Central Seireitei

[Yuto]

​

For the most part, the entertainment in the room kept Yuto distracted, his attention pulled left and right by the hum of conversation and the steady rhythm of movement around him. Still, he was quick to refocus whenever Seimei leaned in to whisper. He listened closely, nodding along to the subtle commentary of his older brother. Not brothers by blood, but by something deeper. “Right. They wouldn’t believe us if we told anyone,” he whispered back, his tone hushed and almost gossipy, as though they were schoolboys sharing secrets instead of Shinigami seated among their peers.

“This isn’t actually all too bad… if you don’t include the dark chocolate one…” His thoughts drifted like bubbles rising to the surface. The lingering sweetness clung stubbornly to his tongue, bordering on unpleasant. It was almost ironic. Yuto had the opposite of a sweet tooth. Even the faintest hint of sugar unsettled him, no matter how carefully it was balanced or masked. Dark chocolate, praised for its bitterness, still carried too much sweetness for his liking. The aftertaste alone was enough to make him quietly reach for another sip of sake.

His slightly cracked Denreishinki remained mute at his side. No buzz. No interruption. For once, the world beyond the room felt distant, muffled, as though he had stepped into a space separate from duty and obligation. And then came a buzz. A message from their captain. Yuto stiffened and fumbled slightly as he reached for it, trying to look casual and failing. A faint light blinked insistently. Under normal circumstances, he would have read it immediately.

But what unfolded in the next instant would have drawn his attention away entirely.

"How does everyone here feel about our new Captain Commander? It's been awhile since we've had a figure head."

The words hit him at the exact moment he took another sip. The words barely had time to settle before Yuto choked mid-sip. Sake burned at the back of his throat, and in a sharp, unguarded reflex, he spat a fine spray straight onto his Denreishinki. "I-I... With some members of the First Division here?!" The device flickered in protest, its faint glow sputtering before the screen went completely dark. And then Toru paused the conversation allowing them to simmer on the question.

It went quiet.

"Oh right, my manners. I'm Kyōraku Rokka of the Sixth Division."

The same sinister presence he had felt from Toru suddenly intensified, radiating outward in a surge of energy so pronounced that even from another room, Yuto could sense it. He had always been unusually sensitive to shifts in spiritual pressure, and this one was impossible to ignore. He stiffened instinctively, unsure whether something significant was unfolding or if it was merely his own nerves amplifying the sensation. For a brief moment, the pressure felt overwhelming. Then, just as abruptly, it receded. With Toru’s return, more faces followed, each taking their place and ordering dishes of every variety. The air grew dense with the scent of food and sake, conversations weaving into a tapestry of low murmurs and carefully restrained reactions, all subtly tempered by the host’s presence.

"Now, before we were so rudely interrupted by the entitled Shihōin, dear Rokka here asked an oh so interesting question! How does everyone feel about the new Captain Commander?"

Toru said, continuing his thoughts on the Captain Commander before them, his voice measured yet deliberate. There was no hesitation in his tone, no visible concern for how his words might be received, as though he were simply observing the weather rather than addressing the highest authority.

"This is so awkward..."

Seimei could see the expression on the young man's face as he was fighting off signs of anxiety and worries. It even showed up in a form of an acid reflux. The mention of the “figurehead” commander hung in the air longer than it should have. To speak ill of one’s superior, especially so openly, was to tread dangerously close to disrespect. Discipline and hierarchy were the spine of the Gotei. Most of those present were of lower rank. Even among equals, such commentary could draw unwanted attention. And to question the Wolfman’s own leader? That was a line Yuto would never dare approach, not unless he wished to invite unwanted attention upon himself. And then there was the moment he felt Toru’s presence shift when he grew angry. There was too much intensity for him to handle.

"Erk...."


He raised his sake cup slowly, his palm wrapping around its curve as though grounding himself in the ceramic warmth. Taking a sip or two. His eyes moved subtly, left and right, gauging the First Division members. Measuring their reactions. Searching for the slightest twitch of offense, the smallest tightening of jaw or narrowing of gaze.
​

On the surface, he remained composed.​

Within. A sensation of unease began to settle beneath his composure. The weight of what could follow pressed against his thoughts, subtle but persistent. One careless word could shift the mood of the entire room. One wrong reaction could spiral into consequences far beyond this gathering. For a moment, he found himself wishing he could slip away unnoticed, as though stepping outside would dissolve the tension entirely. It was almost as if he longed to escape the moment before it had the chance to settle.

​

 

[IshikawaInuzuri]

---

Seimei Ukitake (浮竹 清明)​

---

---

Seimei could ignore the social ramblings of all quality for the time being as he did his best to enjoy the finest meat he’d had in quite a bit. ”Alright, Tsunayashiro or not, he can as well invite us more often because this is damn nice!” Seimei thought to himself in silence. For once, his observant and dutiful inner behavior could be overtaken by temptation and greed that the deliciousness of this food brought out of him. And after all, they’d endured quite a long shift of work prior to joining the party. Seimei wasn’t all too good in enjoying things, with him more or less gobbling his food—he wasn’t used to slow digestion of things, but quick processing and performing more or less. He ate the skewer in mere seconds, leaving no trace of meat in similar fashion as he’d done to the sole glass of sake he’s had so far.

His right hand carefully placed the eaten skewer on the plate as he retained his casual, almost trademark expression as in the same breath his Deireishinki rang. He knew that it could only mean one thing—Captain Izanagi wanted a word. Hiding any and all signs of pain or discomfort, he now used his right hand to reach out for the device from within his robes. His Deireishinki resembled a smartphone in the terms of its appearance, and as he held the device within his palm a mere swipe of his thumb was enough to reveal the message relayed by his captain—and no doubt Yuto would receive the same message, or so he thought. ”I am eager to hear of your travels to Naruki City. Try not to keep me waiting.” Was what could be read on the notification itself. As it stood, both himself and Yuto lacked the luxury of staying for the dinner as their duty called. And as soon as he had read the message, he realized that Yuto either kept his device muted, or he’d lost it or broke it like kids of his age do and say nothing about it. His gaze immediately turned upon Yuto as he looked down on him, with a gaze so piercing that it probably could kill. ”This little prick can’t even take care of his device!” He thought to himself, frustrated—he almost wanted to smack Yuto on the head. But, that wouldn’t be productive at this point. And regardless, they’d have to leave and he’d have to take Yuto with him. One way or another. Seimei put his Deireishinki back into his robes as he stood up from his seat and took up a happy, smiling face to mask any signs of frustration or annoyance at this point.
​

