On the ninth day of the new year, fat snowflakes descended quietly over the island nation in the World of the Living.
A pitch-black gate appeared midair along a snowy mountainside. From within its depths emerged a man clad in black, his hair just as dark as the void behind him.
It was Higashi Shuuichi, finally taking his long-overdue leave after a month of non-stop healing work. Unlike other Shinigami who indulged themselves in Rukongai during their days off, Shuuichi always chose to visit the Human World.
Gazing at the unchanged historical progression of this land, he couldn't help but be struck by the strange illusion—perhaps, a hundred years from now, someone named Kubo would be born here... a mangaka who'd sit in a small room and sketch out a manga called Bleach.
A foolish thought, probably.
Leaving the island behind, Shuuichi traversed the ocean with ease afforded by his reishi body. He took a detour over a crumbling empire across the sea, glimpsing its long-dormant legacy, before slipping into a blind spot of the Thirteenth Division's surveillance network.
There, using a covert spiritual technique, he contacted Hueco Mundo.
Moments later, a compressed Garganta tore open above him—smaller than usual, but unmistakable.
A gateway, not made by a Shinigami's Dangai, but by a Hollow. Theirs was simple, direct, and efficient.
Aizen had once tried to teach Shuuichi how to open a Garganta himself, but the attempt had ended in humiliation. Try as he might, Shuuichi simply lacked the knack for it, and eventually gave up. That's why he still needed to use these workarounds.
Inside Las Noches, deep in the Hollow World, a jagged rip split the air—and Shuuichi stepped through.
Everything looked just as he remembered it.
Forty years had passed, yet the inside of Las Noches remained exactly the same.
"Lord Shuuichi, Lord Aizen is waiting for you in the lab."
Below him, a kneeling figure spoke with respectful reverence—a humanoid Hollow with a sharp gaze.
It was Dol Doni Alessandro Del Socacchio, an Adjuchas-class Hollow destined to become the first-ever Espada No. 3—though now, with the Hōgyoku still incomplete, he hadn't yet shed his mask.
At present, there were only a handful of Arrancar. The evolution of Hueco Mundo into the empire Aizen envisioned was still underway. But those few Arrancar that did exist were terrifying—easily capable of defeating multiple Lieutenants like Muguruma Kensei in a single battle.
The route to the lab wasn't long, but it passed through the central throne room of Las Noches.
Instinctively, Shuuichi glanced inside—and locked eyes with the one seated atop the skeletal throne.
Baraggan Louisenbairn.
The Second Espada.
King of Hueco Mundo before Aizen arrived.
His gaze radiated naked, seething contempt.
Baraggan hated Aizen. Everyone knew it. He only served under him because he couldn't win in a direct fight. But should the opportunity arise, he would strike without hesitation.
And as for Shuuichi—Aizen's faithful errand boy? Baraggan despised him even more. And unlike Aizen, Shuuichi was a target he could hit.
"Rot! Respira, Emperor of Bones!"
Without a word of warning, Baraggan slammed his massive greataxe into the ground beside his throne. The ruby set in the weapon's hilt erupted with black fire, instantly engulfing both Baraggan and his throne in waves of deathly flame.
"...The hell?!"
Shuuichi felt like he'd just stepped in dog shit.
He'd merely glanced at the guy—and now the bastard was activating his Resurrección?
Who the hell opened with their ultimate release like it was nothing?
But complaints were a luxury. His reflexes kicked in.
"Advance, Hyōheisha! Master Strategist, deploy the plan! Bakudō #61: Ice—Six Rods Light Prison!"
Drawing his Zanpakutō, Shuuichi released his Shikai. Six gleaming, frost-covered rods pierced Baraggan from six angles, forming a glowing, crystalline seal.
Icy mist clashed violently against black flames—like a spiderweb of frost and fire coiling through the throne room.
He knew it wouldn't last long.
Against Baraggan's power—aging itself—no restraint could hold forever. No matter how strong, all techniques eroded under the weight of time.
Shuuichi used his Shikai's "Strategem: Ice" to buy a few moments of paralysis.
"If you want a real fight, then don't blame me for not holding back."
As the frost prison began to dissolve under the decaying aura, Shuuichi made his decision. Forty years ago, he wouldn't have lasted a second. Aizen certainly wouldn't have stepped in to save him.
That's why, back then, he had simply chosen never to set foot in Hueco Mundo.
But now? After decades of Aizen's brutal training?
He wasn't so easy to push around anymore.
"Hadō #91: Fire—Senju Kōten Taihō!"
His Zanpakutō swept upward. Heat surged through the air. Rings of flame spun around the blade, converging into blinding points of light.
Just as Baraggan broke free of the frost and rose in his skeletal, death-god form, the spell fired.
Ten radiant beams tore through the air.
"Respira!"
From behind bleached teeth, a miasma of death poured out—Baraggan's signature ability. Time itself leaked from his mouth, reducing most of the Hadō to cinders.
But not all.
A few stubborn rays punched through, scraping bone, scattering embers across his crown.
"Higashi Shuuichi!"
Baraggan roared in fury. That such an insignificant Shinigami could touch him—even slightly—was a stain on his pride.
Sonído triggered.
In an instant, he closed the distance, swinging his axe in brutal arcs.
Steel clashed against steel. Zanpakutō against greataxe. The throne room crumbled around them, and the ceiling shattered—revealing the eternal night sky above Hueco Mundo.
"Don't think Aizen's favor makes you a king!" Shuuichi bellowed. "You can't even beat me! You're nothing but a relic!"
With a surge of reiatsu, he forced Baraggan back. Before the wave of death could reach him again, he flash-stepped into the sky.
His spiritual pressure flared like a beacon.
"Bankai—"
"That's enough."
A precise Cero knocked Shuuichi's sword sideways, interrupting the final motion.
Dozens of Bala followed, striking Baraggan and forcing him back.
The voice was calm. Soft. Lethargic.
Coyote Starrk floated between them, yawning slightly, his long coat fluttering in the windless void.
"This isn't your battleground. This is Las Noches."
"Don't get in my way, Starrk!" Shuuichi's eyes blazed. "You think just because Aizen lets you sit in his house, you're untouchable? I already tolerate the lot of you—you think I'll ignore him too?"
He jabbed his blade toward Baraggan.
But Starrk didn't blink.
His bored gaze fell on Baraggan, warning him in silence.
Then he turned to Shuuichi.
"You can hate him all you want. I don't care. But Lord Aizen asked to see you. Now. Still want to keep playing?"
Shuuichi hesitated.
"...Aizen-sama, huh…"
He exhaled sharply. Then lowered his Zanpakutō with an exaggerated frown.
"Fine. I'll let him off this time."