Muguruma Kensei set his teacup down with a soft clink, wearing a casual smile as he broke the silence that had settled over the side chamber.
"Shiki," he said, his voice steady, the tone carefully casual.
"Truth is, both Captains came by today because they wanted to chat with you about your new book—The Killer of Meteor City. That's all. So try not to stress."
He'd already exchanged some light pleasantries with the guests while Shiki was fetching the tea. By now, he'd more or less figured out their purpose.
Two captains showing up together to find a 5th Seat? What else could it be, if not that novel everyone was talking about?
From Kensei's point of view, this wasn't anything serious. Just a writer meeting his readers. Perfectly normal.
He shot Shiki a subtle, reassuring look and added with his typical blunt captain's tone:
"Just be yourself. Speak freely. This is about literary stuff—nothing we muscleheads are really equipped to judge. Feel free to get as in-depth as you want."
Shiki gave a small nod, face composed—but internally he was screaming:
Captain! Beloved Captain! Easy for you to say "speak freely"!
What do you expect me to do? Stand up and say, "Respected Captain Unohana, your blood-soaked youth is the foundation of my bestselling murder saga"?
That's not "open discussion." That's suicide. That's a fast-track to a live demonstration of Soul Burial!
Even though Unohana merely sat beside him quietly sipping tea, the oppressive weight in the air made it hard to breathe. Every hair on his back stood at attention.
For the sake of his own nerves, Shiki tore his gaze away from his "trustworthy" captain and looked across the table at the seemingly "safer" guest—Kuryashiki Kenpachi.
He schooled his expression into stillness and asked, "Then… Captain Kuryashiki, what would you like to discuss from the book?"
Kuryashiki had just taken a sip of tea. He set his cup down and answered directly:
"I read your book. Thought it was pretty interesting, so I took a trip to the Zaraki District."
He briefly explained his little excursion—how he encountered a black-haired youth, the primal sense of danger he'd felt at first, the heavy blow he'd dealt, and the confusion that followed.
"The way you wrote about the 'Killer'... that lingering stench of blood-soaked carnage—so vivid it leaked off the page. And that atmosphere..."
Kuryashiki rubbed his chin, searching for the right words. It was only now that the contrast had fully crystallized in his mind.
"...Compared to the guy I met in the Zaraki District, it was a totally different thing. That kid felt more like a 'calamity beast'—wild, reckless, purely instinctual. Strong, sure, but… not the same flavor."
He lifted his eyes and looked straight at Shiki.
"So tell me—this 'Yachino Unaharu' you wrote about… she's a woman, right?"
A twitch ran through the corner of Shiki's eye.
He really did meet the next Kenpachi.
And based on his tone… was he disappointed? Did he think that kid didn't live up to the killer in the story?
An unexpected but interesting piece of intel. Still—not the time to dwell on it.
As for the question—Unaharu's gender?
Shiki gave a dry chuckle in his mind. As if I'd answer that directly.
His face remained calm as he replied evenly:
"Captain Kuryashiki, whether Yachino Unaharu is male or female is, in my view, immaterial."
"He—or she—was born from the despair and brutality of Meteor Street. A product of that soil. A symbol. A presence."
"In the face of that kind of pure, distilled existence… gender is irrelevant."
Perfect.
Shiki gave himself a mental high-five.
Neither confirmation nor denial. He elegantly kicked the ball back while elevating the entire conversation to the realm of literary symbolism.
He avoided saying Unaharu was male—thus dodging the risk of offending the real one sitting beside him.
And he avoided saying Unaharu was female—thus dodging any suspicion about how he could possibly know the truth.
Ambiguity was the best shield.
"Oh?" Unohana gently set her teacup down, letting out a soft sigh. She wore a smile tinged with mild regret.
"I had assumed someone with such a beautiful name… and such overwhelming strength… would be a beautiful and powerful woman. But I suppose not?"
Her tone was warm and casual, like a reader sharing a small disappointment with an author.
Kuryashiki laughed heartily and joined in:
"Yeah! If there really were a woman like the one in your story—someone who walked out of a river of blood and turned killing into an art… I'd love to fight her! That'd be a hell of a time!"
Shiki's mouth twitched. He had to fight hard not to break his composure.
Captain Kuryashiki, if that's what you want, then just turn to your left and ask already! She's sitting right next to you! The original! The real deal! Please stop torturing me!
Huh?
Just as he was mentally spiraling again, Shiki noticed something odd.
For a fleeting second, Unohana seemed to glance across the table—at Kuryashiki.
It was fast. Barely there. Her gaze quickly returned to her teacup, as if nothing had happened.
Wait…
Was Unohana… not interested in Kuryashiki?
Shiki felt a flicker of doubt.
Based on what he "understood" of Unohana's past—this former Kenpachi should be the type who relished battle, who sought out strong opponents like a moth to flame.
And yet, since she shed the title and took over the 4th Division, there'd been no serious duels or confrontations between her and any of the later Kenpachis.
The next one, Jichijō Kenpachi, had strange, spell-like abilities—more of a "caster" type. Not her style.
Ganianjō Kenpachi was rumored to have clawed his way up with less-than-honorable tactics—possibly not worth her time.
But Kuryashiki?
His power was undeniable. Among the original 13 captains, he'd have held his own.
So… why no interest?
Shiki couldn't figure it out.
Just as he was getting lost in thought—
Clink.
The soft sound of a cup tapping lightly against the wooden table brought him back.
Unohana had turned her face toward him, that same gentle smile on her face, her eyes curved like moon crescents.
"I'm quite curious, 5th Seat Shiki," she said, voice tender as ever.
"What inspired you to write such a story?"
"Those scenes, that atmosphere… and the name Yachino Unaharu—where did all that come from?"
She paused, still smiling, and added sweetly:
"And since this book seems to only cover the beginning, if there were a second volume—where might the story go from here? Could you share just a little hint with this eager reader?"
Here it comes.
The real interrogation—had begun.
…