”Sorry guys! Me and the dwarf here have to go, duty calls! See you next time we’re invaded, or whenever!” ​

He remarked with quite some sarcasm beneath his words as his right hand grabbed Yuto by the collar of his robes as he lifted him off his chair all the while maintaining his almost disturbingly joyful expression. He then took off rather promptly and marched off while dragging Yuto across the floor while holding him by his collar. He expected Yuto to try and find his way out of Seimei’s grip—but in this instance, not even the mighty Reiō could do a thing about the strength of his grasp. As soon as they found themselves in the waiting hall, Seimei picked Yuto up and placed him sitting on his shoulders. Well, much like parents or older siblings would do to toddlers. Yuto certainly wasn’t a toddler, but he was something close enough he supposed. And they seemed to leave in time as well—any discussion regarding their mighty Captain-Commander could’ve been fatal. And knowing Yuto, it would’ve been a topic too difficult for him to handle.

Seimei walked out of the waiting hall and left the building outright. As soon as they stepped outside, his emerald gaze began to traverse across the many buildings ahead—taking a moment to gather his breath before he would leave for their barracks. Before that, he dropped Yuto off from his shoulders and without any regard whether he would land on his feet or not. He’d prefer if Yuto fell on his head, hoping that such an impact would rewire things within his brain.
​

”Hey you punk, could you please take care of your—Hm.” ​

Seimei ranted with a tone you’d expect from a demanding older sibling. However, his rant came to a quick halt. He felt someone watching them. None of his senses detected a thing, neither did his spiritual perception give out anything worthy of suspicion. However, his intuition as a former operative of the Onmitsukidō told him that there certainly were eyes on the manor, even if he couldn’t prove it. An operative was always an operative, he himself knew that to have eyes everywhere meant you had to have eyes on your own back as well. However, as his spiritual perception couldn’t find anything, he’d dismiss his feeling as a mere hunch and an intuition his past self would perhaps investigate far more lightly. His eyes scanned his surroundings for multiple seconds to see whether he could find something.
​

”Guess it was nothing, ’aight then. I’ll rant later. Let’s move.”​

He spoke with doubt but clarity beneath his words as his silhouette quickly disappeared from the scene as he departed back for the barracks of the 10th Division.​

---

-> Southwest Seireitei​

 

[Hyoroshi Iwamura]

---

"How does everyone here feel about our new Captain Commander? It's been awhile since we've had a figure head."

Hyoroshi's section of the table, once sated by the gentle slurps and munches of quiet consumption, was now completely silent. Hyoroshi's attention had flicked to this Rokka Kyōraku before his second sentence could start. The gaze was unrelenting but not hostile--merely contemplative, though a flicker of what could be discerned as morose flashed as well.

For a second Hyoroshi glanced at the half-bowl of bulgogi and still-untouched spring rolls. A soft, unprompted grin perked up the corners of his mouth.

"Well--"

"Well! That is a wonderful question indeed, my friend! I'll be a little selfish, could everyone hold off answering whilst I go welcome in our new guests? I'll want to hear everyone's response if possible. I'll give you my thoughts after I've served the new guests too of course."

Hyoroshi's gaze followed the lanky Tsunayashiro out of the room. His ears twitched as he subconsciously downed another bite of beef and rice; other than Ishiko's, one other voice piqued his interest to the point of pulling his head back to the doorway. He watched as Ishiko; an unfamiliar, effeminate individual; and the youthful Suzume Fēng entered and trotted towards empty seats.

He nodded once to Suzume when her hand glanced his shoulder.

"You as well, Suzume."

Again Hyoroshi fell quiet, glancing once, then twice at his subordinate; the small grin he'd donned earlier returned. He was aware of his status as a support structure for Ishiko, a precept well beyond the original title of mentor Commander Shihoin had granted him the year prior. He could have scoffed at the assignment and neglected her--a small part of him once considered it, if only for a relatively fleeting moment.

Instead, a vegetable spring roll tore in half between his jaws with a single juicy crunch.

"With all due respect to you and your Division, sir," Hyoroshi rumbled to Toru, "I do not know why Lieutenant Senko was selected. That was the Captain-Commander's call, and I was in the process of transferring to the First when it was made. Perhaps he had seen something we couldn't, something that required the knowledge and expertise of the Twelfth's acting head. I am not a zealot, but it is not my place to question."

Hyoroshi sipped the last of his now lukewarm tea.

"What I can say is that you needn't worry. Lieutenant Oyuki Gekka is one of the most stalwart and competent men I have ever had the honor of meeting, let alone working under. It may not look like it, but everything he does is in service of protecting his comrades, including those of other divisions. Even so...the death of Captain Kurayami, our former Captain, is not lost on us."

He cupped his hands upon the table, taking on an almost stately posture. "However, it is an irrefutable fact that Captain Kurayami's fluffy ideals led to her untimely demise. They saved my life, yet ended hers. If I had to guess, the Captain-Commander likely tasked her and the Fifth to properly fulfill its role while including Lieutenant Senko to help with the data-gathering."

Hyoroshi took but a second to eat the remaining half of the spring roll.

"I hear your concerns with your Division, though. Rest assured, once we're done here, I will bring it to the Commander's attention. New officer assignments shouldn't be an issue; you should see them rolling in by tomorrow morning."

At last Hyoroshi afforded himself a deep, filling breath. He sat back, pulled his hands to his lap, and tilted his head to Rokka. His grin morphed somewhat into pursed lips.

"I hope that was a good starting-off point."​

 

[KagiSenkō]

​

---

Takeshige crouched on the highest rooftop of the Second Division barracks, his figure outlined against a sky filled with warm afternoon light. The sun hovered above the Seireitei in a bright, unwavering blaze that washed every surface in gold. The air carried the dry heat of the day, and a faint breeze drifted across the compound with the scent of distant cedar and sun‑warmed stone. His cloak stirred behind him in slow, deliberate movements, as though the fabric possessed its own restless intentions, and the tiles beneath his feet radiated the lingering warmth of the midday sun. From this vantage point, the entire division stretched out beneath him in a vivid arrangement of courtyards, walkways, and training fields, each one sharpened by the clarity of daylight. He surveyed the scene with an intensity that suggested he believed every corner concealed a secret.


