The Widespread Uses of the Gigai
The Shinigami Research and Development Institute—commonly known as the 12th Division—was whispered of as a dreadful place by ordinary soldiers. Tales of human experimentation ran rampant, and few dared approach.
At the Shin'ō Academy entrance exams, when candidates were asked which division they wished to join, hardly anyone wrote "Twelfth." More often than not, a lone name stood on the list.
The academy instructors were then forced to employ various tactics—reassignments, half-truths, even outright coercion—to fill the ranks. Whenever the Twelfth Division lacked manpower, the Academy's teachers despaired.
In truth, the division itself wasn't inherently terrifying. The rumors stemmed from its captain, Kurotsuchi Mayuri—a man whose grotesque appearance and unhinged methods overshadowed everything. The rest of the Institute consisted merely of eccentric researchers with outlandish ideas.
To secure funding for their projects—often rejected by the First Division's auditors—they resorted to side ventures. They displayed shameless enthusiasm in trading with Shinigami, selling "spiritual tools" of dubious value.
Self-dusting straw sandals. Odor-neutralizing socks. All-purpose hairspray. Occasionally, even experimental methods for reshaping one's Zanpakutō spirit into the image of whatever woman one desired.
But the Institute's true best-sellers were Gigai—artificial bodies.
Half-bodies, doll-like forms, retractable models, heated models, spiral-heated models, even outlandish multi-mode variants… the list grew endlessly.
Among the Institute's most loyal patrons was Ōmaeda Marechiyo, Vice-Captain of the Second Division and Captain of the Patrol Corps. He flaunted his wealth at all times—gold necklace thick as a thumb, an ostentatious ring, and even a gilded timepiece. His family, one of Soul Society's wealthiest noble houses, controlled its largest jewelry enterprise.
And in their estate's hidden basement? A private collection of Gigai.
Though he concealed his indulgence carefully, Suì-Fēng's recent words had struck a nerve. Beads of sweat formed on Ōmaeda's brow as he stammered, "C-Captain Suì-Fēng, don't accuse me! I—I don't even know anyone at the Research Institute!"
"Hm?" Suì-Fēng shot him a sharp glance. Her instincts told her this oaf was lying, but she wasn't interested. "I asked you to go there for an errand. Don't waste my time with nonsense."
Relief washed over Ōmaeda as his heart returned to his chest. "Oh, th-that's all? You scared me. Leave it to me, Captain. I'll keep it discreet."
"That's about all you're good for," Suì-Fēng muttered, rolling her eyes. Strength he had, but courage he lacked. His mind was ever consumed by food, money, and his family's fortunes. He shrank from combat whenever possible. If not for his lineage and imposing frame—mistaken by her younger self for bravery—she would never have named him vice-captain.
Still, he puffed his chest. "Yes, yes, leave everything to me!"
Suì-Fēng sighed, then added coldly: "File an application for travel to the World of the Living. Also, instruct the patrol to report immediately if there's any news of Shiraishi. Do not delay—report directly to me."
Her order was curious. Ōmaeda's slow mind turned it over, suspicion flickering before he smiled. "Rest assured, Captain. The Stealth Force stands firmly at your side."
Suì-Fēng gave a curt nod. "I'm heading to training. Notify me when you're finished."
With a blur of shunpo, she was gone.
Ōmaeda rubbed his round chin. "Two Gigai, an application to go to the human world… could it be…?"
Then he laughed, shaking his head. "Ridiculous! Captain Suì-Fēng, eloping with a criminal? Impossible! She's the very model of Gotei loyalty."
Still chuckling, he vanished toward the Research Institute. He was lazy in most things, but in the art of retreat—shunpo—he never slacked. His motto: If you can't win, you'd best be able to run.
Arriving at the Institute, Ōmaeda bypassed security with practiced ease, slipping through the VIP entrance.
"Akōn, I'm back," he said with a grin, pushing open a reinforced door.
Inside, Akōn, Third Seat of the Twelfth Division and Deputy Director of the Institute, looked up from his work. His spiky black hair, dour expression, and three small horns marked him as an odd figure even among eccentrics.
"Vice-Captain Ōmaeda." Akōn adjusted his glasses. "You came at the right time. Behold my newest design—a fully automated, multi-port Gigai with 365-degree seamless spiral heating. Only six million kan."
It was the usual game—pile on unnecessary features, inflate the cost, and funnel the profits into research. Buyers like Ōmaeda rarely noticed, and everyone left satisfied.
But today, Ōmaeda waved a hand. "Not new models. I want two of the standard type. One modeled after Captain Suì-Fēng… and another after this man." He slid a photo across the table: a silver-haired figure.
Akōn's brows furrowed. "…Are you serious?"
"Yes." Ōmaeda nodded gravely.
A sharp glint flashed in Akōn's eyes. This request was unusual—even disturbing. He had seen Ōmaeda's tastes spiral before, but this crossed a line.
"I refuse. A Gigai in the likeness of Captain Suì-Fēng is forbidden. No exceptions."
"One six million kan."
"It isn't about money."
"One seven. My limit."
Akōn hesitated. That sum would cover his latest "impossible" project—a perpetual motion machine, long dismissed as a fantasy by the First Division auditors. But with that funding, he could pursue it at last.
"…Fine," he said at last. "Two days. Come pick them up yourself."
"As always—complete discretion," Ōmaeda said firmly.
Akōn gave a dry smirk. "Don't worry. I have no friends to gossip to."
Ōmaeda chuckled. "Still shady as ever. Oh, and make one of that new model too."
"Understood. I'll have all three ready."
As Ōmaeda left, humming to himself, Akōn's scowl faded into calculation. Three Gigai would net nearly fifteen million in profit. Enough to cover months of research.
Ōmaeda, meanwhile, strutted away, already imagining the praise awaiting him.
Captain Suì-Fēng will surely commend me for this…