Hueco Mundo, Wandenreich.

Unlike the expansive, seamless shadow realm once forged within the Soul Society's negative dimension, this replica in Hueco Mundo's underbelly was a fragile construct. No longer crafted by Bambara's hands, its spatial barriers ended in a thin, illusory mist, its scope severely limited.

Faint ripples in the distant void hinted at instability, evoking the unease of standing in a crumbling skyscraper.

Every Quincy strove to ignore the unsettling periphery, focusing instead on their task. With shouts, they pinned roaring, struggling Hollows to the ground using specialized Reishi devices.

Long, tubular stakes anchored the Hollows' bodies, their tips releasing streams of star-like Reishi particles into the air. Drawn by some arcane formula, these particles drifted to the outermost, hazy barrier.

It might have been an illusion, but each influx of Reishi seemed to solidify the wavering barrier, as if feeding on the Hollows' essence to transition from phantom to reality.

Beyond this, other Hollows, shackled in pure white tubular restraints, were whipped and herded by Quincy toward the center of this desolate expanse.

At its heart stood a colossal white tower, piercing the clouded sky.

Countless Hollows, like ants, hauled massive stones and materials toward the tower under Quincy command. Those that dared resist were swiftly immobilized by the Reishi seals on their shackles.

A barrage of lashes and curses followed.

"Slaves…?" Bazz-B muttered, standing at the tower's summit, gazing at the Quincy squads escorting Hollows back from the outer realms. His voice was barely audible.

He turned, eyeing the tower's ever-rising structure.

His signature red mohawk bristled, his brows knitting in frustration. "Jugram!" He barked, his patience worn thin. "What's the point of all this?"

"Instead of skulking like rats in this dump, waiting to be found, why not use the power we've got and take the fight to those damned Shinigami?"

His teeth clenched, fists tight with defiance.

Jugram stood beside him, expression cold, left hand resting on his sword hilt.

Bazz-B's complaints barely stirred him.

In truth, it wasn't just Bazz-B. Many Quincy, fervent devotees of His Majesty, refused to accept their "god's" death. They raved about conquering Hueco Mundo, challenging the Shinigami, a reckless form of despair masquerading as zeal.

"…We can still survive." Jugram thought, silent for a long moment.

Just as Bazz-B assumed no answer would come, Jugram spoke.

Bazz-B blinked, then turned to the man he acknowledged as his finest comrade.

Jugram's gaze fixed on the Quincy below. "I will ensure we survive here." He said, each word deliberate. "Until the moment His Majesty awakens."

Bazz-B fell silent, his emotions a tangled mess.

Jugram, as if a dam had broken, continued, his voice steady but quickening, betraying long-held strain. "The Shinigami have already traced our presence in the Soul Society's negative dimension. They'll suspect we'd repeat the tactic in Hueco Mundo or the World of the Living."

"To conceal our movements, we need a vast, Reishi-intensive barrier of concealment around the 'Wandenreich.'"

"Fortunately, Hueco Mundo offers an endless, cheap energy source, the Hollows themselves."

"But Hollows are too dangerous."

"For now, we manage. But unlike Shinigami or Hollows, our lifespans aren't eternal. As we wait for His Majesty's return, we'll need to enter stasis, to hibernate."

"How do we guard against the Hollows we've harnessed as energy then? That's the real challenge."

"These past days, I've wrestled with how to equip every Quincy to independently suppress Hollow swarms and mitigate the effects of Hollow energy on our bodies, but…"

Bazz-B listened, stunned and quiet.

In all their years, he'd never seen Jugram so unguarded.

The man wasn't the infallible strategist Bazz-B had imagined, always poised with a plan. Despite the unimaginable power inherited from Yhwach, Jugram was just a young man, barely past twenty, like Bazz-B himself.

They'd only recently become candidate Sternritter, anointed with the Schrift, not long ago.

Yet Jugram bore the crushing weight of leading a defeated empire, awaiting Yhwach's revival, and guiding the Quincy through the Shinigami's relentless pursuit, an all-but-impossible task.

The pressure he'd endured was unimaginable.

In that moment, Bazz-B realized his earlier outburst had been selfish.

As if purging days of pent-up stress, Jugram's voice slowed, noticing Bazz-B's prolonged silence. He froze, realizing he'd exposed a vulnerable side.

Their eyes met, wordless.

After a long pause, Bazz-B, aiming to ease the tension, quipped, "You say that, but even His Majesty couldn't resolve the conflict between Quincy and Hollow energy, could he?"

"Indeed." Jugram replied, reverting to his terse demeanor. "I'm not trying to resolve it."

"I'm approaching it differently."

"Huh?" Bazz-B's confusion deepened.

Jugram turned, gazing toward the tower's far side.

Bazz-B followed his line of sight.

"ARRRHHH!"

A deafening bellow shook the earth, its oppressive Reiatsu paralyzing lesser Quincy.

Those nearby instinctively looked up, their gazes tinged with awe toward the source.

There, a massive entity, over a hundred meters long, cloaked in a black mantle, was anchored by towering Reishi pillars.

Bazz-B's eyes widened, surprised.

A Gillian.

Unlike the ordinary Hollows used for labor or Reishi extraction, this Gillian was surrounded by Quincy, pointing and gesturing at its form.

Despite its ceaseless, anguished roars, they remained unfazed, scribbling in notebooks and debating among themselves.

Soon, several Quincy hauled a spherical device toward the Gillian's chest Hollow hole, attempting to install it like a cockpit, connecting it with dubious cables.

