detonated on impact, instead dispersed harmlessly into the air, dissipating as if it had been nothing more than a stray ember brushed off a sleeve.

Ukitake remained where he stood, his expression unreadable as his calm gaze met Yato's. The young substitute shinigami hadn't intended to kill and Ukitake saw that immediately. The attack had just enough power to incapacitate, nothing more.

'He fights like a younger version of Kyōraku…' the captain mused, observing Yato's approach to battle. It was strategic, calculated. He wasn't interested in fair fights—he was reducing numbers, evening the playing field by removing threats before they could become problems.

Meanwhile, Renji had finally managed to rip Zabimaru free from the red threads, his grip tightening around the hilt. He wasted no time repositioning himself, preparing to charge Yato once more, but before he could take another step, a blur of white moved in front of him.

Rukia intercepted his advance with the elegant curve of Sode no Shirayuki, her pure-white blade locking against Zabimaru's jagged segments. A sharp ring echoed through the battlefield as steel met steel.

"What the hell, Rukia?!" Renji barked, pushing against her. His frustration flared, evident in the way his knuckles whitened around the hilt of his zanpakutō. "Don't you realize how stupid this is?!"

Despite the force of his words, Rukia didn't waver. Her stance was firm, her eyes steady.

"I'm sorry," she said evenly, her voice carrying a quiet resolve. "But I'm certain… there's another way to solve this."

The sincerity in her tone struck something within Renji. His frustration didn't vanish entirely, but it wavered just enough for him to truly look at her, and at that moment something strange caught his attention.

His sharp instincts told him something was off. Rukia's zanpakutō was already in Shikai.

'Wait a second…' Renji's eyes widened slightly. That realization alone was enough to make Renji hesitate. He hadn't heard her call for Sode no Shirayuki.

His mind barely had time to process that realization before Rukia moved.

While holding Zabimaru back with her right hand, she slowly lifted her left, cupping it near her lips. The motion was delicate, almost like she was about to blow out a candle.

Then she blew, but instead of air, a strong gust of icy wind erupted from her palm.

"What the—?!"

Before he could react, the freezing wind enveloped him, coating parts of his shihakushō and bare skin in a layer of biting frost. The sudden drop in temperature sent a numbing shock through his limbs as the sheer force of the icy gale pushed him backward, dragging his feet across the ground before he finally stumbled to a halt.

Rukia's gaze flickered downward toward the sheath of her zanpakutō, still secured at her waist. It was no longer the polished black it had always been. Instead, it had turned an ethereal white, mirroring the snow-pure blade of Sode no Shirayuki.

'A zanpakutō consists of both the blade and the sheath…'

The words echoed in her mind, a lesson Yato had spoken to her before.

Her grip on her zanpakutō tightened subtly.

Her eyes lifted, darting briefly toward Yato, who stood steadily in place. Unlike the others, he had yet to discard the sheath of his own sword, Ōkagetsu, holding it firmly in his left hand.

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Hours Earlier

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The world around them was silent, blanketed in an unbroken expanse of white.

Rukia and Yato stood a short distance apart, their respective zanpakutō held firmly in their hands.

Minutes had passed since their training had begun, but Rukia could already feel frustration creeping in. Their training session had been going on for a while, but Rukia felt as if she were getting nowhere. No matter how many times she tried to focus something wasn't clicking.

'What am I missing…?'

Her violet gaze shifted toward the figure of Sode no Shirayuki, standing gracefully amidst the endless snow. Her spirit's ethereal form nearly blended with the wintry landscape, her flowing white kimono indistinguishable from the frozen world around her.

Rukia had already spoken with her zanpakutō spirit, seeking a deeper connection, yearning to understand her blade more intimately. And yet, despite her efforts, nothing had changed. She could sense no sudden revelation, no hidden truth unlocking within her.

The only thing she had learned, oddly enough, was that despite being the embodiment of ice and snow, Sode no Shirayuki did not mind warmth. In fact, she rather liked it.

