Naruto: End of the Shinobi World

”Hmph!”

A scorching wave of heat swept across the battlefield. Watching the captains who refused to obey his orders, Yamamoto let out a cold snort and demanded:

”Kyoraku! Ukitake! Why are you still standing there?!”

His command had been for everyone present to capture Ichigo and Rukia. Yet to his surprise, the one who actually carried it out was the most unruly captain of all—the one who lived only for battle:

Zaraki Kenpachi.

”Old man, we’ve got something more important to deal with,” Kyoraku said, tugging down his straw hat to obscure Yamamoto’s view. He didn’t even need to look to know how grim Yamamoto’s expression must be.

”Something more important? Are you planning to stop me?!” Yamamoto roared.

Kyoraku and Ukitake exchanged a glance. Then both stepped forward, turned, and faced Yamamoto.

”Forgive us, Head Captain,” Ukitake said calmly. ”Ichigo and Rukia must not die.”

”I knew it—you’ve been colluding with the Ryoka!”

Hearing Ichigo’s name—and seeing so many captains defying orders—Yamamoto needed no further proof.

”And what? Do you intend to betray Soul Society as well?!”

Unlike Byakuya, Yamamoto wasted no time—he immediately labeled them as traitors. Even if this matter ended here, the Central 46 Chambers would still hold them accountable afterward.

Kyoraku understood that perfectly and waved his hands.

”Now hold on, old man. We’re not betraying Soul Society. We just need you to hold off for a bit—”

Yamamoto had already stopped listening.

Looking at the two standing before him, his thoughts surged.

Kyoraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō were among the first graduates of the Shin’ō Academy he founded. Because of their exceptional talent, he had taken them in as disciples, teaching them everything without reservation.

They were the successors he had cultivated for Soul Society.

One was easygoing and perceptive, the other earnest and principled. Together, they complemented each other perfectly—and they had lived up to his expectations, rising quickly to become captains.

A thousand years had passed in the blink of an eye.

The man once known as the ”Sword Demon,” whose flames could incinerate everything, had gradually grown… softer.

Soul Society. The Shin’ō Academy. Sasakibe. Kyoraku. Ukitake.

These had all become his weaknesses.

Time had refined his power—but Yamamoto knew the truth.

He had grown weaker.

He was no longer the man who could burn both allies and enemies alike without hesitation.

At some point, he had even begun to consider stepping down.

Perhaps becoming an instructor at the Academy… nurturing the next generation, practicing calligraphy in his spare time—that wouldn’t be such a bad life.

Among the Gotei 13, it wasn’t as if there were no suitable successors.

In Yamamoto’s eyes, Kyoraku Shunsui was a strong candidate.

With Kyoraku’s keen mind to manage the shadows of Soul Society, and Ukitake’s moral compass to support him, the two together could shoulder the burden.

And yet…

Every time Yamamoto saw Kyoraku’s perpetually lazy demeanor, he couldn’t help but hesitate.

Could this man truly bear the weight of Soul Society?

Thus, even now, Yamamoto continued to shoulder the role of Head Captain with his aging body—waiting for the day his disciple would finally be ready.

In truth, seeing the two of them stand against him did not anger him as much as it appeared.

Rebellion… wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

If Kyoraku would only say it—

That Yamamoto was no longer fit to lead—

Then perhaps he could finally pass on the mantle.

Even now, Yamamoto was already considering leaving behind a sealed letter within Squad 1—just in case something happened in the future, so Soul Society wouldn’t be left leaderless.

Seeing the strange mix of anger and… faint delight on Yamamoto’s face, Kyoraku shivered.

He didn’t know what the old man was thinking—but his instincts told him it couldn’t be anything good.

”Old man, no matter what—you can’t go any further today,” Kyoraku said quickly.

”Is that so? I didn’t expect such resolve from you. Then allow me to measure your worth.”

A surge of overwhelming Reiatsu billowed outward, whipping their haori in the wind.

Kyoraku felt a bad premonition.

He only meant to stall Yamamoto—so how had this turned into a test of worth?

Yamamoto slowly opened his hand, revealing his Zanpakutō.

Flames ignited behind him, forming a circular wall that enclosed Kyoraku and Ukitake within.

Even without fully drawing Ryūjin Jakka, Yamamoto could freely manipulate its flames.

Feeling the rising temperature, Kyoraku dropped his usual carefree attitude.

Joking around wouldn’t work here.

At the same time, both he and Ukitake released their Zanpakutō.

Seeing Katen Kyōkotsu and Sōgyo no Kotowari, Yamamoto couldn’t help but feel a trace of admiration.

Dual blades were a mark of extraordinary talent.

Ukitake’s potential had always been evident in his Zanpakutō.

As for Kyoraku—Yamamoto knew full well how his second blade had come into existence. The very fact that such a phenomenon occurred spoke of Katen Kyōkotsu’s uniqueness.

These two were the finest graduates of the Academy.

His proudest disciples.

Today, he would finally test their worth.

