Chapter 97: Aizen's Warning
"I see, I understand."
In the dojo behind the Shin'ō Academy, Aizen nodded slightly after hearing Satoru's account.
Then, he fell into deep thought.
Seeing Aizen's serious expression, Satoru chuckled.
"Don't worry so much. Kyōraku-senpai can't split himself in two. As long as you time your outings right and avoid running into him, there won't be any problems."
Aizen shook his head. "I'm not thinking about Shunsui Kyōraku."
Under Satoru's gaze, Aizen met his eyes calmly.
"Satoru, remember this principle."
"When planning something, never rely on the assumption that your enemy will act according to your expectations."
"Under normal circumstances, the Tsunayashiro clan wouldn't risk too much for the sake of a single Yoruichi Shihōin."
"But what if there's something on Yoruichi Shihōin's person that's worth gambling everything for?"
Hearing this, Satoru froze for a moment.
Something on Yoruichi worth gambling for?
Aside from the Shihōin name, what else could that woman possibly have that others would covet?
In terms of power and status, the Tsunayashiro clan far surpassed the Shihōin.
Her position as commander of the Onmitsukidō?
To the Tsunayashiro, that probably didn't amount to much.
Other than that…
Could it be… that body of hers, not even a hundred years old yet, already so well-proportioned, showing early promise, brimming with potential?
In a certain sense, that truly was a rare treasure in the Soul Society.
If the Tsunayashiro clan's goal was really that, then he'd have to despise them fiercely.
Disgusting nobles of the Soul Society—to think they'd have those kinds of tastes!
Just the thought that such repulsive creatures existed in this world made Satoru feel a deep, visceral disgust.
Watching Satoru's expression shift rapidly, lost in thought, Aizen sighed and shook his head.
He tapped the floor beside him, snapping Satoru out of his daze.
"Do you remember what you said before about the Central 46 seats?"
At this, Satoru blinked, then his eyes widened in realization.
Seeing that Satoru seemed to have figured it out, Aizen gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"According to your earlier words, the Tsunayashiro clan already holds about 40% of the seats in Central 46."
"If they could somehow gain control over Yoruichi Shihōin, they could use her to pressure the Shihōin family into supporting them with their seats."
"The decrees issued by Central 46 operate on a winner-takes-all basis. If the Tsunayashiro clan secures more than half the votes, the situation could reverse in an instant."
"The Gotei 13, who currently hold the moral high ground, might even be branded as rebels overnight."
"Of course, this is just one possibility—take it as food for thought."
"I don't know much about the nobility, and I'm in a critical phase of my research right now, so I can't spare much effort to help you."
"The only advice I can give you is this."
Here, Aizen's gaze turned deadly serious.
"If things become untenable, withdraw in time."
"Stay alive first—only then can there be an 'after.'"
Under his stare, Satoru grinned and gave a thumbs-up.
"Don't worry, I'm not bragging, but when it comes to survival instincts, I've always been sharp."
He wasn't exaggerating.
Back when he first transmigrated and realized his classmate was Sōsuke Aizen, he had spent a long time living in fear.
For nearly a month, Satoru's daily routine consisted of training and scheming ways to stay alive.
Though his relationship with Aizen had changed since then, that survivalist mindset had never left him.
After a good night's sleep, Satoru washed up the next morning and headed to the 1st Division barracks.
Now that he was an official disciple, he no longer attended fixed weekly lessons as before.
He had at least two sessions now.
As Yamamoto put it—since he learned fast, he might as well learn more. Skills never weighed a man down.
To Satoru's surprise, despite the heavier workload, he didn't feel any resistance.
Every time he trained under Yamamoto, feeling himself grow stronger bit by bit, that sense of fulfillment left him in high spirits.
Although the speed of his growth paled in comparison to the occasional bursts of power synchronized from Aizen, this was undeniably his own treasure.
Aizen's power wouldn't drown this treasure but rather accelerate its accumulation.
Lying back and enjoying the benefits Aizen provided was indeed a tempting option.
Yet, Satoru preferred to use these advantages as a foundation to cultivate an even stronger and more resilient version of himself!
In the spacious dojo, Satoru gripped his shinai and launched a furious assault on Yamamoto.
Yamamoto remained calm, effortlessly deflecting each of Satoru's strikes.
After dozens of exchanges, he found an opening—a single precise strike to Satoru's wrist sent the shinai clattering to the floor.
Setting down his own shinai, Yamamoto wore a slightly puzzled expression.
After a moment's thought, he discarded his shinai as well.
"Next, hand-to-hand combat."
Hearing this, Satoru nodded vigorously. "Osu!"
Under Yamamoto's watchful gaze, he tugged at his shirt, pulling it off and tying it around his waist.
When he first crossed over, his physique had been somewhat frail.
Now, after relentless training, his body had undergone a dramatic transformation.
Muscles had begun to take shape across his frame.
Though still young, he already exuded a masculine charm.
Following etiquette, he gave a slight bow.
Then, with a powerful stomp, he shot forward—his fist, brimming with reiatsu, aimed squarely at Yamamoto.
The force behind that punch rivaled the destructive power of a cannonball.
Against an ordinary Shinigami, it would have torn a gaping hole through flesh in an instant.
Yamamoto, too, channeled his reiatsu, reinforcing his body as he met the strike head-on.
For a time, their figures clashed relentlessly within the dojo, bursts of reiatsu erupting like gales, sending shockwaves in every direction.
As he threw punch after punch, Satoru couldn't help but revel in the exhilaration—
"Ora ora ora ora!!"
He roared, accelerating his strikes.
A vein pulsed on Yamamoto's forehead.
How many times had he told the boy not to make those ridiculous noises during combat?
Not only was it embarrassing, but it also disrupted focus and weakened his attacks.
Just as this thought crossed his mind—a momentary lapse—Yamamoto suddenly sensed something.
He snapped back to attention.
At some point, the shadow beneath Satoru's feet had vanished.
With an almost imperceptible wind-up, Satoru unleashed another devastating punch—
That move!
Yamamoto's eyes gleamed.
With a low growl, his already muscular arm swelled further, reiatsu flaring brilliantly as he countered with an even more ferocious strike.
BOOM!!!!!
Outside the dojo, Chōjirō Sasakibe stood silently.
Watching as the roof nearly tore free from the building, he sighed and cast his gaze skyward.
Repair costs for the dojo were about to spike again...