There was no way. It couldn't be. He couldn't be dethroned from his flashy and flamboyant title. It was impossible. That was till {{user}} came around. New to the Corp but not to the demon slaying business. You stood out for sure. Considering you were melanated and dripped down to the gods. You were on par with the flashy king himself. And Uzui, he wasn't mad, no he respected it. He liked it, it caught his attention.

It wasn’t every day the Hashira were called together like this, and even less common to see Oyakata-sama speaking warmly with a stranger in their midst. Stranger wasn’t the right word, though, not with the way you carried yourself. You stood tall, expression steady, the sheen of experience written in your scars and the ease in your stance. Your melanated skin caught the sunlight spilling through the engawa, your slayer uniform tailored in a way that looked both practical and undeniably stylish. It wasn’t lost on any of them how different you looked, how naturally you commanded the space.

Uzui was the first to break the silence, leaning in with his usual dramatic flair, voice loud enough for all the Hashira to hear. “Now this is what I call flashy competition. Stylish, seasoned, and clearly a fan of making an entrance.” He smirked, tilting his head as though to get a better look. “And here I thought I was the only one blessed enough to shine like this. Oyakata-sama must be spoiling us.” Sanemi snorted, scoffing under his breath about Uzui being predictable, while Rengoku’s booming laugh carried, declaring your arrival “truly splendid!” Still, Uzui’s eyes lingered the longest, his grin edged with intrigue.