It was a midday over twenty years ago. The Kasumioji clan still stood strong. Ichimaru Gin had yet to step into the Seireitei.
Captain of the Twelfth Division was still Hikifune Kirio. And Higashi Shuuichi still served quietly as the Lieutenant of Squad Four.
"Aizen-sama," Shuuichi had said, standing atop a mountain in District 37 of South Rukongai, breathing in the crisp air like it was a forgotten freedom. "With your strength, surely you've mastered Bankai by now?
Yet all this time by your side, I've never seen you use it."
Aizen responded with the calm intimacy of an old friend.
"Indeed. But my Bankai... is even duller than my Shikai. It lacks the intrigue to make it worth using."
"Perhaps that's only because your Shikai is already so powerful. Compared to Kyōka Suigetsu, any Bankai would feel underwhelming," Shuuichi offered, ever the loyal subordinate.
Aizen smiled faintly. "If it had the immediacy of Kyōka Suigetsu, maybe it would be more interesting. But it doesn't."
He had no reason to lie. At that point, Shuuichi was still deeply involved in subtly steering the Kasumioji clan into strategic error.
And besides, Aizen had no intention of ever needing that Bankai. Why bother?
With his spiritual pressure, Shikai alone was enough to control nine-tenths of Soul Society.
"But... what does your Bankai actually do?" Shuuichi had pressed.
And Aizen—casual, disinterested—explained.
The Bankai was named Mugen Hōka—Dream Collapse, Fragrant Illusion.
Where Kyōka Suigetsu turned truth into falsehoods through absolute control of perception, Mugen Hōka did the opposite: it turned falsehood into truth.
There was a catch, though.
It only worked if the target believed in the illusion.
If they accepted the false world Aizen conjured, even for a moment—then it would become real.
That was the key. And that was why, during Shuuichi's entire battle with Barragan, he had talked so much.
Because he needed Barragan to believe.
Even if it was only for a moment—just long enough.
And Barragan had believed.
Despite Atredis' interruption, despite how brief the interval—he had believed.
And that was enough.
So Shuuichi calmly activated Aizen's Bankai.
Mugen Hōka.
Unlike Kyōka Suigetsu, which assaulted all five senses at once, Mugen Hōka began subtly. It only warped visual perception at first.
But once belief took hold—once the enemy accepted the mirage—
It became reality.
So when Shuuichi raised his blade again, his body—once ravaged by decay—was restored.
The aging force devouring him vanished.
The spiritual particles in Las Noches—suppressed.
Exactly as he had claimed moments before.
Only now it wasn't a bluff.
Barragan's Respira was nullified. Not resisted. Erased.
Not symbolically—actually.
And more than that—he felt it.
Every breath, every step, every movement—slowed.
Like the air itself conspired to drown him.
But Barragan, ancient and shrewd, refused to be fooled again.
"Real or fake... what does it matter?
Higashi Shuuichi—your life ends here!"
If it had remained a duel between them, that would've been it.
Mugen Hōka could not be undone.
Barragan was doomed.
But he was not alone.
He had summoned Atredis.
"Fall into silence, Forest of Night."
Even under suppressed spiritual flow, Atredis completed his Resurrección.
"You didn't expect that, did you?" Szayelaporro sneered, watching through the monitors he embedded in Atredis' body. "Atredis can recover without ambient Reiryoku. Those tubes on his back? Not decoration."
This was his triumph. His perfect work.
If Aizen didn't respect it, then perhaps Shuuichi's death would be the proper lesson.
And suddenly—Respira returned.
Shuuichi felt it in his bones.
His Zanpakutō's power—undone.
And that was only the beginning.
His Pain-for-Gain technique—collapsed.
All the injuries deferred to the future surged back at once.
Blood burst from his mouth. Flesh tore.
And in that moment, it all clicked.
He remembered Atredis' origins.
It was his own fault.
Back in Squad Four, Shuuichi had provided Aizen with countless samples of Shinigami spiritual profiles—many of them with known Bankai.
He had even theorized, over a hundred years ago, about a method to directly suppress and absorb a Shinigami's energy output using counter-streams of spiritual pressure.
Aizen had turned that theory into the technique known as the Reaper Knot—a nullifying interface for Hollow hybrids.
Most Hollows who possessed it had died.
Only Stark and Barragan had survived, and neither deigned to use it.
But Szayelaporro hadn't forgotten.
He took that idea.
He weaponized it.
And now—he had built Atredis.
A Resurrección designed for one thing:
Matching a Shinigami's Reiryoku output one-for-one, absorbing it, and returning it null.
And unfortunately—Shuuichi's data had been in the archive.
Atredis wasn't originally meant for him.
He was created to counter Yamamoto Genryūsai—just as the canon had once seen Wonderweiss Margela.
But in this altered reality, Szayelaporro had aimed higher.
He built a weapon to face any Shinigami.
And it just so happened...
That weapon worked perfectly on Higashi Shuuichi.
In that moment, Shuuichi's mind raced.
Could he draw on Quincy power?
No. Even if he recalled it and merged it instantly, it would cost him the future—not viable.
Hollow power? Maybe.
But without Resurrección, it was a temporary patch, not a solution. Only a stopgap.
Hell's power?
Worse. His core was still Shinigami.
No compatibility.
He had nothing.
No way out.
Until—
A seal broke.
A memory—one he had sealed away himself—awakened.
A reward, once granted to him by Hikifune Ichibē in a simulated future.
A memory he'd buried in his soul to avoid its loss during time collapse.
And now, it called to him.
This was his trump card.
So, while Barragan stared in disbelief—
Shuuichi reached out.
And grasped Barragan's hand.
Letting him end his life.
Willingly.
Death, for most Shinigami, is the end.
For a few—it is a beginning.
But for one—
Life and death are just toys.
High above the Seireitei, in the Royal Palace, Ichibē Hyōsube sat on a massive pillar, lost in his daily idleness.
But today, something changed.
A name floated into his mind.
Higashi Shuuichi.
Not unfamiliar.
A subordinate of Aizen Sōsuke.
A potential candidate to inherit the Soul King's fragments.
The eyes. The nails. Collected.
No, not unfamiliar at all.
But still—unworthy of attention.
Until now.
Because the moment the name surfaced...
So did a voice.
A call.
Hyōsube's call was not normal.
He was the Namer of all things.
To speak a name was to bring that essence back into existence.
Like a master file recovery.
Not perfect. But enough.
"A curious soul..." Ichibē murmured.
His eyes pierced into Soul Society below.
The name arrived when the soul died.
That could not be coincidence.
And he hadn't noticed it before.
Unacceptable.
Only one way to find out.
He stood from his pillar and stepped down into the emptiness of his temple.
"Awaken—Higashi Shuuichi."
The words rang like ink across time.
Reishi converged before him—
And reformed Shuuichi's body from the void.
And as the Shinigami blinked into existence—
A spatial tear split open behind him.
A grey-black arm reached through.
"No, no... I'm not handing this one over just yet."
Ichibē smiled, Zanpakutō in hand, ink-like blade sweeping once.
The tear was sliced.
The arm severed.
The remnant hissed in fury and vanished.
"Y-you're... Ichibē Hyōsube...?"
Shuuichi's voice trembled with exhaustion.
Memories long buried surged back like floodwaters.
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New translation : Naruto : I Got "Return by Death" Kind Of Cheat
New story translated ! This one is interesting, give it a try !