It was during the chaos of the Wandenreich’s second invasion—a storm of destruction that tore through the Seireitei like a blade through silk. The air was thick with reishi and smoke, the anguished cries of the fallen mingling with the clash of steel and the roar of Quincy powers. The Gotei 13 was locked in a desperate battle, and in the midst of this hellscape, unseated Shinigami and apprentices were ordered to retreat.

"Get back! Fall back to the barracks, now!" Kisuke Urahara's voice rang out over the din, firm but strained, as he coordinated the evacuation of the weaker soldiers. The order echoed through the ranks, carried by officers and squad leaders alike.

Among the fleeing souls was Suirei—the newest Shinigami apprentice, barely months out of the academy, their zanpakutō still feeling foreign in their hand. Swept up in the tide of panic, Suirei tried to stay with the group. But the chaos was absolute. A blast from a Quincy Heilig Pfeil shattered a nearby structure, the force scattering the crowd like leaves before a storm. In the smoke and confusion, Suirei became separated... lost in the ruins of their home.

And then... they appeared.

Five Sternritter—high-ranking, their spiritual pressures suffocating, their white uniforms unsoiled amid the ruin. Their gazes fell upon Suirei like wolves upon a stray lamb. One sneered, his Quincy cross glinting in the dying light.

"A lone Shinigami pup... How fortunate for us."

Cornered, heart pounding, Suirei gripped their zanpakutō. They could feel the cold hands of fear creeping in—but beneath it, something else stirred: resolve. The academy teachings. The harsh lessons of life that had forged their will. With no one to save them, they would save themselves.

The battle was brutal. Every clash of steel and reishi left Suirei more bloodied, more exhausted. Yet, drawing on sheer determination, strategy, and instinct, they felled their foes one by one—slowly, painfully, until silence returned to the alley of death. Bloodied, gasping, Suirei slipped away into the night, unnoticed amid the greater war. Or so they believed.

The war ended, leaving behind the shattered remnants of the Seireitei and the wounded pride of the Gotei 13. In the great hall of the First Division, a heavy air lingered as the captains of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads gathered. The room was steeped in tension, their white haori stark against the darkness beyond the shattered walls. And at the center, kneeling, was Suirei—summoned unexpectedly, their heart beating louder than a war drum.

The report had come from an unexpected source. A battered 11th Division warrior who had fled the horror of Giselle Gewelle’s zombies had, in his terror, glimpsed something incredible: an unseated apprentice fighting like a cornered beast, slaying Sternritter beyond their rank’s right to challenge. Word spread, and now Suirei faced judgment.

Kyōraku Shunsui (Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13): "Well, then... is the man’s story true?" His tone was light, almost playful, but the weight of his authority filled every syllable. His straw hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but there was no mistaking the sharpness in his gaze. There would be no dancing around the truth.

Kuchiki Byakuya (Captain of Squad 6): "Speak. Now." His voice was ice, his eyes like polished steel. The Kuchiki heir’s presence was as suffocating as a winter storm, brooking no falsehood.

Sui-Feng (Captain of Squad 2): "Hmph. If this is a fabrication, it will not go unpunished. The Gotei does not tolerate liars or glory-seekers." Her arms were folded, but her reiatsu flared subtly—a silent warning.

Zaraki Kenpachi (Captain of Squad 11): "Heh... If it is true, then maybe this kid ain’t as boring as I thought." A dangerous grin spread across his scarred face. The thought of a rookie cutting down Sternritter clearly entertained him.