Chapter Text
The Squad 1 meeting hall is mostly empty when Byakuya steps inside, with Renji following soon after. Only Ise is present, already armed with a stack of papers she’s adjusting with surgical precision. She looks up as they approach, expression poised and politely curious.
“Kuchiki-taichō, Abarai-fukutaichō.” She nods at them from across the room. “Squad 6 is as punctual as ever.”
Unnecessarily so, in Renji’s humble opinion, but he decides not to voice it in front of his Captain. He heard enough lectures on “proper punctuality” for his entire lifetime—the latest of which just this morning.
Instead, Renji greets the Squad 1 Lieutenant with a quick smile. “Hey, Ise.”
Byakuya only offers a faint hum of acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping the room before nodding once, like the emptiness itself meets his impossible standards.
Renji huffs under his breath. “I still think showing up on time wouldn’t kill us.”
Byakuya spares him a sidelong glance. “Arriving precisely on time leaves no margin for error. It is unbecoming of Squad 6 standards.”
“Yeah, yeah. ‘If you’re not early, you’re late.’ You don’t have to remind me.” Renji shakes his head, a faint grin sneaking its way onto his face. “Pretty sure you’re the only one who actually sincerely believes that.”
Byakuya’s brow lifts, just slightly. “That is because I am correct.”
Renji snorts, folding his arms as he leans against a nearby column. By Byakuya’s standards, that’s practically an invitation to keep talking.
“So.” Renji jerks his chin toward the front. “Who do you think is getting the badge? It’s like Kyōraku went out of his way to avoid mentioning names in the summons.”
“Both Iba-taichō and Yadōmaru-taichō have been operating without Lieutenants for some time. Most likely, it will be either of them.”
“Yeah, makes sense.” Renji’s fingers tap against his own badge, restless. “Probably just a matter of who made up their mind first.”
“Or who presented the most suitable candidate.”
“Right.” Renji shakes his head, eyes flicking toward the door. “Still. Been a while since anyone got promoted.”
He thinks back to Ichigo’s initiation—or rather, a lack of one.
Just Kyōraku tossing out a casual, “Oh, Kurosaki is the Lieutenant of Squad 13 now,” during the meeting a week after he joined the ranks. No ceremony, no speeches. Probably the Captain-Commander’s way of cutting the kid some slack after everything.
Renji gave him grief for it later, “What, too special for a real ceremony?”
And Ichigo, the bastard that he is, just grumbled that he didn’t need a bunch of people making a fuss over him. It caused Renji to roll his eyes, because of course he’s trying to act all humble now. Like that would ever work on Renji.
Well, no point in dwelling on it now. At least the new guy—whoever they are—gets to have a proper initiation with everything it entails.
When Byakuya doesn’t dignify him with a reply, Renji looks up at him and elbows his side, “Wonder who they picked this time, eh?” because maybe his Captain just needs another nudge to share his opinion with Renji.
Byakuya’s eyes remain locked on the entrance, ignoring Renji’s blatant attempts at gossiping. “Speculation is unnecessary. We will know soon enough.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Renji waves a hand, rolling his eyes with more fondness than irritation. “Always a lecture with you.”
“If you prefer.”
Renji smirks. The fact that Byakuya is even responding at all is proof of how far they’ve come. Byakuya used to keep conversation strictly business. Now, Renji almost feels like he’s being humored.
The door creaks open, and Renji’s attention shifts to the steady stream of Shinigami filtering in. Kira walks in with his usual composed calm. Ōtoribashi drifts into the room by his side, effortlessly elegant. Renji catches Kira’s eye and gives him a small smile. Kira nods back, polite as ever.
Momo appears a moment later, all but glued to Hirako’s side, who is talking with his hands, grinning like he’s spinning some elaborate joke. Momo looks like she can’t decide whether to scold him or laugh.
Renji watches them with a faint smile. Good to see her looking happier.
Muguruma strides in next, shoulders squared and expression on his face dark like thunderclouds. Kuna comes in next, bouncing at his side in a blur of greenness and chatter. Shūhei trails a step behind them, serious enough to make even Muguruma look relaxed by comparison. Renji can’t help but think that being in Squad 9 with these two must take the patience of a saint.
Yadōmaru Lisa slips in soon after—alone. Renji narrows his eyes. If Squad 8 was about to gain a Lieutenant, there would be a fresh face at her side.
