Soul Society — Seireitei, Second Floor of the 4th Division Relief Center.
"Make way, quick!"
"Vice-Captain Higashi, we need help over here!"
Amidst the flurry of movement, a wounded Shinigami—his body mauled by a Hollow—was urgently carried in on a stretcher.
From beside another patient's bed, a male Shinigami stood up, having just finished healing. Without so much as a backward glance, he vanished in a flash step and reappeared beside the new arrival.
"Leave him to me. Go help the others!"
His voice was calm and gentle. Spirit particles danced between his fingers as he placed a hand over the injuries. The battered flesh visibly mended under his touch.
One by one, the wounded were treated. Time crept into the depths of night.
At last, the final injured Shinigami was stabilized. The healers and seated officers of the Fourth Division exhaled as one, relief softening their tired eyes.
This was hardly unusual. Episodes like this unfolded regularly within the Relief Center's walls. What made the monotony bearable—what sparked whispered admiration in the barracks—was their vice-captain, Higashi Shuuichi. Just like Captain Unohana, he was endlessly patient, endlessly kind.
Working under them was like basking in gentle spring sunlight.
None of them, of course, could begin to guess the truth.
The streets of Seireitei just before dawn: silent, peaceful. The occasional tree rustled gently in the cold breeze.
A brown-haired man with matching eyes and rectangular glasses strolled quietly through the district. His Shihakushō swayed with each step.
A sudden flicker of movement—and another man landed beside him.
"Aizen-sama. Here's the harvest."
The newcomer pulled out a transparent box. Inside: dozens of spirit particle clusters, each one unique in shape and color.
Under the pale moonlight, the newcomer's identity was plain to see. If any Fourth Division member had been present, they'd immediately recognize their gentle vice-captain—Higashi Shuuichi.
"Mm."
Aizen took the box, slipping it into his sleeve without a glance. Then, slowly, he resumed walking.
Shuuichi followed half a step behind, wordless. He'd been working under Aizen for decades—he knew this pace meant something more was coming.
They walked for quite a while, only stopping once they reached the edge of the noble estates.
Aizen lifted his gaze toward the ornate roofs ahead. "If I recall... your first notable act was assassinating a noble you found distasteful."
"Yes, Aizen-sama. It was that event that caught your attention… and brought me into the light."
Shuuichi bowed his head slightly, his tone reverent.
"Thanks to your occasional 'warnings,' most nobles have spent these past decades howling impotently at criminals," Aizen murmured. "But it seems that status quo is fraying."
"If needed, I can eliminate the—"
"Shuuichi." Aizen's voice was soft, yet sharp enough to slice his words in half. "How many times must I remind you? Killing a few nobles won't change the rot in Soul Society. Not now, not ever. Don't act without orders."
"…Yes, Aizen-sama."
Shuuichi nodded, obedient.
Aizen stared a while longer at the glittering palaces, then vanished in a flash step—no explanation given.
But Shuuichi understood. The absence of detail meant the message was obvious, and he was expected to grasp it without being spoon-fed.
Sure enough, come morning, he didn't even need to investigate—gossip arrived on its own.
"Did you hear? The 9th Seat of the Sixth Division killed a fellow officer during a mission—then slaughtered every Shinigami who tried to stop him!"
"Not just that! His wife tried to intervene too—he butchered her as well!"
"But… why didn't any of them get brought in for healing?"
"What else? They all died on the spot. The 9th Division handled the cleanup."
The moment Shuuichi heard the chatter, he pieced it together.
They hadn't named the 9th Seat, but between the incident and the timing, it could only be one man: Tsunayashiro Tokitake. Of the five great noble clans, the Tsunayashiro oversaw the Grand Spirit Book Archive.
And in the timeline of future disasters… he'd be the third true boss-level antagonist after Yhwach.
But not now. Not yet.
This event, in truth, was a narrative catalyst—an excuse to bring another villain onto the stage: Tōsen Kaname.
Which meant… last night's cryptic words from Aizen made perfect sense. It was both a reminder—fuel for Shuuichi's justified hatred of the nobility—and a means to wrap their actions in a cloak of righteousness.
He could understand that only because Shuuichi wasn't originally from this world.
He was a transmigrator—from a certain blue planet called Earth.
