Chapter 279: Divine Retribution
Zaraki Kenpachi's movement stopped.
He went still in a way that didn't match the situation -- like someone who had lost the thread of what was happening, reacting half a beat behind where he should have been.
And he wasn't the only one.
Even Komamura Sajin, locked in direct opposition with him, was wearing an expression of genuine surprise.
Both of them had been deep in the middle of something -- two raging streams of reiatsu grinding against each other like animals that had lost all sense of restraint, coiling and snapping. At that level of pressure, anyone stepping into the space between them wasn't just walking into an awkward situation. They were absorbing simultaneous output from both sides.
No exaggeration: that was facing two opponents at once.
So who exactly had just walked in?
The thought moved through Zaraki's mind before he could fully articulate it. He barely got his mouth open, barely managed to produce a single syllable from somewhere in his throat, before the hand that had landed on his right arm made a sharp pulling motion.
There was real force behind it. Almost nothing he could do against it.
"Wait--"
The word didn't make it out.
A fist came in from the side, moving like a shadow against the light, and connected cleanly with his face.
Bang.
Zaraki Kenpachi felt the world go dark.
The sting behind his nose, the fragments of black and white flickering like a silent film being torn frame by frame -- a bright, hard sense of disconnection running through everything he was seeing.
Simply put: one punch had sent his sense of direction somewhere it hadn't come back from yet.
To be clear about what this meant -- this was Zaraki in a released state, his eyepatch limiter fully stripped, reiatsu running without ceiling. At that level, his output was not below an ordinary captain's. By any measurement, it was above it.
In theory, taking damage from external force was still possible. Even the original story had him get cut on the first meeting with Ichigo, at a point when that particular teenager's mental state was not exactly stable.
But damage and loss of fighting capacity were entirely different things. A light wound, in the normal run of things, was practically foreplay for someone like this. A warmup. Something to make the fight feel real.
This was not that.
Zaraki had taken one punch and was looking at double images. Both overlapping, refusing to separate, layered on top of each other in a way that made responding feel genuinely optional.
He wanted to push back. Or possibly beg off -- though neither option had time to become a decision.
The person who had arrived moved without being tracked. One moment passed, and a brutal impact to the stomach arrived without any interval between intention and contact.
"Ugh--"
The sound came out before he could stop it.
He folded like a hinge, both feet leaving the ground as the force drove him into the earth. Zaraki, who a moment ago had been the most dangerous thing in the arena, was now curled in the dirt with both eyes showing white.
The blade that had been locked in his grip -- ready to respond, ready to fight at any moment -- slid out of his hand without a sound and dropped.
Something close to unconscious.
From the outside, the whole sequence looked like a child who had been enthusiastically causing chaos inside an inflatable castle and had just been walked in on by the one adult who could genuinely pick them up by the scruff.
Two moves. Done.
Once it became clear the figure on the ground had actually gone quiet, a relaxed voice came drifting through the settling dust and smoke.
"You're out already? Seriously? Zaraki -- have you been slacking off lately?"
A pause. Then footsteps.
Every eye in the viewing area converged on the arena simultaneously.
The figure wasn't visible yet. But the reiatsu it was giving off, and the quality of what had just been demonstrated, had already done the work of communicating everything that needed to be said.
Nobody underestimated what was coming.
Komamura Sajin found his throat tightening. His breathing went short and effortful without any decision on his part.
He noticed the change and was genuinely surprised by it.
He raised his right hand and pressed it slowly against his own chest.
Why was he reacting like this?
He was a captain. At this level, fear at the approach of a threat should not be something he registered involuntarily.
And yet here he was.
Komamura was deeply dissatisfied with himself.
As a captain of the Gotei 13, showing a flicker of retreat at a moment like this was simply unacceptable.
"Hmph."
A short sound. He planted his feet and brought his Zanpakuto across in a forward sweep.
The blade energy that surged outward at his command was answered by Kokujou Tengen Myou-oh following the movement of its user, the great warrior's strike driving through the remaining smoke and clearing it completely.
And in that cleared space, the identity of the person who had just arrived became visible to everyone present.
He looked young. Absurdly young, for someone wearing a captain's haori. He had wrapped what appeared to be strips of cloth around his cuffs and waist, and there was something in the way he carried himself that was precise without being showy.
As for the face itself: no ambiguity whatsoever.
Komamura's pupils contracted slightly. He drew a single, trembling breath.
"Squad 11 Captain -- Matsushita Yusuke."
Yes.
An uninvited addition to the proceedings -- and his expression showed nothing about it whatsoever.
The fact that everyone in the arena was currently looking at him produced not the slightest change in his bearing. Like a mountain collapsing would not have moved him.
That quality of absolute composure drew the attention of every person present.
Among the newer members who hadn't yet had the opportunity to encounter the full captain roster, there were always a few who couldn't help asking.
"Is that captain... actually strong?"
The answer, in situations like this, was consistent.
"Of course. Captain Matsushita is -- not counting the Captain-Commander -- the soul of this organization."
Which was, in its own way, accurate.
For the Gotei 13 as an institution, this particular man had carried unusual significance.
He had revised any number of internal protocols. He had pushed for structural reform. He had reduced and expanded different parts of the organization depending on what each needed.
The changes in both Squad 10 and Squad 11 had set off a kind of ripple -- the willingness to update and correct had spread, and the Gotei 13 had shifted internally in ways that would have been inconceivable a century earlier.
An organization that had gone unchanged from its founding for as long as anyone could remember had, with this person's involvement, completed what could only be described as an actual transformation.
Whatever came next, whatever this story eventually produced, Matsushita Yusuke had already written his name into it.
Which was precisely why his reputation among the younger members ran consistently high.
If there was a single thing about the situation that could be called a disappointment.
It was probably that he was already married.
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