Counterattack
The sky was hazy, and with dawn approaching, the second infiltration began.
Choosing to infiltrate twice in the same night was unexpected. The route was the same one they had taken during their escape. The reason was simple: having already triggered the necessary traps while retreating, Shiraishi now knew their positions. Reusing the same path ensured he wouldn't fall victim a second time.
Swiftly crossing the thatched hut area, Shiraishi expanded his spiritual perception. Patrols were tighter than before, but they posed no real problem. With ease, he scaled into the tiled district, a gust of wind carrying him toward the point of his earlier incursion. Beyond this lay uncharted territory.
His sharp eyes scanned the empty streets and watchtowers. Exhaling softly, he recalled the trap patterns he had noted earlier, allowing him to roughly deduce where the next might be. Shadows were too dangerous, rooftops even worse—exposed to archers and spotters. That left the main road, which he suspected might be laced with Kidō-based barriers.
The main building of a Tsunayashiro estate would almost certainly be shielded by a spiritual barrier.
Shiraishi crouched low, sprinting forward in short bursts, his senses tuned for stationary signatures—always a telltale sign of hidden Kidō triggers.
Whoosh, whoosh! His blade technique, the Forward Step Slash, carried him swiftly across the street—straight, then a sharp turn, then left—each move calculated to avoid patrol sightlines.
As he neared the central mansion, he noted four guards standing in a square formation, unmistakably the anchors of the barrier. Shiraishi didn't rush in. Instead, he concealed himself by the main gate of a nearby residence, just beyond the watchtower's gaze, and waited.
He was waiting for the cleaners.
Unlike nobles, servants rose earlier. It wasn't long before six cleaners approached, faint traces of reiryoku clinging to them as they made their way toward the mansion. As they neared, a small section of the barrier opened.
Timing it perfectly, Shiraishi slipped in with a crouched burst of speed, sliding beneath the cleaners' line of sight. He pushed the door open and entered first, the motion so swift it seemed the door had never moved at all.
No one noticed.
Hidden behind the doorframe, Shiraishi watched the cleaners enter. One remained on the first floor, while the other five ascended—one per level, by the looks of it. He followed in silence.
This was not carelessness. It was strategy. If the enemy had laid reishi-based traps inside the mansion, the cleaners would unknowingly reveal them. Without such precautions, all of his efforts up to this point could have been wasted.
The cleaners worked with mechanical precision. Their eyes never wandered from their tasks, which spared Shiraishi considerable trouble.
By the time they reached the sixth floor, he slipped into the study rather than the adjoining bedroom.
The room was sparse: two towering bookshelves lined the wall, a waist-high vase brimmed with golden chrysanthemums, and a simple desk rested on a woven tatami mat. Shiraishi cursed under his breath—there was nowhere to hide. Scanning the corners of the ceiling, he made a quick decision. With a silent leap, he pressed himself into a corner beam. No spiritual traps were present; the occupants likely believed this place unassailable.
When the cleaner left, Shiraishi kept his senses locked on the sleeping occupant of the adjacent bedroom. He waited.
Patience dulled the mind. Thoughts drifted—whether Kūkaku had started searching for Ryūdenji, whether Captain Unohana had caught his trail. If the latter, that promised "kiss reward" would vanish into smoke.
Eventually, the man in the bedroom stirred, left the room, and descended. Breakfast? Shiraishi's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten either. But he continued waiting.
Moments later, the man returned, entering the study. He had dark green hair falling past his ears, a gaunt face, and carried himself with the air of authority. He moved straight to the desk and began writing.
Shiraishi shifted silently; remaining in the same spot risked detection. He repositioned into a blind corner.
The room filled with the soft scratch of brush on paper. Peering from above, Shiraishi glimpsed the writing—mundane records of base operations. Nothing of value.
Then, his senses flared. Someone was approaching the door. His heart sank. If he remained, the moment the door opened he'd be exposed.
With flawless precision, he slipped down behind Tsunayashiro Takehiko himself, squatting low and praying the man wouldn't turn around.
Knock, knock.
Takehiko raised his head. "What is it?"
"Sir, Second Division Captain Suì-Fēng is downstairs and requests an audience."
"Finally," Takehiko muttered, then called, "Tell her I'll be right there."
"Yes, sir." The messenger left.
Takehiko set down his brush and strode out.
Finally? Shiraishi returned to the ceiling corner, troubled. The man seemed to have anticipated Suì-Fēng's arrival. Eagerly, even. Something was wrong.
He shadowed Takehiko downwards, though his awareness was now narrower. Maintaining wide-range detection for too long fatigued even the most disciplined mind. He adjusted, conserving his strength.
On the ground floor, voices carried clearly.
"Captain Suì-Fēng, it has been a long time." Takehiko's voice dripped with mockery. He had not forgotten—she was the one who had personally apprehended him, consigning him to the Maggot's Nest for nearly three years.
Hands clasped behind her back, Suì-Fēng's expression remained icy. "Lord Tsunayashiro Takehiko, I was informed someone infiltrated this estate last night. A man with long, silver-white hair."
"No." Takehiko cut her off sharply, a smirk tugging at his lips. "No one has ever infiltrated this estate. Even if they had, we have no need of the Onmitsukidō's assistance. Your presence is unwelcome."
Suì-Fēng's hands clenched behind her, though her voice stayed calm. "The intruder is not ordinary."
"I said," Takehiko repeated, stepping forward, his tall frame looming over the 1.5-meter-tall captain, "we do not need the Onmitsukidō. You are merely a low-born noble who happened to inherit Yoruichi's post as captain of the Second Division and Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō. Do you imagine yourself equal to the Tsunayashiro, one of the Five Great Houses?"
His sneer deepened. "Do not delude yourself. A lesser noble remains lesser. Your bloodline will never change, no matter your rank. If you understand that much, leave."
Suì-Fēng's gaze was like steel, her gray eyes unflinching. "Those who rely on forbidden means—on Hollowfication—to seek power will meet only ruin. Remember this, Lord Tsunayashiro Takehiko."
Takehiko's smile widened. "Thank you for the warning. I'll keep it in mind. Take care, Captain. I won't see you off."