“Heh, pretty handsome.
Just my type.”
A woman stood staring down at Toji lying on the ground, her voice both spellbinding and somewhat mocking.
Hearing the voice, Toji opened his eyes.
The woman was leaning down close to his face, so close he could feel her breath—striking his vision was a beautiful face with one eye covered, alongside a full chest she didn’t bother to hide.
Toji glanced over, inwardly marveling, pretty big.
“Keep staring and you’ll end up with two eyepatch coverings.”
The woman’s voice turned colder, though the corner of her lips remained curled upward.
“Hmph.
If you don’t want to be looked at, don’t show off like that.”
Toji retorted mockingly, using his arms to push himself up.
He rolled his eyes and scanned his surroundings.
“Where is this?
Who are you?”
The sky was low and gloomy, gray clouds covering it like a lead curtain.
Below stretched a vast prairie extending all the way to the horizon—yet only weeds and low bushes held any life.
Tall trees stood bare without a single leaf, their dried trunks resembling silent skeletons amidst the open field.
Toji turned back to look at the woman.
Tall, with purple hair styled into two spiral braids, her bangs falling over her face.
Her left eye was turquoise, while her right was covered by a black eyepatch.
A red ribbon wrapped around her neck.
She wore an indigo cloak printed with a large skull, beneath which was a dark, long dress with a deep neckline.
On her back were two pitch-black scimitars—and on her head rested a hat adorned with yellow bones.
Toji paused.
“The two swords on you…
why do they feel like—”
“A Zanpakutō?”
The woman cut him off before Toji could finish, her tone casual as if the answer had long been obvious.
“So it really is a Zanpakutō.”
“You’ve been asking me questions continuously since earlier,” the woman tilted her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Along with that disrespectful attitude.
Is this how you treat your savior?”
“A waste of effort saving you.”
“Saving me?”
Only then did Toji notice the second silhouette standing quietly behind the woman.
A small frame, only reaching the companion’s shoulder.
Purple hair cut at chin-length, styled to completely cover her left eye, decorated with a small skull accessory.
Her exposed right eye was turquoise, identical to the other’s—yet colder, devoid of emotion.
She wore a dark outfit covering her neck and arms, fitted shorts, and knee-high socks, topped with a purple jacket extending to her hips, tied with a dark purple belt.
“Do you see what I mean, Big Sister?” The young girl’s voice was flat, though her dissatisfaction was plain.
“We should have just left him.”
“Now, now,” the older woman waved her hand lightly.
“I wanted someone to play with.”
Toji listened quietly, his mind piecing things together.
Just moments ago, he was fighting the curse users, then ambushed from behind.
And now he was here—this place wasn’t the real world.
“So the two of you saved me.”
“Then say thank you,” the older woman smiled softly, making no attempt to hide her smugness.
“Couldn’t even handle a mob of small fry jumping you.”
“Hmph.”
A brief moment of silence passed.
“Thanks anyway.
Now let me go—I need to head back and settle some debts with the Zenin clan.”
“Not happening.”
Toji’s veins popped.
He took a step forward, intending to use force—yet the two figures dissolved into thin air right before his eyes, without making a sound.
“What the…?”
“I already told you,” the woman’s voice echoed from everywhere, directionless.
“I want someone to play with.
Catch us if you can.”
“Hold on—”
But the spot where the two had stood was empty.
Toji focused his senses.
He tried smelling, tried relying on the hunting instincts that had followed him for years.
There was something—yet faint, almost invisible.
Every time he drew close to grasping them, the silhouettes vanished, like smoke dissipating in the wind.
He ran across that prairie for who knows how long.
Gradually, fatigue set in.
“Your mind has too many distractions.”
The woman’s voice sounded, coming from no specific direction—as if the prairie itself were speaking.
“Things like revenge, calculations…
they’re holding you back.
Making you heavy.”
“Are you saying I should just generously forgive them?”
Toji smirked, his voice dripping with unhidden sarcasm.
“No.”
This time, her voice cut through—decisive.
“Whether to kill or not, that is your affair.”
“The point is—”
“You’re thinking too much before striking.”
A pause.
“You’re no longer living purely by instinct.”
Toji stayed silent.
The wind blew across the dry prairie.
A dead tree stood alone in the distance, barren.
“Children are different.”
Her voice echoed again.
“They laugh when happy.”
“Cry when in pain.”
“Threatened—they bite back.”
“No thinking.
No suppressing.”
Toji said nothing, but he was listening.
“I think children are the ones who are truly living.
Not adults who constantly hold on to things they dare not speak aloud.”
The woman’s voice grew deeper, free of mockery.
“Where is your ruggedness?
If there’s anything—just speak it out plainly.
Don’t hold it inside like a burden forever.”
“This isn’t the look of the person we chose.”
Toji stood still.
Something in his chest—something he had no name for—lightened slightly.
He let out a breath.
Then he sat down.
Then he lay flat on the prairie, staring up at the seamless gray sky.
The two silhouettes appeared out of nowhere, standing beside him.
In the older woman’s hands was a shamisen.
“Want to hear a song?” Her voice was still playful, though softer than before.
“Sure.
And let me use your lap as a pillow.”
“Your wife will get mad.”
“She won’t get jealous of spirits.”
The smaller woman sat down silently, offering no further objection.
The older woman placed the instrument on her lap and began to pluck the strings—a melodic, deep, and slow sound, like a song from someone who had lived a long time and witnessed a great deal.
Not heroic, not tragic.
Just intensely real.
