"Right now?"
Naraku looked down from above at Shihōin Kureji, who was collapsed on the ground in complete disgrace, his former dignity nowhere to be found. His gaze was calm, as if he were watching a dead man.
"You're not seriously talking about 'negotiation,' are you?"
At that, Kureji's expression went even blanker, his face ashen. Instinctively, he turned toward his last remaining lifeline.
But Yoruichi's face was just as expressionless. There wasn't the slightest hint of hesitation in her eyes.
Never mind the tricks the elders had been pulling behind her back since she took over as head—just the fact they'd backed other nobles and secretly researched forbidden techniques involving souls was more than enough for her to refuse forgiveness.
And besides—
Things had already gone this far. Did they really think there was still any room to salvage the situation?
"Naraku, he's your spoils of war. I'll leave it to you," Yoruichi said lightly, patting the boy's shoulder. Then she stepped aside, ignoring Kureji's desperate, pleading stare.
Seeing his last hope walk away, Kureji scrambled to put on an obsequious smile like he'd never worn in his life before, his eyes full of desperate flattery.
"Naraku-dono, I'm sure we can still—"
Bang.
His words cut off.
Brilliant white lightning tore through the air, the crash of thunder shaking the alley as it punched straight through Kureji's head, splattering the clean wall behind him with a spray of vivid red.
His body crashed heavily to the ground, expensive robes gathering dust.
Silence followed.
Yoruichi hadn't intervened once.
In her eyes, the boy in front of her wasn't just the victim in all this—he was also the only one who'd managed to completely overturn the Shihōin clan's internal landscape.
"All right. That's the end of that," Yoruichi said, dusting off her hands as she walked back to Naraku.
"Pack it up. You're coming back to the Shihōin estate with me."
"Huh?" Naraku blinked.
Wasn't the matter settled already? Why go back there? Did she want him to pay for the reconstruction or something?
"You're my fiancé, aren't you?" Yoruichi grinned. "You've got to meet the family properly. Imagine how embarrassing it'd be if you couldn't recognize everyone later and started a fight over it."
Naraku: "…"
Weren't we supposed to be putting on an act? The plan was: once this is over, you find a reason to dump me, take a bit of bad press for being fickle, and that's that.
For the head of the Shihōin clan, that kind of criticism is basically a mosquito bite.
As if seeing through his thoughts, Yoruichi narrowed her eyes, looking very much like a cat that had spotted a fun new toy.
"I've changed my mind," she said.
Before he could react, she grabbed his wrist, and with a sharp step, dragged him off toward the estate at Shunpo speed.
Inside the estate, near the ruins of the study, a large, imposing man waited quietly. It looked like he'd been standing there for a while.
"Hisagomaru, you finally decided to come over," Yoruichi called out with a wave. "It's all dealt with. The Shihōin clan will be a mess for a while, but there won't be any more major fallout."
"Oh, right. Let me introduce you. This is the one who helped us bring those old fossils down—the man Warden Shutara has her eye on, Soul Society's newest rising star—"
"Naraku Sora!"
Ōmaeda Marechiyo stepped up with a genial smile. "We really owe you, Naraku-dono. If not for you, Yoruichi-sama might not have shaken free of those old monsters for a long time."
Naraku looked the man over curiously.
Compared to the "big-bellied Ōmaeda" he'd heard about, Marechiyo looked much more reliable—broad-shouldered, heavily built, Reiatsu dense and solid.
Even without any overt hostility, he still gave off a sense of danger.
They said that before Yoruichi became Second Division captain and head of the Onmitsukidō, both organizations had been under this man's command.
He'd borne the pressure from inside the Shihōin house, managed both branches with strict efficiency, and kept everything in order. His competence spoke for itself.
And once Yoruichi was ready, he'd stepped aside without a hint of resentment.
Now that factions had split within the Shihōin clan, he'd openly taken the weaker Yoruichi's side.
A man like that deserved to be called a true strong man.
After a few pleasantries—empty but polite—everyone parted on good terms.
Naraku took his leave of the Shihōin estate amid a shower of thanks, disappearing into the night.
Watching his back fade into the distance, Marechiyo suddenly sighed. "Yoruichi-sama, it's been a long time since I've seen you smile like that."
Yoruichi: "?"
Did this Ōmaeda get the wrong idea somehow?
...
...
Life in Rukongai's inner districts was always busy and loud—izakayas, pleasure houses, late-night stalls, street performers, endless entertainment, all kinds of color.
Of course, most of the people enjoying it were nobles, followed by Shinigami.
But compared to everyone else's lively nights, one remote corner of the Outer Quarter felt strangely quiet.
Hijikata Mine looked around in terror.
The clean, brightly lit room was neatly lined with precise instruments and devices he couldn't even begin to understand.
In a massive container filled with dark green liquid, a figure floated with eyes closed, apparently unconscious.
Hijikata recognized him. It was Ishikawa Sāsuke, another retainer who had served under Shihōin Kureji.
His body was covered in cracks like fractured porcelain, held together with some unknown, unnatural force.
The sight slammed into Hijikata's fragile mind like a hammer.
"Just… what are you…"
His voice shook as he turned to look at the other person in the room.
A brown-haired boy with harmless-looking features and a pair of plain, glass lenses perched on his nose.
Aizen lifted his gaze and glanced at him—lightly, without a word.
But that alone was enough to make Hijikata snap his mouth shut and curl into the corner, forcing his shaking body to stay still.
What had happened earlier was burned into his soul.
Just seeing this boy again was enough to crush any thought of resistance.
After tightening the Bakudō binding on the big man, Aizen picked up his Zanpakutō and walked into another vacant chamber of their secret base.
This room was a training hall, used specifically for practicing abilities that weren't fit to display publicly.
He looked at the thick metal pillar in front of him, hesitated briefly, then slowly drew his sword.
His Reiatsu flowed out like water, wrapping around the blade.
The air grew heavy—as dense as mercury.
He raised his sword. Brought it down.
A wave of inky-black pressure cut forward. For a moment, the world went silent.
Then—
The "indestructible" metal column simply vanished.
No marks, no fragments, no shavings on the ground.
It was as if that portion of reality had been erased.
Aizen stared at his handiwork, a tangled expression on his face.
He'd finally achieved something he'd been chasing for a long time, and he'd done it easily.
But the fact that he owed that progress—in part—to that guy…
That was the part that made it hard to keep his composure.
~~~
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