Flowers teasing the moon, a fairy clutching her heart; the stream unfeeling, the petals intent.
No sooner had Higashino Shuuichi and company entered Osaka-fu than they saw, atop a massive moving flowerbed, an oiran painted and bedecked to the nines, parading through cheering crowds.
"Is there some kind of festival going on?" Matsumoto Rangiku peered out the carriage window, curious.
She remembered when Shuuichi-sama had once taken them camping in the Living World—how a small village there had celebrated with the same boisterous joy, a beautiful woman lifted like a star at the center.
"Sort of," Shuuichi said after one glance, already losing interest. "More likely a merchant's stunt—eye candy to draw crowds."
An oiran's parade, in other words: a house's trick to lure clients and drive up its oiran's price. And oiran fashion of this era did nothing for Shuuichi's taste.
"Can I go look, Shuuichi-kun?" Kabuma Sayako, unlike him, was fascinated.
Back in Soul Society she had practically never left the Kabuma clan's estate. Coming to the Living World had been her first real journey; even here, she'd rarely gone out without the others. Everything about this place made her curious.
"Mm, of course. Leave catching Yokozawada Tsuna to me and Shūsuke. I'll have Kensei go with you all." Shuuichi nodded.
They were in Osaka-fu now; time to ditch the carriage. For Shuuichi, traveling on foot was faster—and quieter.
"Will that hurt your plan? I don't have to go if it's trouble…" Sayako worried at once when she heard Shuuichi meant to take only Kisaragi Shūsuke.
"It's fine. Recon was never Kensei's strong suit; keeping him with you is safer. Don't worry, Sayako—Shūsuke and I will be right back." Shuuichi took her soft hand, then drew out the Zanpakutō he'd been holding for her—Seyabasa—and set it on her palm. "Here. But unless you absolutely have to, don't use it. Your body's weak enough after what those Hell-wraiths did. Abilities that burn through your lifespan—avoid them. Whatever happens, I'll get back to you fast."
"Mm. I believe you, Shuuichi-kun." Sayako lowered her gaze, feeling the warmth of his palm on the back of her hand, and answered softly.
"Okay, Shuuichi-sama, go on—don't forget I'm here, too!" Rangiku's sharp eyes had already spotted a big izakaya. She slid the door open, itching to explore.
As Rangiku and Sayako hauled a barely recovered Muguruma Kensei down from the carriage to drift after the parade—
"And me? Shuuichi-sama, I actually—" Nagasawa Satomi pointed at herself. It felt like Shuuichi had automatically grouped her with Sayako, when she'd honestly wanted to tag along with Kisaragi Shūsuke.
No reason. She just thought Shūsuke was a blockhead who still needed her to explain half of what existed in this world.
"You stay, Satomi. I know you want to go with Shūsuke, but this time our enemies aren't the small-fry kind…" Shuuichi shook his head. He could read the air between the two of them, but aside from the Shinigami–human lifespan mismatch, Satomi's Fullbring and current combat sense weren't suited to a complex fight. Better that he and the Shūsuke he'd trained handle it.
"W-what are you saying, Shuuichi-sama? It's not like I want to be with that idiot Shūsuke! I—I'm going with Sayako-san!" Satomi flushed scarlet, bolted from the carriage, and fled before Shūsuke arrived to overhear anything mortifying.
"Shuuichi-sama, what's up with Satomi?" Kisaragi Shūsuke opened the door a beat too late and blinked.
"Her? Nothing. Just another shy girl whose secret got poked." Shuuichi smiled and stepped down from the carriage.
A motor tricycle chugged past at a lazy pace. Its rider wore a black suit and a bowler, blonde hair tucked neat beneath it.
"Shuuichi-sama—was that Fullbring?" In a Gigai, Shūsuke couldn't sense external Reiatsu. With no reference in memory, he turned to Shuuichi, eyes wary, whispering as he watched the machine putter away.
"Fullbring? That was a car. Technology of the Living World." Shuuichi couldn't help rapping him lightly on the head.
"Ah—like the gizmos Urahara Kisuke tinkers with?"
"Close, but Kisuke's are way higher end. Compared to his black tech, these are small fry. In any case—not Fullbring." Shuuichi waved it off and headed for a nearby trading house.
If taverns were information hubs in western fantasy, then in this quasi-real world, trading houses filled the same niche. There's no secret a profit-chasing merchant won't sniff out. If they don't have it, the price isn't right—not that it's unreachable.
As the last of the crowd drifted off after the oiran's wagon, the street felt suddenly wide.
Shuuichi reached the doorway of a firm called Aware Trading. Before he could enter, a mustached floor manager swept out with a lacquered smile.
"Koinu-dono—your presence honors us again! What shall we prepare for General Satō today? Fine rice? Delicacies? Sake? Or beauties?"