His eyes moved across the barracks with the solemn focus of someone convinced he alone understood the hidden patterns of the afternoon. Recruits swept the stone paths with steady, unhurried strokes, their brooms brushing across the ground in a rhythm that Takeshige interpreted as coded communication. Officers gathered near the administrative hall, their paperwork spread across low tables that reflected the sunlight in bright flashes, and their quiet conversations drifted upward like murmured strategies. Even the trees seemed to sway with intention, their branches shifting in slow arcs that he was certain carried meaning.


Then his attention caught on a small shape resting near the walkway.


A cat lay stretched across a stone that still held the warmth of the day, its body arranged in a posture of complete ease. The moonlight brushed across its fur, revealing a coat so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light, and each subtle movement of its sleek form created a ripple of shadow that glided across the surface beneath it. Its tail curled and uncurled with unhurried grace, and its ears twitched with the precision of a creature attuned to every sound in the courtyard. Its eyes, half open, reflected the lanterns and the moon in a soft golden shimmer that suggested a depth of awareness far beyond what Takeshige considered normal.
He leaned forward, cloak stirring behind him like a restless spirit, and whispered with unwavering conviction,​

---

“An infiltrator in feline form.”​

Satisfied with his assessment, he rose to his full height, the moonlight catching the edges of his cloak as though outlining him in silver. He placed a hand over his chest where a crooked sheet of paper clung stubbornly to his uniform. The words “Acting Lieutenant” were written in bold, uneven strokes that bore the unmistakable enthusiasm of their creator. He nodded with the solemn pride of someone who believed fate had finally acknowledged his brilliance.


He leapt from the rooftop with the elegance of a falling wardrobe, landing in the courtyard with a heavy thud that echoed through the stillness. He straightened immediately, pretending the sound belonged to someone else, and strode toward the lieutenant’s office with the posture of a man stepping into legend. The office stood quiet and undisturbed, its closed doors reflecting the moonlight in a soft glow that made the room appear almost ceremonial. Takeshige regarded it with the reverence of someone witnessing a moment of great significance.​

He lifted his chin and declared to the silent courtyard,
“With Lieutenant Kinkō away, I shall uphold the honor of this division.”​

His voice carried farther than he intended, bouncing off the surrounding walls with theatrical force. He cleared his throat and added with a tone of practiced dignity,​

“I accept this burden with grace.”​

A recruit passing nearby paused, staring at him with the bewildered expression of someone who had stumbled into an unexpected performance.
“Who… are you?”​

Takeshige inhaled deeply, straightened his cloak, and placed one hand over his heart with dramatic flourish.
“I am Takeshige Nobuatsu Yorimas Kiyotsuna Hōzuki Shirabe Mikoto, Third Heir of the Crescent Veil Line, Bearer of the Shadow Silk Mantle, Acting Lieutenant of the Second Division, Master of Stealth.”​

The recruit stared.


Takeshige stared back.



The recruit slowly walked away.​

Takeshige nodded with quiet satisfaction and whispered,
“He was overwhelmed."​

He marched toward the training grounds with the confidence of someone who had never once succeeded at anything he attempted. The grounds stretched before him in a wide expanse of packed earth and polished wood, the moonlight casting long shadows that softened every edge. A row of wooden practice dummies stood arranged for the evening drills, their surfaces worn smooth by countless strikes, and their rigid forms seemed to wait patiently for the next round of training. Takeshige approached them with the seriousness of a commander reviewing elite soldiers, circling them with his hands clasped behind his back while his cloak drifted in slow, deliberate movements.​

“As acting lieutenant, I must ensure all equipment meets my standards.”​

He tapped one of the dummies with the tip of his finger. It wobbled slightly, the faint tremor passing through its frame like a subtle warning. He gasped as though he had uncovered a grave threat.​

“Unstable. Kinkō’s doing, no doubt.”​

He crouched beside the dummy, examining it with exaggerated scrutiny, his eyes narrowing as though he were deciphering ancient symbols. He withdrew a small brush from his sleeve and painted a tiny mark on its base with the flourish of an artist completing a signature.​

“There. Reinforced with my personal seal.” The symbol was a smiley face.​

He rose with the satisfaction of someone who believed he had prevented a disaster. He turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him in a dramatic arc, and walked directly into a low branch. The branch struck him across the forehead with a dull thump. He stumbled, regained his balance, and whispered with unwavering confidence,​

“A stealth test. I passed.”​

He continued his patrol, chest lifted, paper badge clinging precariously to his uniform, convinced the entire division rested safely under his temporary command. His gaze drifted toward the distant walls of the Central Forty Six compound, its imposing structure rising above the surrounding buildings like a silent monument. The moonlight pooled across its rooftops and courtyards, giving the entire complex an air of solemn authority. He placed a hand on his chin, adopting the posture of a strategist contemplating the fate of nations.​

“Perhaps I should inspect the Central Forty Six as well,” he whispered.
“One cannot be too careful. Suspicious activity could be lurking anywhere.”​

He nodded with growing determination.
“Yes. I shall ensure nothing funny is happening there.”​

He paused, straightened his cloak, and deepened his voice into a dramatic imitation of Kagi’s calm authority.
“Great Work, Takeshige. Truly, your vigilance knows no equal. I should demote Kinko and make you Lt if you keep up with your sharp thinking.”​

He nodded proudly at his own performance.​

“Then I say." Takeshige paused "Thank you Senko-Taichou I am just trying to make you proud sir!" He bowed to the imaginary captain with complete sincerity.
“As you command, Taichō.”​

With that, he marched toward the Central Forty Six compound with the confidence of someone who believed he is looking to make sure everything is going as they should with the Stealth Force patrol. Believing his actions will eventually remove Kinko from Lieutenant rank with Takeshige taking his place.
​

---

---

 

[Adonai]

---

For the last ten years Kuwashii has been on a journey of growth, mentally, physically, and spiritually. She is many times stronger than she was before, more confident, efficient and brutal. With her physically changing and no longer appearing as a brat people are able to take her more seriously. Although this is not true for every Shinigami she encounters as there are those who still remember when she was nothing but an attention seeking brat who barked loud and couldn’t bite anything. Those who have those memories of her and haven’t spoken to her directly since then still think she is a joke, someone who holds their head up proudly when it shouldn’t be. Then there are those who have crossed her path, said the wrong thing and are shown how times have changed.

Under Kisho’s tutelage she has become an efficient Shinigami, always performing her duties without fail, seeking to improve herself and wanting to achieve even more. She has aligned her outlook on the Gotei 13 with Kisho’s but she is not willing to be as cruel as him. She can spot the difference from someone slacking off and someone resting because they genuinely need it. A sudden invitation to a party for all to join is the perfect hunting ground to find those who are slacking or those who just want a meal other than the rations they have been living off of.

