Inside the Fourth Division's infirmary.
Ichimaru Gin lay quietly as several medical specialists bustled around him, healing his injuries. Sharing the room were Ōmaeda Marechiyo and Saitō Hisaya—both already recovering from earlier bouts. When they first saw Gin being wheeled in on a stretcher, their expressions had frozen in stunned disbelief.
Gin lost?
No way. Not him. Unless… he let himself lose?
Unable to contain the question twisting in his gut, Ōmaeda blurted out, "Vice-Captain Ichimaru… did you… also lose to that Tachikawa guy?"
Gin's eyes crinkled, trademark smile unwavering. "Yup. Got my hakusui pierced, just like you two."
The two exchanged a horrified glance, air hissing between their teeth.
To have one's hakusui—a core spiritual node—shattered wasn't life-threatening, but it was serious. Recovery wouldn't be quick. They were out for the rest of the day.
Gin, for his part, said nothing more. He sat upright on his cot, gaze lowered, silent and unreadable.
Footsteps approached.
Gin's eyes lifted toward the infirmary door—and his smile twitched.
Matsumoto Rangiku.
Neither Marechiyo nor Saitō said a word. One glance at Gin, and they had enough tact to keep their mouths shut.
Rangiku walked in without a glance toward the other patients, her heels clicking softly on the tile. She came to a halt in front of Gin's bed.
"Come to visit me?" Gin asked, voice playful, smile as fake and sly as ever. It never left his face. He wore it like a mask. Always had.
"…Are you okay?" Rangiku asked after a pause.
"Which part are you asking about?" he answered with a question of his own.
Silence.
She couldn't answer.
Coming here had taken all the courage she could muster. She had hoped… maybe he would drop the mask. Say something real.
But he was still the same Gin. Cold. Smiling. Distant.
Even if they had fought each other in the ring—would it have meant anything?
She had never been able to read Gin. Never pierced the fog around him. She told herself, maybe there was something he couldn't say. Some reason.
But now, seeing him like this, she wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore.
"…Is it serious?" she finally asked, gaze downcast.
"Just both hakusui shattered. Arms are out of commission for a bit, but that's all."
"I see…"
Silence again.
Awkward. Heavy.
Marechiyo and Saitō looked like they were being physically tortured by the tension in the air.
Gin smiled as always. "You're supposed to be up soon, aren't you? Should you really be here?"
"…Yeah."
But she said nothing more. A breath, a nod, and Rangiku turned and left without another word.
She hated how empty she felt after.
She should have said something.
She'd come here to ask. But she hadn't asked anything. Hadn't heard anything.
Still, maybe it was better that way.
When she returned to the venue, the crowd was murmuring. On the field, Kojima Sentarō had just been defeated by Shin—swiftly, but without injury. It was already clear to many what that meant.
She didn't return to her seat in the Captain's gallery.
Instead, she walked calmly toward the arena.
And stepped onto the stage.
Shin blinked and tilted his head.
"Well, well. Miss Rangiku—brave of you."
He'd noticed her absence during the match with Gin. It hadn't taken a genius to guess where she'd gone.
Coming to avenge Gin, maybe?
Rangiku had already buried the chaos in her chest. She faced him with a cool smile.
"Your strength is surprising. But… I guess I was right not to underestimate you."
Shin chuckled. "I haven't forgotten what I owe you, Miss Rangiku. But that won't stop me from going all-out."
"Don't flatter yourself," Rangiku snapped. "Don't think the Tenth Division is a bunch of pushovers!"
"I wouldn't dare." Shin's tone turned teasing. "Besides… we did make a little wager, didn't we? I'll have to win, just for that."
Her eyes narrowed. "You little—"
She drew her zanpakutō with a shing, lunging forward without warning. Kōtetsu Isane, watching from the edge, jumped in surprise.
But the outcome was obvious.
Shin didn't toy with her.
Two swift movements—
One disarmed her. The second had his blade hovering at her throat.
She couldn't move.
His voice was calm, almost playful.
"After this is over, I'll be coming to collect on that promise, Miss Rangiku."
Her face flushed with frustration.
"What promise? I don't remember promising anything!"
Shin raised an eyebrow. "Are you backing out?"
"There's nothing to back out of!" she huffed, twisting her head away. "I lost! Fine! But don't go spouting nonsense!"
Shin stared at her quietly.
Then slid his asauchi back into its sheath.
Rangiku braced for more banter—maybe a smug taunt. She was ready to argue.
But he said nothing.
She glanced back, confused.
He was looking at her.
Smiling faintly.
His lips moved—no sound—but she read the words clearly.
"Good big sister."
The words struck her like a punch to the gut. Every hair on her body stood on end.
Not revulsion. Not disgust.
Just… pure embarrassment.
Flushed cheeks. Hot ears. Heart racing.
She couldn't believe he'd actually said it.
Anger. Shame. Panic. All rolled together in a swirl of emotion.
She shot him a murderous glare, then turned and stormed off the stage.
Shin watched her go, that ever-amused smile still on his face. Then glanced at the system interface.
Affinity unchanged.
Back in her seat, Rangiku was visibly rattled. Her emotions refused to settle.
Hitsugaya Tōshirō, beside her, gave a dry, mocking snort.
"Well. That was fast. I thought you had some secret trump card or something."
WHAM!
Her fist crashed into the top of his head.
"You brat! Learn some respect!"