Rukia had found the contradiction amusing. A snow-woman who enjoys warmth… But perhaps, in some way, it made sense. She herself had never been particularly bothered by the cold or the hea and maybe that part of her had reflected onto her zanpakutō.

Still, that revelation didn't bring her any closer to the answer she sought.

Her gaze shifted back toward Yato.

She watched him carefully, as if trying to decipher the secret behind his unshakable bond with Ōkagetsu.

And there, wrapped around him with effortless affection, was the spirit of his zanpakutō, Ōkagetsu, embracing him.

Meanwhile, Yato, completely unbothered, was idly kicking at the snow, casually playing, like a child lost in his own world.

To Rukia's eyes, Ōkagetsu's embrace did not seem romantic, not in the way one might expect. It was affectionate, yes, but in a way that felt almost… natural, as if it were simply the way the spirit existed.

It wasn't the first time Rukia had witnessed this. Whenever she and Yato found themselves within their inner worlds, she had noticed something peculiar. Ōkagetsu had a habit of embracing Sode no Shirayuki in the very same manner. A soft, lingering hold from behind, arms draped loosely around her, carrying an air of deep familiarity rather than simple attachment.

At first, Sode no Shirayuki had merely accepted it, allowing it to happen without reaction. But after Rukia and Yato's battle, when their souls had intertwined just enough for her to glimpse fragments of Yato's oldest, most buried memories, something had shifted.

After that moment, Sode no Shirayuki had started returning the gesture. Subtle, restrained, barely noticeable to most, but it was there. A slight tilt of her head, the smallest shift in posture. She acknowledged it now.

Rukia found it amusing. Ōkagetsu,so unpredictable, so wild, was, at its core, unashamedly affectionate. Open in a way that few would expect from such a volatile zanpakutō.

'Maybe it was a reflection of Yato himself…' The thought made her laugh softly under her breath.

She tried to picture it, Yato casually walking up to someone and embracing them with the same effortless warmth that Ōkagetsu showed.

The mental image was so ridiculous that she had to fight the urge to laugh harder.

'Yeah, right.'

Shaking her head, Rukia forced herself to push those thoughts aside, refocusing on her true purpose.

She wasn't here to analyze Yato—she was here to understand herself.

The petite shinigami turned her attention toward Cheshire, the ever-mischievous feline spirit, watching as he lazily pawed at the snow with a sharp-toothed grin. His tail flicked back and forth in an almost taunting rhythm, his amusement practically radiating from him.

"Having trouble, are we?" he mused, his voice laced with that same teasing tone he always used, never even glancing in her direction as if her struggles were nothing more than idle entertainment.

Rukia let out an irritated huff, crossing her arms. "And what if I am?"

"Perhaps a demonstration would help?" Cheshire purred, still focused on his little game in the snow, tracing invisible patterns with his claws.

Rukia's gaze narrowed, suspicious. "What kind of demonstration?"

At the sound of her question, Yato, who had been casually kicking at the snow like a restless child, suddenly paused. Without a word, he turned his head slightly, glancing toward Ōkagetsu.

The spirit, who had been lounging comfortably at his side, met his gaze with a knowing smile. Without hesitation, she stepped back, giving him space, her movements fluid and almost graceful as she created distance between them.

With that silent exchange, Yato reached for his zanpakutō.

The metal whispered against its sheath as he unsheathed the blade, leveling it forward in a practiced, almost effortless motion.

Then, his voice rang through the cold, steady and unwavering.

<< Sing, Ōkagetsu. >>

A sudden roar of heat and energy erupted from the weapon as black flames surged along its length, flickering wildly like a living inferno. Tiny, dancing sparks of red, blue, and yellow crackled around the fire, colliding in a mesmerizing, chaotic display.

Then, as quickly as they had come, the flames dissipated.

Now, the zanpakutō's blade was entirely black, its surface adorned with a shifting flame-like pattern that pulsed with an almost hypnotic glow. The tsuba, once ordinary, had transformed into the striking silhouette of a bird, its feathers a mix of black and red, laced with small accents of yellow and blue.