“Huh,” he mutters, tipping his head toward Byakuya. “Guess that means it’s Iba who filled his slot.”
Byakuya, of course, doesn’t dignify the guess with more than a nod, but Renji swears he caught the barest flicker of agreement in his Captain’s expression. He’ll count that as a win.
More arrivals fill the hall as the minutes tick closer. The hum of conversation blends in with the swishing of uniforms and the tapping of sandals against polished wood. Renji steps in the place, shifting his weight slightly, eyes catching on the familiar silhouette slipping through the doorway.
Rukia.
The air feels lighter after just seeing her. Dark hair neatly frames her face, chin held high. She doesn’t need to do much—never has—to make his heart flutter in his chest. Even though it’s been over a year since she stepped into her new position, Renji still feels a swell of pride every time she shows up in her white haori—it suits her.
He opens his mouth, ready to call her over, when the rest of her group steps in behind.
And—oh, hell.
Renji straightens before he can stop himself. Ichigo walks in, bright orange hair, messy as always and impossible to miss. And right at his shoulder, like it’s the most normal thing in the world—
His zanpakutō spirit—the Hollow one that looks like his mirror image. Fully materialized. Smirking like he owns the place.
Renji feels a chill down his spine. He gulps, as if on a reflex, but it does nothing to rid him of the lump in his throat.
It’s not the Hollow thing—he doesn’t care about that anymore. The guy has been around a lot lately. Hanging out in Squad 13 premises every time Renji came round to pay Rukia a visit, and… It’s pretty clear that he has no interest in actually devouring souls. Whether Ichigo is the one keeping him in check or not—doesn’t really matter to him—as long as it stays that way.
But what makes his skin prickle, is how deranged the guy feels. Even now, the way he is walking. Casual, too casual for Renji’s taste.
The last time Renji saw him up close—and not just in passing—he nearly broke the ribs of one of Ichigo’s human friends. She put up as much of a fight as she could, but it was painfully obvious that Zangetsu had only been toying with her. Grinning wild, his inhuman golden-on-black eyes were shining with feral glee while he pushed the human girl to the brink.
Thank gods her spiritual powers awakened, or she would have been dead meat for sure. Humans aren’t built for that kind of pressure. They break.
Renji’s jaw tightens—he’s not even going to touch the whole Central mess with a ten-foot pole. The little recap about what transpired during the trial, that he managed to get out of Byakuya and—mostly—Rukia, paints Ichigo’s zanpakutō as a force to be reckoned with.
Renji finds himself missing the early days when everything was so much simpler. Ichigo had just one spirit—a fierce but kind old man in a long black cloak that Renji remembers from when they both trained to obtain Bankai. He pushed Ichigo hard to earn it, but his teaching methods were much more conventional than the chaos-wrapped logic of the Hollow.
Where is that Zangetsu? Why couldn’t it have been just him?
But no, the other one has taken the wheel. The troublemaker that no one in the entire goddamn Soul Society seems to know what to do with. And now he apparently materializes willy-nilly to join official meetings as if that’s a totally normal thing to do for a zanpakutō spirit.
“Oi, Ichigo!” he calls out, voice coming out louder than he intends to. He ignores the curious look he gets from Rangiku. “What’s with the evil twin?”
Zangetsu’s head tilts, eyes narrowing their focus on Renji. His grin spreads ear to ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Pineapple Head?”
Renji bristles at the nickname. “Nobody asked you.”
Ichigo just rolls his eyes. “Well, you asked me. Same difference,” he says as he walks toward Renji, Zangetsu drifting along. It is unsettling to see them side by side like this. Like a mirror, everything about the spirit’s posture and movement is identical to Ichigo’s—not just his appearance.
A glint of amusement dances in the spirit’s eyes. Is he doing that on purpose? Renji thinks to himself, not for the first time.
Rukia keeps pace with them, Captain’s haori swinging gently at her sides, her expression steady as always.
When the unlikely trio reaches him, Renji jerks his chin toward Zangetsu while locking his gaze with Ichigo. “It’s creepy how much he looks like you.”
Ichigo snorts. “Thanks for the reminder.” Zangetsu quirks an eyebrow, fixing his gaze on Renji more intently. The tingling electricity down Renji’s spine reappears once more. But when Zangetsu doesn’t make another move—good—Renji gulps. He got off easy.
