Shiba Kaien stared fixedly at the man before him.
His pupils had contracted to pinpoints, and veins bulged across the back of the hand gripping his trident.
His breathing was heavy and rapid, his chest heaving violently with every breath.
Cold sweat slid down his forehead, traced his temples, gathered at his chin, then dripped onto his collar, leaving dark, damp stains.
"Lieutenant Shiba," the man opposite him said, tilting his head with a puzzled expression.
"Why do you look like you're about to throw up?"
His voice was familiar, his tone was familiar, and even his habitual gesture of pushing up his glasses was exactly the same.
The man pointed at himself, looking innocent. "It's me, Sixth Seat Kachōmaru Hidetomo. Why don't you recognize me all of a sudden?"
"Shut up!"
Shiba Kaien's roar exploded, his voice thick with curses on the verge of spilling out.
"Don't speak with Hidetomo's face!"
The man before him-no, the thing before him-looked, sounded, and was built exactly like Kachōmaru Hidetomo, the perpetually smiling Sixth Seat of the Thirteenth Division in his memories. Even the habitual angle of his fingers when he adjusted his glasses was identical.
But.
Shiba Kaien had seen it with his own eyes.
Just minutes earlier, he had watched this Hollow open his fang-filled mouth and swallow three division members, one after another.
Hidetomo had been last-the Hidetomo who always said, "Lieutenant, buy me a drink next time."
While trying to fight back, he had been caught in the Hollow's tendrils and dragged into that writhing mouth.
The chewing had been quiet, but Shiba Kaien had heard it.
Then the Hollow's body had begun to twist and reform, Reishi light surfacing across his skin, until he took on his current appearance.
Hidetomo's appearance.
"Lieutenant Shiba," said Kachōmaru Hidetomo.
Or