The hilt had darkened completely, deep black with embers of crimson running through its length, a burning contrast against the frozen world around them.

But perhaps the most striking feature was the small feather charm that now hung from the end of the weapon. Tied to a delicate red jewel, the feather bore the vivid hues of red, yellow, black, white, and blue, swaying gently despite the stillness of the air.

Rukia's gaze lingered on Ōkagetsu's blade, taking in the details with newfound scrutiny. The zanpakutō was… undeniably beautiful. The way its flame-like patterns danced subtly across the dark steel, the intricate colorations woven into the hilt, it was unlike anything she had seen before.

Her thoughts drifted involuntarily to her own Sode no Shirayuki, known throughout the Soul Society as the most beautiful zanpakutō in existence. But now, as she compared the two, an odd realization struck her. If Yato had been a member of the Gotei 13, his Ōkagetsu might very well have held the same reputation.

Before she could dwell on the thought, Cheshire spoke, his voice laced with amusement.

"Now take another look… but this time, pay closer attention."

There was a slyness to his tone, an unspoken challenge hidden beneath his words.

"Then maybe you'll see just how similar Ōkagetsu and Sode no Shirayuki really are…"

Rukia frowned slightly, her eyes flickering back to Yato's zanpakutō.

Similar?

Her initial instinct was to dismiss the idea entirely. Ōkagetsu was black, deep and dark, while Sode no Shirayuki was white, pristine as freshly fallen snow. Their abilities couldn't be further apart. One wielded fire, while the other commanded ice.

"I'd say they're complete opposites," Rukia muttered.

Yato, who had been holding Ōkagetsu's blade in his right hand, suddenly lowered it, shifting his left hand to raise the sheath he had been carrying.

That was when Rukia noticed it.

For the first time, she truly saw it.

The sheath had changed.

Just as the blade had transformed upon Shikai release, so too had its counterpart. The once-ordinary scabbard was now black, adorned with intricate red flame patterns along its lower half, with a more complex, refined design near the top. It was long, slender, its shape mirroring the sleek curvature of the katana it housed.

"The sheath changed..." she murmured under her breath, her fingers tightening slightly around Sode no Shirayuki's hilt.

"Yours did too, you know," Yato commented, his voice casual as he pointed toward her waist.

Rukia blinked, her gaze shifting downward—her own sheath, now entirely white, was resting against her hip. She had drawn her blade earlier, had activated Shikai, yet she hadn't even noticed the transformation.

"The zanpakutō consists of both the blade and the sheath," Yato said, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"The sheath is just as important as the sword itself."

There was something in the way he said it—a weight behind his words that made Rukia pause.

Then, after a brief chuckle, Yato scratched the back of his head, glancing at Ōkagetsu with an almost sheepish look.

"And to be honest… I kinda forgot that myself for a moment."

Rukia's brows knitted together as she mulled over his words.

"So that's the similarity between our zanpakutō…?" she murmured, more to herself than to Yato. Her violet eyes flickered between Ōkagetsu's darkened sheath and her own pure white one. "Both the sword and its sheath undergo a transformation."

Yato tilted his head, considering her words before offering a slight shrug.

"That's part of it."

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he shot her a smirk.

"Tell me... what are the abilities you and Sode no Shirayuki have?"

The question was direct, but there was something behind it. A test, perhaps.

"Sode no Shirayuki controls ice and snow," Rukia answered smoothly, already familiar with the description. "And I'm able to use three of her 'Dances'."

Yato nodded, as if expecting that answer but remained silent, watching her with mild amusement.

"And my Ōkagetsu?" He asked.

"Your Ōkagetsu controls flames and you have four techniques, all categorized as 'Songs,' right?"

For a brief moment, Yato's lips twitched into a smirk.

"That's one way to explain it," he admitted. "But there's more to it than that."

Then, with an almost playful glint in his eyes, he added:

"First of all… I don't think I ever said that Ōkagetsu only had four techniques, did I?"