The Tsunayashiro party, a spontaneous event from the eyes of the Seireitei but perhaps something that has been in the works for this Toru person for quite some time. What sort of people are gathering there, who are shirking their duties as a Shinigami to get a free meal and rest from their duties? Furthermore, what is Toru after in all of this? Her inquisitive nature has her mind running with questions non-stop but she can only get her answers by going to the party, albeit late. Her going late is by design, the more interesting lot tend to hang around after a party has died down so they can talk about more “important” matters, she wants to be there for those talks. She would have liked someone from her Division to have come with her but it seems like it is a busy day for 9th Division.

Her Captain is at a meeting, Kisho has vanished and she knows not where, and Kouei seems to be on the trail of something else. Looking at the flyer once again it comes off as too innocent and peaceful to merely be a party. Perhaps she is looking too deeply into it but she feels like there is more going on than simply rest and relaxation. She looked into this Toru Tsunayashiro, he is a member of Twelfth Division, though she doesn’t know what he specializes in exactly. For all she knows this could be a big harvesting event for him. With that in mind it made her hesitate to move any further. She had a job to do and she couldn’t simply ignore this event.

She stands outside of the manor, simply looking at it, she has never once entered a clan manor before or walked any clan grounds. These places are more imposing to her than going to First Division. Thankfully it does not give off an aura of unease or eeriness like the newly constructed Date Manor, that place makes her skin crawl for some unknown reason. The Tsunayashiro manor does not make her skin crawl but it gives her the sense of “I shouldn’t be here, I don’t belong here, I will be judged.” She knows about this family, everyone does, but learned as she is she remembers well why she should feel this way. Before the Civil War this clan was running the Gotei 13 alongside the Shihoin, but the superiority they hold over all others is what makes them so scary to her.

Part of it may also have to do with the rumors that ran rampant in the Rukongai about the clan as well when she was growing up. From a distance they could be seen as gods among Shinigami, especially when you are uninformed and uneducated on things. Though this is no longer true for Kuwashii, that mentality slightly clings to the back of her mind which is why this “invisible” barrier is stopping her from moving forward. She takes a deep breath, remembers she is there on 9th Division business and takes a step forward, moving past the self imposed barrier. She follows the directions on the flier and arrives at the location, she feels like she has been walking on egg shells this entire time and she hates it. She walks into the waiting room and looks around, putting the flier away in her Shihakushō as she waits to be let into the dining area.
​

”I hope this actually leads to something and isn’t just a waste of time…”​

---

​

 

[Elk]

“Seems you are as joyous as ever, cousin,”

“Before anyone says a word: I suggest we do this traditionally. Although he aren’t on our ancestral grounds, we will use our family conduct when performing this impromptu gathering, as Hideo put it. We will only conduct ourselves properly and with tact.” He looked directly at Hideo when he spoke the last four words of that sentence, as if speaking to him directly. “As usual, I will sit in for the rest of the council and bear witness and offer insight if necessary. When the matriarch is ready, we can commence.” he said unbiasedly.

“Thank you Commander Shihōin”

“Should I not be? Should I be dark and brooding next time we talk?”



She took her step forward, one commanding authority, one that had his eyes close and his smile persist while his hands rested limply by his sides while she spoke of what happened ten years ago, her thoughts on the matter, and how it would strain the name. As she spoke of the elders, his eyes opened to look at Yūgure. Fury was in her eyes, and it had him wonder why she held it against him so strongly, even before this incident ten years ago.

“And you put our family at risk.”


She let the sentence sit between them, heavy and irrevocable.


“If you want to handle matters alone,” she said, tone dropping to a quiet steel, “you may. But you will not do so if you wish to remain as a Shihōin.”

He remained silent as she issued her ultimatum. Still, his expression barely changed, no twitch on his face nor movement across his body, only his eyes watching Yūgure move and insult him. He was certain she wanted to say more, to belittle him and yell, yet she held her composure as her voice boomed with judgment. His mind was elsewhere, thinking of what to say and what to do, how to move, how his tone should be when given the chance to speak. Should he grovel on the floor and beg not to be kicked out?

“We are being watched. Our dear Commander has set off Taro Date today so eyes will be on us more than ever and I refuse to let your carelessness be the spark that ignites more trouble to our name.”

That first two sentences would have him take one step back as his gaze shifted from her to Yūichirō before shifting back to Yūgure.

“I hope my words make sense to you, cousin? The no keeping secrets starts now, give me more details on how Sumire Shihōin came to realize what your brother was up to? Why didn’t they report this and only tell you of the matter? Your brother may be in custody, and you might think that it’s handled but it's not until I hear more about how Sumire came to this information, from both you and her.”

His hand moved over his eyes and pressed against his face as he dragged it down. Then he began to laugh, his body shifting downward, making his hair dangle while his laughter continued. This laugh was something that would have some people concerned, even more so for these two. It wasn’t his usual composure that they were used to. They both knew him to keep a mask on, and both had experienced it while Yūgure passed her threats and demands. Slowly he rose as a single tear left his eye, his hands moving to adjust his hair and bangs before sliding back together into his sleeves.


“Ohhhh, cousins. That is not good.”

“You’re telling me that Yūichirō, the great DEAN and Commander, had a lapse in judgment?!?”

“Not once, but TWICE?!?”

“Before I tell you everything I know, and I do mean EVERYTHING, I got a message I was tasked with delivering from Tsunayashiro.”

“I welcome people into this room and their messenger was not welcomed. I don't give a damn who sent the messenger or why, unless it's the Reiō himself, no one will be forgiven for intruding on my dinner party.”

He took in a deep breath as he shifted between the two with his eyes. Both hands remaining in his sleeves nary a movement coming from them. Not caring for what they would have to say or do.



“It’s one thing to THREATEN a Captain.”

“But it’s another thing to threaten a Captain from a clan that can unravel us in a single instance. For a minor clan, they hold more power than you think. That secret I kept from everyone, including you and the elders, is a mere drop in the bucket.”

“I’m glad a reporter came to me about this one. It was squashed before it was even reported”

“I accept the terms you have laid out, and now you’ll be cursed with the knowledge I possess.”



His smile had faded as he took a step toward the balcony, walking across the polished wooden floors, his gaze shifting over to the empty field of the Shiba Manor, its fields clean and maintained. As to who maintained it was not publicly known, though if he had to make an educated guess, it was the Dates, the only clan aggressive enough to pursue the coveted fourth Great Clan house.