After multiple failed attempts, the trembling Gillian instinctively clamped its maw shut, Cero energy gathering beneath its mask.

With a boom, the device forced into its Hollow hole exploded, injuring nearby Quincy.

They retreated, recalibrating their approach.

Elsewhere, candidate Sternritter surrounded a captured Adjuchas, testing various materials against its body, seeking a substance to better shield against Hollow energy.

Even a brash soul like Bazz-B could feel it.

These defeated Quincy, driven to Hueco Mundo, were striving, exhausting every means to adapt to this hostile realm.

To survive.

...

Soul Society.

A silver cascade roared down the mountainside, plunging with relentless force.

At the base, where it crashed, only the deafening rumble filled the air.

Centuries of erosion had carved a bottomless, icy pool at the waterfall's end.

In the heart of the pool's mist sat a woman, her drenched white robes clinging to her, tracing the curves of her form.

Unohana sat motionless, her wet, raven hair spilling over her shoulders. Mist beaded on her brows, lashes, and eyes, yet she remained still.

Her Zanpakuto rested across her knees, her eyes closed.

She appeared deep in Jinzen, a meditative communion with her blade.

A sharp, blade-like aura emanated from her, keen as a honed edge.

But only Unohana herself knew the truth.

Her heart was in turmoil.

Three months.

Three months had passed since the Quincy rebellion's end.

In that time, her mind had been consumed by the battle she'd witnessed, Makoto's clash with Yhwach.

The ferocious collision, the dance of death, the razor-thin line between life and oblivion.

Even as a spectator, it had pierced her heart like a thorn.

She yearned to take his place.

Even now, the longing persisted.

To fight a worthy foe, how she craved it.

For a woman born for battle, who had surrendered everything to the art of combat, such prolonged restraint was torture.

Yet, even a woman like her harbored fears that knotted her heart.

Unohana slowly extended a dripping hand, brushing her Zanpakuto, wiping away the water droplets. Her gaze lowered.

"With my current strength, can I still…"

"…bring Makoto the thrill he deserves?"

Her faint whisper was drowned by the waterfall's roar, heard only by herself.

Death in battle, or punishment for failure, she could accept. But her own weakness? That was unthinkable.

Since Makoto's battle with Yhwach ended, this self-doubt had taken root deep within her.

Even now, it disrupted her Jinzen, her aura leaking uncontrollably.

Desire, excitement, fear, exhilaration.

Unohana felt her heart race.

Slowly, she drew her Zanpakuto partway, its edge trembling with suppressed intent.

Clang!

A piercing sword cry rang out, overpowering the waterfall's din.

In an instant, a shockwave rippled outward, sweeping away everything, grass, water, stone, even the cascade itself.

For a fleeting moment, a void formed around Unohana.

Time itself seemed to freeze.

As the aura receded, the world resumed.

But Unohana had vanished from the pool's center.

…

"Bakudō #20: Shōtenkyū."

As the words fell, a brilliant light flared from his fingertips, flooding the dimly lit room, its lamps extinguished, with daylight.

Makoto sat on the hospital bed, savoring the gradual return of his Shinigami powers, tirelessly casting this mundane, utility Kido.

Some things, he realized, were only cherished once lost.

Compared to the volatile Hollow energy, his Shinigami power flowed like an extension of himself, effortlessly molded into intricate forms.

Perhaps it was the joy of recovery, or mere imagination, but Makoto felt his Kido casting smoother than ever.

"Master." Meira said, standing by the bed in a maid outfit, her voice gentle. "If you blow up the floor again, Captain Shijima will come scold you herself."

Makoto toyed with the glowing orb, feeling the subtle Reishi currents, his tone dismissive. "What's he got on me? He can't catch me!"

Meira offered a kind reminder. "But just days ago, you were rolling in bed, begging to stay in the hospital an extra half-month."

"If you upset Captain Shijima, your recovery won't stay secret."

"And Captain Unohana…"

At her name, Makoto instinctively snuffed out the light orb.

Catching himself, he scrambled to recover. "Meira." He said, adopting a sage-like air, wagging a finger. "You don't get it at all! Don't let Captain Unohana's cold demeanor fool you."

"She's one of the proudest women in the Soul Society."

"If I don't go easy on her, how's that fair?"

He spoke with a sanctimonious air, shamelessly. "Think about it."

"Me, the strongest of the new generation, heir apparent to the Captain-Commander, slayer of the Emperor of the Lichtreich, master of a certain gremlin… If I, with a flick of my wrist, effortlessly topple Captain Unohana like snow melting under broth, or leaves shaken from a tree-"

"Should I then drag her off to be my… servant?"

"She's my dear sensei!"

"And what would Saito think of me then?"

"My image is that of a pure, radiant boy!"

His words dripped with bravado, his dignity cast aside.

Clearly, he was getting carried away, his tongue too loose.

But his usual banter with Meira didn't come. No playful retort.

"Meira?" He turned.

There, by his bedside, stood Unohana, one hand gently covering Meira's mouth, smiling as she listened to his ramblings.

Meira stood frozen, her eyes conveying helpless exasperation.

Makoto's animated expression locked in place.

"…Sensei?"

…

In that instant, the fear, desire, and turmoil in Unohana's heart vanished.

Ah, it seems we must settle this with a fight to the death.

Truly, Makoto, you never disappoint.

***

Bonus Chapter:

100 Power Stones = 1 BC

300 Power Stones = 2 BC

500 Power Stones = 3 BC

700 Power Stones = 4 BC

1000 Power Stones = 5 BC

***

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