After a while, the woman spoke up.
“It seems you know who we are now.”
“Hmph.” The older woman didn’t stop plucking the strings.
These were undoubtedly the two spirits dwelling within the dual blades Kaito had forged for him.
Toji had connected the dots after her words—the way they tested him, observed him, and what they wanted him to let go.
“I’m going to kill every last one of them,” he said, his voice as casual as discussing the weather.
“The servants at the warehouse, and those two back at the Zenin house.”
The smaller woman glanced over, her turquoise eye unchanging.
“Why?
For your sister’s safety?
Out of hatred for the Zenin?”
“No.” Toji closed his eyes.
“Simple enough.
They messed with me.”
Simple and overbearing—not another word needed.
That was precisely what the two spirits wanted to see in their master.
Not accumulated hatred, not cold calculations—but an uninhibited, free spirit who refused to be bound by anything.
“We acknowledge you as our master.”
The older woman said, her song not yet finished.
The smaller one stayed silent, giving only a single nod—yet that was more than enough.
“After settling this mess, make sure to play with us a lot.”
“My wife will be jealous.”
“Didn’t you just say she wouldn’t be jealous of spirits?
Don’t worry.
I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”
Toji sat up. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
His battle intent flared without needing another word.
“Listen well, Master,” the older woman’s voice shifted—deeper, clearer, like words carved into bone.
“Every Zanpakutō forged by Kaito contains its own distinct soul.
We are the reflection of your soul—what you truly are, not what you imagine yourself to be.”
“Every blade possesses its own release command to unleash its full power.
Our name is—”
Toji merely looked at them with weary eyes.
Why is it so long?
The real world crashed back like an impact.
Power exploded from within—yet strangely, Toji’s wounds had completely healed, as if time moved differently in the two places.
A day in that world; less than a split second here.
He took a long breath.
Then he crossed the two blades into an ‘X’ shape before his chest.
His lips parted, chanting softly—his voice deep, slow, like the sound of wind across that dry prairie just now:
“Amidst chaotic flower winds, the Flower God weeps.”
“Amidst chaotic heavenly winds, the Heavenly Demon laughs.”
“Katen Kyōkotsu.”
.
.
.
The curse users backed away in shock.
Where they thought Toji had been crushed, a blazing surge of pressure erupted, blowing away all surrounding obstacles.
Toji stood there, the center of a pitch-black storm of energy.
It wasn’t cursed energy, but a far more primitive, sinister, and overwhelming power.
The lethal wounds on his body had miraculously closed up the instant the blades were released, as if they had never existed.
The crowd realized with horror that the pair of katanas in Toji’s hands had transformed.
They were no longer slender blades, but had turned into pitch-black scimitars with broad blades and dark red fabric wrapped around the hilts, resembling dried blood.
If Toji holding a katana previously felt slightly out of place, these two scimitars were the absolute perfect fit for a Tyrant.
The leader was scared out of his wits, but he gritted his teeth to maintain a final shred of composure: “Hmph!
Just a change in weapon shape, you think…
Argh!”
Before he could finish, Toji closed in like a phantom.
A diagonal slash across his shoulder sliced through the air so fast that his blood sprayed before he even realized he’d been cut.
“You bastard!
Everyone jump him!” The subordinates rushed in frantically using wave tactics.
The curse user with the paralysis ability prepared his stance, intending to use the same trick to lock Toji down again.
“Kageoni (Shadow Demon).”
Toji vanished in an instant.
Did he turn invisible?
No, more accurately, his body had completely dissolved into the shadow beneath his feet.
“Where is he…
Gagh!”
“Argh!”
It was no longer a battle; it was a one-sided slaughter.
The curse users were stabbed and slashed one by one from unimaginable angles.
Only the final few survivors realized in horror: every single wound originated from their own shadows.
Toji materialized directly behind the last curse user.
“Is this…
the Ten Shadows Technique?
You bastard, aren’t you a monkey without cursed energy?
How do you have…”
Toji didn’t bother answering, cleanly thrusting his blade through the man’s head, cutting short his meaningless babble.
He admired the pair of scimitars after release, softly marveling: “So this is the power of a Zanpakutō?”
Katen Kyōkotsu—turning children’s games into reality.
It sounded simple, but every game was a lethal technique.
Looking at Kageoni, Toji couldn’t help the irony: the technique his clan had praised for centuries, yet thanks to Kaito, a “monkey” like him could use it so fluently.
When those old Zenin fools saw this scene, their expressions would surely be quite something.
“Gojo Kaito…
it’s terrifying that you can forge a monster like this.” Toji felt fortunate once again that six years ago, that young boy had proactively approached him with a simple offer: “I think you’re pretty cool, let’s be friends.” That was the first time he had known friendship, and it was when his gray life began turning to a colorful new page.
“Hey now, calling us monsters?
You’re insulting ladies, you know!”
From within his consciousness, the mocking voices of the two “ladies” Katen and Kyōkotsu echoed.
“Out of consideration for your first time unleashing it, we allowed Kageoni, but next time we play a different game.”
“Hmph, suit yourselves.” Toji smirked.
The abilities of this pair of scimitars were remarkably diverse, but which move to use depended entirely on the mood of that sinister one-eyed woman.
Toji sighed; perhaps his upcoming days would consist of “soothing” three women at once.
He sheathed his blades, the two scimitars returning to their normal Katana forms.
Toji walked through the forest of corpses, heading straight for the Zenin estate.
He had a few debts that needed settling immediately.