Compared to the future of Soul Society…

Those Ryoka and that criminal were of little importance.

Yamamoto vanished with Shunpo, appearing instantly before them.

His blade flashed out—slashing toward Kyōraku while the sheath struck toward Ukitake.

He knew these two too well.

Under no circumstances could he allow them to coordinate.

Just as he anticipated, the sudden attack forced them apart—one to each side.

Now he had space.

His blade swept left and right in rapid succession, pressing both of them.

Neither Kyoraku nor Ukitake had expected him to attack so suddenly.

Their plan had been simple—talk, stall, buy time.

But now?

Yamamoto had already sealed them within a ring of fire.

He was serious.

The only good news—

He wasn’t yet fully unleashing Ryūjin Jakka’s power. This was still a contest of swordsmanship.

For a moment, it felt like their days training under him at the Academy.

Kyoraku and Ukitake exchanged a glance.

If the old man wanted a spar—

They were more than willing.

But as they continued defending without counterattacking, Yamamoto grew dissatisfied.

Did they think he couldn’t swing a blade anymore?

With a whoosh, flames erupted along his sword.

His attacks instantly became sharper, fiercer.

The surrounding firewalls surged higher, the heat intensifying.

Kyoraku let out a wry smile.

The old man was venting.

If he didn’t get serious, he might actually get burned.

Katen Kyōkotsu swayed with his movement—two wind blades intertwined as they shot forward.

”Bushōgoma!”

Yamamoto gave a subtle nod.

Lazy as he was, when Kyoraku got serious—he had presence.

And presence was what drew others to follow.

Gripping Ryūjin Jakka, Yamamoto struck down with full force—his expectation embodied in that single slash.

The sheer intensity startled Kyoraku.

Why had such a normal move drawn such a fierce response?!

He was forced on the defensive against the blazing wave.

At that moment—

”Sōgyo no Kotowari: Twin Ripple!”

A pale-blue vortex spun toward Yamamoto’s back.

Hearing Ukitake’s call, Yamamoto felt no surprise—only a hint of satisfaction.

This was a spar. Calling out the technique was a courtesy.

A wall of flames rose behind him, colliding with the vortex and erupting into thick steam.

With a slight release of Reiatsu, Yamamoto dispersed the smoke.

He walked forward calmly—Ryūjin Jakka already sheathed.

”Ukitake… your body…”

He didn’t finish the question.

Ukitake understood.

Back at the Academy, Yamamoto had taught them swordsmanship and guided them to develop techniques suited to their Zanpakutō.

Kyoraku’s Bushōgoma was one such result.

But as Ukitake’s Reiatsu grew stronger, releasing his Zanpakutō began placing immense strain on his body.

Though Mimihagi kept him alive, he could never fight normally.

His Zanpakutō became limited to absorbing and releasing attacks.

Techniques, Bankai—these were out of reach.

Aside from Yamamoto and Kyoraku, few even knew he possessed Bankai at all.

Most of the time, he relied on Kidō.

But now—

Using his Zanpakutō techniques in front of Yamamoto—

He was proving something.

”Head Captain, as you can see… my combat ability has fully recovered,” Ukitake said formally.

”No need for formality. We are master and disciple. Explain.”

”Yes… Genryūsai-dono.”

Ukitake placed a hand over his chest.

”Thanks to Mr. Sawada’s illusion techniques, an artificial lung was created within my chest. It can replace the function of my damaged organs.”

”Sawada…” Yamamoto frowned. ”A Ryoka helped you?”

”Yes.”

Ukitake did not hide it.

Yamamoto’s expression darkened.

Silence settled heavily—

Until someone broke it.

”Well, old man,” Kyoraku said with a grin, stepping in, ”Ukitake finally doesn’t have to suffer anymore. He owes them a favor. As long as the Ryoka haven’t committed an unforgivable crime, why not let this slide?”

He added casually:

”If you insist on being unreasonable… Ukitake might just have to use Bankai against you.”

”Hmph! The one who abducted the prisoner wasn’t that Sawada, was it?”

Yamamoto had caught the nuance.

Ichigo had introduced himself clearly.

Kyoraku’s attempt to lump all the Ryoka together hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Looking at Kyoraku’s awkward smile and Ukitake’s respectful bow, Yamamoto finally relented.

”Very well. I will observe what game you’re playing. But if this endangers Soul Society—I will cut you down without hesitation!”

He knew his disciples had not truly turned traitor.

No one valued the protection of Soul Society more than he did.

If they truly betrayed it—

He would personally strike them down.

But clearly—

They were hiding something more important.

”Then let’s keep the flames up,” Kyoraku said cheerfully. ”Nice and warm in here.”

”Hmph.”

Though displeased, Yamamoto tacitly agreed.

The fire barrier remained.

Inside, they no longer needed to ”act” like the others—just releasing occasional bursts of Reiatsu would suffice.

Just as Kyoraku and Ukitake were about to relax—

They suddenly smelled something.

A faint, sweet aroma.

”…Roasted sweet potatoes?”

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