"Koinu… dono?" Shuuichi stared at the man's obsequious bow, puzzled.
"M-my deepest apologies, sir! I deserve death! I heard General Satō address you that way the other day—I overstepped! Please, first offense—spare me!" At the slightest crease in Shuuichi's brow, the mustache went white with panic, slapped himself, then prostrated, shaking.
"Uh…" Even Kisaragi Shūsuke was stunned. He'd often heard Shuuichi-sama say merchants in the Living World were sharp—but this human clocked Shuuichi's presence at a glance. Still, this terror was absurd; Shuuichi-sama was gentle by nature. Why so scared?
"Stand up. Not your fault. I'm here to conduct a post-visit satisfaction survey for General Satō. Cooperate." Shuuichi didn't understand, but he could play along. Not his first time.
"A… satisfaction survey?" the man blinked.
"Mm?" Shuuichi's tone rose a hair.
"C-cooperate! Of course!" The sweat poured.
"Good. First—when did General Satō stop by?"
Shuuichi took a seat on a sofa in the corner. The hall wasn't crowded; likely a high-end house.
"Ah—"
"Mm?" The frown twitched again; the mustache wilted.
"A week ago! General Satō came with you, sir, to inspect our firm a week ago!"
"Does he come often?"
The mustache wanted badly to say, "Shouldn't you know that better than I do?" But he caught the brow crease and swallowed it.
"No. General Satō was reassigned here only a week ago. You came with him."
"Do I need you to remind me?" Shuuichi said coolly. The manager didn't dare breathe.
"Next. Recently a lot of people like our General Satō have arrived in Osaka-fu, yes? Your impressions of them."
Truth was, Shuuichi was guessing. The "General Satō" identity probably wasn't simple—likely tied to Fullbringers. To come to Osaka-fu now, of all times…
But would other Fullbringers be as flamboyant?
Hard to say. Judging by the mustache's terror, even a miss wouldn't cost much.
"I don't quite follow, sir. People like General Satō… meaning?"
"Baka! People whose identity isn't ordinary, or whose status is high, or who have… special abilities. Arrogant like General Satō. Arrived in the same window."
Shuuichi's thinking was simple.
If Osaka-fu wasn't a pre-laid board, catching Yokozawada Tsuna didn't matter. He knew the truth: until Kyōraku sat in the Head Captain's chair, Aizen culled Central 46 and the nobles, and Yhwach wiped the high end, there would be no "acceptance" for Hollowfied Shinigami like him and Hirako Shinji. No amount of good behavior would change that. Winning Shiba support, showing Soul Society they were "harmless"—self-comfort, nothing more.
But if Osaka-fu was a board, how many Fullbringers could it hide? To threaten a vice-captain–led team—or probe Soul Society's high end—you needed outside support. If the mustache gave him even two or three names—plus this "General Satō"—Shuuichi could narrow the first sweep to a blade's edge. If even one of them was a Fullbringer, the rest would be easy: tug the string and follow it.
He didn't believe these people were running one-way dead drops like in spy dramas.
He hadn't expected he'd overestimate either the locals' subtlety—or Soul Society's intel net in the Living World.
The mustache rattled off seven suspicious figures without stopping—and two of them had "performed miracles" in public.
For a second, Shuuichi felt his intelligence had been insulted.
According to the mustache, he didn't even need a trading house—ask around on the street. One person might not know it all; ask a few, you'd get everything.
"All right. Back to business. General Satō says last time you promised a grand gift. He sent me to collect. You're ready, right?" Shuuichi stood and brushed off his coat.
"G-grand gift? We didn't—" Blank stare.
"Mm?" The single lifted note.
"Y-yes! We'll deliver at once!" More sweating, more nodding.
"Make it quick." Shuuichi warned, then walked out with Kisaragi Shūsuke, leaving the mustache to stew.
"Shuuichi-sama… raising the dead, and bathing in flames to ascend—are those also 'technology of the Living World'?" On the street, Shūsuke finally asked the question that had burned on his tongue inside.
Shuuichi shook his head. In a purely material world, he'd call it a con. But this was Bleach's world. Only Fullbringers would "perform miracles" for ordinary humans to feed their worldly hungers. Pure Shinigami wouldn't bother with such cheap tricks.
"So those two are like Satomi—Fullbringers, right?"
Shuuichi nodded. "Find Sayako and the others. Bring Satomi out. The two of you will shadow those two—addresses, routines, everything. But listen: better to miss a lead than tip them off."
"Understood, sir!" Shūsuke snapped to, fired up, and took off.
Shuuichi stayed near Aware Trading, bought a snack from a street stall, and sat at ease.
He waited until the mustache himself hustled out of the firm with a small party in tow.
Whoever the original "Koinu-dono" was—the one the mustache had mistaken Shuuichi for—Shuuichi found himself very curious indeed.
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