Four thoroughfares deep and teeming like a market—that was General Satō's manor.
Higashino Shuuichi narrowed his eyes at the compound, even the inner courtyards built with guard towers. Grand. Imposing. And the grander it was, the more it begged to be seen from the inside.
Walking in blind was a bad idea. He knew nothing of what lay within; if this was a big, staged trap and he barged in, he'd just be the one setting off the mines for Soul Society's Shinigami.
So the simplest move was—
"Fire! Fire! Help, fire!"
In moments, several houses around the manor were roaring. Even in an age of concrete and brick, flames leap from home to home; here, in timber-built Osaka-fu, they flew faster still.
Inside the manor—
"Bad news, General! There's a fire outside!"
A servant's shout from the gate. The scar-faced man on the bed sat up; the two men beside him jolted in fright.
"Koinu."
The voice that rolled from the scarred man's mouth was thick and smooth.
A youth standing in the shadows stepped forward half a pace. The half of his face that caught the lamplight was strikingly handsome.
"Go see."
The scarred man stared, almost drunk, at that profile—at the one called Koinu.
What a pity…
As Koinu pushed the door open, a wash of regret stirred in the man's chest.
Outside the manor, hidden amid the bucket lines, Shuuichi saw exactly who he wanted to see.
Koinu—
He looked exactly like Shuuichi.
No—like Shuuichi back when he'd first entered Shin'ō Academy. The same teenage face.
Two people in the world could not match this closely by chance. Shuuichi believed in science, not fate.
He didn't buy "coincidence."
"Hadō #1: Shō (Thrust)."
From the corner of the street he lifted two fingers to the sky. A small, Reiatsu-built shockwave shot upward—dissipating before ten meters, deliberately weak enough that even a bystander at his elbow wouldn't feel it.
The instant the thrust bloomed and died, Koinu turned his head.
All he saw was a back—one Shuuichi left for him to see.
"Shinigami… intruder… kill."
Koinu murmured so quietly only he could hear, then dashed after the vanishing back.
"Koinu-dono, please rest assured, we will—eh? Koinu-dono? Koinu-dono?!"
To the mortals around him, Koinu simply disappeared.
Because Koinu used Shunpo (Flash Step).
Boom.
A rooftop collapsed under the impact when Koinu landed ahead of Shuuichi; the timber rafters were never meant to bear a Shinigami's force.
"Shinigami. Die."
He drew an ink-green Zanpakutō, point leveled at Shuuichi, voice flat and mechanical—and fired without warning:
Hadō #31: Shakkahō (Red Fire Cannon).
Shuuichi cleaved once across, and the fireball burst.
He had to admit: though this "Koinu" looked stamped from the same line as those armored soldiers, this young version of himself had inherited a few fine habits.
For example, if you can fight, don't run your mouth.
The roof beneath them gave way. Koinu sprang again, and in midair chained together two no-incantation spells—first a triple-shot blast, then Bakudō #61: Rikujōkōrō (Six Rods Prison of Light)—to lock Shuuichi's movement.
Shuuichi split both spells apart with two quick slashes—but a stray Hadō #4: Byakurai (White Lightning) slipped in and tagged his right clavicle.
A snap of paralysis rolled down his right side.
"Huh. Even my 'threading in Byakurai' trick, you learned that too?"
As the "young Shuuichi" dropped from above, blade aiming to finish him in that fleeting opening, Shuuichi's mouth tilted. He'd first improvised it fighting Yoruichi—using the jolt of lightning to clip her absurd mobility.
He hadn't expected to get hit by his own move one day.
One thing was different, though.
Back then, Yoruichi had deliberately matched his Reiatsu, holding back; that's why his Byakurai worked.
But now—
"I've got no reason to hold back."
Nadegiri (Clean Stroke).
He surged Reiatsu through his body, purging the numbness, then cut on a diagonal.
No gush of blood this time.
An arm fell, still warm.
He didn't take the young man's head. Instead he flicked several anchors, pinning down a Reiatsu-concealing barrier around them.
He wanted to see how far this "young me" could go.
"Advance—Heisha (Soldier's Law)! Shōheisha (Command the Soldiers)—drive men!"
Koinu didn't disappoint. He released his Zanpakutō at once.
What baffled Shuuichi was the form. In a straight fight, he'd open with "Zenheisha (Adept of War)," weaving boosts by switching attributes; or, if he needed helpers, "Iyahesha: Tōgen (Detesting War: Peach Garden)" to open the storage and unleash pre-stocked constructs.
"Shōheisha" was the forging of Reishi constructs—but there were no enemies around to break down for materials.
The answer came fast. Koinu flipped the blade and plunged it into his own abdomen. In under three seconds, the barrier space around them was thick with Reishi constructs.
"Impossible."
That genuinely startled Shuuichi.
Even for him, digging out that many constructs at once—especially from his own "stock"—would be a body-wrecking move. Without his unlimited regeneration, he'd be on the floor.
But through that living cloud of constructs, he saw nothing of strain on Koinu's face.
That was… not good news.
Color washed over him. Five shades of light flared as the constructs unleashed Kidō almost simultaneously. One wave hadn't finished before the next rose; a construct died, and another flowed in to take its place.
Endless.
"Heisha—Bankai! War Manual's Source, Smiling Hidden Blade!"
From within the glare, a cold voice, then a flood of crushing Reiatsu—and, reflected in Koinu's emotionless eyes, a streak of flame-red veined with gray-black.
His body split neatly in two.
"Shinigami. Die…"
He was still repeating it as the halves slid apart.
When the dust settled, Shuuichi walked over to the bisected "young me," heart beating a shade faster.
Not because the boy had truly threatened him—but because he had watched a possible future.
If this "young me" could be produced like the armored soldiers…
He had never imagined his own Shikai could be this terrifying.
No limits. Reishi constructs without end.
For a captain, maybe it wasn't much. But what about ordinary Shinigami? Rukongai souls? Even most of Hueco Mundo's Hollows?
He wouldn't need to wait for Yhwach. Forget Soul Society—the Three Realms would be mostly rubble with just Shuuichi alone.
Thankfully, it looked like the hand behind this hadn't realized how bad this could get… or Koinu couldn't be mass-produced like the armored units.
Because if it were Shuuichi pulling the strings—if he had that tech—he'd pour out thousands of teenage "Shuuichis," and, if possible, a dozen current-models. Aizen would be a footnote—and even Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni would be in real trouble.
Sure, Yamamoto was strong. But he couldn't Bankai forever. He'd die by wheels of constructs alone—and he didn't dare release his Bankai anyway.
Either way, Shuuichi needed to find the mastermind fast.
If this power landed in the hands of a genuine sociopath (certain Five Great Houses came to mind), then all he could do was pray the all-knowing, all-powerful Soul King already saw this fork and had a counter in place.
Shuuichi's plan was simpler: die, lie down in Hell, and wait it out.
While he finished Koinu, a different procession stopped outside the inn where Kabuma Sayako and the others were staying.
A greasy bald man—pig-cheeked and pot-bellied—clacked up in wooden geta, escorted by two Osaka-fu guards.
"You're sure the three beauties you mentioned are here?"
His eyes never stopped drifting—especially to the chests of passing women.
"Yes, Lord Ranpo! I swear, they're top-tier beauties! One of them—orange hair—exactly your taste!"
One guard all but panted. In his mind the scene already played out: Lord Ranpo would "enjoy" them once, then toss them to his underlings as usual.
"What're you waiting for? Get upstairs!"
Lord Ranpo planted a geta right on the guard's backside and snarled.
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