“They’re going to replace the Shiba clan, and take the fourth vacant spot of the Great Noble Houses.”

“And they’ll use every little secret they kept recorded against the three families to do so.”

“Are you ready for a meeting with Tsunayashiro, Kuchiki, and Date’s?”

“Now…”


Hideo had spoke loud enough for them to hear, as he walked back towards the captains, his hand slowly parting from his sleeves as he brought out a booklet, its cover was splattered with ink, several torn edges and its pages wrinkled and warped. His voice dropping the usual Joyful tone.


“Do you both know how the Arrancar got those pieces of the Soul King?”

“Both of you SHOULD know this little open secret our clan has.”


His tone certainly wasn’t neutral, almost scolding, like a teacher asking the obvious question.


“The Soul King was dived over two millennia ago by the Four Great Noble Houses, and we all scattered his pieces in the World of the Living. I can only theorize that each piece has planted itself into humans that were yet to be born. We, and I mean all four clans, have not kept an eye on these special humans for over two millennia. My guess is that the Arrancars have found these pieces by killing a human.”



He remained silent, letting either speak as he shifted his gaze between the two, his face expressionless as he watched their faces closely, wondering what they would do with this information, had they not known what the four clans did.


“That was the first secret we all should know. The second secret is the Eighth Division holds the lungs of the Soul King, or should I say held them? For all we know, Zero Division came in and took that piece back. For obvious reasons, I didn’t tell anyone aside from Suzume. We hid it deep within the vault of the 8th .”

Again, he watched the two, waiting for a response from either or both, eyes closing as he awaited a scolding, expecting them to berate him for not telling them this news as soon as the invasion was over. Though he had little reason to tell the two, as increased security from the Ninth would be noticeable. Though he questioned whether Yūgure’s spies already knew of this.


“You asked why I didn’t bring the news to any elders or either of you. It wasn’t out of selfish reasoning, as you so plainly put it. It was out of my lack of trust in how they would proceed. After all, they were the ones who put us in this position in the first place. Our clan is strained. How could I trust the advice of the elders who made the very choice to stand by and watch as the former head chose to decimate the Kuchiki clan’s numbers just for a little more prestige within the Four Great Noble Houses?”

“As to going to either of you, you both were out, as both of you would have used it against me like you are now.”

There was No theatrics, there wasn’t a need for that. His tone with the Elders seemed almost scathing, yet tempered.


“I doubt you’ll ever hear from Sumire. She won’t answer your summons, certainly not because she doesn’t respect your position as head of the family.”

““No, no. It’s because she died a little over 130 years ago. Or at least that’s what the elders want people to believe. Her corpse showed up a little over 11 years ago, dropped off by a cyan haired man from the Kidō corpse. They quickly hid that fact from everyone, but one of the servants recorded the incident and used it to blackmail the elders into becoming wealthier than they ever imagined.”


“They also paid that man a hefty sum to not talk about it.”

“Ohhh, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall to see their faces as she dropped my brother off and disappeared.”

“I’m sure it would have been PRICELESS.”

His voice cracked with a small bit of laughter as his hand moved over his mouth, eyes shifting up, then left, before looking back at Yūgure.


“Sumire Shihōin…”

“Is a traitor.”


There wasn’t a need for his pause. He couldn’t help it. He had added that last little bit of dramatic flair as he looked at his cousins, gauging their reactions once more.



“If you’re going to ask me why I didn’t report this, I was under the assumption that the elders told you everything. That clearly was not the case. They kept that secret under lock and key.”

“Our dear cousin was a member of the Twelfth Division. From the journals of her mother, father, and herself, she had always been a step above everyone else when it came down to the scientific field. She excelled in biology and took a particular interest in Hollows, even more so on they evolve into Vasto Lorde, along with Garganta travel.”


“My best guess is she had contact with my brother and used him to help fund whatever she had been working on. When the invasion happened, I guess she saw little use for him and dropped him off at the manor. As for his condition, maybe it was something he did that she didn’t like.”


“I’m not her, I can’t even imagine why she would turn him in to me and not you”


“Regardless that is all I have for you, unless you want to know the mundane secrets, cooking recipes affairs, family feuds. The boring stuff ”


the entire time that he held that book it, he held onto it as loosely as possible, allowing either of them to take it, in it his notes on family affairs, the traitors names, his brothers doings, some transactions he managed to salvage with noting that gold was what Sumire was after. A doodle of himself in the corner with a question mark.

Post Order

Yūgure --> Yūichirō --> Hideo​

 

[Dioclea]

An inquiry befell the room and settled into it.

It slid between bowls and porcelain and the slow exhale of steam, and it stayed there, patient, waiting to see who would touch it first.

“How does everyone here feel about our new Captain Commander?”

Rokka’s voice had not been loud. It had not needed to be. It seemed to have carried the particular weight of a man who did not fear consequence or who had already calculated it. Around the table, the rhythm of eating looked to falter by fractions. Chopsticks hovered. Cups paused midway to lips. The lacquered surface reflected faces that suddenly seemed aware of themselves.

Yūgen did not look up at once. He finished the mouthful he had taken. He let the taste dissolve properly, because it felt dishonest to answer a question about leadership while distracted by cumin and smoke. The second fillet lingered with its boldness, the deliberate seasoning pressing forward against the clean restraint of the first. He followed it with a measured sip of sake and allowed the warmth to draw its thin, disciplined line through him.

The room moved around the question before it moved toward it.

Toru clapped with delight, as if someone had finally placed a match near something dry. New guests were ushered in. Suzume’s presence carried its own quiet authority. Ishiko’s introduction trembled with effort. Kaoru entered like colour poured into water, bright and unapologetic. A messenger intruded. Toru’s displeasure surfaced in a wave that made even the air recoil before it withdrew behind that familiar, stretching smile.

The dinner tried to remain a dinner.

But it was no longer only that.

Hyoroshi answered first in substance. There was loyalty in them, and loss, and the heavy practicality of someone who had seen ideals collapse under reality. He spoke of decisions made above him and did not disguise the cost of them. Yūgen listened carefully, not to find fault, but to understand the structure beneath the sentiment.

Across the table, unease expressed itself in smaller, human ways. Yūto’s discomfort clung to him like static. Seimei’s composure sharpened into vigilance. Suzume’s fugu lay pristine and dangerous before her, a quiet metaphor no one acknowledged aloud. Kaoru remained luminous beside him, untouched by hesitation, as if tension were simply another light in which to be seen.
Yūgen set his chopsticks down.

