Moyu had long sought a powerful place to shelter under—a bastion strong enough to shield him from the constant dangers of wandering alone. If the Seireitei could offer that protection, then aligning himself with them would be a far wiser move than drifting endlessly between realms.
When the Captain-Commander extended a hand of invitation, Moyu accepted it without hesitation.
"I would be honored to live among your ranks," Moyu said quietly. "Your world seems… peaceful, at least compared to most. I'd like to stay."
Yamamoto's stern expression softened just slightly. He nodded once, the weight of centuries behind the gesture, and led Moyu toward the First Division barracks to formalize the registration.
Once the records were complete, Moyu would officially become part of the Gotei 13—a recognized Shinigami under Soul Society's protection. Judging from his appearance, he looked no older than seventeen or eighteen, yet his spiritual power spoke of years of disciplined growth. A prodigy like this could be invaluable to the Seireitei.
As they walked through the barracks, Moyu felt the stares of others on his back. Some held resentment, others suspicion. They had expected the Captain-Commander to punish him for his earlier confrontation, not offer him a place within the ranks. To them, this outsider—this man who had humiliated their comrades—was now being rewarded.
But Moyu didn't dwell on it. He understood too well that conflict often breeds connection. Strength recognized strength, and mutual respect was born from battle.
When they arrived at the Captain-Commander's office, two figures were already waiting—members of the Onmitsukidō, both masked and cloaked in black. Their spiritual pressure was sharp, controlled, and cautious.
Seeing the unfamiliar face beside Yamamoto, the first one spoke. "Captain-Commander, who is this man? He doesn't bear the insignia of any Division. Is he… from another faction?"
The second added, his tone firm but wary, "If he's an outsider, we should verify his origin immediately. Seireitei can't afford breaches of protocol, even minor ones."
Moyu met their hidden gazes and inclined his head. "I'm in the process of joining. You could say I'm half-Seireitei already," he said, his tone deceptively calm. "You can make your report once I'm officially registered."
The masked operatives stiffened at his bluntness. His words carried a certain edge—neither arrogance nor submission, but the quiet authority of someone who didn't fear them.
One of them turned sharply to Yamamoto. "Captain-Commander, I recommend full verification. Not everyone claiming to serve the Gotei should be allowed within our walls without scrutiny."
The second operative nodded, his voice sharper now. "Exactly. We're not like the lesser realms. This is Soul Society—the strongest among all the planes. We can't afford to let anyone just walk in."
Moyu's eyes darkened. He stared at them with cold precision, his Reiatsu flickering subtly through the air. The sudden pressure was enough to make the two masked agents falter. It wasn't an attack—just a taste of what lay beneath his calm exterior.
"Report what you came for," Moyu said softly. "Then leave."
The oppressive silence that followed was suffocating. Even Yamamoto's seasoned subordinates felt the invisible weight pressing against their chests. This was no ordinary recruit.
To Moyu, this minor show of force was nothing. In the Shinigami world, he could command the flow of spiritual energy itself—manipulate the essence of the soul. This brief exertion was but a flicker of that deeper mastery.
The two Onmitsukidō agents exchanged a nervous glance. Beneath their masks, their faces had gone pale. The air felt heavy, suffused with a quiet, dreadful power.
"Y-Yes, Captain-Commander," one finally stammered. "We'll make our report and withdraw."
As they vanished in a swirl of shunpo, the tension lifted.
Yamamoto glanced at Moyu, his gaze unreadable. "You have a strong presence," he said at last. "Control it well. Power that shakes others can also protect them."
Moyu gave a faint, knowing smile. "I understand, Captain-Commander. Stinky fish and rotten shrimp still swim in every ocean. Sometimes, you just have to make them remember who rules the tide."
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed, the faintest glint of approval crossing his face. The old man understood perfectly.
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