Rukia gives Renji a flat look. “Don’t start with that again.” He tried to talk to her about this before, but to no avail. In the end, it’s not his problem that Rukia seems not to notice that her best friend’s zanpakutō is a certified creep.
“What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.” Renji crosses his arms on his chest. Not because he’s feeling defensive—he just needs something to do with his arms.
“Then think quieter,” she murmurs, brushing past him to take her place.
Before Renji can toss back a reply, Byakuya’s voice cuts in, “It is… highly unorthodox to manifest one’s zanpakutō spirit so casually, Kurosaki Ichigo. Let alone in the presence of fellow officers during official business.”
Ichigo opens his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to argue—but doesn’t get the chance, because that’s when Kyōraku strolls in.
He claps his hands together once to get everyone’s attention. The unfocused murmur dies down at once.
“Well, now, it looks like everyone made it on time. That makes my job easier.” He lets his gaze wander over the assembled Captains and Lieutenants. He stops at Zangetsu for just a heartbeat longer—probably wondering why a zanpakutō spirit is materializing during an important meeting—before moving on.
Renji doesn’t know what Ichigo was thinking when he decided to bring Zangetsu out here. Whatever it is, it can’t be worth risking the Captain-Commander’s ire.
“Since we’re all present,” Kyōraku continues, tone casual—like he’s chatting over sake rather than leading an official meeting, “let’s not drag our feet. We’ve got a little formality to take care of.”
Byakuya does not speculate. It is unsightly for a man of his station. Patience is a virtue, and the truth arrives in its own time.
And yet.
Perhaps his Lieutenant is rubbing off on him, for he finds himself scanning the hall for signs, allowing himself to weigh possibilities—two Captains, both long without their second in command. Two vacancies. That would be the obvious assumption to make.
Renji already noted that Yadōmaru arrived alone. What he missed—so did Iba.
“We have a new Lieutenant joining our ranks,” the Captain-Commander’s voice continues unhurried, almost lazy. “I know that my pick is going to be perhaps a little… controversial—”
Curious. Lieutenant promotions are not typically described in such language. Unless it is something outside the ordinary bounds. Such occurrences seem to take place more and more often under the leadership of Kyōraku Shunsui.
His gaze slides briefly to Muguruma Kensei, standing tall between Hisagi Shūhei and Kuna Mashiro. It is uncommon to share rank, but precedent exists. A Co-Lieutenant arrangement is inelegant but not unthinkable. The cost of muddying the chain of command does come with a fair share of its practical advantages, as much as Byakuya detests to admit it.
Except—there is still one more issue at hand. Where is the new Lieutenant? There are no new faces in the meeting hall.
Well, almost.
“—but I encourage my officers to keep an open mind.”
Byakuya’s eyes focus on the spirit standing by Kurosaki Ichigo’s side.
Surely not—
“It is my pleasure to announce Zangetsu as the new Co-Lieutenant of Squad 13.”
Kyōraku’s announcement hangs in the air for a moment, leaving many of Byakuya’s contemporaries stunned. The casual atmosphere of the meeting is replaced with something cold. Dozens of eyes snap to the zanpakutō.
Kurosaki Ichigo’s Zangetsu smiles widely, eyes gliding over the other Shinigami in the room, as if daring them to say something. Kurosaki frowns and shoots the spirit a warning look, arms crossed. On Kurosaki’s left, Rukia holds perfectly still. She shows absolutely nothing.
If it were any other situation, Byakuya would approve of that restraint. But with this? An unprecedented Lieutenant appointment of a zanpakutō—yes, a living spirit, but first and foremost, a blade serving the Shinigami. Simply unthinkable.
Just why is Rukia approving of such an action?
“You cannot be serious.” Suì-Fēng’s voice cuts first, flat but filled with poison. “A Hollow—”
“He’s not just a Hollow,” Kurosaki snaps back before the air can cool. “We already went through this with Central—”
“And look at the result,” Suì-Fēng’s tone sharpens further. “Everything is in disarray.”
Zangetsu tips his head, a mocking grin on his face. “Chaos is fun. Those geezers weren’t holding much together anyway.”
“You dare to disrespect—” Suì-Fēng starts at the same time as her oaf of a Lieutenant, grimacing and red in the face, takes a step forward and bellows—
“Do not address my Captain in such a way, Hollow!”
