Chapter 217: Anti War
A gentleman could be deceived, as long as the method was proper.
Komamura Sajin did not look like a refined gentleman, but in truth, he was exactly that kind of person, upright to the point of stubbornness, pedantic to the point of sincerity, and occasionally so earnest that it became almost comical.
Comical enough that Aizen always thought Komamura was born to be used as a stepping stone.
Komamura trusted the Captain Commander with a devotion that bordered on faith. He believed, without hesitation, that he stood on the side of justice. He admired Kaname with his whole heart, convinced that Kaname was the purest kind of righteousness Soul Society could offer. He also believed that his own future would always be tied to Seireitei, because in his mind, the Shinigami were the justice that maintained the Three Realms.
As a Captain, he knew more than most about how the world operated. He simply did not know about the ugliness buried in the Five Great Noble Clans. Worse still, the image of Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni, majestic and unwavering, had become the perfect model for young Komamura to follow.
When he looked around, he seemed to see only gentle smiles.
What a wonderful place to work.
There was Sosuke, magnanimous and polite, always willing to help lower ranking Shinigami. There was Kaname, single minded, widely recognized as the most righteous man in Soul Society. There was Jushiro, gentle by nature, still kind despite illness that could have made anyone bitter. There was Shunsui, careless on the surface, yet reliable when it mattered.
Even the others felt reassuring. Toshiro, promoted for his talent, was a good kid. Captain Unohana was the flower of Seireitei. Gin Ichimaru, in Komamura's eyes, was a good person who treated his squad kindly. Even Kenpachi Zaraki, a battle maniac, was at least direct, and never vague about what he wanted.
Komamura looked left and right and thought he lived in a good era.
That thought made him anxious.
So he hid his face behind a helmet and worked harder than anyone, trying to become worthy of a world that seemed so clean.
Even Byakuya Kuchiki, the noble representative most Shinigami thought of as arrogant and pampered, appeared to Komamura as elegant and disciplined, a man who fit the very definition of nobility. If Komamura had to name the worst among them, it would have been Mayuri Kurotsuchi, but even Mayuri's horrors were called research, and research was always reported, approved, stamped, and filed.
From the Shinigami perspective, how could anyone blame them for missing the cracks?
Everyone looked capable. Everyone looked polite. Everyone looked proactive, positive, and correct.
Who could have guessed what those gentle, resolute people carried in their hearts?
Who could have guessed that Sosuke, the one who seemed most trustworthy, and Kaname, the one who lived for justice, had already grown to despise Seireitei long ago?
In Komamura's mind, Central 46 represented order, wisdom, and authority, a council of sharp minds keeping the world aligned. He had never once imagined that in other eyes, they were only a rubber stamp, a collection of tools that went mad whenever nobles were threatened.
He had never even considered it.
Then the world cracked.
Not slowly, not gently, but all at once.
After the captains were thoroughly defeated, after Sosuke's actions forced the lie into the open, Komamura fell into a strange emotional fog. He still believed Seireitei represented justice. He still believed he represented righteousness. Yet after Kaname's solemn declarations, after Sosuke's calm certainty, and after the subtle changes in the words and posture of captains who had once seemed unshakable, Komamura could no longer ignore that something was wrong.
Maybe the darkness in Seireitei was not as simple as he had assumed.
Maybe, in some twisted way, his grandfather's bitter words had been right. Knowing a face did not mean knowing a heart.
Overnight, captains and squad members began acting as if they were strangers. Conversations that once felt warm now carried distance and unease. Even people around Komamura, people who should have been his own, started behaving as if he was something to be avoided.
It hurt more than he wanted to admit.
Even when he reprimanded them, even when he demanded discipline, he still saw it. Squad members secretly learning chakra. Squad members refusing to meet his eyes. Squad members acting like they were preparing to step away from the Shinigami path entirely.
For a man like Komamura, conservative, responsible, stubbornly loyal, it was torture.
He wanted a grand battlefield. He wanted a glorious betrayal he could face head on. A righteous war where he could die without hesitation, blade raised, heart clear.
Not this.
Not this Seireitei wrapped in gloom, friends staring at friends, everyone measuring each other's stance like merchants in a market.
Trust had become an ugly word.
The long suppressed barrier between nobles and ordinary Shinigami had been ripped wide open. Some people still threw themselves into danger for their friends, and some truly did not care, but when families suffered in Rukongai, when noble colleagues spoke as if hunger and desperation were beneath them, when they demanded to know why anyone would learn chakra and threaten Seireitei, not everyone could endure the taste of that arrogance.
So when Komamura heard the Ryoka intrusion, when he heard the crash of a giant cross slamming into the ground, a shameful flicker of joy rose in his chest.
At least it would be simple again.
At least the conflict would be visible.
But then he saw the man bound to the cross, and he felt that eerie flow of reishi.
Komamura understood.
The righteous battle he imagined might truly be approaching.
