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No one knew when the first drops began to fall, but soon the sky wept in a steady rhythm. The faint patter swallowed the street in silence, blurring the line between sound and stillness.
Urahara Kisuke moved quietly through the rain, his geta clacking softly against the stone. He tilted his striped umbrella just enough to cast his shadow over the broken boy sprawled in the pool of blood. His eyes, hidden beneath the brim of his hat, lingered on Ichigo. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Far away in Soul Society, Captain Moyu and his entourage reappeared inside the barracks of the Thirteenth Division. It was the busiest squad in all Seireitei—shuttling constantly between realms, their Senkaimon was almost always open, wide enough to carry the weight of endless traffic. The more bodies passed through, the more cavernous the passage seemed to become.
"Captain Moyu!"
The voice cracked like thunder. It belonged to Toruru, the Third Seat of the Thirteenth, infamous for a voice so loud it seemed to shake the walls.
"Captain Ukitake asked me to wait for you here."
Moyu halted, one foot mid-step, and glanced over his shoulder.
"Did Captain Jūshirō leave specific instructions?"
Kotetsu Isane, standing nearby, shifted uneasily and lowered her tone despite Toruru's echo still hanging in the air.
"Captain Jūshirō and Sentarō Kotsubaki went to plead with the First Division on this fool's behalf. If possible, Captain Moyu… slow your pace. It would be best to give him time before this one is delivered to the Central Great Underground Prison."
Abarai Renji stiffened, his jaw flexing as veins traced across his temple. He said nothing, but the insult sat heavy on his shoulders.
"I understand." Moyu's reply was calm, his eyes unreadable. With a nod, he motioned Renji forward.
As a criminal accused of a grave offense, Renji's destination was the detention cells of the First Division, there to await judgment by the Central 46. Whether Captain-Commander Yamamoto's intervention could sway their decree remained uncertain. Yet Moyu suspected the truth: the current Central 46 had long since been slaughtered by Aizen. The gears of the traitor's plan already turned, and every step fell into its rhythm.
Renji walked in silence. He carried no regret for his choice—only frustration that his objective had failed, his path severed before it reached its end.
By the time they entered the First Division barracks, Jūshirō Ukitake was already there, pale but resolute. He turned at once, white haori brushing softly, and bowed his head slightly toward Moyu.
"Captain Moyu."
"Captain Jūshirō."
Ukitake's gaze lingered on Renji, apology flickering in his expression. His voice wavered between sympathy and command.
"Renji… cough…"
Even Renji, slow as he sometimes could be, understood at once.
"It's fine, Captain," he said evenly. His smile was faint but steady. "Rules are rules. Those who break them deserve punishment. I knew this was coming."
The nonchalance in his voice twisted the knife deeper into Ukitake's chest. He had always treated his squad with more warmth than formality. Of all captains, his compassion was spoken of most often.
"Sentarō."
"Yes, Captain!"
"Return with me. We'll go back to the First Division's main hall."
Ukitake's voice had firmed, resolve flashing in his eyes. He would make one final appeal.
Moyu only shook his head as he watched them leave. Was there truly anything to gain?
Once Renji was handed into custody, Moyu returned quietly to the Tenth Division. Now all that remained was patience—the stage was nearly set, and he had already prepared for the play that would soon begin.
Days later, the air itself seemed to tremble. Dense layers of reiatsu spread across the sky, descending like threads of rain, forming a spiritual net that blanketed the whole of Seireitei. When Moyu extended his senses, the immensity of it registered at once.
A broadcast.
Not even the trial against the Tsunayashiro family had warranted a transmission of this scale. Clearly, Abarai Renji's crime was being cast as something far more severe.
The voice that followed thundered like judgment itself:
"This is Chōjirō Sasakibe, Vice-Captain of the First Division. By order of the Central 46, I deliver their ruling!"
Moyu's face darkened, his gaze sharpening.
"Two months ago, Abarai Renji, then Fourth Seat of the Thirteenth Division, stationed in the World of the Living, engaged Menos Grande. Having been defeated, he unlawfully bestowed his spiritual power upon a human. Thereafter he remained in the Living World, inhabiting Kurosaki Ichigo's body, and concealing his presence. These actions are in grave violation of the laws of Soul Society!"
The words were cold as iron.
"The ruling is as follows. One: his body shall be confiscated and his soul transferred to the Repentance Cell in the Sixth Deep Prison. Two: after seven days, his execution shall be carried out upon the hill of Sōkyoku. That is all."
The moment the decree ended, the web of reiatsu dissolved, fading like mist.
Moyu frowned.
"So they've shortened it. The original ruling should have allowed a month's reprieve. Seven days… Aizen, are you so impatient?"
His gaze drifted, heavy and thoughtful, toward the barracks of the Fifth Division.
Elsewhere, deep inside the Eleventh Division barracks, in a room cloaked in shadow, a bald head gleamed with reflected lantern light. Beside him, one figure loomed, and another, much smaller, swung her legs idly.
"Little bald head, are you sure this'll work?" Kusajishi Yachiru puffed out her cheeks, speaking as if the words themselves bored her.
Madarame Ikkaku's grin curled sharp, his aura brimming with eagerness. Even in amusement, menace clung to him like a second skin.
"Relax. I've studied the layout of the Repentance Cell down to its foundations. Tomorrow's the best window we'll ever get."
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