Behind Enemy Lines
Shiraishi scooped up some lake water and drank, his reflection rippling in the surface as he smoothed back his damp, messy hair.
With a faint groan, Nie Yinmeng stirred where she leaned against a tree. Her deep green eyes blinked open, dazed as they adjusted to the light.
The clear lake glittered beneath the sun, a green hillside rising to the right. This was clearly no basement cell.
Her gaze settled on Shiraishi, crouched at the water's edge.
"Where is this?"
He stood, gesturing for her to follow, deliberately mysterious.
"Come and see."
Rubbing the back of her head, Nie Yinmeng rose and trailed him up the hillside. The view widened abruptly.
Before them stretched a sea of houses, tiled with gold instead of the straw thatched roofs of Rukongai. Caught in the sunlight, the rooftops gleamed like flowing streams of molten light.
In the center, a cluster of white spires encircled a singular tower that soared skyward—the Palace of Confession. From here, it seemed to hold up the very heavens, a man-made marvel. By comparison, even the natural majesty of the Twin Hills felt less imposing.
"Runlin'an," Nie Yinmeng murmured. Only from West First District could one see Seireitei's full grandeur, including both the Palace of Confession and the Twin Hills.
"I have to admit, Seireitei's scale is beyond what I imagined. I thought it was… smaller."
Shiraishi's impression of it came only from anime. But screens—whether computer or phone—could never capture its vastness.
Nie Yinmeng pointed across the city. "That's the Technology Development Bureau."
Shiraishi squinted, unable to make it out. "Do you want to go back?"
"Yes. I've never been apart from Mayuri-sama this long."
Her face remained composed, but the faint trace of longing in her voice betrayed her. For her, purpose was measured only in proximity to Mayuri.
"Loyalty's good, but you can't live indecisively forever," Shiraishi said, clapping her shoulder with a grin. "Come on. Let's enjoy West District One."
"Not afraid of being caught?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Hah. I only hope they're late in coming."
This district—closest to Seireitei—was the wealthiest and most tightly watched. Surveillance here was leagues stricter than in the remote West Tenth. But Shiraishi still wanted to explore, partly to help divert pressure from Nobunaga and Kichō back in District Ten. Their alliance, however tenuous, demanded as much.
Since he was set on it, Nie Yinmeng asked simply,
"Which would you rather visit: Minami-machi or Kitamachi?"
"What's the difference?"
"South Town is for entertainment. North Town is for food and drink."
"Then Kitamachi."
But when his hand slipped into his pocket, the weightless feel made his heart sink. He quickly changed course.
"Actually… let's go to Minami-machi."
"Very well," Nie Yinmeng said, stepping easily into the role of tour guide.
---
Minami-machi lay three kilometers south of Hakudōmon. That buffer existed because most Rukongai residents disliked or feared Shinigami and avoided clustering near Seireitei's gates. Over time, commerce gathered instead in the towns north and south of the wall, becoming the most vibrant hubs of Runlin'an.
The streets teemed with life. Shiraishi's eyes shone at the crowd and cacophony, reminding him of rural festivals from before his transmigration.
Vendors shouted, wrestlers grappled in a street ring, puppeteers put on shows, courtesans plucked shamisen strings, and monkeys performed tricks.
"I've been in Soul Society all this time, but this—this is the liveliest scene I've ever witnessed. Runlin'an truly lives up to its name!"
Nie Yinmeng, overwhelmed by the din, remained unimpressed.
"Is this really so entertaining?"
"Of course! Look at that monkey—juggling seven balls at once. Brilliant!"
She examined it clinically. "With a few modifications, I could add arms and eyes. It could juggle thirty at least."
Shiraishi's expression twisted. He pictured the poor beast sprouting limbs and extra eyes—his fond nostalgia curdling into a horror scene.
"Could you stop saying terrifying things with such ease?"
"Terrifying?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. For her, this was simply natural. She recalled only one "terrifying" case: a failed experiment with a soft-bodied creature to which Mayuri had grafted hundreds of tentacles secreting corrosive fluid. Compared to that, a monkey with a few extra arms seemed harmless—even cute.
"Who in their right mind would do that to a monkey?" Shiraishi groaned. "You should try enjoying life without dissecting it."
"I don't understand."
Her answer was honest. She was a construct of Mayuri's science—her soul and body both artificial. Her worldview was bound to differ.
Shiraishi sighed. "Alright. My mistake. Minami-machi isn't for you. Let's head to Kitamachi. Nobody hates good food."
Money, of course, was another matter. He'd just have to find a "sponsor" among the wealthy. His eyes drifted over the crowd for a mark—then froze on a tall, familiar figure.
He raised his hand and called,
"Yongyin! What a coincidence!"
Isane Kotetsu, caught mid-stride, stiffened at the sound of her name. Her height let her spot Shiraishi instantly. Panic flashed across her features. She turned sharply away, hurrying her pace as if escape were her only option.
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