Suì-Fēng grits her teeth at Ōmaeda, hissing out an irritated, “Shut up! I can handle myself.”
It is a sight unsightly of a Captain-Lieutenant duo, Byakuya thinks to himself. Not for the first time is he astonished that the dysfunctional leadership hasn’t buried their squad in the ground yet.
“Enough arguing," Kyōraku’s voice is low, but not quiet. Just loud enough to cut through the commotion. “We are not here to debate the efficacy of political systems or their implementation today.”
“But—” Suì-Fēng tries, sharp.
“No,” Kyōraku cuts, the softness stripped from his voice. “The truth is simple. Zangetsu has been materializing often, and not merely for show. He has assisted with squad duties, handled paperwork and joined in on training the recruits. That, my friends, is work. And work requires an official record. So, here we are.”
Kyōraku’s explanation is maddeningly tidy. Byakuya finds no gaps in the broader logic of this appointment. And yet… neat words do not make the thing itself any less improper. A system may be justified on paper and still be unsound in practice, such as—
Handled paperwork, echoes in Byakuya’s mind. Astonishing. Borderline reckless. Paperwork is the last thing Byakuya would associate with Kurosaki’s spirit. How is Squad 13 even functioning?
A movement catches Byakuya’s eye—as if reading his mind, his Lieutenant takes half a step forward before blurting out, “He overthrew Central and you wanna give him paperwork?”
“Paperwork?” Hitsugaya’s voice echoes through the air from the other side of the room. “That is not all that comes with that position. To appoint him as a Lieutenant, the authority of that level… The responsibility over his subordinates…” He stops himself, breathing tight, jaw clenched. His eyes stay pinned on Zangetsu.
Kyōraku doesn’t blink. “He is Kurosaki-fukutaichō’s zanpakutō spirit. It is the only natural conclusion, even if you don’t think so.”
But is it? Byakuya considers for a moment.
“I would not have appointed him if I thought he wasn’t a good fit for the role,” he continues calmly, but his gaze is steady and unrelenting.
“Be that as it may,” Byakuya inclines his head a fraction while keeping his tone neutral, “I implore us to consider carefully the precedent we set by allowing a zanpakutō spirit to function autonomously from its wielder."
Kyōraku’s gaze slides toward him. “The door has already been opened, Kuchiki-taichō. If you recall—Kusajishi-fukutaichō.”
Ah. Of course.
Byakuya’s gaze shifts, the barest flicker toward Zaraki. To the sword at his hip, to the absence at his shoulder. Kusajishi Yachiru, who was the spirit of Nozarashi all along.
Foolish of him to forget.
He tilts his head, considering. The taste of potential freedom and power that comes with a Lieutenant position still makes Byakuya feel uneasy. But. Better, perhaps, to have Kurosaki’s spirit answer to oaths and regulations, rather than roam unbound.
“I see,” he says at last. Nothing more.
At his elbow, Renji stiffens. Byakuya notes the subtle, voiceless movement of his mouth, a silent why? Byakuya shakes his head once, a small dismissal, and Renji swallows the rest. He will discuss this with his Lieutenant at a later date in private.
The silence doesn’t last.
Hisagi is the next to step forward, arms folded over his chest. “Captain-Commander, I must oppose this decision as well. It is reckless and dangerous to elevate a spirit so volatile. Zanpakutō spirits are our weapons. Gaining control of one’s blade is a sign of strength. They’re not meant to be just—let loose to wreak havoc or do whatever else they please!”
“The fuck did you just say about me?” Kurosaki’s spirit seethes out through gritted teeth, his unsettling gaze focusing on Hisagi like a predator sizing up its prey.
“You heard me, spirit.” The expression on Hisagi’s face is pure contempt. His jaw is clenched tightly, lip curled upward in visible disgust, and there’s unnatural stillness to his posture—like he’s restraining himself from jumping forward to fight the Hollow spirit.
“Maybe you should reconsider how you see zanpakutō spirits,” Kurosaki jumps in, his restrained frown contrasting Zangetsu’s unfocused snarl. “Maybe it would help you overcome whatever weird hang up you have with yours.”
“Or maybe you should remember the zanpakutō’s place, Kurosaki,” Hisagi fires back immediately.
Kurosaki stares him down, unflinching. “Maybe I already am.”
Hisagi bristles at Kurosaki’s retort, breath pulling in sharp through his nose. His stance shifts—shoulders setting, jaw tightening, the subtle forward lean that precedes a reply.