Too bad, though. He'd brought the wrong damn cheat code.
His "template" was something meant for transmigration into Earth's ancient past. All he had was a bit of foreknowledge. No system. No buffs. No game interface.
Just… average.
The body he'd possessed, a Rukongai commoner named Higashi Shuuichi, had nothing going for it aside from a passable reiryoku aptitude.
Hakuda? Had to learn it the hard way.
Kidō? Grind it from scratch.
Zanjutsu? Start from zero.
As for his Zanpakutō? Had to enroll in the Shin'ō Academy and slowly work toward it like everybody else.
A hundred years. That's how long it took.
And what did he have to show for it?
Not much.
His Earth-born logic just couldn't grasp Soul Society's absurd metaphysics.
"Communicate with your blade," they said. It's a goddamn sword, not a pen pal.
"Control your spirit particles," they said. Control what?
Shunpo? He just mimicked what he saw.
Zanjutsu was okay—thanks to martial arts movies back on Earth—but everything else? Dumpster fire.
The teachers at Shin'ō? Useless. Just clock in, drone on, clock out. Whether you understood or not was your problem.
Sometimes he wondered if they all got their jobs through nepotism.
Even after joining a squad, the vice-captain who ran continued instruction was no better. Just repeated the textbook. Never once answered his questions properly.
The result? Shuuichi sucked. At everything.
He'd wasted decades getting nowhere.
So one night—after tearing out who knows how many strands of his own hair—he made a decision that would've made his ancestors scream.
He was going to join Aizen.
This was pre-Hōgyoku. Pre-hair gel. Pre-betrayal. Aizen was still lurking in obscurity, barely noticed, seated at the bottom of the 5th Division.
He had no lieutenants. No trusted subordinates.
Surely, Shuuichi thought, Aizen would be happy to guide a loyal underling from the ground up. Watching your pawn grow strong had to be satisfying, right?
As for the ethics of helping Aizen kill fellow Shinigami… Shuuichi didn't care.
He wasn't a hero.
He just wanted to survive.
Shinigami lived for thousands of years. If he could just live through the next few arcs of chaos, the world would be his oyster.
Worst-case scenario? Retire to the Human World like Urahara. Set up a little shop. Grow a beard.
More importantly, Aizen treated his people well.
Gin, Tōsen—they didn't lack resources. Aizen gave power to those who served.
As long as Shuuichi didn't try anything stupid, he'd be fine.
Yhwach? He had plans for him too: stay the hell out of it. Let Ichigo be born. Don't interfere.
Those transmigrators who yelled "I defy fate!" were fools.
If you already knew the script led to victory, why change the play?
All Shuuichi had to do was survive. Everyone else? Necessary sacrifices.
Yes—his morals were flexible.
His initial plan had been to take Tōsen's place. But back then, Aizen hadn't reached the "civilian soul" phase of his Hōgyoku research. He was still studying Shinigami power itself, which meant he needed reishi samples—lots of them.
But sending Hollows to kill Shinigami was inefficient.
So Shuuichi volunteered to join the 4th Division.
From there, he extracted spirit particles during treatment.
Sixty years passed like that.
He clawed his way up—an inch at a time—from faceless medic to vice-captain.
His strength, once a joke, now rivaled squad captains. Under Aizen's personal instruction, he finally became proficient in Hakuda, Shunpo, Zanjutsu, Kidō.
He wasn't talentless. Just misunderstood.
He could lead a squad now, no question.
Unfortunately, his captain… was Unohana Retsu. And she missed nothing.
So he walked on eggshells, never once letting her catch him harvesting reishi.
This afternoon, the 4th Division received word from Central 46: Captain Unohana was invited to attend Tsunayashiro Tokitake's trial.
But everyone knew what "invited in principle" meant.
Unohana wasn't going. She didn't give a damn.
So the task fell to Shuuichi.
He could've skipped it. Their presence was just a precaution in case of emergencies.
But he wanted to see the next boss in person. And he knew something big was coming.
Aizen wouldn't have said anything otherwise.
After all, he was still just a nobody in the 5th Division. Officially, anyway.
"So let me go see it for myself… this 'shining beacon' of a trial."
Shuuichi folded the reply letter, slid it into the waiting courier's hands, and smiled faintly—mockingly—as he turned toward the judgment hall.