"Captain, there are Quincies here too!"
"Captain! More Quincies spotted!"
"Captain, the enemy is too strong—we need support!"
In the streets of Seireitei, the 10th Division shinigami of the Gotei 13 were locked in fierce battle against invading Quincies. Their commander, 10th Division Captain Yuji, twitched as the cries echoed around him. His temples throbbed. It felt like his head was about to explode.
To make matters worse, the troops under his command weren't just his own—they were a chaotic mix of multiple divisions.
The reason for this disorder?
Simple: the so-called "killer embryos" within the Gotei 13—certain captains who only cared for their own glory and left their subordinates behind. These selfish leaders had abandoned their squads, rushing to the four gates of Seireitei to rack up personal kill counts, leaving slower troops behind.
Thus, the burden of commanding these disorganized shinigami fell to Yuji—known as the "slowest" of them all.
"Damn it! I wanted to fight at the Four Gates too!"
"But nobody told about the Quincy invasion! So damn annoying..."
Yuxuji muttered inwardly, frustration flaring as he continued issuing orders. It wasn't that he was truly slow or bad at Shunpo (Flash Step)—in fact, he was more than capable. The truth was, when Araki initiated the Tenteikūra (Heavenly Communique), he had deliberately skipped Yuxuji.
By the ti the ssage reached him, the other captains were already gone—and Yuxuji had been left to clean up the ss.
Araki's explanation?
"You're too handso. That makes you a threat to . You deserve mop-up duty!"
"Gather at the 1st Division Barracks!"
Just as Yuxuji debated whether he was being excluded by the other captains, the familiar voice of Chōjirō Sasakibe echoed through his mind—clearly a new Tenteikūra transmission. This one, coming from the 1st Division, ant only one thing: orders from Captain-Commander Yamamoto.
"Igarashi."
"Yes, Captain!"
His vice-captain appeared instantly at his side, standing at attention.
"I'm leaving this to you."
With that, Yuxuji vanished with a Shunpo, heading toward the 1st Division Barracks.
"What?! Leaving it to ?!"
Igarashi stood dumbfounded, watching the air where his captain had just been.
"…I…"
Frozen, he stared at the chaotic battlefield. He was just a vice-captain—how was he supposed to handle this ss alone?
At that mont, Igarashi, a humble workhorse of the Gotei 13, finally understood the tragic emotions of Genos (a reference to a struggling subordinate or folk character).
anwhile, the war showed no signs of stopping. In less than an hour, all of Soul Society was engulfed in flas.
This invasion—led by Yhwach and the Lichtreich (Empire of Light)—was the gravest crisis the Seireitei had faced in a thousand years. Not since the appearance of the great Hollow from Hueco Mundo had the Seireitei fallen into such chaos.
From above, the Seireitei looked like a blazing inferno.
Wounded Shinigami and Quincies alike littered the battlefield, screaming in pain. But war waits for no one. The fighting would continue, no matter how many fell.
Yet wounded shinigami still needed care. No matter how fearless the Gotei shinigami were, untreated wounds would an death.
Unfortunately, the original Gotei 13 had never established a dedicated dical division. Those with healing skills were too busy enjoying themselves—fighting and killing.
With no organized dics, injured shinigami were left to tend to themselves. And if things continued this way, the post-war losses to the Gotei 13 would be catastrophic.
Thankfully, Araki had anticipated this.
The 11th Division, long known for its raw combat prowess, had been converted—at least in part—into a field hospital.
Beds lined their barracks. Battle-hardened n moved clumsily among them, treating the wounded with rough, almost barbaric, thods.
Yes, you heard right—the 11th Division's bloodthirsty warriors had beco "doctors."
Of course, they had no formal training. But what they did have were blades.
Infected limb? Cut it off. Bleeding that won't stop? Cut again. Then cauterize with fire.
Araki's instructions were simple:
"As long as they're still breathing, I'll fix the rest after the war."
So now, every injured mber of the 11th Division was a maid, bandaged ss—missing arms, legs, fingers.
And the wounded from other divisions?
They cursed the 11th Division's butchery from their beds:
"Damn it! That wasn't treatnt! That was mutilation! Give back my leg!"
You'd think these horror stories would keep shinigami away—but sohow, the line never got shorter. Everyone waited their turn.
Why?
Because sitting quietly nearby, smiling gently and watching the carnage, was a woman with a traditional hair bun and eyes like still water.
Her na was Unohana Retsu.
The 11th Division's blades were for limbs.
Unohana's blade… was for lives.
And in the middle of it all, one rugged shinigami shouted with pride:
"Brothers! I swear on the Sugimu family na! I lost both legs to a damn Quincy's arrows—but Captain Araki restored them for ! So don't fear losing limbs! Don't fear the blade! As long as you survive, Captain Araki will bring you back!"
This man was none other than Sugimu Soichiro, the noble who had once been rescued from the battlefield by Araki. Now, he stood proudly as Araki's most trusted blade in the Thirteenth Division.
With a noble like Sugimu Soichiro swearing loyalty in the na of his own clan, the wounded shinigami found themselves sowhat reassured. Still, the brutal field "treatnt" by the 11th Division's combat dics was a different matter altogether. So shinigami, wounded only at the wrist, had their entire arms amputated. In agony, they cursed:
"Damn barbarians! Damn butchers!"
Elsewhere, outside the 11th Division barracks…
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! Confird! This is definitely a Shinigami dical station."
"Look at all those wounded being brought in."
"That's right…"
"I'll ask one last ti: Are you certain there are no Captain-level Shinigami inside?"
"Of course! We'd know if soone like that was present! You can't miss their spiritual pressure or… their weirdness."
A small group of Quincy from the Sternritter, dressed in white knight-like uniforms, had gathered near the 11th Division barracks. A glint of ruthlessness sparked in their eyes.
"Good," said their leader. "Then destroy this place."
He paused, and then sneered:
"No... massacre it. Let them taste the pain of the Quincy!"
Like pale phantoms, they slipped into the barracks—swift, silent, and lethal.
"Who the hell are you?!" shouted a surprised 11th Division dic.
Caught off-guard, the 11th Division shinigami didn't even have ti to draw their Zanpakutō. But none of them panicked—because Captain Unohana was still seated quietly nearby.
"You ask who I am?" the lead Quincy scoffed. "What a stupid question."
Surrounded by his comrades, he strutted into the room, eyes sweeping over the wounded Shinigami with disdain.
"What primitive dical technology…" he sneered.
As a ranked mber of the Sternritter, he couldn't help but laugh at the sight.
That was when a quiet, refined voice answered:
"Ah, it seems you're the enemy."
Unohana Retsu—the forr Yachiru Unohana, the first Kenpachi—stood up with a gentle smile. Her fingers wrapped around her Zanpakutō.
"Heh…" The Quincy paused, startled by the white haori on her shoulders. Then he took in her elegant face, graceful posture, and porcelain skin.
"Hah! This woman? A Captain?" he mocked in his mind. "She's too beautiful. Must be so nurse playing dress-up."
He puffed out his chest and declared proudly, "That's right! I am your enemy. And now that you've seen —"
Swish!
He never finished his sentence.
A mont later, the world spun.
"Huh? Why… am I looking at myself from the floor?"
A heartbeat later, thump—his head landed beside his body, which was now spurting blood like a geyser.
"Weird," he thought. "That corpse looks familiar…"
"Wait… isn't that my body?"
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