Kuna places her hand on Hisagi’s shoulder before he can speak, disrupting the rhythm that would surely lead to an unpleasant squabble. “Give him a chance, Shūhei. I think he’ll do fine,” she says, voice bright and cheery, so unlike both of her squadmates.
Hisagi turns toward her, incredulous. “Are you actually insane?”
She only shrugs in response, as if Hisagi’s outburst didn’t even phase her. “Kyōraku-sōtaichō said he’s already been doing it. What difference does it make that he gets to call himself a Lieutenant now?”
But before yet another argument can fully break out, Muguruma speaks up, voice stoic, face stern, “Mashiro, Shūhei. Do not argue in front of our colleagues.”
“Come on, Kensei!” Kuna protests at the same time as Hisagi blurting out, “You can’t seriously condone this, Captain!”
Muguruma places one hand firmly on Kuna’s shoulder—”Enough of this, Mashiro,”—the other on Hisagi’s, a grounding gesture. “And no, I don’t condone anything. But there is a time and place for this.”
“I don’t know, Kensei,” says Hirako suddenly, standing not too far from Squad 9, hands hidden in the pockets of his haori, “seems to me that an official meeting is exactly the time and place to work out whatever problems you have with this.”
Hinamori sends him a worried glance, but stays otherwise silent.
“If you ask me, I say, let him try,” Hirako jerks his chin in Zangetsu’s direction. “If he’s not cut out for the job, then our esteemed Head Captain can just as easily demote him, can he not?”
“It would certainly be an interesting experiment,” murmurs Kutorsuchi, grinning wild, crazed gleam shining in his eyes. His Lieutenant—Akon—stands by his side like a marble statue, but knowing the man, he’s likely only indulging his mad Captain.
“He’s strong, that’s all that matters.” Zaraki’s voice booms through the hall next, like a hammer on iron. “Badge or not, I’m fighting him.”
“Not while you’re on the clock, Zaraki-taichō,” Kyōraku says, velvet cutting steel. “And not on the Squad grounds, as both your fighting styles are quite destructive.”
Zaraki grins wider, teeth bared. “Then after.”
Kurosaki’s zanpakutō mirrors Zaraki’s feral edge, “Oh, it’s so on. Hope you can keep up with me this time.”
“Don’t you worry about it, little spirit,” says Zaraki, voice dripping with excitement. “I learned some new tricks since we last fought.”
“We got stronger, too—right King?”
Kurosaki groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you go one day without destroying anything?”
Zangetsu turns to Kurosaki and sticks his tongue out, “Nope.”
It strikes Byakuya, not for the first time today, the carelessness with which they interact. No regard whatsoever for respecting their roles as the wielder and the blade. He cannot imagine Senbonzakura treating him so casually. Byakuya, as any other Captain-level Shinigami, had to work hard to achieve a certain level of deference from his zanpakutō spirit. A long and tumultuous process, but by itself—a proof of the achieved esteem.
He understands Kurosaki’s… unconventional circumstances that lead him to be in this situation. The lack of education is certainly not the boy’s own fault—although if he continues to carry on this way, he is bound to stumble and fall.
Suì-Fēng takes their exchange as another chance to voice her grievances, “See? That only proves my point. The spirit is unstable. Such a being cannot be permitted within Gotei 13, Captain-Commander. You need to reconsider.”
Kyōraku frowns, no doubt recognizing that the protests from his subordinates will not be halted so easily. Byakuya understands the concerns of his contemporaries well, but he also reads the stubbornness with which the Captain Commander defends his decision, even as he tries to mask it with his usual humor and easy-going attitude. Plain and simple—there is nothing to be reconsidered and raising any further objections will lead nowhere.
However, it seems that not many of the Captains see beneath the surface. Suì-Fēng is still looking at him expectantly, as the man pretends to consider her proposal, and even the others tense, when Kyōraku clears his throat.
“Well,” he says finally, “it seems that this Lieutenant appointment isn’t accepted as smoothly as I would have hoped,” to which Kurosaki’s spirit mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Yeah, smooth my ass.” Byakuya resists the urge to scold the spirit for such disrespectful expression. Such behaviour is simply unacceptable.
Kurosaki scowls too, elbowing the spirits side, to which Zangetsu only shrugs in response, no care in the world.