The sound was small. It did not demand attention. It simply existed.

He lifted his gaze then, not toward Toru, not toward the First Division, but toward Rokka, because the question belonged there.

“I do not think this question lives comfortably in a simple answer,” Yūgen said.

His voice entered the space without challenge and not rising above the table but instead settling into it.

His eyes dipped briefly to the lacquered surface, to the gold seams that marked repaired fractures.

“The Captain-Commander is not an ornament,” Yūgen said. “He is the shape of the era we will have to survive.”

His eyes dipped to the lacquered table, to the gold seams like repaired wounds made beautiful. Then he looked up again calmly.

“I have no interest in praising him,” Yūgen said. “I have no interest in condemning him. Both are easy. Both are performance.” Another pause, and the words softened without losing their edge. “What matters is whether he understands what he is holding. Power is not strength. Power is weight.”

He lifted his cup and drank in a ritual.

He allowed the thought to settle.

“Recent decisions have been visible, and perhaps necessary,” he said. “But necessity does not excuse spectacle. If the Commander governs by visible force, then he teaches the Gotei to obey a man, not a system.”

His gaze moved across the table, across the faces, across the silence. “And if we obey a man,” Yūgen said quietly, “we break when the man breaks.” The cup returned to the lacquer.

For a moment he said nothing more. The room felt heavier for it, but not hostile; only more aware. “Still,” he added, and now there was a thread of reluctant mercy, “it has been a long time since we had direction. Even a flawed compass keeps you from walking in circles.”

...

He then turned first to Suzume, “Fēng-san,” he said gently, “the Eighth Division attempts to record the memory of everything. In times of visible change, do you find yourselves consulted more… or watched more closely?” his question wasn't framed as any real trap, but it definitely posed as a question shaped like one.

Lastly, Yūgen has had a quiet expectation all along that Ichikawa Danjuro would be present, and so when the deliberate thud of geta announced a different arrival... silk, perfume, and theatrical confidence settled into the space beside him. He adjusted without visible strain; at the mention of Danjuro’s regards, something subtle in his gaze recalibrated, not necessarily out of disappointment, but the recognition of substitution, and he turned fully to regard Sakurada Kaoru for the first time, taking in the careful framing of their face, the unapologetic occupation of space, the brightness that felt both natural, cultivated and familiar. “Then I was misinformed,” he said evenly, neither cold nor amused. “I had expected Ichikawa.” A pause, his eyes steady on theirs. “Instead, I am introduced to his chosen envoy.” He inclined his head with precise courtesy. “Yūgen Kazahuna. Eighth Division.” When Kaoru asked what the table had been discussing, he answered without flourish. “The Captain Commander.” His tone did not rise to meet their energy; it grounded it. “You mentioned a promise to Ichikawa. Was that promise social, or strategic?” The question was gentle but intentional, because substitutions were rarely accidental, and Yūgen had made a life of studying what endured beneath performance; he did not smile, but he did not look away either, and in that steady regard there was acknowledgment that while the guest he expected had not arrived, the one who had might prove far more revealing and a new friend!

 

[KagiSenkō]

​

---

Arriving to Central from Division 2


The courtyard of Central Forty Six held its usual oppressive stillness, a silence so dense it seemed to settle into the stone itself. The air carried the faint scent of old cedar and ink, the natural perfume of a place built for judgment rather than welcome. Takeshige moved through that silence with a rhythm entirely his own, his steps gliding across the courtyard in long, sweeping arcs that curved like crescents drawn into the air. His body folded and unfurled in fluid motions, each shift of his weight accompanied by a subtle turn of the shoulders and a controlled sweep of the arms that traced invisible shapes around him. His feet skimmed the ground in a pattern that alternated between slow, deliberate slides and sudden, graceful pivots, as though he were weaving a private ritual into the courtyard itself. The crooked paper badge reading “Acting Lieutenant” clung to his chest with stubborn determination, trembling with every movement until a particularly sharp turn sent it fluttering free, spiraling through the air like a fallen leaf before drifting to the ground behind him.​

“A flawless approach, a perfect offering of form and spirit. They will feel the elegance of this.” He said to himself.​

He rose from a low turn with the solemn pride of someone who believed he had honored tradition in the most impeccable manner possible. His chest expanded with a long inhale, his posture straightened, and he placed a hand over his heart as though acknowledging an unseen audience. The courtyard remained silent, unmoved by his display, yet he stood there with unwavering conviction, unaware that his badge now lay abandoned several paces behind him. He began his ascent toward the entrance with the same fluid grace, each step accompanied by a subtle shift of his arms that suggested he was completing the final echoes of his ritual. The air changed before he reached the top. A faint pressure gathered around him, the kind that signaled the presence of trained killers long before they revealed themselves. Takeshige paused mid‑step, his foot hovering above the stone for a heartbeat before settling down with exaggerated poise. Three figures emerged from the surrounding shadows with such precision that it seemed the darkness itself had shaped them. Their masks reflected no emotion, their posture rigid and perfectly aligned, their silence absolute. Takeshige straightened further, smoothing his uniform with a flourish that he believed conveyed authority, then offered a bright, confident smile that clashed spectacularly with the oppressive atmosphere.​

“They came to greet me. They recognized the ritual.” Takeshige spoken subconsciously. ​

The lead operative stepped forward, his voice emerging with the calm precision of a blade sliding into place. “Identify yourself.”​

Takeshige lifted his chin, placing a hand over the empty spot where his badge should have been.

