Seireitei, Squad One Barracks. Back again.
Higashi Shuuichi had to admit—Yamamoto Genryūsai's recovery rate was downright inhuman.
Even after his Zanpakutō's flames had scorched the old man's ankle, all it took was a basic healing Kidō from Shuuichi, and Yamamoto was already walking like nothing happened.
It made Shuuichi drool a little with envy.
Not long after, Yamamoto formally lifted his guard toward Shuuichi.
At least based on what he'd shown, Shuuichi didn't seem like Makizaru—he hadn't lost control to Hell's power. If anything, the Dōma clan's experimental theory might actually be viable.
But after Shuuichi left, Yamamoto lingered alone in the Captain's quarters for a long time.
And in the end, he sighed—and sent out a single Hell Butterfly.
By the time Shuuichi exited Squad One, the sun had already dipped beneath the walls of Seireitei. He thought about checking in with Squad Four, maybe seeing the gentle, ever-smiling Captain he hadn't seen in years.
But... he gave up on the idea. Not yet.
Instead, he returned to his home.
Or rather—the place that had once been his.
In the Rukongai District 2, it had quietly become Matsumoto Rangiku's by default.
She had continued living there after Shuuichi's disappearance. Everyone had just… accepted it. After all, ever since he'd pulled her out of the Rukongai slums, the two had lived together. Shuuichi never clarified what exactly their relationship was.
But no one really needed him to say it out loud.
That night, for Rangiku, was supposed to be just another one in the endless stream.
She'd wrapped up her work, swung by her favorite izakaya in District 1, bought a few flasks of good sake, and made her way home.
Their home.
She climbed to the second floor and took her usual seat—right across from where Higashi Shuuichi used to sit.
"There's no way you died in Hueco Mundo like they said, is there…? Someone like you… wouldn't go down in a place like that. I don't believe it…"
She drank alone. Again.
Drunk, Rangiku's voice slurred as she addressed the empty seat across from her.
"You bastard…
Did you really think that would make it less painful?
You didn't even let me repay the life you gave me.
You promised you'd drink with me forever! Liar…"
Her speech was a mess, her vision glassy.
Then suddenly, she saw him.
That familiar silhouette, across from her, where he always sat.
"Shuuichi-sama…? Heh… guess I drank too much again…"
She reached out, waving her hand to sweep away the illusion.
But this time, her fingers touched something solid.
Real.
"...What…?"
The sudden sensation yanked her from the haze of intoxication, her heart pounding furiously.
"I'm sorry, Rangiku.
I didn't think my disappearance would hurt you this much."
The hallucination—no, the man of her dreams—spoke.
Same voice. Same gentle tone.
That warmth that made her chest ache.
"Shuuichi-sama…"
She tried to sit up, one arm propping her up, her ample chest swaying uncontrollably with the motion.
She still couldn't believe it was real. This was the kind of thing that only happened in dreams.
"Yeah…"
Shuuichi reached out and gently took her hand.
That was all it took.
"Shuuichi-sama!!"
She threw herself into his arms.
Softness. Warmth. A crushing weight of emotion—and something else.
Shuuichi found himself smothered under two heaving masses, barely able to breathe as Rangiku's chest crushed against him.
"I knew it! I knew you'd be okay!
I knew you weren't dead!"
For the first time ever, Matsumoto Rangiku—strong, proud, endlessly resilient—wept in his arms.
Tears born of pain. Of longing. Of love.
She sobbed and poured her heart out, telling him everything—what she'd done these years, how she'd waited, and how every day felt like a knife to the heart.
Shuuichi said nothing.
He simply held her. Quietly. Gently. Until her words slowed, and her breathing softened.
Eventually, drunk and exhausted, Rangiku drifted off in his embrace.
But even in sleep, her arms stayed tightly locked around him, as if she feared that if she let go, he'd vanish like mist.
"I really am sorry…"
Shuuichi whispered as he looked down at her sleeping face.
He understood her feelings. He truly did.
Was it love? Gratitude? Something like family?
Maybe all of it.
But the truth was—he couldn't answer those feelings. Not now.
He was too much like Gin Ichimaru.
Gin had avoided expressing his love for Rangiku because he knew the path he walked was soaked in blood.
Shuuichi had no idea what future lay ahead.
He'd already changed the course of fate. The story was no longer predictable. The enemies, the stakes—everything was uncertain.
If it were just himself, he wouldn't care.
But bringing Rangiku along? That would mean dragging her into dangers she couldn't withstand.
Especially now—after he had taken the Soul King's nail fragment from her, she was no longer the same.
He couldn't protect her.
But at least… by keeping his distance, by letting her remain in Soul Society… he could keep her safe.
That would be his way of protecting her.
So even as her warmth pulled at his heart, even as her presence reminded him of everything he'd lost and could still have… he didn't give in.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Carried her back to the bedroom.
Laid her down gently.
Tucked her in.
And then, like he'd never come back at all, he stepped away and began quietly cleaning up the scattered sake cups and dishes in the living room.
It wasn't until the moon hung high in the sky that a black cat landed silently on the window ledge.
Only then did Shuuichi's hands still.
"Even Yoruichi-taichō's network moves this fast, huh…"
The appearance of the cat surprised him.
But his years of discipline kept his face perfectly calm.