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As Shiraha advanced steadily toward Yamamoto Genryuzai, the old man lifted Ryūjin Jakka once more.
"Torch."
He slashed forward, and the world erupted.
Boom!
An inferno burst outward, detonating the air in a wave of heat that consud everything. The ground for hundreds of ters lted into cinders, then cracked and collapsed into charred ash. From the flas rose a towering pillar of fire, a blazing column that roared as it drove straight toward Shiraha.
But as before, the mont it entered within one ter of his body, the flas faltered. Their overwhelming speed dwindled to a crawl, as if the world itself had frozen in place.
Shiraha's steps never faltered. With a faint smile, he passed beside the frozen firestorm, unscathed. The column surged past him and swept behind, erupting into the district beyond.
Zzzzt!
Entire rows of buildings thousands of ters away ignited in an instant, devoured by the six-thousand-degree blaze, leaving nothing but gray ash.
"Captain," Shiraha said calmly as he stopped before Yamamoto, "shall we continue?"
Yamamoto did not reply. Instead, his spiritual pressure flared, erupting like a tidal wave. His Reiatsu crashed outward with overwhelming weight, pressing down upon Shiraha in an attempt to crush him where he stood.
But even Yamamoto's suffocating pressure, vast enough to stagger the captains watching from afar, froze uselessly once it reached Shiraha's one-ter domain.
In the distance, Shunsui, Jūshirō, and the others widened their eyes. From nearly a thousand ters away, they could feel the sheer scale of the Captain-Commander's spiritual force, its crushing gravity pressing into their bones.
Komamura, Renji, Kira, and even Hitsugaya—whose strength was considerable despite his youth—stiffened under its weight. Their minds blurred, their bodies trembled, their breaths caught in their throats.
Shiraha's voice cut through the blaze. "Captain, I almost forgot. Reiatsu itself counts as an attack, doesn't it?" He smiled faintly. "In battle, spiritual pressure decides everything. But against my technique, even that cannot reach ."
The No-Limit Spell: Stopping Power was not confined to blocking blades or flas. Even intangible forces—crushing waves of Reiatsu—were swallowed whole, dissolved before they could touch him.
At last, Yamamoto's eyes narrowed. A flicker of recognition—of unease—passed across his scarred features. Slowly, he withdrew his pressure, sheathed Ryūjin Jakka, and spoke. His tone was heavy, his voice like iron.
"No need. Captain Shiraha, your Zanpakutō's Shikai is as strange as Shunsui described."
A technique remained unused—Ennetsu Jigoku, the Flaming Hell. Yet Yamamoto withheld it. Its destructive force would have annihilated half of Seireitei itself. This had not been a battle to kill, but a test. And he had his answer. Unless he released his Bankai, nothing could pierce Shiraha's defense. But Bankai would devastate the Soul Society beyond repair.
"The captain is magnificent as always," Shiraha replied with a soft smile.
Far off, Renji's voice rang out, unable to contain his awe. "Kira, did you see that? Even Ryūjin Jakka—the strongest fla-type Zanpakutō—couldn't touch Captain Shiraha!"
Kira's face was pale, his voice unsteady. "I saw… his Shikai is terrifying."
"Renji. Your voice carries too far." Byakuya's reprimand was sharp, silencing him imdiately.
"Forgive , Captain Kuchiki!" Renji bowed hastily.
Ichimaru Gin's grin curled wider. "Oh now, Captain Kuchiki, don't scold the boy. He's only speaking truth."
Byakuya's gaze slid to Gin, cold and wordless, before returning to Yamamoto and Shiraha. Gin, unfazed, rely kept smiling.
At last, Yamamoto spoke, his voice carrying weight enough to silence all around him. "Captain Shiraha, my promise to you stands. If you master Bankai and can defeat , you will inherit the position of Captain of the First Division… and take upon yourself the title of the strongest Shinigami."
The flas of Ryūjin Jakka flickered in his scarred eyes. He spoke not as a challenger, but as one who recognized what Shiraha had beco. With Shikai alone, Shiraha had crafted an invincible defense. Should he achieve Bankai, even Yamamoto could not say whether victory would remain his.
"Thank you, Captain," Shiraha replied, smiling lightly. The honor was real, though he held little desire for the First Division's mantle.
Yamamoto's gaze shifted, falling upon the blade at Shiraha's waist. "Captain Shiraha… is your Zanpakutō in Shikai at all tis?"
Throughout the clash, Shiraha had not once drawn his blade. He had spoken no release incantation. Yet the effect was undeniable. Such phenona—Zanpakutō permanently bound in Shikai—were rare, but not unheard of.
"You guessed correctly," Shiraha said with a quiet smile. "My Zanpakutō remains in Shikai always."
But the truth was otherwise. His power ca not from any constant release, but from the No-Limit Spell itself—the Power of Stopping.
Yamamoto gave no reply. With a flicker of shunpo, he vanished alongside his loyal lieutenant, Sasakibe Chōjirō.
One by one, the other captains dispersed—Hitsugaya, Aizen, Tōsen, Unohana—returning to their duties.
Kenpachi alone strode forward, Yachiru perched on his shoulder. His grin split wide. "Kuchiki Shiraha, well done! But don't forget, one day, I'll challenge you again. And next ti, you'd better fight seriously!"
"Yachiru, we're leaving."
"Bye-bye, Shiraha!" Yachiru waved cheerfully as they disappeared into the distance.
Then Gin clapped softly, strolling forward with his usual smile. "Ah, ah, Captain Shiraha. Terrifying, truly terrifying. Even Ryūjin Jakka, the Captain-Commander's fire itself, couldn't touch you. Looks like the next Captain-Commander may very well be you."
Shiraha's answer was quiet, almost amused. "Captain Ichimaru, you jest. I have no such expectations."
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