The fight between Araki and Unohana continued...

Blood-red slashes tore through the sky, while dazzling glazed light melted the earth beneath them.

If she could, Unohana Yachiryu would have wished for this battle to never end. Even if the world collapsed and the three realms shattered, she would still desire nothing more than to fight endlessly—with blood on every blade, and fists clashing against fists. She was born to fight!

"Ah! That's the feeling~"

A smile, bright and twisted with joy, spread across Unohana's face. She could no longer remember how long it had been since she last faced an opponent this strong—someone who could match her blow for blow. Araki was nearly her equal...

But just like the sea of blood beneath her feet was not infinite, when her reiatsu and physical strength approached exhaustion... the glazed light in the sky still shone without end.

"So, your Bankai... it's different from mine, isn't it?"

"That glass light above… it doesn't just heal you, does it? It also weakens my spiritual pressure and physical strength. And more than that… even the healing power of my Zanpakutō seems to be affected by it…"

Unohana stopped her blade. She looked up at the brilliant light that had replaced the sun in the sky, realization dawning on her bloodstained face.

At first, she had assumed their Zanpakutō shared similar properties—both capable of high-speed regeneration. But now she understood…

Her strength was vanishing far too quickly, drained at a pace that couldn't be natural.

It wasn't mere weakening—it was something more insidious.

She had only realized the truth once it was already too late.

Even her Zanpakutō now felt heavy—so heavy she could barely lift it.

Araki's voice cut through her thoughts:

"To be precise… Ruriko doesn't weaken your reiatsu or strength. It assimilates your spiritual pressure… and takes your strength for its own."

He made no effort to hide his Zanpakutō's ability—on the contrary, he corrected her interpretation without hesitation. After all, only Unohana and Yamamoto Genryūsai stood before him. One was his master. The other... was to be his wife. There were no outsiders here.

"Your Zanpakutō… assimilates my reiatsu?" Unohana murmured, the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

That explained everything.

Why Araki, whose spiritual pressure had seemed inferior at the start, showed no signs of fatigue...

Why she, the legendary Kenpachi, was now at her limit.

Because the entire time, Araki was stealing her strength, feeding off her energy, taking piece after piece until nothing remained.

With that kind of ability, it didn't matter if the opponent was stronger than him—if they couldn't end the fight quickly, they'd eventually fall into his rhythm and be consumed by it.

"I've lost… haven't I?" Unohana whispered to herself.

She wanted to fight more. She lived to fight. But now, her arms could no longer lift her blade.

Her vision blurred, her knees trembled. She stood only through sheer willpower, staring out into the distance where memories of her life flickered like a revolving lantern.

She had never been a "good" person.

Before meeting Captain Yamamoto, she was a killer—a monster who carved a path through Soul Society, slaying heroes and challenging every sword school she could find.

She should have died the day she met him.

But whether through Yamamoto's compassion, or sheer fate, she lived—and was named Captain of the 11th Division. The Soul Society had been gifted a protector who only knew how to kill.

Now, all of that would end—with Araki.

"I've been defeated by a member of the Genryu... twice."

Unohana smiled bitterly.

She opened her arms to greet the end, yet still clutched her Zanpakutō. Though she admitted defeat, she hadn't lost to Araki's swordsmanship—but to the superiority of his Zanpakutō's power.

Her warrior's spirit remained unbroken.

But loss is loss.

From this moment forward, she was no longer Captain of the Eleventh Division.

The name Kenpachi would now belong to Araki.

And those who bear the name Kenpachi must accept their fate, no matter how bloody or tragic.

"He who kills shall be killed."

From the moment she first held a blade, Unohana had seen this end. She simply never thought it would come so soon.

But perhaps it was better this way—better than living in a world with no worthy opponents, better than rotting in boredom and stagnation.

"Come! Don't hesitate! Strike me down!" she commanded.

Shlkk.

Araki, eyes calm and resolute, stepped forward, blade in hand.

He said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

Araki looked indifferently at the beautiful woman in front of him. With silent resolve, he raised his Zanpakutō high—and then pierced it straight through Unohana's chest.

In that moment, blood splattered across the ground.

"That's it..."

"So, goodbye... Genryū no Menkyo Kaiden!"

Unohana finally received the end she had always anticipated. Yet before she could even bid Araki farewell, a surge of potent vitality pulsed from the Zanpakutō embedded in her body, pouring into her exhausted frame and replenishing her drained soul.

"Huh?!"

Unohana, having already surrendered herself to defeat and the expectation of "death," widened her eyes in shock. That overwhelming vitality coursed through her again.

"My strength... it's returning?" she muttered in disbelief, then glared at Araki. "What is the meaning of this?"

Araki's gaze remained calm.

"What, you think you get to rest after losing?" he scoffed. "There's no such luxury in this world."

"The victor becomes king. The loser... obeys. That's always been the rule of the Soul Society."

"So don't think you get to just disappear."

Unohana blinked, stunned.

"This era doesn't need two Kenpachi."

She understood what Araki meant. She had lived through the same crushing loneliness he spoke of. And yet, she refused to yield.

"Hmph?"

"How can a loser talk so much?"

With an amused smirk, Araki reached out with his free hand and flicked Unohana's forehead. A small red mark appeared where his finger struck.

She winced.

Araki then pulled the Zanpakutō from her chest with ease.

"To be clear," he said, "as long as I'm alive, even if you try to die—by your own hand or another's—I'll pull you back from hell itself."

"In other words—your death isn't yours to choose anymore."

"If you want to walk your path... if you truly want to complete it... then you have only one option: defeat me. And kill me."

Unohana froze.

His words were like a blade to her heart—no, more than that. They were a breath of life. A revival of the forgotten hunger in her soul.

Her body trembled, as if awakening from centuries of stillness.

"Ah…"

"Araki… I think I may have fallen in love with you."

"I, Unohana, swear—your death will be by my blade alone!"

A twisted grin overtook her pale, beautiful face. Madness and joy swirled in her eyes. Every nerve, every cell in her body thrilled at his declaration.

In her eyes, there was no greater ecstasy in this boring world than chasing something—no, someone—you love. And when that chase ends in blood and victory, it becomes the perfect stage upon which to end one's life.

"Everything begins anew!"

Her spiritual pressure surged violently, and the world around her turned red once more.

But this time, she did not weaponize the blood. No, she merely touched the pool beneath her feet with her blade. The blood slithered up the sword, crawling over her arm... and in moments, Unohana was drenched in crimson.

A robe of blood cloaked her form.

She looked like a demon dressed in a blood-red kimono—a ghostly beauty, a Rakshasa reborn.

Araki's smile deepened.

"Unohana, I'm truly looking forward to the day you defeat me~"

"So come. Grow stronger. Challenge me. Kill me... Unohana Yachirū!"

At his words, the Zanpakutō in Araki's hand erupted in radiant, multicolored light. Behind him, a towering figure of Jade Guanyin formed—serene, majestic, divine. The divine statue descended like a cloak, resting upon his shoulders.

"Before I met you," Araki whispered, "I carried my blade for myself."

"Now… I carry it only for you."

Unohana stared, entranced by the beauty of the light. Her heart, a killer's heart, could never comprehend love. But in this moment—she understood its poetry.

As the light dimmed, Araki appeared beside her in an instant.

She collapsed.

He caught her gently—his fallen Kenpachi—with a soft smile.