The Most Important Thing About Being a Gangster
It all happened too fast.
Shiraishi had barely finished his cup of tea when he felt it—the sharp intrusion of Shinigami reiatsu pressing into the underground.
He hadn't expected them to discover the passage so quickly.
"Troublesome," Shiraishi muttered, exhaling sharply. He struck Neimeng unconscious with a swift chop, slung her over his back, and dashed toward the hot springs where Oda Nobunaga waited.
Guidie turned at the sudden rush of air, lifting a hand to wave.
"The Shinigami are already in the tunnel," Shiraishi said curtly. "We should split up. If you're still alive by the end of May, we'll keep making money together. If you're dead, I'll burn incense for you."
He didn't wait for either of them to respond. In the world of gangsters, the most important thing was simple: outrun your teammates.
It wasn't betrayal—it was survival. Their bond wasn't strong enough for him to throw his life away. He'd lend a hand if he could, but never at the cost of his own survival.
The danger was too great. Alone, he couldn't even handle Kyōraku Shunsui. With Suì-Fēng and Zaraki Kenpachi in the mix? Showing his face would mean death.
"Bastard," Guidie cursed, stomping the ground. Regret twisted her features. "I should never have brought him here."
"Let it go," Nobunaga rumbled, not blaming her. Even if Shiraishi hadn't joined them, the Shinigami would have discovered the tunnel sooner or later. Better to know now than when it was too late.
He stepped from the steaming hot spring, flames still gnawing at his flesh. His skin was scorched and blistered, burns crawling across his body, a simple loincloth his only dignity.
"Hhhn—" Nobunaga hissed as pain shot through him, Yamamoto Genryūsai's fiery blade flashing again in his mind.
"Lord Nobunaga, leave me here," Guidie pleaded. Her spiritual power was nearly depleted; she could offer nothing.
"Shut up!" Nobunaga roared, though his movements were gentle as he lifted her onto his back. He gripped his sword in one hand and steadied her legs with the other. His teeth clenched. "Hold my neck tight."
Guidie didn't resist. She clung to him, her cheek pressed to his burnt skin. It was rough, unpleasant, but to her it felt like the safest place in the world. Tears spilled as she smiled faintly—if she died now, she would have no regrets.
Nobunaga sprinted forward, ringing the alarm bell as he left. Whether his men escaped would depend on their own strength and luck.
This was no less dire than Honnoji. Even he couldn't guarantee survival. The Shinigami were monsters—captains above all. In his condition, even a single encounter could end him.
He ran barefoot across the cold earth, yet felt no chill—only the searing fire within. His vision blurred. He bit his tongue, forcing himself awake.
"Lord Nobunaga!" A squad of his men appeared from a side passage.
"We'll hold them off. You keep running."
"I'll trust my life to you, Nagata." Nobunaga never forgot the names of his retainers. In the heat of battle, calling them by name gave them strength.
Nagata's eyes shone. "Yes, my lord!" He vowed silently to repay the trust with his life.
Nobunaga pressed forward, more men rallying to him as they broke through the passage and into daylight. He didn't pause to savor the open sky or the scent of grass. Sunlight struck his blistered skin, yet he felt only phantom flames devouring him.
He pushed onward, panting heavily, sweat and blood streaking his burned body.
"Lord Nobunaga, perhaps rest—" Guidie's words broke in the wind, unheeded.
He couldn't stop. Safety was still too far away. The Shinigami pursuit was closing in, though not yet the captains themselves. Ordinary soldiers were enough to doom his battered forces.
A crimson fireball whistled past, exploding at the rear of his column. Screams cut through the forest as trees and men burned alike.
Another soldier stumbled, white lightning piercing his chest. He collapsed in a pool of blood. Nobunaga didn't look back. He ran on.
Through forest, across plains, into another forest. One by one, the sounds of his men fell silent until only his own footsteps remained.
He stopped, looking up.
A Shinigami descended, thick-bodied, eyes gleaming with bloodlust—the unmistakable hunger of the 11th Division.
Steel clashed. Nobunaga barely dodged, countering with a desperate slash that ripped open the man's abdomen, spilling gore to the ground.
But more came—swords flashing, fists swinging. Nobunaga's lips curled into a bitter smile. He hadn't expected to survive Yamamoto's flames, only to be cut down by nameless grunts.
A sudden blur of steel cut through the attackers. Shinigami fell lifeless at his feet.
Guidie gasped, stunned. Ready to die, she hadn't expected salvation.
A figure in a black robe stood under the trees, half-hidden, his voice calm.
"After all these years, I've saved you again," Nobunaga said hoarsely, eyes conflicted.
"The more allies, the better," the stranger replied gently.
Nobunaga narrowed his eyes. "Did you lead them here?"
"How could I?" The man adjusted his glasses with a faint smile. "It was an accident. An accident caused by Shiraishi. He has a strange talent for creating them… and for surprising me."
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