Kasumiooji's Secret Workshop No. 1.
Higashino Shuuichi stepped into the all-too-familiar place once more.
"Gyoukaku-dono, still need experimental material?"
He put on a curious face.
"I do. But we should keep a lower profile for now. Because of that Kenpachi mess, the other nobles are watching us."
Kumoi Gyoukaku answered casually, no suspicion at all.
"Understood, Gyoukaku-dono."
Shuuichi's gaze skimmed the sparsely used training yard in the distance, then he followed Gyoukaku into the inner chamber he'd set up here.
The door shut. No sound leaked out.
"That Kenpachi reacted too fast. Before we could wear down many of Masasuke's direct subordinates, he'd already found a way to break the stalemate."
Gyoukaku sounded regretful.
"This outcome is still acceptable. Gyoukaku-dono, I picked up a saying on a trip in the World of the Living: bite off more than you can chew, and you choke."
Shuuichi offered the comfort.
"You're not wrong. All the same, since we can't act in the open for a bit, find time to slip up to North Rukongai—Kenpachi Ward."
Gyoukaku had kept his head down for years. He wasn't about to get impatient now.
"Kenpachi Ward in North Rukongai? That's District Eighty, if I recall?"
Shuuichi feigned puzzlement.
"The new Eleventh Division Captain—Kenpachi. The little girl at his side claims he's from Kenpachi Ward."
"And you want to…?"
"See what's going on there. How did someone with talent like that stay unknown for so long? If you hadn't run into him by chance, who knows how long he'd have kept hiding? He must have a secret."
It was the straightest, most reasonable analysis.
What he didn't know: Kenpachi isn't someone you parse with ordinary logic.
Power that could smash half of Soul Society—if his body could take it, fully unbound he might even go head-to-head with Genryūsai Shigekuni—and yet he prefers to suppress himself just to enjoy the fight, even if it means drowning the fish in the pond for sport.
Unless you truly understand Kenpachi, that mindset makes no sense.
"I understand, Gyoukaku-dono."
Shuuichi replied respectfully.
So far, everything remained in his hands.
After a while, he left the chamber, glancing again at the training yard. There were more people than last time, true, but still far from the "bustling" scene in his memory.
And Gyoukaku had personally admitted they'd done nothing big lately. What did that imply?
Shuuichi narrowed his eyes.
"That undercover Shinigami, Kisaragi Qin'yue—he hasn't been dealt with yet, has he?"
Verification was simple: sneak back to the secret workshop where he'd found Kisaragi Qin'yue last time.
But Shuuichi didn't have Kyōka Suigetsu. Last time he'd gone only because curiosity tugged at him and he didn't carry as many heavy tasks as he did now. He was willing to risk discovery then.
This time was different. The Cocoon of Hollows Project had begun; every step allowed no major mistakes. One misstep would lead to another, and when the situation became irreparable, no one would save him—or rather, no one could.
The connections he'd cultivated so far? Promise for the future, nothing more.
And whether Kisaragi Qin'yue lived or died meant nothing to him.
"Still… it might serve as a proper pledge gift."
Originally he'd planned to go confess to Urahara Kisuke outright, but that lacked sincerity and would only make Urahara suspect ulterior motives.
So he'd waited.
Now, with this as a pretext, his "betrayal" of the Kasumiooji could look far more convincing.
"Yep, this is exactly how I end up looking like one of those 'three-surnamed turncoats.'"
Decision made, a wry smile tugged at Shuuichi's mouth.
Blame the one who threw him from the original Earth into this world. Tossing him here was one thing—but not leaving a cheat behind? That was just cruel.
If he had a sign-in system, a shop system, a modifier, a simulator—or spiritual pressure talent on par with Kenpachi or Aizen Sōsuke—would he be wrapping an operation this huge just to get a single Soul King fingernail fragment?
Enough whining. Shuuichi tidied his mood, left Workshop No. 1, and headed straight for Fourth Division barracks.
Why not Second? Because he was on the clock. Sneaking over to the Kasumiooji during work hours had already been pushing it.
If he didn't show his face soon, Yamada Seinosuke would pen a ten-thousand-word blood-ink memorial to Retsu.
And he couldn't stroll up to Urahara empty-handed to "confess," either.
"Hey, I already guessed you knew what I was doing on the side." Not exactly a good opener.
Kisaragi Qin'yue's status could be the pledge gift—not the icebreaker.
Night fell. For once, Shuuichi didn't go home, strolling Seireitei's streets at leisure.
Moonless, high winds—the perfect night for killing.
An hour later, at Kasumiooji's Secret Workshop No. 3—also the warehouse for completed but unassigned Bakkōtō—the stationed Shinigami and all Bakkōtō wielders died to the last.
Only one recently posted Shinigami was unaccounted for.
Also gone: the Bakkōtō that had yet to find a new master—Raika (Thunderfire).
By morning, Seireitei was calm as a pond. Only Higashino Shuuichi—yawning his way into Fourth Division to clock in—was yanked away by a hard order from Kasumiooji Masasuke.
"What happened, Gyoukaku-dono?"
When Shuuichi arrived, Masasuke hadn't returned yet, but Gyoukaku was already waiting in the study.
"Last night, Workshop No. 3 was struck by a traitor. Every Shinigami on site died. And we lost the most important Bakkōtō."
For once, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Masasuke in feeling. As he spoke, he watched Shuuichi's eyes.
No use. The shock on Shuuichi's face didn't look acted at all.
"The one you intended to hand to me—Raika?"
Shuuichi's surprise flipped to anger at once.
"That Bakkōtō was prepared for me! Unforgivable!"
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