Shiraishi Is Not Alone
Outside Liuyue City, the wind swept straw across the empty streets. Roof tiles had fallen, but no one dared to step out and pick them up.
At the shattered city gate, a crowd of soldiers gathered. From a distance, Zaraki Kenpachi's towering figure allowed him to spot Madarame Ikkaku and Ayasegawa Yumichika among them.
"What's going on?" he barked, stepping forward with his blade resting on his shoulder. The wounds across his body had only just begun to scar, blood still drying on his uniform. His suffocating killing aura forced the Xing Army soldiers to part instinctively.
Soi Fon, standing atop a slab of broken stone, glared coldly.
"Ask your squad leaders. How dare they allow the prisoner to escape—and even disrupt our operation?"
"Huh?" Kenpachi frowned. "My guys would never let a prisoner run off. If it came to that, they'd rather cut him down on the spot. What are you talking about?"
Madarame's tone was sharp. "They butted into my fight without permission. I told them—watch, don't interfere. I had the bastard on the ropes."
Yumichika lifted a hand to adjust the feather ornament at his eye, speaking with disdain. "Exactly. We could've won. But those tasteless fools don't understand what a true fight means."
The 11th Division lived for one-on-one duels. Ganging up on an enemy was a disgrace, forbidden even for lower-ranked soldiers, much less officers. To them, the Xing Army's "assistance" was an insult.
Kenpachi pieced it together and scowled. "Who told your men to mess with my Division's fight?"
"We wanted the target alive, not dead," Soi Fon snapped, silver-gray eyes glinting.
Kenpachi tilted his head, unimpressed. "That explosion you set off back there—don't tell me that was just fireworks."
Soi Fon faltered, lips pressed thin. She had no real defense.
"I'll let it slide this time," Kenpachi growled. "But if it happens again, don't blame us when we rough up your men."
He turned, clearly intending to leave and find another battlefield.
But Soi Fon's voice cut in sharply. "Wait. We still have to report this mission to the Captain-Commander."
"Tch." Kenpachi's scowl deepened. "Always a damn hassle with that old man."
He never understood why Yamamoto demanded personal reports when communication hell butterflies already existed. Quick, efficient—so why waste time standing in front of the old man? Still, even Kenpachi couldn't shrug off Yamamoto's authority. For all his defiance, it was like a rowdy student being crushed under the presence of an uncompromising dean.
The technique he had used to kill Miyamoto Musashi—Sui-Zen, the most basic stance in kendo—was something Yamamoto had once demonstrated to him. Just one morning of "instruction," yet it had been the most suffocating, boring day of his life.
But it stuck. Even Kenpachi remembered.
---
Noon. Outside the White Road Gate.
Kenpachi barreled back into Seireitei without bothering to change his tattered uniform, heading straight for the First Division barracks.
Yachiru skipped off to the adjutant's office, leaving him to enter the inner hall alone. He wound through the silent corridors until he reached the private chamber reserved for captains' direct reports to Yamamoto.
He shoved the door open. Inside, Soi Fon was already speaking, her voice crisp despite the bandages under her uniform. She didn't pause even as Kenpachi stomped up beside her.
"…Oda Nobunaga's body was not recovered at the detonation site. There is a possibility he survived. That concludes my report."
She straightened, bowing sharply.
"Very well," Yamamoto Genryūsai murmured, leaning on his cane, long beard resting against his chest. His gaze shifted. "Zaraki. Your report."
"I killed a man named Miyamoto Musashi," Kenpachi replied bluntly. His assignment had been simple: eliminate the rogue samurai. Mission accomplished.
The Captain-Commander didn't scold either of them for their failures. Yamamoto had kept order in Seireitei for nearly a millennium—not merely through strength, but by knowing when to apply discipline and when to hold it.
Now was not the time for punishment.
"Return to your barracks," Yamamoto commanded in his deep voice. "Do not leave Seireitei until further notice. Await orders for deployment."
"Yes, sir," Soi Fon responded crisply.
Kenpachi only grunted in surprise. No lecture? No scolding? The old man was in a strange mood. He left scratching his head, more confused than annoyed.
The chamber grew silent once more.
Yamamoto walked slowly to the railing, overlooking Seireitei. Neat rows of houses, rivers, and greenery stretched beneath him in perfect order. A beautiful, fragile picture.
But how long could it last?
Every day he waded through webs of intrigue: noble houses plotting, factions scheming, and intelligence reports riddled with half-truths. Even after centuries, truth and lies tangled too tightly to unravel.
Some whispered that the Tsunayashiro clan had freed Oda Nobunaga. Others accused the Kuchiki or the Shihōin.
Who could he trust? Only evidence.
"Shiraishi. Shiba Kūkaku," Yamamoto muttered, repeating the names. The intelligence was clear: the two were connected. That suggested Shiraishi was moving under Shiba Kūkaku's influence.
And Shiba Kūkaku was Yoruichi Shihōin's closest friend.
Shiraishi was also linked to Oda Nobunaga. And if he had ties to Yoruichi Shihōin as well…
A grim realization struck Yamamoto. The conspiracy was vast.
If true, Seireitei's enemies were not a handful of strays, but a coalition of captain-class traitors:
Urahara Kisuke, ex-Captain of the 12th Division.
Tessai Tsukabishi, former Kidō Chief.
Yoruichi Shihōin, ex-Captain of the 2nd Division.
Hirako Shinji, ex-Captain of the 5th Division.
Kensei Muguruma, ex-Captain of the 9th Division.
Love Aikawa, ex-Captain of the 7th Division.
Rōjūrō Otoribashi, ex-Captain of the 3rd Division.
…plus multiple lieutenant-level allies.
This was not rebellion. This was war.
Yamamoto's eyes hardened. His voice thundered through the chamber:
"Summon the captains. Order them back to Seireitei immediately to defend their sectors. And bring me the Captain of the 10th Division—Shiba Isshin."
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