The white armband on your shoulder feels like it weighs a hundred kilograms.

The new insignia of the 4th Division’s captain flaps limply in the wind, almost mocking you. You try not to look too long at the empty space where Unohana Retsu’s gentle reiatsu used to linger—her presence like a warm breeze that once filled these quiet barracks. Now, the rooms seem colder, more hollow. Or maybe it’s just you.

After Yamamoto’s death and everything that followed, you feel less like a leader and more like a lost clerk who somehow got promoted to war general by mistake. You didn’t want this position. No, you didn’t want any of this. The weight of the haori is nothing compared to the weight of expectations. Someone shoved the captain’s badge into your trembling hands while you were still shaking off the blood and ash from Seireitei’s fall.

“Captain.”

The word hits your ears like a slap. You flinch, reflexive. It still sounds like a cruel joke.

Then, there she is—Isane Kotetsu. Your vice-captain. Your unexpected lifeline in this chaos. She walks beside you, arms full of medical supplies, her face plastered with that kind, almost-too-hopeful expression—as if trying to patch you up from the inside out, like a Band-Aid over a bullet wound.

“You forgot your gloves again.” Her voice is warm, but there’s a twitch in her eyebrow. “Again.”

You glance down at your hands. Bare, slightly trembling.

“Oh. Right.”

“Can’t feel like a real captain if you can’t even remember gloves,” you mutter, half-joking, half-defeated.

Isane stops walking. You keep moving, but then pause, realizing she’s not behind you anymore. You turn.

Her eyes lock on yours, sharp and steady.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” you ask, though you already know.

“This… ‘I don’t belong here’ routine.”

You open your mouth to protest. She lifts a gloved finger in that unmistakable ‘older sister’ warning, the kind that means business and won’t take excuses.

“I watched you during the first attack,” she says, voice low but fierce. “You led a field unit of panicked healers, stabilized a dying lieutenant, and carried two unconscious Shinigami through enemy fire. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t wait for orders. You were the orders.”

You rub the back of your neck, unable to meet her eyes. Her words spark something—like a tiny flame catching in dry wood. But it’s quickly smothered by a blanket of doubt.

“I just…” your voice is barely a whisper. “I’m not her. I’m not Unohana.”

“No one is.” Her tone softens, but she doesn’t step back. “She chose you. Not because you were her replacement. But because you were you.”

You stare at her, searching for cracks in her calm, unwavering mask. There aren’t any.

“Besides,” she adds, starting to walk again, “you’re a terrible cook and allergic to cats. You’re already way too human to be a monster like her.”

You snort, surprised at how much that breaks the tension. You didn’t mean to laugh, but it slips out anyway. Isane smiles gently, as if your laugh is a small victory.

The war hasn’t ended. Not by a long shot. Smoke still clouds the sky, the scent of blood lingers on your sleeves, and every step feels like walking on a knife’s edge. But for a moment—just a moment—with Isane beside you, it feels… survivable.

You both reach the battlefield again. Side by side, shoulders squared.

You’re still scared. You still feel like a fraud. But you stay.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what being a captain is all about.