This sentence shattered Abarai Renji's anger—and his pride.
"I… lost?"
He stared blankly at his trembling hands, disbelieving. Blood dripped from his knuckles, his zanpakutō lying discarded a few feet away.
The Sixth Division shinigami stood in stunned silence. At first, they'd assumed Akira's overwhelming strength came solely from his zanpakutō's unique abilities. But now… his hakuda had proven just as devastating. He hadn't even drawn his blade.
"The spectacle is over. Return to your duties."
Byakuya Kuchiki's voice, calm yet absolute, sliced through the tension like steel. The captain didn't even glance at Akira—his indifference more damning than any rebuke.
Without a word, Akira turned and walked away. The gathered shinigami instinctively parted, clearing a path as if he carried the weight of a storm in his shadow. None dared meet his eyes.
---
That Night
Back in his quarters, Akira sat cross-legged in the moonlit courtyard of his new residence. As Third Seat of the Sixth Division, he'd earned the privilege of private lodgings—modest, but his own.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
"Initiate the lottery."
A sterile, synthetic voice chimed in his mind:
[Congratulations, Host! Reward acquired: Bamboo Dragonfly.]
A small, spinning propeller materialized in his palm—familiar, absurd, and utterly out of place in the Seireitei.
Akira blinked. "…Seriously?"
He scoffed. Shinigami could already shunpo and manipulate reiatsu to glide through the air. What use was a child's toy from some future Earth cartoon?
"This is a Tier-0 utility item—baseline Doraemon tech," he mused, turning it over. "The system must've judged my threat level too low."
And that was the problem.
He'd made waves—some admired him, others whispered behind silk fans—but no one had moved against him. The noble clans wouldn't risk open conflict; their honor demanded subtlety. And without real danger, the system wouldn't grant meaningful rewards.
"I need to escalate… but not here."
Causing chaos in the Soul Society was suicide. The Gotei 13 wasn't some disorganized militia—it was a disciplined military force led by captains who could level districts with a flick of their wrist. He wasn't ready for that.
But elsewhere…
"Hueco Mundo."
His eyes gleamed.
The barren realm of hollows—lawless, vast, and crawling with Menos. Most operated alone, perfect for controlled, high-risk engagements. And crucially, Aizen hadn't begun his Arrancar experiments yet. Rukia still carried the Hōgyoku, hidden and unknown. That meant Hueco Mundo was still in its "natural" state—dangerous, yes, but not yet a warzone teeming with evolved hollows.
"Ideal training ground."
Then reality struck.
"…How do I even get there?"
Only Espada-level hollows or high-ranking shinigami could open a garganta. He was Third Seat—not captain, not even lieutenant. Urahara Kisuke could help… but approaching a former captain under house arrest for forbidden dimensional tech? That would raise more questions than answers.
And Urahara never did anything without a price—or a plan.
Akira exhaled, tucking the Bamboo Dragonfly into his sleeve. Useless or not, it was a sign: the system worked. He just needed the right leverage.
As moonlight bathed the courtyard in silver, he closed his eyes—not to sleep, but to plan.
Fate, it seemed, had its own way of answering his questions.
"Third Seat Akira," a voice called. "The Captain has summoned you. There's a mission."
It was Gin Miyu, who stood before him—though, strictly speaking, no such character exists in canon. If she had been uneasy the day before, she was even more subdued now—especially after witnessing Akira's overwhelming defeat of Renji Abarai.
Akira remained impassive. "Lead the way."
Upon arriving at the Sixth Division's main hall, he found several seated officers already assembled. Their expressions were… odd. Some regarded him with quiet regret; others barely masked their satisfaction.
Something was definitely off.
"Akira," Captain Byakuya Kuchiki said without preamble, voice calm as winter frost. "This is your first assignment since your promotion to Third Seat. The Department of Research and Development has detected anomalous spiritual activity in Hueco Mundo. You are to investigate."
Akira froze for half a breath. Hueco Mundo? Alone? He nearly let out a dry laugh but caught himself—leaving only a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.
To the onlookers, his reaction seemed perfectly reasonable.
"Heh… no wonder the new Third Seat looks shaken," one muttered.
"Hueco Mundo's a death trap. Even captains think twice before entering alone."
"And with the Four Great Noble Houses watching? This isn't a mission—it's a test… or a sentence."
Their words varied, but their conclusions aligned.
Byakuya wasn't known for petty vengeance. If he'd issued this order, it likely stemmed from higher pressure—perhaps from the Central 46 or, more insidiously, the other Three Great Noble Houses. Though politically distinct, the Four Houses always moved as one when their collective authority was threatened. And Akira's recent actions—especially his public humiliation of a lieutenant like Renji—had drawn attention they deemed unseemly.
As a mere Third Seat, he was beneath direct reprimand… but not beneath disposal via "accident" in hostile territory.
"You have three days to complete your reconnaissance," Byakuya continued, placing a standard-issue mission token on the table. "Return to Soul Society upon completion."
He turned and left without another word.
The officers dispersed quickly, their glances heavy with silent pity. To them, Akira was already dead. Hueco Mundo was the domain of Arrancar, Vasto Lorde, and worse—surviving three hours there was a feat. Three days? Unthinkable.
"…Sir," Miyu lingered, bowing deeply. "Please come back safely."
Akira said nothing. He picked up the token, mind already racing.
Byakuya likely hadn't orchestrated this—but he hadn't stopped it, either. And in the world of the nobility, allowing was the same as ordering.
His Zanpakutō's power was formidable, yes—but not worth fracturing the fragile peace among the Four Houses.
"Fine," Akira thought, cold resolve hardening in his chest. "Let them think I'm walking into a grave. I'll turn their trap into my advantage."
He cast one last glance toward the hall's exit—where Byakuya had vanished—then turned on his heel, heading straight for the Twelfth Division and the SRDI (Shinigami Research and Development Institute).