Rukia blinked.

"What?"

"There are far more than just four colors in the world."

Something about the way he said it made her breath catch slightly.

'More techniques…?' she thought. It made sense. If Ōkagetsu's abilities were categorized by color, then limiting it to only four would be… arbitrary. There were countless shades and hues beyond red, blue, yellow, and black.

And then, Yato gestured to his sheath, lifting it slightly.

"You saw for yourself. This changes too."

Rukia stared at it once more, her mind slowly piecing things together.

"The sheath itself is an extension of Ōkagetsu…"

Rukia absorbed his words in silence, her mind racing through the implications.

So not only did Yato possess more techniques than he had revealed, but he was also implying that the sheath played a direct role in his abilities.

For a brief moment, she found herself wondering… Could Sode no Shirayuki do the same?

Her fingers instinctively brushed against the hilt of her own sword as her gaze dropped to Sode no Shirayuki's sheath. White, pure as the snow beneath her feet. Had it always been that way? Or had she simply never noticed the subtle shifts before?

For the first time in a long while, the snow in her inner world stirred around her, whispering in gentle flurries.

She felt it now.

The subtle yet undeniable connection between blade and sheath.

And yet… there was still something missing.

"Second," Yato continued, drawing her attention back to him. "Even though Ōkagetsu's abilities revolve around fire, what I'm actually doing isn't just generating flames."

Rukia frowned slightly, not following.

Yato smirked again and clarified:

"What I'm actually doing is raising my body temperature."

Rukia's eyes widened slightly.

"By doing so, I alter the nature of the flames I produce, giving them different properties."

Silence stretched between them.

Rukia stood motionless, processing his words.

Then, realization began to dawn.

Yato wasn't speaking in riddles. He had never been the type to hide things behind cryptic messages. Everything he said had always been direct, the answer laid bare for anyone willing to see it.

And now, as she connected the dots, the pieces clicked into place.

Her gaze flickered to Sode no Shirayuki, then to its spirit—the snow woman who had always stood beside her, silent yet watchful.

Sode no Shirayuki smiled. A knowing smile.

Almost as if she had been waiting for Rukia to figure it out.

She remembered Sode no Shirayuki's words earlier.

"I don't mind the heat." Those had been Sode no Shirayuki's own words, spoken casually in passing. Rukia hadn't thought much of it at the moment, it had seemed like nothing more than a playful remark.

But now, she saw the truth.

Her breath hitched.

"Identical zanpakutōs…"

She clenched her fists, heartbeat quickening.

Yato increased his body temperature to control flames.

Then, did that mean…?

Did she do the opposite?

Did Sode no Shirayuki lower her body temperature to control ice?

Her mind reeled.

It wasn't that their zanpakutō were opposites.

It was that they were built on the exact same concept, controlling body temperature, but had simply taken different paths.

Rukia nearly facepalmed as the truth settled in.

This whole time, she had been searching for some complicated answer, some deeper, hidden connection.

But it had been right in front of her the entire time.

She exhaled sharply, gripping Sode no Shirayuki tighter.

"So that's it."

She slowly turned back to Yato.

He was watching her expectantly, his smirk now borderline smug.

Behind him, Cheshire let out a low chuckle, his tail flicking lazily against the snowy ground.

"Finally got it, huh?"

Rukia let out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing.

Then, she smiled.

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Present Time

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Rukia stared at her own hand, fingers slightly curled as remnants of icy mist clung to her palm. The air around her still crackled with the remnants of her power, the cold biting at her skin.

Her breath was steady, but her mind was racing.

'A Shinigami grows stronger through self-knowledge… but I never expected the difference in power to be this vast.'

Her gaze flickered toward Renji, who had been sent skidding back by the sheer force of her attack.

Meanwhile, Yato remained in place, his body poised as if still deciding whether to continue attacking Iba. His fingers twitched slightly against the hilt of Ōkagetsu. But before he could make a move—

<< Growl, Haineko! >>

Rangiku Matsumoto's voice rang out across the battlefield.

