"How about it?" Akira asked lightly, glancing between them. "Do you want me to give you brother and sister some time to catch up? We're not in a hurry anyway."
Byakuya Kuchiki considered the offer for a moment—his expression unreadable—before giving a single, curt nod. "I'll leave it to you, then."
As head of the Kuchiki Clan and a former captain of the Gotei 13, Byakuya held the dignity of the Four Noble Houses sacrosanct. Yet even he recognized that some matters—especially those involving family—required more than protocol. They required presence.
"Rukia."
The name fell like winter frost.
Rukia froze mid-step. Though she hadn't seen him approach, Byakuya now stood only a few paces away—silent, still, and utterly composed.
"Byakuya… Nii-sama…" she murmured, turning slowly. Her voice carried both reverence and dread.
But the moment her eyes met his, her breath caught.
Where was his captain's haori?
Byakuya Kuchiki never appeared disheveled. Never deviated from form. To see him without the white haori of a Gotei 13 captain—especially his haori—was as jarring as seeing the Seireitei without its walls.
Before she could voice her confusion, he spoke again, his tone as smooth and cold as polished ice.
"Return to the Soul Society. The Central 46 has been informed of your actions."
Rukia's pulse spiked.
"Transferring your reiatsu to a human without authorization constitutes a capital offense," he continued. "You will return and face judgment."
The words carried no malice—only finality. Yet they sent a chill through the air thick enough to freeze breath.
"Hey! What the hell are you saying?!"
Ichigo Kurosaki stepped forward, his voice raw with outrage. "Rukia gave me her power to save my life! You can't just drag her back to be executed!"
He raised his Zanpakutō, blade trembling not from fear—but from fury. "If you want to take her, you'll have to go through me first!"
"Onegai, Ichigo—don't!" Rukia cried, her voice cracking. "This is suicide! He's Byakuya Kuchiki—the captain of the Sixth Division! You can't win!"
"So what?!" Ichigo shot back, eyes blazing. "Even if he's a captain, I—"
"I am no longer captain of the Sixth Division."
Byakuya's quiet interjection cut through the tension like a blade through smoke.
Rukia's eyes flew wide. "Nii-sama… what?"
Before she could process it, a familiar voice—warm, yet now laced with quiet authority—answered from behind them.
"Long time no see, Rukia."
She whirled around.
And her mind went blank.
Standing there, the silver-trimmed haori of the Sixth Division draped over his shoulders, was Akira.
"A-Aki…?" Her voice trembled. "What… what is this?"
Her gaze flickered between Akira and Byakuya—searching for some sign this was a trick, an illusion, a nightmare. But both stood real. Both stood resolute.
"Am I seeing things? Did you… steal that haori?"
Akira smiled faintly—sadly. "You're not mistaken, Rukia. I am the captain of the Sixth Division now."
A beat of silence.
"And your brother?" He glanced at Byakuya, who gave no reaction. "After our duel… he accepted the consequences. He's been reassigned as my lieutenant."
"That's impossible!" Rukia's voice rose, edged with disbelief. "Byakuya Nii-sama is one of the strongest Soul Reapers alive! You—you defeated him? In just a few weeks?!"
Akira didn't answer immediately. His eyes darkened—just slightly—as if recalling something painful.
"Strength isn't just about power, Rukia. Sometimes… it's about what you're willing to sacrifice."
He stepped forward, his expression softening. "But that's not why I'm here. I came for you."
"Return with me to the Soul Society. I'll ensure your safety. No matter what the Central 46 decrees… I won't let them take you from us."
His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "After all… we're friends."
Ichigo, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally found his voice again. His grip on Zangetsu tightened.
"So… you're the 'Akira' Rukia mentioned. Her friend."
His eyes narrowed. "Doesn't matter who you are."
He raised his sword—not at Byakuya this time, but squarely at Akira. "I'm not letting anyone take her. Captain or not—you'll have to beat me first."
For the first time, Akira's easy demeanor vanished.
His gaze sharpened—cold, focused, layered with the weight of a captain's resolve.
"…Has no one taught you manners, Kurosaki Ichigo?"
The air itself seemed to still.
"Don't interrupt when old friends are speaking. It's… disrespectful."
Kurosaki Ichigo, still smarting from the rebuke, flushed with frustration and snapped, "It's none of your business whether I'm ill-mannered or not! If you think you're so strong, then beat me first before lecturing me!"
Akira barely spared him a glance. His expression remained calm—almost bored—as he turned his attention to Ishida Uryū.
"You're Quincy," he stated, voice cool and certain. "Are you planning to step in as well?"
Uryū's eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn't revealed his reiatsu, yet his identity had been recognized instantly. Setting down the plastic grocery bag at his feet, he adjusted his glasses with deliberate calm.
"I don't particularly like Shinigami," Uryū said evenly. "But I also don't appreciate arrogant fools picking fights in broad daylight."
"Aki, this isn't their problem!" Rukia interjected, stepping forward with urgency.
Akira raised a hand—palm out—in a quieting gesture. "Fine. For your sake, Rukia, I'll let this slide."
His lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Just stay out of my way… and you'll keep your lives."
The condescension in those words struck like a lash. Ichigo's hands clenched around Zangetsu's hilt.
"Oh yeah?" Ichigo growled. "Then you're the one who needs to watch out!"
With a roar, he lunged—not with reckless abandon, but with the focused speed he'd honed through countless battles. Zangetsu arced downward in a killing slash, the air itself seeming to split beneath the force.
And then—everything stopped.
Ichigo hung suspended mid-leap, blade a hair's breadth from Akira's shoulder… yet utterly unmoving. Akira's right hand was raised, two fingers pinching the flat of Zangetsu's blade as if it were a child's toy.
"What…?!" Ichigo gritted his teeth, muscles straining. "Let go!"
The blade didn't budge. Not an inch.
"Tch." Uryū's fingers flew to his Quincy medallion. In an instant, a glowing bow materialized in his grasp, a Spirit Arrow already nocked and drawn—
—but before he could release it, Akira flicked his wrist.
Zangetsu twisted violently in Ichigo's grip, yanking him off balance. With terrifying casualness, Akira swung the blade like a flail—Ichigo's own momentum weaponized against him—and sent him crashing straight into Uryū.
CRACK!
Both boys slammed into the pavement, skidding nearly ten meters before coming to a stop in a tangle of limbs. Blood welled at the corners of their mouths; Uryū's glasses lay cracked on the asphalt.
Two elite fighters—defeated without Akira taking a single step.
"…Aki?" Rukia stared, voice unsteady. "How…?"
She'd expected Ichigo to lose. She knew Akira was strong. But this? This wasn't just victory—it was utter domination.
After all, Ichigo had surpassed expectations at every turn. Trained under Yoruichi, fought captains, even bested Byakuya in single combat. His potential was legendary.
And yet… if Akira could dismantle him—and Uryū—this effortlessly…
…then perhaps it made sense.
This was the man who'd challenged and overthrown Byakuya Kuchiki himself… and now stood as the new Captain of the Sixth Division.