The Captain Commander ignores both of them, instead shifting his attention towards the crowd of displeased and skeptical high-ranking officers. “No matter. I will take all of your concerns into consideration,” he raises his index finger, looking pointedly at Suì-Fēng, “on one condition. Call it a test run.”
“Test run,” Kurosaki repeats, brows furrowing in suspicion.
“Yes. A mission to prove his capabilities as a Lieutenant.”
Zangetsu perks up at that. “Hell yeah, what kinda mission? You sendin’ us home to take care of some Hollows, or what?” A wide toothy grin spreads across his face.
(A memory of a Hollow mask, half-formed around Kurosaki’s face, flashes briefly through Byakuya’s mind.)
What an unsettling expression.
“Home?” Kyōraku asks.
“He means Karakura,” Kurosaki clarifies curtly.
“Ah, I see,” hums Kyōraku, rubbing his chin. “Wouldn’t that be awfully convenient for you both,” he continues cheekily. “But no. Guarding a designated area in the World of the Living doesn’t exactly fall under Lieutenant duties, does it? Plus,” he levels Zangetsu with a pointed look, one eyebrow half-raised, “you and I both know that my officers aren’t doubting your fighting capabilities.”
“Kyōraku, I swear to god, if you drag us into something ridiculous—” Kurosaki snarls, then stops suddenly, turning to look at his zanpakutō spirit for half a second and—
Was that a nod? Byakuya cannot quite tell.
Then, just as abruptly, Kurosaki averts his gaze to face the Captain Commander once more. Tension bleeds out of his posture, shoulders sagging slightly, as he sighs, “Sorry—go on.”
Kyōraku nods, lips upturned in a small smile. As if Kurosaki’s outburst didn’t happen. “The mission I have in mind is more like community service.”
Zangetsu snorts, “What, like sweeping the streets of Seireitei?” which gets a laugh out of more than a handful of people in the room, including Renji beside him, who tries—and fails—to mask it as a cough. Byakuya shoots him an amused look.
Even Kyōraku chuckles. “That would be amusing to see, but no. Every year, one of our fine officers visits the Academy—sits in on lessons, answers students’ questions, maybe shows off a little. It’s meant to inspire the next generation and scout potential talent for your squad. I figured, since we’re testing whether you’re fit for a leadership position,” he gestures lazily toward Zangetsu, “…why not let you take the honor this year?”
Kurosaki groans softly. “Why couldn’t it have been Hollows?”
Rukia hides her smile behind her sleeve. “It’s not so bad, Ichigo,” she offers. “The students are eager to learn, and they always behave during demonstrations.”
Zangetsu tilts his head. “You’ve done this before?”
“Once,” she says, “when I was a Lieutenant.”
He turns back to the Head Captain. “So you want me to babysit. Got it.”
Byakuya exhales quietly. The irony—that a spirit born from Kurosaki’s own soul, no older than his wielder in years, would call two-hundred-year-old cadets babies—is not lost on him.
“If you prefer,” Kyōraku says with a self-satisfied smile, looking like a cat that’s already eaten the bird, “but I only require you to teach, observe, demonstrate. Whichever suits the moment. Attend some classes. You answer questions, talk about squad life, explain how the Gotei runs. A friendly showcase. The instructor will decide the format of the lesson. In zanjutsu, for example, he might ask for a spar. The students do love a spectacle.”
Zangetsu bares his teeth in a grin. “Oh, I can do spectacle.”
Kurosaki shoots him a glare. “You’re not fighting the kids.”
“There is no need to worry, Kurosaki-fukutaichō, it would merely be a demonstration. Typically the opponent is the instructor himself,” clarifies Kyōraku.
“Okay, good,” says Kurosaki finally, shoulders visibly relaxing.
“I assume the mission will be assigned to Ichigo as well,” Rukia interjects, arms folding neatly across her chest.
“Naturally,” Kyōraku replies. “Though only Zangetsu will be evaluated, of course.” His gaze drifts toward Suì-Fēng. “Would that be sufficient to address your… reservations, Captain?”
The woman’s jaw tightens. For a moment, she says nothing—then exhales, clipped and reluctant. “If the results speak for themselves, I will not contest it further.”
“Excellent,” Kyōraku says, his voice tinged with satisfaction—quiet, unmistakable. Byakuya sees it instantly, the tiny spark of triumph in his eyes. “Anyone else have something to add?”
