The month that followed was nothing short of hell for the Fourth Division.
The coordinated assault by the Hollows during the Nobles' Hunting Festival had left behind carnage so vast that even Soul Society, in all its immortal might, reeled.
Dozens of nobles had perished, but the casualties among the Gotei 13 were even worse.
The reason? Two names: Baraggan Louisenbairn and Coyote Starrk.
One—an ancient Vasto Lorde with a grotesquely broken sense of time, whose ability to age all things around him had kept four captains pinned down, unable to so much as breathe near him.
The other—a deceptively lazy Espada with a hollow gaze and a gun that split the sky.
But it wasn't just their raw power that tore through Soul Society like paper.
They'd brought evolution.
Two new abilities, never before recorded by the Shinigami.
One was dubbed Deathbind—a horrifying skill that pulled in any and all spiritual abilities used within its sphere: Zanpakutō powers, Kidō spells, even ambient reishi. Only domain-type or physically embodied powers could resist it.
The second was called Decaydrive—a passive drain that wore down Shinigami simply by proximity. Every clash, every step, every second spent near those enhanced Hollows would chip away at one's reiryoku, permanently and irreversibly.
In the face of these unknowns, the Gotei 13 had suffered.
Worse, due to fear of a broader invasion, Commander Yamamoto had held back a third of the fighting force in Seireitei—including five captains.
By the time they realized it was a feint—just the two Espada—the damage had already been done. The Hollows retreated before reinforcements could even arrive.
And so for an entire month, the Fourth Division became the pulse of Soul Society.
Nonstop triage. Endless blood. Screams and whimpers.
And Higashi Shuuichi?
He barely had time to sleep.
As the Division's third seat, second only in healing ability to Captain Unohana and Vice-Captain Yamada, he had been everywhere. At some points, quite literally—splitting his spirit puppets to heal two dozen at once.
So busy, in fact, he hadn't managed to meet with Aizen even once since the attack.
But now, with the last critical patient stabilized and demoted to "light injury" status, Shuuichi finally stepped out into the open-air streets of Seireitei—breathing in air that didn't smell like antiseptic, charred blood, or scorched reishi.
He didn't know it, but inside the Fourth Division barracks, eyes followed him as he walked away.
"Yachiru-oneesama," said a languid, amused voice. "That's not very polite, you know. You promised to show me your flower arrangements, but ever since I arrived, your eyes have been glued out the window. Don't tell me Soul Society's infamous ice queen has finally found a man worth melting for?"
The speaker sprawled across a bench, brown eyes gleaming, purple hair tied loosely behind her back. Her figure was… ample, to say the least. Radiating charisma even in rest.
Unohana Retsu smiled without turning around.
"…Love? No. Curiosity, perhaps."
That single word—curiosity—wiped the grin from the other woman's face.
She sat up straight. Her body language tightened. "...The report I compiled for you—was it useful?"
Unohana finally turned.
"You brought it?"
"Of course I did. Though I knew you weren't calling me here for flowers." Kirio Hikifune—captain of the Twelfth Division—tossed two thick bundles of paper onto the table.
Her voice, playful seconds ago, had gone cold with seriousness.
"There's a discrepancy, but not a disproof. The methods used match closely—structure, flow, even post-mortem spirit composition align. I can't confirm a connection... but I can't rule one out either."
Unohana's smile thinned.
She picked up the two reports. The one on the left, aged and brittle, was from over fifty years ago—detailing a handful of obscure cases that had almost slipped past record entirely. Only Kirio's whim to let her then-prodigy student Hiyori practice had brought them to the Twelfth Division's attention at all.
"The thing I don't get," Kirio continued, "is why now? Why did you suddenly revisit those cases from fifty years ago—especially two years ago, long before this incident? That was when you first asked me to dig."
She leaned forward, eyes searching.
"I can't help but wonder if this has something to do with that death god you brought me back then—the one half-devoured by a Hollow."
Unohana didn't answer.
Her silence was more telling than any confirmation.
Kirio pressed on. "If I remember correctly, that Shinigami's wounds healed. At least, superficially. But under the scans… some damage seemed permanent. Just like those from fifty years ago. Irreparable disruptions to spirit channels. Burned-out Kidō pathways. Frayed reishi anchors."
Unohana's eyes closed, lashes lowering like twin blades.
Then she asked, "Kirio. If you had to choose… would you call this natural evolution?"
Kirio stilled.
In that moment, the air changed. The room no longer felt like a cozy break space between old friends. It felt like a battlefield dressed in silence.
"…Or was it deliberate?"
A long pause.
Then:
"…If I had to choose?" Kirio said, softly now.
"I'd say… deliberate."
Unohana didn't respond.
She returned to the window.
Her eyes followed the trail where Higashi Shuuichi had vanished minutes ago.
Her thoughts, however, didn't vanish at all.
"Coincidence? Every Shinigami attacked by that kind of Hollow has passed through your hands…"
Her lips barely moved.
Her words—inaudible to anyone but herself.
"Or are you planting something in them?"
Either way, she would find the truth.
Even if it meant peering into the abyss of betrayal.