In Hell, Sinners cannot die—a foundational law of this realm.
So Kuryashiki Kenpachi's final graduation test for Higashi Shuuichi was not to kill Ikeda Yukisuke, but to defeat him and successfully inscribe the Divine Pattern upon his body.
Now that Shuuichi had done so, Kuryashiki had no issue cleaning up the aftermath.
Yukisuke and a few Ancient Menos were nothing—just fodder for the hungry maw of Gaki no Kairō, his Zanpakutō's Shikai.
"With your reiryoku, to accomplish all this... once you're back in Soul Society, you're more than ready to serve as a Captain."
Shuuichi didn't explain the real reason he still held the rank of Vice-Captain.
So Kuryashiki simply assumed Shuuichi hadn't yet surpassed the other Captains in strength—a reasonable thought.
But after their intense training together, Kuryashiki felt confident Shuuichi could return now and challenge at least one of the weaker Captains without issue.
"I'll do my best, Captain," Shuuichi said, deeply grateful.
"Good. You're free to return whenever you're ready. There's nothing more I can teach you. Right now, you've reached the absolute peak of your current reiryoku capacity."
Kuryashiki watched him with pride. If only he weren't trapped in Hell—he'd have tried to recruit Shuuichi to Squad 11 himself.
What he didn't know was that one Kenpachi had already attempted that—and had been rejected by another.
"Understood, Captain," Shuuichi bowed low again.
It wasn't exaggeration—his growth in this short span under Kuryashiki far surpassed decades of training under Aizen or Unohana.
Being able to train without restraint, fully unleashing himself, was simply unmatched.
If before Shuuichi was a lower-mid Captain-tier fighter, now he could stand toe-to-toe with solid Captains—and not back down.
"Tosei Higan—Semyoubasa."
With his left hand, he gripped the Douma Clan's sacred Zanpakutō and opened the Gate to the Netherworld.
When he passed through and returned to the Soul Society, the dry wind and golden sunlight washed over him, sweeping away the suffocating pressure of Hell.
He had returned.
Oddly, not to his own home, but it didn't matter. With a quick Kidō barrier to hide himself, Shuuichi descended inward—to his inner world.
It had been ten years.
And his Zanpakutō had finally called to him again.
The world inside had changed drastically.
Originally, Shuuichi would find himself within a quaint old study: floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a small desk, a tatami mat, and a white-robed scholar seated with quiet poise.
That man—his Zanpakutō spirit—would wait in silence for Shuuichi to speak.
But not this time.
This time, he appeared outside the study.
Surrounded by suffocating grey mist, the familiar feeling of Hell clung to his skin.
If he didn't feel the faint resonance of his Zanpakutō's spiritual presence coming from within the nearby grass hut, he would've thought he'd never left Hell at all.
Did Hell infect this world… or was it always this way and I never noticed?
He didn't know.
He had never tried leaving the study before.
Shoving open the door, he found the familiar interior—and let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Unchanged.
Good. Otherwise, he might've had to consider relocating where he activated his Bankai.
He stepped forward, standing before the familiar figure—the man who embodied his blade.
"I wasn't sure this would earn your approval," Shuuichi began. "But once I came out of Hell and felt your call, I understood."
The man smiled faintly, waiting.
"I used to think the key condition for awakening you was being the mastermind of a grand strategy—one with wide influence, many moving pieces, and far-reaching impact.
But now, I realize… the true trigger isn't scale or complexity.
It's whether the strategy brings me real power.
If it does—you approve.
If it doesn't—it's worthless in your eyes, isn't it?"
The man offered no confirmation.
Instead, he countered, calm and curious.
"Then, Shuuichi-kun… do you know why I called you here this time?"
Shuuichi repressed the urge to throttle him.
Why were all cryptic blade spirits the same? This guy had the exact same energy as Aizen.
Still, he played along.
"Baiting formation. Position for leverage. The wild swan lands, and its feathers become a banner."
He recited an old stratagem from The Art of War—his past life's favorite text.
"I haven't field-tested the results yet, but the evidence is clear.
Hell's power, like the Quincy's and Fullbringers', exists outside the Spirit King's framework. It's not bound by reiryoku scaling.
So even if my current strength is limited by spiritual ceiling, I can still channel Hell's rules—creating power spikes far beyond my actual level.
That's the tactic. Leverage another battlefield's bloom to blossom within my own."
"Seems like you've grasped the method, then," the man said.
He stood from his mat, conjuring the Zanpakutō in his hand.
But this time, its blade—once pure crimson like flame—now had its tip dyed ashen black.
"What's this?"
Shuuichi frowned. For all his experience, this was new.
"Accept this power."
No explanation.
Only the instruction.
Shuuichi obeyed, drawing his own Zanpakutō and tapping it to the man's.
At once, his own blade's tip turned the same ashen grey.
With it came a flood of new knowledge.
He now understood Ikeda Yukisuke's Zanpakutō. Its Bankai. Its true name. Its release command. Its effects.
"What… does this mean?"
The man answered with a verse:
"The tree bears no flower, yet blooms above;
Whence came the blossom? Fragrance lies beneath the blade."
And with that, Shuuichi understood.
This was the final evolution of his Stratagem: Blossoming Tree.
Instead of relying on Semyoubasa to draw Hell's power, his Zanpakutō had hijacked a portion of that connection—rerouting Ikeda Yukisuke's link to itself.
Now, even if he returned Semyoubasa to the Douma Clan, his own blade would still have access to Hell's domain—via Yukisuke.
Unlike Makizaru, who had to surrender his own Bankai to acquire Yukisuke's powers, Shuuichi's technique overlays the foreign Bankai onto his own—forcibly.
This meant he could use two Bankai at once—his own, and Yukisuke's.
But the cost?
His body might not survive it.
Dual Bankai put a strain on his reiryoku far beyond safe limits. How long he could maintain it without imploding was a mystery.
Still, it was clear—
This was now his strongest trump card.
A weapon powerful enough to challenge even the titans—Yamamoto, Aizen, Yhwach—if they ever let their guard down.
After centuries of grinding, suffering, and silence…
Higashi Shuuichi finally had the capital to step into the realm of true monsters.
Even if only for a moment.