Shiki's brain was running at full throttle. Facing Unohana's gentle, smiling face, he felt like he was walking a tightrope suspended over an abyss.
She might look like the embodiment of healing and kindness now, radiating a calm, maternal glow—but this was still the woman who once carved a path through the chaos of the past as the original Kenpachi.
Someone like that didn't climb to captaincy on charm alone. Her instincts, insight, and reading of people were likely as sharp as her Zanpakutō.
And let's not even talk about that terrifying dual talent—being able to save you from the brink of death… or send you straight there.
He needed an explanation that was airtight, logically sound, and—if possible—elevated the theme. Something that couldn't be dismissed as mere "imagination."
Every word had to be chosen with surgical precision.
After a short pause, he began, voice carefully measured and sincere, laced with the air of a thoughtful writer:
"Actually, The Killer of Meteor City was born out of my observations and reflections on the… unique environment of the outer districts of Rukongai."
He paused briefly, his eyes flicking toward Unohana.
She still wore that peaceful smile, eyes half-lidded. It was impossible to tell whether she believed him.
That smile was way too much pressure.
Panicking slightly, Shiki turned to the more "straightforward" Kuryashiki Kenpachi, continuing:
"I've personally never set foot in those far-numbered districts. And maybe it's precisely because I haven't, that my imagination starts filling in the gaps."
"I started to wonder… in a land governed by primal laws, lacking order, what kind of person might be born from such chaos?"
"Someone like 'Yachino Unaharu' might be… inevitable."
He shifted smoothly into the next phase:
"As for the name 'Unaharu' (Originally Soka)…"
His voice grew calm, contemplative.
"Unaharu is a type of plant that thrives in extremely harsh environments. Its stems are lined with blade-like thorns—sharp enough to cut skin at the slightest touch."
He paused briefly, letting the imagery sink in, then continued:
"But despite that aggressive exterior, it blooms once a year—pure white flowers. Unexpectedly beautiful."
He lifted his eyes, sweeping them over the two captains, and spoke with a touch more force:
"My goal in writing this story wasn't to glorify killing, nor to focus on how sharp Unaharu's thorns are."
"I wanted to explore whether, in those forgotten and chaotic corners of Rukongai, there might exist something like that plant—something that fights to survive, and somehow manages to bloom into a beauty all its own."
"Even if that beauty is difficult to understand. Even if it's dangerous."
He wrapped it up with a poised, elevated flourish, face solemn:
"Through this story, I hope to remind the people of Seireitei not to give up so easily on those who live in the far districts. Perhaps… they too have something worth noticing."
Finished, Shiki lifted his now-cool teacup, slowly sipped, and used the motion to hide the tightness in his throat.
That had to work. Had to.
He'd just explained the name, turned murder into metaphor, elevated the theme to societal care and compassion—
Surely that would get him off the hook?
The room was quiet for a few long seconds.
Unohana didn't respond immediately. She simply took another graceful sip of tea, her long lashes downcast, expression unreadable.
Kuryashiki scratched his short hair, looking confused.
"Sounds kinda… deep?" His brow furrowed. "I mean, yeah, I guess I get it… but I was mostly wondering how hard that killer could hit."
Yeah, Shiki thought. I figured.
It was Kensei who broke the silence next.
The 9th Division Captain smiled with a rare note of approval—maybe even pride.
"Well said, Shiki," he nodded firmly.
Then he looked toward the other two captains, his voice more serious:
"Shiki raises a good point. The neglected state of the outer Rukongai districts is something we should reflect on more deeply. I'll bring this up with the Head Captain when I get the chance."
He turned back to Shiki, eyes bright. "You're right. We shouldn't just write off the people who live out there."
Then, somewhat awkwardly, he added:
"To be honest, I used to think your books were just… well, nonsense. Wild, fanciful stories for kids—completely disconnected from reality."
He paused, tone softening.
"But I was narrow-minded. This new book—it's got depth. After this, I'm heading straight to Junlin'an to pick up a copy."
Shiki bowed slightly, still smiling, the image of humility.
"Thank you, Captain."
Internally, he rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.
Captain! Dear Captain! I appreciate the support, really—but YOU'RE NOT THE ONE I'M TRYING TO SURVIVE RIGHT NOW.
Right on cue, Unohana gently set her cup down.
Her soft smile hadn't budged.
"So the name 'Unaharu' carries that kind of resilient beauty… how lovely," she said warmly.
She nodded slightly, as though truly touched by the symbolism.
Then, with seamless grace, she continued:
"Now I'm even more excited to read how the story unfolds. 5th Seat Shiki, I do hope you'll continue writing soon."
Hsss—
Shiki felt a chill slide down his spine.
Nope. Nope nope nope. That tone. That smile.
Everything seemed perfectly fine. But his instincts screamed otherwise.
She didn't believe a word of that explanation. She was just biding her time.
Whether she was giving him a chance or waiting for a better opening… he didn't know.
But he had to change the topic. Fast.
He plastered on an awkward, sheepish smile and waved a hand.
"Ah, Captain Unohana, you give me too much credit. It's not so easy to keep writing the next part…"
He sighed, launching into a heartfelt-sounding complaint:
"The way I write—using outward conflict to reflect inner truths—it requires a deep understanding of battle, of life and death… of human nature under extreme conditions."
He raised his hands in mock helplessness.
"But I'm just a low-level officer. Most of my time is spent on paperwork and prison records. I barely ever witness real combat. Writing gets… slow."
"Ah, that's an easy fix!" Kuryashiki slapped his thigh with a laugh.
"You want real combat? You want material? Just tag along with us in the 11th for a few days!"
He looked excited now. A little too excited.
"Something weird's going on in the living world—uptick in unexplained deaths, spiritual pressure fluctuations. We've been working alongside the 13th to stabilize things."
"Their squad handles Soul Burial. We handle the Hollows."
The more he talked, the more fired up he got.
"Come with us. Stay at a safe distance. Watch how real fights happen. How we deal with monsters, how the battlefield moves."
"Firsthand experience! Real blood and spirit pressure! You'll get a dozen novels' worth of inspiration!"
Shiki turned to Kuryashiki with a blank look.
Captain… why are you like this?
I made one little complaint and now you're planning a research trip?!
Desperately, he turned to his captain.
Captain Kensei, please! This is the 11th Division's job, not ours! We're in charge of prisons, not Hollow extermination! It's out of scope! Use your famous discipline and say no!
Kensei received the plea in Shiki's eyes. He frowned, thinking seriously.
Arms crossed, he rubbed his chin, clearly weighing the idea.
Then, he looked up.
His voice shifted to that firm, commanding tone of a captain issuing orders.
"Hmm… Captain Kuryashiki makes a valid point. It's hard to write deeply about something you haven't experienced. And this could be a rare chance to gain real insight."
He nodded slowly.
"Very well. Shiki, you'll temporarily accompany the 11th Division to the living world for observation. Stay safe. Follow orders."
Shiki opened his mouth—then closed it.
He could only sit there, staring blankly at his captain.
You… You just sold me out.
…