Shiki Mirai stopped mid-motion, turned slowly, and fixed Urahara Kisuke with a cold stare, waiting for an explanation.
Kisuke nervously wrung his hands and forced a smile. "You see… this device only works because it's connected to the supportive Reishi circuit buried beneath my room. If you try to move it to the 9th Division, it'd be just a pile of scrap without the circuit…"
Shiki instantly understood.
Heh. So this was your angle all along.
Translation: You want to use it? Sure—but I have to install it myself. And that 'installation fee'? Yeah, good luck.
He cut straight to the point: "Spare me the pitch. How much would it cost to install the same circuit in my room at the 9th?"
Kisuke's eyes lit up.
He bowed low, his hands now scrubbing together faster than before, face plastered with obsequious glee.
"Hehehe, I knew you were a reasonable man, Brother Shiki! And don't worry—the price is very fair! Whole package, just three hundred thousand Kan!"
"WHAT?!"
There went the melancholy noble persona—shattered in an instant.
Shiki jabbed a finger at Kisuke's nose, voice rising nearly an octave.
"The machine itself cost forty thousand! And now you want three hundred thousand for the support system?! Are you out of your mind?!"
Three hundred thousand Kan?!
What did he think Shiki was—one of the Four Noble Houses?
Sure, every Division subscribed to Seireitei Communication, but typically just one shared copy. Only impatient individuals paid for their own—and only those personal purchases funneled royalties back to Shiki.
All those months of writing had barely netted him just over a hundred thousand Kan.
He was still five figures in debt to the tavern!
And this bastard wanted triple his entire net worth?!
Kisuke, sensing the growing fury, quickly leaned in and whispered as if revealing state secrets:
"Okay, okay—listen! The circuit under this room? I, uh… let's say I borrowed a Reiryoku vein node buried under the 2nd Division. That's what powers the Isolation Device."
He tried to look as innocent as possible.
"Took me a lot of rare materials and trickery to hook into it. If I had to recreate that setup from scratch at the 9th… I'd have to redesign the whole thing and find a new energy source. That three hundred thousand? That's just the cost. I'm barely making anything!"
Shiki narrowed his eyes.
So he's been secretly tapping into the Division's Reishi reserves...
Every squad had a certain allowance of Reishi Wellspring energy for daily needs—training, cooking, even heating baths.
And this guy had stolen from it.
Definitely a scoundrel. Just like Aizen. Just like Hirako.
Still… Shiki sighed.
Kisuke was right.
Without a stable, high-concentration Reishi source, the Isolation Device would be useless.
"Three hundred thousand Kan... I don't have that kind of money," he snapped.
"…Ah?"
The light in Kisuke's eyes dimmed instantly. He deflated like a popped balloon.
"But," Shiki continued, jabbing a finger at the machine, "you're going to turn it on. Right now."
Kisuke blinked. "H-Huh? Turn it on for what?"
Shiki's jaw clenched. "To write, obviously! I need money, don't I?!"
At the word "money," Kisuke's entire mood shifted.
He perked up with renewed vigor, leapt over to the machine, and slammed the activation button without hesitation.
BZZZZZ—
A low hum filled the room. The rust-like lines on the iron shell glowed faintly with flowing Reishi light.
A transparent barrier shimmered to life, enclosing the entire cluttered room.
Kisuke darted around and dragged over a rickety wooden table and a decent-looking chair, placing them carefully within the boundary.
"Brother Shiki! You've got about three hours before the Division draws from the Reiryoku spring for dinner prep!" he whispered, pointing to the ceiling.
"If you're still in here when that happens, the energy flow could destabilize. Best finish before then!"
No way was he letting Shiki's "secret writing session" cause a division-wide food crisis. If the others found out he'd tapped into the spiritual kitchen line, he'd be dead.
"I won't bother you! Take your time, let the inspiration flow!"
Grinning broadly, Kisuke dashed out and slammed the door behind him.
Moments later, the faint sounds of him sitting cross-legged and leaning against the door could be heard.
He was even acting as a temporary bodyguard.
This guy…
Shiki smirked. Greedy, yes. But undeniably thoughtful.
He probably guessed I needed absolute silence and privacy for… "closed-door writing."
He inhaled deeply, clearing his thoughts.
Now came the real question:
Whose story should he write?
It needed to resonate with a wide Shinigami audience — maximize quantity of emotional response.
But even more importantly, it needed to strike deep. If he could shake the hearts of captain-level readers, the Reishi formed would be high quality — the kind that condensed into seed crystals and pierced spiritual boundaries.
One face after another flashed through his mind… and were quickly discarded.
Until finally, his gaze sharpened.
He had found her.
Someone whose deeds were legendary.
Whose essence could shatter even the hardest hearts.
Someone close. Within Seireitei.
Perfect.
His eyes gleamed with resolve.
No more hesitation. His hand went to the hilt at his waist.
"Write…"
His voice echoed within the sealed chamber.
"…Tsuzuribumi Banshō."
In an instant, his Zanpakutō dissolved into a swirl of stardust-like Reishi, sparkling in midair before reforming — not into a snowy fan, but into a calligraphy brush.
Its shaft was smooth as jade, glowing with restrained elegance. The brush tip shimmered with starlight — its spiritual glow constantly shifting.
This was his true Zanpakutō form: the pen that interfered with narrative and rewrote all things — the brush of Tsuzuribumi Banshō.
The moment he gripped it, his entire presence changed.
Gone was the languid, melancholic noble.
Now his eyes burned with fierce, focused brilliance.
He spread open blank manuscript paper.
Ink formed from Reiatsu.
Emotion guided the tip.
His brush descended with the weight of a thousand lives.
Black strokes bled across the page, carving out letters laced with blood and violence:
The Killer of Meteor City
Chapter 1: Blood Blossom
At the end of a river paved with bones,
I heard it—
The first bud blooming.
It was the sound...
of a throat breaking.
— Scattered Bloom.
…
When the final character was written, a crimson flash rippled across the page.
A fusion of savage brutality and pure clarity saturated the sealed space — the intent behind the words seeping into the air itself.
Shiki slowly lowered the brush, feeling the slight drain of spiritual pressure from channeling this true legend's opening — and the deep, echoing resonance coming from somewhere far across history.
…
At that very moment, within a quiet room in the 4th Division barracks—
Unohana Retsu paused.
She was trimming flowers, calm and serene.
But her hand froze mid-cut.
Her gentle, bottomless eyes turned slightly, gazing in a direction far beyond her walls.
Just a moment ago, something had faintly touched her heart.
Something distant.
Something forgotten.
Something soaked in blood.
It was like…
a flower long buried beneath mountains of corpses…
had quietly trembled.
Just once.
…