Spiritual Satisfaction
Shiraishi didn't have many friends.
He had lived in Soul Society for over four years, but he had only been able to speak for a little over one.
For the first three years, he remained silent—listening carefully to the words of others, studying their meaning, and practicing in secret.
After finally learning Japanese well enough to communicate, he began striking up conversations, often boasting or trying to charm beautiful women.
But even then, in West District 3, he had no true companions—only casual acquaintances.
He remembered one night, perhaps one or two in the morning—though the exact time escaped him.
He woke suddenly from a dream. Around him, the other laborers who worked for the same noble household were asleep. One snored loudly, yet the pitch-black dormitory felt utterly lifeless.
Loneliness flooded him, an unseen tide rising in the dark. He felt smothered, drowning, his hands reaching desperately for something to hold onto—yet grasping only emptiness.
He had no one close enough to wake in the middle of the night.
Not in this life.
Not in his past one either.
Why?
The fault lay not with others, but with himself. His long-standing habit of aloofness, his solitary city-born temperament, clung to him like stubborn, unshakable resin.
It made it nearly impossible for him to open his heart.
Shiba Kūkaku was the lone exception.
Even in the original story, she was portrayed as straightforward and bold, the kind of person who would never betray or abandon a friend.
Because of that, Shiraishi trusted her. Though they had stumbled at the start, they had reconciled, and their bond had only grown stronger.
In his heart, she was already his friend. Perhaps—just perhaps—there was even a faint flicker of affection beyond friendship.
That was only human nature.
After all, who could dislike a woman with such a generous spirit?
Still, that spark was a mere side note, not the true reason he acted. Their friendship was real.
If he turned a blind eye now, refused to help, that bond would shatter completely.
A man like Kawakami Saburō, a noble drunk on money and sake, might not care for such things.
But Shiraishi was different.
So, rather than waste words arguing, he retreated to his secret cave in West District 10.
The place was empty. The cliffside entrance stood open, letting in a cool night breeze. Shiraishi sat on his pile of money, brooding.
How could he save them?
A direct assault was impossible. He would need to infiltrate unseen—or somehow distract Captain-Commander Yamamoto—and extract them without sparking alarm.
But he could devise no workable plan. His knowledge of the Central Underground Prison was pitiful. He knew only that the lowest level, Muken, was vast and buried deep, reserved for the most dangerous criminals ever to threaten Soul Society.
As for how many floors the prison contained beyond Muken, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it had never been mentioned in the story, or perhaps he had simply forgotten. Without such details, building a strategy was like grasping at mist.
As he sank deeper into thought, the cave dimmed.
The torch wedged in the stone wall was guttering, its flame about to die.
Shiraishi rose to replace it—only to stop short.
A strong, fishy odor drifted in on the wind.
He covered his nose, stepped back, and looked toward the entrance.
"Yinmeng?! Why did you buy so many fish?"
Nie Yinmeng stood there, a necklace of six live sturgeons dangling from her neck. She carried a bulging sack of vegetables in her left hand, another heavy bag of meat in her right, and more supplies strapped to her back—oil, spices, greens, and cuts of meat.
The sturgeons flailed wildly, their plump tails smacking against her thighs beneath her short skirt with wet, rhythmic pops.
But Nie Yinmeng, ever the chef, didn't mind the smell. Lifting the bags with ease, she said cheerfully, "Everyone was so enthusiastic, crowding around me! Now I'm broke and burdened like this. It's nothing like before. Grocery shopping is… incredible."
Shiraishi slapped his forehead. Of course—back when she had no money, no one gave her a second glance. Now that she carried coin and a friendly manner, she was an easy mark. They had taken advantage of her without hesitation.
"You've been swindled."
"I still have my hands and feet, don't I?" Nie Yinmeng tilted her head, her green eyes innocent with confusion.
Shiraishi nearly launched into an explanation of scams and cheats, but stopped. There was no point. He wasn't strapped for cash anymore, and besides, her happiness mattered more.
"It's fine," he said generously. "As long as you're happy."
"Happy…" She considered, then nodded firmly. "Yes. I'm very happy now. The aunties even taught me new recipes. I'll start with sturgeon tempura. You know—anything fried in batter can be called tempura."
"This is the first time I've heard that," Shiraishi replied absently.
Nie Yinmeng watched him carefully. This wasn't his usual distracted air—he seemed genuinely troubled.
She couldn't explain the difference in words, but she felt it. "Something's on your mind?"
Shiraishi hesitated, then admitted, "A friend of mine may be imprisoned on the fourth level of the Central Underground Prison. I've been thinking of how to save her."
"I wouldn't recommend wasting thought on something with nearly zero chance of success."
As she spoke, she dropped her bags onto the stone table and heaved the sturgeons down beside them. With a flash of her blade, six heads thudded to the table, blood spraying across the rock.
"If you try," she said calmly, scraping scales from the carcasses, "you'll end the same way as these fish."
Her tone softened, though her face remained cold. "Even Lord Mayuri fears Captain-Commander Yamamoto. The Central Underground Prison is the most secure place in Soul Society. No one can break in."
Shiraishi knew she was right. If discovered, death was certain. But instead of fear, he smiled.
"Attempting what no one else dares… is one of life's greatest pleasures."
Nie Yinmeng frowned. She couldn't grasp such reckless thoughts. "What's this friend's name?"
"Shiba Kūkaku," Shiraishi answered. A smile tugged at his lips. "She's my friend. Just like you are."
Nie Yinmeng froze, her bloody hand pressing gently against his chest. Her voice was soft, almost uncertain.
"It's strange… My body is cold, but my heart feels warm. Does this mean… I consider you a friend too?"
Shiraishi's smile widened. "Of course."
She lowered her gaze, staring at the knife in her hand, then looked back up. "Do you need my help?"
Shiraishi shook his head. "No. You're a Shinigami. If you do something like this, it won't matter what excuse we give—it'll put you directly against the Gotei 13. You'd never be able to return to Mayuri."
Nie Yinmeng blinked, then asked softly, "Is that an order?"
"..." Shiraishi sighed after a pause. "No. I won't order you. Consider it my best advice. If you go through with this, you'll be standing opposite all of Soul Society. There would be no way back."
Visit patreon.com/Akeyno to get 30+ chapters