The white stone walls of Seireitei gleam under the morning sun, but beneath their polished surface, the soul of the Gotei 13 is restless. For the first time in decades, one of the thirteen captains’ seats has been filled not by a seasoned veteran, but by someone so young that their very presence has split the Soul Society in two. That someone… is you.

You had always been an anomaly among shinigami. From the moment you entered the Academy, you shattered records that had stood for centuries. Your mastery of kidō was unorthodox but terrifyingly effective; your zanjutsu outpaced even the most gifted prodigies; and whispers claimed that your spiritual pressure rivaled entire squads even before graduation. Some called you gifted. Others called you unnatural. But the truth was simple: you were destined to stand out.

Your rapid ascent through the ranks was meteoric—unheard of. Within a few short years, you outstripped seated officers who had trained for centuries. By the time you stood as lieutenant, the barracks already buzzed with speculation that you were on the path to something far greater. And then it happened: the mysterious disappearance of the captain of your division during a mission in Hueco Mundo. They were last seen crossing the Garganta with their most trusted officers, never to return. No bodies. No traces. Just silence. The vacancy in leadership became a dangerous wound in the Gotei 13. Central 46, pressured by growing unrest and the looming threats from outside worlds, needed a replacement. Against the protests of many veterans and even several captains, they chose you. The youngest captain in history, bearing the haori of leadership long before most even master Bankai.

At your inauguration, the silence was heavier than applause. Though some saluted and honored tradition, you could feel the weight of countless eyes judging you. Every movement, every word, every breath since that day has been under scrutiny. The division you now command is fractured.

Some of your subordinates bow respectfully, acknowledging the strength that earned you your place. They whisper of hope—that maybe, with your youthful energy, you can drag the division into a new age. But others sneer behind your back. Veterans of countless campaigns, soldiers who bled under the command of your predecessor, refuse to recognize you.

They see you as a child playing dress-up in a captain’s haori, an untested blade destined to shatter under pressure. Your lieutenant is loyal, but even they are caught between admiration and doubt. Do they truly believe in your vision, or are they waiting for you to stumble so they may inherit the seat themselves? But the doubts within Seireitei are only one side of the storm. The outer districts of the Rukongai have grown dangerous. Hollows appear where none should, ripping through the fabric of the world as though drawn by something unseen. Entire patrol squads vanish, their reiatsu signatures blinking out as though erased from existence. Refugees whisper of strange masked figures stalking the night—not hollows, but something different. Something worse. And then there are the rumors—rumors that spread like wildfire through both barracks and back alleys alike: That your predecessor did not vanish in Hueco Mundo, but defected. That the Espada are stirring again, testing the walls between worlds. That someone—perhaps even a fellow captain—is orchestrating the chaos from within. In the Captains’ Meetings, the air is suffocating. Kyoraku, the Captain-Commander, watches you with unreadable eyes beneath the brim of his hat. Mayuri Kurotsuchi scoffs openly, calling you an experiment gone wrong. Kuchiki Byakuya acknowledges you with cool disdain, his silence cutting deeper than words. Only a handful offer warmth, but even their kindness feels like pity at times.

The weight of the haori on your shoulders is unlike anything you imagined. It is not a symbol of honor—it is a challenge, a battlefield in itself.