In an instant, her zanpakutō dissolved into a swirling storm of ash, spreading like a suffocating fog.

Yato's eyes narrowed and start moving, using his high-speed technique to get away from her zanpakutō.

His Fullbring threads, scattered strategically throughout the area, were useless against Haineko.

From the sidelines, Senna watched the battle unfold, her fists clenched at her sides. Her heart pounded as she fought against the gnawing sense of helplessness twisting in her chest.

She could feel it—this tension, this battle. And yet, she was still standing on the sidelines.

She hated that feeling.

Her amber eyes burned with determination as she suddenly broke into a sprint.

"I… I'm a Shinigami too!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the battlefield.

"Wait!" Inoue cried out, immediately dashing after her.

"Oi! Have you lost your damn mind?!" Kon, still inhabiting Ichigo's body, shouted as he launched himself forward with a powerful kick, the sheer force propelling him through the air.

His trajectory was perfect. He was about to grab her—

But just as he reached out—

She vanished.

Senna's body dissolved into a flurry of crimson-hued autumn leaves, scattering through the air before reforming several feet away.

Kon's outstretched hand met nothing but air as he crashed face-first into the ground.

Senna, now in her true Shinigami form, use the Shunpo technique do reach Yato. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her zanpakutō.

<< Call forth the Twilight, Mirokumaru! >>

Senna's zanpakutō shimmered with a golden glow as it transformed, taking the shape of a Khakkhara—a monk's staff adorned with metal rings, its pointed tip gleaming. The moment her fingers tightened around its grip, she spun it with remarkable speed, creating a whirling vortex.

A fierce gust of wind erupted outward, carrying with it a storm of crimson autumn leaves, their edges glowing with faint embers. The swirling tempest crashed into the ashen mist of Haineko, disrupting its form and scattering it like sand in a storm.

Senna planted her feet firmly against the ground. She wasn't just fighting to protect her friends—she was fighting to prove her existence.

'It doesn't matter if I'm the Shinenju or not. I know that I exist! I know that I lived in this world once!'

Ichigo's words echoed in her mind. She clenched her jaw. That was all she needed.

Matsumoto narrowed her eyes. She had seen enough to know that Senna was more than just acting on reckless.

Lifting her left hand, she swiftly began an incantation.

<< Bakudō #9, Hōrin! >> • Disintegrating Circle •

An orange-hued tendril, coiling with spiraling yellow patterns, shot forward. It snaked through the air, aiming to ensnare Senna before she could take another step.

But before it could reach her—

<< Santen Kesshun! I Reject! >>

A brilliant orange light erupted between them.

A triangular shield materialized in an instant, its protective barrier absorbing the impact of the binding Kidō. The golden tendrils coiled uselessly around the glowing shield before disintegrating into nothingness.

Orihime now stood beside Senna, her hands raised, her stance unwavering. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but there was a flicker of conflict in her gaze as she stared at Matsumoto.

After Aizen's betrayal, in the brief week she had spent in the Soul Society before returning to the World of the Living, Orihime had spent most of her time with Matsumoto. They had shared conversations, laughter, even exchanged odd and experimental recipes.

They had become friends.

And now they were standing on opposite sides of a fight neither of them wanted.

Matsumoto hesitated for the briefest moment, her fingers twitching at her side.

Neither of them wanted to fight.

Meanwhile, Yato's attention shifted.

His gaze flickered toward Ukitake, but his mind was elsewhere.

Something was wrong.

By now, Ganryū and his faction should have made their move. If their goal was to take Senna to the Valley of Screams, they wouldn't have delayed. And yet—

Nothing.

Yato's brow furrowed. He extended his senses, stretching out his awareness to catch even the faintest flicker of Reiatsu—

But there was nothing.

No movement. No approaching presence. No sign of Ganryū or his men anywhere nearby.

His grip tightened around Ōkagetsu.

"Where the hell are these guys…?"