Byakuya sweeps his gaze across the hall, noting the expressions that remain despite Suì-Fēng’s reluctant concession. A frown across her tight jaws. Eyes narrowed in disapproval. Suì-Fēng still looks like she’s swallowing poison. Hitsugaya’s arms are crossed, his posture sharp with contained objection. Hirako’s brows pinch together; Iba’s mouth is a hard line. Even Yadōmaru, usually unbothered, looks vaguely displeased.
The room is not convinced. But they are disciplined enough not to voice it.
Kyōraku reads the room as well—Byakuya can tell by the slight shift of his hat, the way his smile turns faintly amused. “Right,” he says, voice light. “Then I consider this meeting… concluded. Kurosaki-fukutaichō and Zangetsu will be informed of the mission details later.”
There’s something like a collective sigh in the meeting room. As if everyone had been holding their breath until just now. The cloaks rustle. The Captains and Lieutenants begin to move.
Byakuya steps out with Renji beside him, the two falling naturally into pace with Rukia, Kurosaki and his zanpakutō spirit, as the hall begins to empty.
“That was something,” Renji mutters to Kurosaki, who only grimaces in response.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Tell me about it.”
“You knew about it?” Renji presses.
Kurosaki shrugs, irritable. “He called us in yesterday to say that he decided to promote Zangetsu. Rukia—” he shoots her a glare sharp enough to cut, “—apparently knew about this for a whole week. A heads up would be appreciated next time, you know.”
Rukia crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop taking it so personally. He requested to tell you himself. I wasn’t going to go against the Captain-Commander’s wishes.”
Byakuya looks towards her, but doesn’t comment—that certainly explains why she appeared so unsurprised by Kyōraku’s announcement.
“Doesn’t matter now,” Zangetsu cuts in, waving a hand. “We’ll deal with whatever the hell he throws at us.” Zangetsu’s posture is loose, but his eyes are alert.
A thought suddenly occurs to Byakuya. “Kurosaki Ichigo.”
Kurosaki glances over, wary. “Yeah?”
“How long can you keep your zanpakutō spirit materialized?”
Kurosaki blinks. “Uh… pretty much as long as we want to? I’ve never timed it.”
Unsurprising. Still, noteworthy. “I see,” Byakuya replies. Maintaining a spirit outside the Inner World should come with strain—even for a Shinigami with Captain-level reiryoku reserves. But Kurosaki is, regrettably, not bound by typical limits.
Zangetsu rolls his eyes, catching the direction of Byakuya’s questioning. “Don’tcha worry your pretty little head about it, Blossom Boy. We don’t feel a thing. We’ll be fine.”
Beyond Captain-level reserves, Byakuya corrects himself silently. Outwardly, he only inclines his head. “If you say so.”
“Ichigo, we should get going,” Rukia says, pulling on Kurosaki’s sleeve to get his attention. Her look is pointed and impatient. “You have a training session with seated officers soon.”
“Yeah, yeah, going.” Kurosaki lifts a hand in half a wave. “See you two later.”
The three of them walk away—Rukia leading, Kurosaki keeping pace beside her, Zangetsu drifting half a step behind with a loose, easy swagger. They disappear down the corridor in a tangle of chatter, already slipping back into their normal rhythm.
That leaves Byakuya and Renji standing not too far from their Squad barracks. However, neither of them moves just yet.
Renji speaks first. “I’m not crazy to think this is insane, am I?”
“Not at all,” he retorts calmly.
Renji rubs the back of his neck. “So… what do you actually make of it all, Captain?”
Byakuya considers the question. His previous objection to Kyōraku echoes in his mind.
Kusajishi’s true nature had been hidden for years—an anomaly tolerated only because no one knew. But Zangetsu? Zangetsu is not hidden at all. He is visible, standing in broad daylight.
A zanpakutō spirit of a Hollow nature had been outrageous enough to shake the foundations of their former governing body. The very same zanpakutō spirit participating in Gotei as if he were a fully fledged individual? Byakuya cannot even begin to think of the rippling consequences of such a decision.
He wishes he thought of this when the meeting was still ongoing, though he doubts that Kyōraku would appreciate his outlook.
At last, he answers, “Hard to say, with Kurosaki Ichigo.” His gaze drifts toward the direction, where the trio headed out. “Harder yet, with his zanpakutō.”