“I am Takeshige Nobuatsu, Yorimasa Kiyotsuna, Hōzuki‑Shirabe, Mikoto, Third Heir of the Crescent‑Veil Line, Bearer of the Shadow‑Silk Mantle, acting Lieutenant of the Second Division.”​

He held the final title with particular emphasis, lifting his chin as though expecting the courtyard itself to bow in acknowledgment, completely unaware that his paper badge lay several feet behind him on the stone.​

The second operative’s tone remained flat and unimpressed. “Inspection? By you?”​

Takeshige nodded with exaggerated confidence. “Yes, by me. I have prepared extensively. I have notes. Many notes.”​

The third operative’s gaze drifted to the paper badge lying on the ground behind him. “Your rank appears to have abandoned you.”​

Takeshige blinked, then forced a laugh that sounded far too proud for the situation. “A minor setback. A test of resolve. I remain Acting Lieutenant regardless of adhesive failure.”​

​

Takeshige spread his arms in a grand gesture, nearly losing his balance in the process. “But fear not fellow subordinates, I am here to ensure that all branches of Soul Society’s security apparatus are functioning at peak efficiency. I am here to help.”​

The second operative stepped closer, his presence heavy and unyielding. “We the chosen of many of the Stealth Force does not require your help at this time. ​

Takeshige attempted to recover with a flourish of his cloak. “I insist. I am fully prepared to begin my evaluation immediately.”​

The third operative’s hand settled lightly against the hilt of a concealed blade, the gesture calm and unhurried, yet unmistakably lethal. “You will leave.”​

Takeshige froze, his smile faltering. “Leave? Surely there must be some misunderstanding.”​

The lead operative took a single step forward, his voice lowering into something colder, something that carried the weight of authority rather than threat.


​

“We are assigned to guard this gate. We do not require assistance, and we do not recognize your claim to rank. Whatever game you believe you are playing ends here. If you continue to interfere, we will inform Captain Senkō of your behavior. And we shall deal with you accordingly as a threat to our post. Final Warning.”​

Takeshige’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as though the name itself had struck him. He lifted both hands in a frantic gesture of surrender, his voice cracking with sudden panic.​

“N‑no, no, that will not be necessary. Captain Senkō does not need to hear anything about this. I was only trying to support him, to support all of you, to support the mission. I would never interfere with his orders. I would never cause trouble for him. I will leave immediately. Right now. This instant.”​

His posture stiffened, his pride collapsing beneath the weight of fear. He adjusted his cloak with a trembling flourish meant to disguise his retreat as a dignified decision, nodded with the solemnity of someone who had just realized he was in far deeper trouble than he understood, and turned away with a sweeping motion that nearly caused him to stumble. He recovered with a dramatic pivot, descending the steps with smaller, more cautious movements, though the remnants of his ritual still lingered in the subtle sway of his arms and the soft glide of his feet. As he passed the spot where his badge had fallen, he scooped it up with a swift, embarrassed motion, tucking it back against his chest as though nothing had happened.



He did not leave the area entirely. His feet carried him along the outer wall, then up a narrow stone path that wound toward a higher terrace overlooking the compound. He climbed until he reached a ledge tucked beneath the shadow of an overhanging roof, a place high enough to see the entrance clearly yet hidden enough that no one would notice him unless they searched with intent. He settled there with his back pressed against the cool stone, peering down at the courtyard with wide, anxious eyes. Below, the operatives resumed their silent vigil, their presence dissolving as smoothly as it had appeared. The three who had confronted Takeshige stepped backward in perfect unison, their forms slipping into the folds of shadow that clung to the courtyard walls. Their silhouettes thinned, their outlines softened, and within moments they vanished entirely, returning to the unseen perches and narrow recesses from which they monitored every approach. They settled into those hidden vantage points with the same disciplined stillness that defined their existence, unseen yet unblinking, their attention fixed on the gate they were sworn to guard. No trace of their earlier confrontation remained, only the faint pressure of their watchfulness lingering in the air like a silent warning to any who might attempt to enter without cause.​

“I will watch from here. I will stay out of the way. I will not interfere. I will still protect this place. I will still make him proud.”​

Hidden high above the compound, he remained unseen, a lone figure keeping vigil over the very place he had been chased from, determined to redeem himself in the only way he could think of.
​

---

 

[Souris]

In between the already prevalent revolving door that was the dinner party, Rokka proposed a simple question. One that did not breach the room with a loud or disruptive nature - but instead carried a subtle weight of intrigue as its battery. A basic update on the perception from his peers on their outlook on the 'recent' transition of leadership. What he expected to be an easily approachable topic and a lighthearted litmus test into the personalities of those around him - somehow it was met largely with discomfort and half answers. Some struggled to even answer at all, others hid behind their discomfort on the matter, and another portion only dipped their big toe in the pool of a meaningful conversation.

It shouldn't be such a difficult target to make one's sentiments known and yet the souls in the room struggled to muster the courage to even speak on the matter. As if it was some unspoken taboo. It was just a question - that any and all in the space could relate to in one way or another.

The disappointment was clearly written on the detective's face. It seemed Valiosa took more than lives with her when she left - spines of the living were also on the menu. An absence that wasn't even close to being recovered even after over a decade of time. He wasn't surprised by that reality but disenchantment lingered all the same.

The only remarks that truly broke through the static were the following.

The first.​

“Hello, Kyoraku-san. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand that your clan is among the few respectable clans out there.” ​

A direct introduction that drew Rokka's attention from a newly introduced Ishiko Mori. It wasn't in relation to his former inquiry but his family name being mentioned magnetized his gaze. It was peculiar to hear such a statement. It amounted to a polite nod in the woman's direction but not verbal response. It was a kind gesture but also a bit lacking of tact in a room filled with other nobles... let alone while the host held an even more prevalent name. All that could be hoped was that no one took offense to the single targeted compliment. He avoided that potential landmine by simply gesturing with a half smile in the wake of the greeting.

The second.​

"Personally, I think his intentions are quite good. That being said, I think he's hasn't shown the ability to act on those intentions. He wants to make sure we're all prepared for a war at any time. He wants to strengthen the 13 Court Guards." After a moment. "If those are his intentions, why is it that my dear Lieutenant, who was presumed dead kept his title and no one replaced him? Why is it that he allows the returned Lieutenant to remain within Hueco Mundo without any worthwhile results? Sure, the Lieutenant has set up many layered back up plans, but who will keep the division level headed in times of need? There are no other seated members. There is no strength in a division where the blind guide the blind." ​

The first proper acknowledgement and one that served as insight into the mind of their host. His words drew no ill will towards the man at the helm, but presented a valid critique. An oversight into the management of leadership within the Seireitei. Why would a Lieutenant who disappeared without warning be awarded his position upon his return? Especially without a thorough investigation or any kind of punishment for that absence. It sets the example that anyone can do whatever they please - and get away with it. A contradiction to a supposed iron grasp approach. Rokka's own recent investigation also managed to unravel that inconsistency, among others, so it was not a new information thread. Though hearing from someone in proximity to that officer cemented the unease that could come from that lack of action.
​

"Ah yes. That is indeed an oversight at best - or negligence beyond that." Rokka paused briefly, just then realizing something entirely absurd. His expression soured at the swelling thought. "Wait... How even does a member of Twelfth manage to get stranded in Hueco Mundo with no contingencies? Even a Shinigami who just graduated the academy could of figured out that they could just signal the troops hovering in the area with Reiatsu, no? The field agents or even the Twelfth itself could of picked up on the Lieutenant's spike." ​

The Kyoraku's questioning was aimed without any hope of a meaningful insight from Toru, but he had to vocalize that curiosity. How could this be let to happen? It looks bad for the Twelfth's Lieutenant, his subordinates, and any governing figure outside of it that could allow it to slide. The combination of how unlikely this all sounded along with the disappearance would easily raise concerns of desertion at the very least... and yet that notion of seeking strength after tragedy has another huge hole in it.

