"Now," Gosuke Shigure said with a faint smile, "you look like a shinigami."
Standing in the Eleventh Division's courtyard, Shigure regarded Zaraki with satisfaction. The man's massive frame was now wrapped in the standard black shihakushō, and though it seemed strange on him at first, somehow it fit perfectly, as if the fabric itself recognized the violent spirit wearing it.
The Zanpakutō in Zaraki's hand hummed faintly. It had completely recovered after unconsciously drawing upon Zaraki's wild spiritual power. Shigure's sharp eyes noticed that; the broken steel was once again flawless.
'I really have to admit,' he thought, 'this man suits the Eleventh Division better than anyone.'
Fierce, unrestrained, and radiating raw hunger for battle, everything about Zaraki screamed "warrior". His very presence seemed to amplify the combative aura of the squad.
Zaraki tugged at the hem of his uniform, still unused to the weight of the death robe. It felt different, heavy, almost alive, resonating faintly with his spiritual pressure.
It wasn't as though he'd never seen a shinigami before. The broken sword he now wielded had once belonged to one, a corpse left to rot in the barren outskirts of Rukongai. But wearing the uniform himself… that was something else.
For the first time, he wasn't merely a wandering soul with a blade. He was a shinigami.
That feeling lasted only a few moments. The novelty faded quickly, replaced by a familiar urge clawing at his chest.
He looked up at Shigure, his gray eyes burning with restless excitement.
"Can I fight now?" he asked bluntly, his voice already rising. "You said I could fight stronger people once I became shinigami, well, I'm ready!"
Shigure chuckled and raised a hand, halting him. "Not yet."
That simple answer made Zaraki's grin falter.
His brows furrowed, irritation rising immediately. "Not yet? Why not? You dragged me all the way here just to talk?"
Shigure met his glare calmly, showing no hint of being intimidated. He could feel Zaraki's restlessness like a storm around them, but his tone remained composed. "You came here to fight the strong, and you will. But before that, there's something you need to understand."
Zaraki's grip tightened on the hilt of his broken sword. "If you're about to lecture me, forget it."
"Listen first." Shigure said simply.
Zaraki clicked his tongue, tch, clearly displeased, but said nothing more.
Shigure continued, his voice steady but authoritative. "Every shinigami has four fundamental skills, the foundation of our power. They're called Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō. In short, we refer to them as Zan–Ken–Sō–Ki — the Four Techniques of Death."
Zaraki's expression didn't change. He didn't care about fancy terms, he just wanted a fight.
Unfazed, Shigure went on, "When a soul enters the Shinō Academy, they study these four arts for six years. During that time, they also try to awaken their Zanpakutō. Those who succeed usually graduate as exceptional students, destined for captaincy someday."
He paused, watching Zaraki's reaction, then continued, "But even those who can't awaken their Zanpakutō aren't failures. If they excel in one of the four skills, say, swordsmanship or speed, they can still serve in the Gotei 13."
Zaraki tilted his head slightly, his impatience barely masked.
Shigure smiled faintly. "Of course, those who can neither awaken their Zanpakutō nor master any of the Four Techniques… well, they're dismissed. Their borrowed blades are reclaimed, and they lose the right to call themselves shinigami."
He folded his arms. "I'm telling you all this so you understand, these Four Techniques aren't just lessons. They're survival. A shinigami who perfects them can rival even those with awakened Zanpakutō."
Finally, Zaraki's expression shifted a little. He wasn't one for theory, but the last part caught his attention.
"Even stronger, you said?" he asked, his tone lower now, a faint edge of interest creeping in.
"Exactly." Shigure's eyes glinted. "Although you have a Zanpakutō, you haven't awakened it yet. You're still fighting purely on instinct and brute strength. But if you refine your technique, if you learn the Four Arts, your power will multiply severalfold."
He smiled faintly. "You could even surpass most captains."
That sentence did it.
Zaraki's irritation faded, replaced by a predatory excitement. "So, you're saying… if I learn these things, I'll get stronger, and I can fight even stronger opponents?"
"Yes." Shigure replied simply.
Zaraki crossed his arms, pondering for only a brief moment before smirking. "Fine. If it'll make me stronger, I'll learn them."
Shigure nodded. "Good. I already have someone in mind who can teach you properly."
Once he said that, his expression changed slightly, from calm to thoughtful. In his mind, he could already picture the one person suited for this role.
Without delay, he gestured for Zaraki to follow. "Come. I'll take you to meet your instructor."
"Right now?" Zaraki asked, blinking.
"Right now." Shigure confirmed. "You'll thank me later."
Zaraki shrugged, grinning again. "If it's someone strong, I'll learn fast."
With that, the two of them left the Eleventh Division headquarters. Shigure's haori fluttered in the wind as they crossed the courtyards of Seireitei, heading toward the Fourth Division.
The Fourth Division — the Healing Corps.
To many in the Gotei 13, it was a quiet, almost invisible squad. Most thought of its members as medics, not fighters. But those same fools conveniently forgot that the Fourth Division's captain was once known by another name — a name that had drenched Seireitei in blood.
Unohana Retsu.
The First Kenpachi.
They arrived at the pristine gardens of the Fourth Division, the faint scent of herbs and antiseptic filling the air. Inside, everything was serene, the distant sound of water, the soft footsteps of medics tending to the injured.
Under the guidance of the division's vice-captain, a stoic, silver-haired old woman whose quiet eyes had seen far too much life and death, Shigure and Zaraki were led to the captain's quarters.
The vice-captain bowed lightly. "Captain Unohana is expecting you." she said, her tone measured and calm.
Shigure returned the nod. "Thank you."
He motioned to Zaraki, and together they stepped inside.
The air in the captain's room was fragrant, filled with the subtle scent of fresh flowers. Unohana sat near the far end, arranging a vase with elegant precision. Her movements were graceful, almost hypnotic, each petal placed with care, every stem angled perfectly.
To anyone else, she looked like a saint — gentle, serene, utterly harmless.
But Shigure knew better.
Behind that soft expression was the blade of a murderer who had once carved her name into history.
Unohana didn't look up immediately. Her calm voice broke the silence. "Captain Gosuke. It's been some time since your captain's assessment."
Her eyes lifted then, tranquil, deep, but ancient.
And then, they shifted to Zaraki.
The moment her gaze landed on him, everything changed.
Her soft, patient expression froze for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, her eyes narrowed. The serene stillness that had filled the room evaporated.
A sharp gleam flashed in her gaze — dangerous, cold, and piercingly familiar.
For the first time in centuries, the gentle healer's mask cracked, revealing the predator beneath.
*****
Support me on my Ko-fi page to keep me motivated to continue uploading chapters.
https://ko fi.com/rroy28 (put a "-" between "ko" and "fi")
I have added Uncensored NSFW Illustrations in my Discord server, available only to paid members.
I am working on the following projects:
✓ Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!
✓ Naruto: Senmei Asahi
✓ Naruto: Uchiha's Intelligence Dealer
✓ Naruto: The Fifth Hokage Is Naruto's Uncle
✓ Naruto: Who Made Him a Ninja?
✓ Bleach: In My Second Reincarnation, I Became The Ninth Kenpachi
✓ To Love-Ru: Spoiler Route [R-18]
✓ Naruto: The Accidental Incubus [R-18]