The snow in District 73 had stopped by afternoon.
The bodies of the Kasumioji's hired killers were gone—dissolved neatly by the power of Higashino Shuuichi's zanpakutō. The reiryoku jammers they'd planted to mask the area's spiritual pressure had been gathered up as well.
And across from him, Kumoi Gyoukaku clutched the wound in his chest, gasping for breath.
Around him stood four soldiers of light—Shuuichi's constructs.
"Heh… if I were you, I wouldn't have hesitated just now," Kumoi rasped.
"If I were you, I wouldn't mouth off before leaving this place alive."
Shuuichi crouched in front of him, tone tightly restrained.
Moments earlier, he had been ready to kill Kumoi outright and flee to Hueco Mundo, even if it meant hiding there for a century until Aizen's rebellion.
But at the last moment, Aizen's voice had cut in, ordering him to stop. *Leave Kumoi alive. He's still useful.* And, pointedly: *Don't be reckless.*
Shuuichi didn't buy that last part. If Aizen hadn't been lurking nearby, watching it all, he'd eat his own zanpakutō.
No—Aizen had timed his warning perfectly. He wanted Kumoi shaken, but not dead.
So be it. Boss's orders. He had no choice but to leave this old fox breathing.
Kumoi wanted to sneer, to say *Then finish it.* But seeing the veins bulging on Shuuichi's hand, that murderous tension barely contained, he swallowed the words. Life was still precious.
He held his tongue.
Shuuichi, faintly satisfied, relaxed.
Barefoot men don't fear those with shoes. As long as Kumoi believed he was the barefoot one here, that was enough.
"You'll hear my terms too," Shuuichi said at last.
Kumoi lowered his head. "Speak."
"I admit it—you Kasumioji wield real influence. I'm not afraid. I'd sooner die dragging a few of you with me. But… if I could join, that wouldn't be so bad either."
Kumoi's face twisted. *Insane. Who asks to join after nearly killing the steward? If you wanted this, why not just say so from the start?*
But his lips trembled, pale with blood loss. He stayed silent.
Shuuichi ignored it.
"I'll return the blade. But I have conditions. I want to join the Kasumioji. And I want the method to forge these blades."
"Impossible!" Kumoi barked, though weakly. "The Bakkōtō's secrets will never leave our clan!"
"Oh? So that's what it's called—Bakkōtō."
Shuuichi rested his hand on the sword case.
"…"
Kumoi cursed himself. He'd said too much.
But Shuuichi had heard what mattered: Kumoi hadn't outright opposed his joining the clan. That alone revealed his true stance.
*Even after nearly dying, he's weighing the benefits. That's the measure of him,* Shuuichi thought.
"Fine. Keep your secrets. Then I want to witness the forging once. And—I want access to the Great Spirit Book Gallery."
Disappointment colored his tone. But in truth, those had been Aizen's demands all along.
With *Kyōka Suigetsu*, Shuuichi didn't need to pry the method from them directly. He only needed a plausible chance to get close to the craftsmen—then Aizen would handle the rest.
As for the Spirit Book Gallery… that had been Aizen's dream for years. A storehouse of Soul Society's hidden history, maintained by the nobility. Normally impossible to approach—but with the Kasumioji as a bridge? The door was ajar.
"The Spirit Book Gallery?"
Kumoi's instincts flared. He realized suddenly: that was Shuuichi's true aim. The talk of joining, of forging, all misdirection. He wanted to worm his way toward the Gallery.
*So that's it. You hope to use the Gallery's archives to learn the truth of the Bakkōtōs.*
Kumoi nearly laughed. Fools. The Gallery had been built by the Five Great Noble Houses, and of course they'd left themselves back doors. The Kasumioji knew theirs well. Whatever Shuuichi or his hidden master thought to find, they'd be disappointed.
And so Kumoi's mood lifted. To buy a captain-class power with two conditions that cost him nothing? It was a bargain.
Better still, he looked forward to Shuuichi's face when his schemes came up empty.
"No problem," Kumoi said smoothly.
(End)
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