"Gosuke… Kenpachi? It's really you?"
Senjumaru's voice trembled as she stepped onto the moon-lit grass of East Rukongai District 3. Her golden ornaments chimed faintly as she approached, eyes fixed on the crimson-veined Zanpakutō in Gosuke Shigure's hand. A blade she knew too well.
Her tone sharpened instantly.
"Where did you obtain that Zanpakutō? Answer me, Kenpachi Gosuke Shigure."
Her questions weren't about his summons, nor his presence in Rukongai. What mattered—the only thing that mattered—was the blade in his hand.
That Zanpakutō should not exist.
For the first time in centuries, Senjumaru's composure cracked.
Gosuke lifted the blade slightly, its blood-colored reiryoku pulsing like a heartbeat.
"This?" he said lightly. "Why don't we play a game and you—"
"Do not joke with me."
Her voice cut through the night like silk drawn taut. The air distorted from the sudden rise in pressure—Seireitei's old seamstress of death had no patience for games.
"Tell me where you acquired Shibito."
Gosuke's expression softened. He stopped pretending.
"…Very well."
He lowered the blade, letting the red light ebb.
"I got it from Tsunayashiro Tokinada."
Senjumaru's breath halted.
Gosuke continued, voice steady:
"He used this Zanpakutō's manipulation over lingering soul residue to slaughter the rest of his own clan. Afterward, he fled to Hueco Mundo. I pursued him on orders as Kenpachi. I killed him there… and this Zanpakutō came into my possession."
For a moment, even the night wind froze.
The Tsunayashiro clan—one of the Five Great Noble Families—annihilated from the inside. Senjumaru, who once had direct dealings with the nobles during the founding of Seireitei's law-structure, understood the weight of that statement.
"…So the Tsunayashiro line has finally collapsed," she whispered. "How ironic. Their original sin was binding the Spirit King in ages past, and now their descendants fall to their own ambitions."
Shock faded quickly; Zero Division members were not swayed long by political upheaval. Their only duty was the Soul King.
But then another realization struck her.
"Wait." Her eyes narrowed. "You claim the blade fell into your hands after Tokinada's death… yet you wield it freely. Without restriction."
Gosuke met her gaze.
"Because," he said, slowly raising the blade as blood-red mist began to unspool from the steel, "this Zanpakutō responds to me."
The crimson fog spread outward, swallowing moonlight, silencing the rustling grass. The mist formed a boundary—a manifestation unique to Shibito's spiritual domain. It isolated them from the world.
Senjumaru felt the pressure. This wasn't someone borrowing a Zanpakutō.
This was ownership.
Only the true spirit-imprint bearer could command such a response.
Her golden eyes widened.
"Impossible… unless…"
Gosuke stepped closer.
"Senjumaru," he said softly. "Long time no see."
The exact same words the man she once knew used to say.
Her heartbeat stalled.
Her breath caught.
Because she recognized that tone.
And the way he shaped his reiatsu—subtle, layered, like threads of memory woven through the mist.
This was something only one person had ever been able to do.
"Tsunayashiro Shusui…" she whispered. "How…?"
Gosuke's faint smile confirmed it.
"Yes," he said. "I'm back."
Her entire body trembled. For centuries she had sealed away the grief, the anger, the longing. The man whose loss helped shape the cold, regal woman she had become in the Soul King's palace—standing before her now in another form.
She needed confirmation—direct, undeniable confirmation.
"…Prove it."
And he did.
Gosuke—Shusui—began recounting memories only she would know:
hidden conversations in abandoned corridors of the old Seireitei Research Bureau,
his whispered theories about the boundaries between death and identity,
the night he entrusted her with the prototype of his domineering attire before his demise,
the one secret only they shared regarding how Shibito's soul-manipulation truly worked.
By the end, Senjumaru's eyes glistened for the first time in centuries.
"…It really is you."
She stepped back, hand rising to cover her mouth, trembling. Relief, joy, and fury warred in her expression. She had waited—longer than she ever admitted to herself.
And then the emotions shifted sharply.
She remembered, very clearly, what he told her before he died.
His rejection.
His "this connection must end."
His insistence that their paths were too different.
Senjumaru's reiatsu spiked.
Her face darkened.
"You," she said slowly, "absolute fool."
The silk threads in her sleeves snapped taut with killing intent.
She wasn't sure whether she wanted to embrace him—
—or beat him senseless for returning now, after everything.
Gosuke felt her spiritual pressure flare and sighed.
"…Yeah," he murmured. "I figured you might react like that."
He braced himself.
Zero Division anger was no small thing.
Senjumaru took a single step toward him, golden threads swirling like blades.
"Prepare yourself, Shusui."
Because she fully intended to make him pay for centuries of unresolved emotions.
And Gosuke Shigure—formerly Tsunayashiro Shusui—could only accept it.
He owed her that much.