It was simply arriving in a way he never wanted.
"Quincy," Ichigo said from the sky, voice steady, eyes cold.
Four black orbs floated behind his head, silent and ominous, like a judgment waiting to fall.
"A human race you exterminated hundreds of years ago. From my perspective, that is one of the sins the Shinigami carry. But they have taken root inside Seireitei now, and they have information. I have already discussed this with others."
Ichigo's gaze lowered to Komamura.
"The news I received is that it will not be long before they start a revenge war against the Shinigami. I do not like Shinigami, but I do not like Quincy either. Yes, Quincy abilities affect the world's operation, but my power can open a new world. Aizen is reporting to the Captain Commander. If there are no issues, we will take over this war against the Quincy."
Komamura snapped, anger boiling over instantly.
"What did you say? What does this have to do with you? Do not get carried away, Ryoka boy. The ones with a grudge against the Quincy, and responsible for the world's operation, are Seireitei and the Gotei 13. Humans like you only need to accept protection from behind."
"It is a disgrace for the strong to accept protection from the weak."
Ichigo's voice was slow, firm, almost mechanical, as if he truly were reciting lines someone had forced into his mind.
"I am here to tell you the outcome, not to preach to you."
The pressure rolling off him made the air feel heavy.
It was pure. It was immense. It could not be faked.
Ichigo's presence was like a black hole hanging over Seireitei, dragging attention upward, forcing eyes to rise, yet punishing anyone who stared too long. Even Komamura could not hold Ichigo's face in his sight for more than a moment.
That humiliation burned.
Worse still, Komamura realized something he did not want to admit. Ichigo's arrival could focus Seireitei's internal conflicts onto the Quincy. It could force unity. It could give them an enemy they could all agree to hate.
Seireitei had already been humiliated by Sosuke. One more humiliation might not matter.
But the Quincy mattered.
That war was Seireitei's declaration that only Shinigami managed the Three Realms. It was proof of their authority, their necessity, their right to exist as the only system that controlled the balance.
Outsiders could not be allowed to interfere.
If outsiders interfered, Shinigami would lose face completely, and their reputation would rot beyond recovery.
Ichigo seemed to sense it.
He looked down at Komamura and the squad members who rushed out to protect their captain, and a faint mocking smile touched his youthful face.
He tried to wear the expression of a villain, but it did not fully fit. The malice was thin. The disdain was not.
It was clear enough to ignite tempers instantly.
"To put it bluntly," Ichigo said, voice calm, "Aizen and I share the same stance. We are informing you that we will handle the Quincy. This is a notification. Do not make rash moves, and do not touch the Quincy."
"Why?" Komamura roared.
"Because you will kill them to maintain your cycle and rules," Ichigo replied. "We do not need to."
He kept one hand in his pocket, floating as if the sky belonged to him.
"Quincy are also lives. Their current state is linked to Soul Society's concealment and betrayal. By your thinking, all Quincy should be executed. By ours, they can become friends."
Komamura's voice shook with frustration.
"The existence of the Quincy affects the entire world. They are enemies of balance. Why do you not understand?"
"So, did I not already say it?"
Ichigo's voice turned arrogant, almost casually cruel in its confidence.
"We will open a new world, completely different from this decaying Soul Society. There will be no need to kill others in the name of balance. We can handle the Quincy problem better, and so can you. We are a path of salvation, not a path of slaughter."
"Ryoka boy," Komamura thundered, "you know nothing about Soul Society to speak like that. It is precisely because the Quincy attacked us a thousand years ago that we have this outcome. You think the Quincy will become good people, but do not forget, they started all of this."
"Then why would the Quincy attack Shinigami for no reason?" Ichigo asked lightly. "Is there something in Shinigami history they forgot to tell you?"
Komamura's face twisted behind the wooden bucket, fury building until it felt like it might split him open.
He tried to speak.
He did not get the chance.
An immense spiritual pressure slammed down across Seireitei, sharp enough to pierce heaven and earth. Heat rolled with it, scorching wind, burning anger, a power so dense it made the air itself feel like it might ignite.
Every Shinigami with even the faintest sense of spiritual perception instinctively looked toward its source.
Squad One barracks.
A pillar of fire roared into the sky, lighting faces like a second sun.
Komamura's breath caught.
"What? Captain Commander Yamamoto."
Alarm shattered his fury. He dropped all thought of the Quincy corpse and used Shunpo, racing toward Squad One as fast as his legs could carry him.
Behind him, his squad members and Ichigo stared at each other.
They had been at odds, but they were not fools. Until now, no kill orders had been issued. No arrest warrants had fallen like a blade. The silence itself said more than any speech.
After a long moment, Ichigo raised an eyebrow at the squad members who looked uncertain, trapped between anger and fear and a strange, reluctant understanding.
"What is wrong?" he asked, voice almost amused. "Aren't you going to tell me about your squad? I haven't really had much fun since I came to Seireitei."
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