The next stood out but not for an insightful response. It was an outlier because it came with a lot of words but none that really served to answer the initial query. And yet the individual posed a phantom jab in Rokka's direction as if it had. The political sidestepping came to an end with a simple utterance.​

"I hope that was a good starting-off point."​

Rokka wasn't sure what even that was supposed to mean. Hyoroshi spent his chance to participate in an open forum dancing around any direct responses. Expressing passivity towards the Captain Commander and spending more time talking about subjects outside of the question at hand. Sure, a portion of his responses aimed to please their host, but even that felt like it was not fully understood - or at least he knowingly skirted beyond the criticism. This perplexed the detective as the question wasn't loaded or poised with any innate likelihood of drawing disrespect towards their faction's head. People wholly could speak their mind with full regard to upholding values and proper treatment towards his name - and even then evasion was the main theme of the party. That concept paved way for a cold but honest response from the visually exhausted soul.
​

"Starting what? You enshrouded ignorance with being a new transfer - that mask paved way to rationalize an indifferent opinion. And yet anyone who can hold a stick in these walls is affected by this shift in command. Even a pat on the man's back could have made a more worthy 'starting-off point'... Respectfully."​

He wasn't a man to curb his words. He presented his feelings towards the non-answer directly. They all chose to attend an open invite dinner party and when presented with a question other than what to stuff their faces with - tails shifted between legs. No pun intended.

That left the last forward response by a Yūgen Kazahuna. He too spoke in a way that danced around any direct praise or criticism, though instead favoring a lofty presentation of what the Captain Commander's position represented rather than a highlighted display of individualized character. It didn't provide much light into a personalized opinion on the man beyond the role - but snapshotted the way that Yūgen viewed the mantle's value in this era and the weight that it carried. Rokka allowed his take to resolve before putting a hand to his chin, cupping it in contemplation before speaking.
​

"It is true what you say but acknowledging character and actions is important. We can't allow for any accolades or critiques to fall to the side because something simply fills a space. The direction imposed by any leader - not just the Captain Commander - is an important vessel for metamorphosis. And whether that change comes with ascension into a better end or leaves us left in rot - all of us are accountable. Even more so those that people are inspired by or aspire to be. I think a healthy helping of analysis allows for us individually and as a whole to evolve. We can follow the man for he holds the torch, but if he walks us towards a cliff's edge - we can only blame ourselves for tumbling over into the abyss."​

As his words came to an end, he took a gentle sip of his beverage before him, refreshing himself after speaking more than he intended. What he presented to draw out unified banter in a room full of statues and snow leopards - had ultimately led to a bit of mixed emotions within him. On one hand, many of the souls present had slunk into their shells - proving that fear still replaced bone in some. While others projected their interpretations with varied levels of transparency. He couldn't fully condemn a lack of directness, as complacency and tradition both served as diseases among their ranks. All he could do was socket the displeasure from that ailment within a corner of his mind.

In that silence that followed, he finished up his meal and laid his chopsticks to rest along the plate before him. His hands coming together, palm to palm while his eyes looked back towards the party's host once more.
​

"Thank you, Tsunayashiro-sama - for the meal." His head bowed in a gesture of appreciation momentarily. "Though once the festivities conclude I do request a quick word if you would. It pertains to more sensitive matters."​

​

 

[TherosAestas]

While Suzume’s eyes were glued to the beautifully plated dish before her that she had been so cruelly denied for so long at the hands of the man that claimed to care for her most, her attention was still fully attuned to the conversation at hand. Her face contorted into a rather sour expression. It was no secret that she was intimately associated with the Shiohin clan and because of that she often felt it wasn’t her place to voice her opinions about members of the family. So instead she listened intently as their host voiced his grievances about the fact that his missing lieutenant had been allowed to maintain the rank bestowed upon him by another when he had been presumed dead.

Her own thoughts clawed at her throat, until finally she gave in and voiced her opinion.

”Unfortunately without strong leadership that is willing to question and even challenge our Captain Commander, many will blindly follow him off the ledge because they feel it is their duty to do so. Opposition that can enlighten you to different view points is always crucial and I fear there is only one captain amongst the Gotei that would even bother to make his opinions known. We still lack proper leadership for many divisions and yet now the captain’s hall is filled with more yes men given the only person raised to the rank of captain was our dear commander’s own sister. I’m not saying that every other captain is behaving like a yes man, but those that remain silent become complicit.

While he didn’t bother to replace Twelfth’s missing lieutenant, he also decided to pit Thirteenth’s against each other to determine who would hold the rank when it could have easily been solved with a conversation. I do so detest that approach given it could have easily just bred infighting. Though Lieutenant Yume and third seat Kuchiki are both level headed, so I actually doubt that would have happened.

I digress. Given the ideal outcome would be a strong seireitei, I believe we should be working on interdivision training in an effort to unify our ranks.”

Suzume let out a soft breath and finally, after long last, picked up a slice of fugu between her chopsticks and consumed it as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Her eyes sparked with delight as she savored the flavor, a little disappointed not to feel the sting of neurotoxins on her tongue, but still more than pleased with how delicious the dish was. As Yugan spoke to her, her gaze shifted over to him, her expression becoming neutral once more.

”Our division is always closely watched and consulted in equal measure, as I am sure you are well aware. As things change for those around us, we remain stalwart. The keepers of the annals and the heralds of mirth. Now if you will excuse me, I do so wish to finish my fugu!”

Another sliver of fugu graced Suzume’s painted lips before they stretched into an almost unhinged, euphoric smirk as she felt the telltale tingle of tetrodotoxin seeping into her being. She was more than used to ingesting it of course so it did no real harm to her, but gods did she enjoy the rush. She was certain the joy consuming toxins brought her would probably never be understood by the youths that presently surrounded her.

”My compliments to the chef, Tsunayashiro-san.”

​