Northeast Seireitei

[Nobody]

They all sit at the table, an awkward silence looming over them like a low hanging cloud. The elders looked at one another, then towards their young lord, and then the...quest. In this brief exchange of looks much had been said between the older men, a silent conversation shared only between them. Everyone seemed to be teetering on a knife's edge, neither one party seeking to break the silence. That is until-

"Young Lord, why is-" "Captain Date came to see me."

Shōya is the first to break the silent stalemate amongst them, and as if he had been waiting for just this moment, Gyōja interjects. Both Shōya and Ginya stare at Gyōja, uncertain as to how to take what he is saying. While not serving within the Gotei 13 themselves, they were not ignorant to the Captain's personality and tendencies, nor were they completely ignorant to the reputation shouldered by the Date. A subtle once over shows their young lord to be uninjured, which meant the meeting was a peaceful one. Yet this left them even more confused. For what reason did the Captain go to see him, what could he possibly want from the young lord? Gyōja is aware of their concerns and their questions. His fingers intertwine with one another while resting on the table.

"He...told me things." He paused, hesitating to go on. To speak the words he had been holding onto, words that were strangling him since spoken to him. He weights the gravity of his next words, of what he intends to say. He takes a breath, then he lets it all go.

"According to the Captain...the information I know, that many of us know regarding the culling of our upper echelon from 130 years ago is a lie. That it wasn't the then Commander responsible...but the Date." He turns his head to stare directly at the elders. "That it was done on behalf of the Shihoin and Tsunayashiro."

Gyōja reaches into his shihakusho, hand disappearing inside. When he draws his hand back out it is holding a wooden effigy of a hand, the very same one given to him by Captain Date. He lightly places it atop the table and slowly pushes it towards the center for all to see.

"He also gave me this, said that while the Date have worked for those families they can work for us as well. Based on what he said, if it is to be true then I believe the Date were also responsible for Heikō's death."

Gyōja ends what he has to say for now. The elders say nothing, not at first, their eyes shifting towards the strange effigy that now sits atop the table.

SLAM

"We do. Not. TRUST THEM! HE SPEAKS WITH A SERPENT'S TONGUE YOUNG MASTER!"

Shōya, ever the hot head is the first to speak, slamming his hands on the table as he voices his outrage. His eyes burn with anger, pushing himself up to his feet, knocking his chair back in the process.

"Rather trusting him or his vile clan to be of help we should be figuring out how to destroy them! And we certainly should destroy whatever that is!" Still shouting he points viciously towards the effigy sitting calmly in the center of the table as if to mock them. "Who knows what purpose it truly is, or what it may house!"

A hand presses against the angry elder's arm. It is the hand of Ginya, the one who has always been the calmer of the two. "What he is trying to say young Lord is we should tread carefully. He has approached you for a reason. He has told you these things, for a reason and has given you that...thing, for a reason." Ginya speaks calmly, emphasizing his points and the rationale behind them. "If they're truly the ones responsible for our turmoil, and the death of the current head's sister, then the Date can never be our allies. They like the Shihoin and Tsunayashiro would undoubtedly be our enemies."

Gyōja says nothing to this. Its not as if he hadn't though these same thoughts, considered such things. Still, if they are surrounded by invisible enemies on all fronts, they needed to subtract that number, even if only temporarily. They were not in a position to weather a storm on multiple fronts, not right now at least.

"We need to look deeper, further. To do that however, we would need to speak with Nagarashi as he was the one who took the most care of the late young miss. However that would prove difficult as-"

"-As the self ostracized fool is still too busy playing victim." Eyes immediately turn towards the single door into this space as it unexpectedly opens.

A woman steps in, wearing the signature robes of an elder. An open fan, bearing the mark of the Kuchiki on its surface covers the lower part of her face. The door closes behind her and she steps to the table, stopping at Kouei's side staring down at him, looking him over carefully. She says nothing to him but instead, shifts her gaze towards the elders as if to ask them a question, met only with uncertainty in their eyes.

"Nagarashi has always been a...troubled and overly dramatic soul. Ever the victim to the great and evil council of elders in his fabricated little tale. A man who cannot survive without having someone else to blame for any and everything."

She closes the fan revealing her face. This was Kiyone Kuchiki, a woman who's looks belie her actual age. She takes a seat at the table, purposely seated next to Kouei, specifically on his blind side.

"It's clear we need the medical records from when the little miss was being treated. See anything that could even look remotely off. Before we go razing homes to the ground and truly making enemies, we need to verify and corroborate anything and everything."

Kiyone looks towards Gyōja as if deferring how they proceed to him. Gyōja glances to the effigy, staring at it intensely. Does he stare at it for answers? Or, is it a tool meant to focus his anger, direct his thoughts on a target.

"I will make use of them for much of this." He speaks with eyes still fixed on the effigy. While Kouei may be ignorant to what he means, the elders look to each other before nodding in understanding. "Come."

As if appearing from thin air, a masked male, garbed in the colors of the Kuchiki, the family's crest emblazoned on the plate on its forehead stands behind Gyōja. A member of the Kuchiki Clan ninja, he stands ready for his orders.

"I want you and the others to keep an eye on the Date, especially the Captain and the other one from the Ninth Division. Do not approach them. Also follow the movements of the Shihoin and the Tsunayashiro. If you see an opportunity, infiltrate their respective manors and copy any records from 130 years ago."

The man says nothing to acknowledge the command, instead simply disappearing just as swiftly and as quietly as he had appeared. Gyōja takes a deep breath, and then continues.

"Aside from family troubles, there is also something afoot within the Seireitei. Things my friend here has been piecing together. It's why he's here now." He motions towards Kouei, the elders turning their head almost in unison towards the one eyed man.

"You have the floor Kouei. Tell them, tell US everything."

 

[Adonai]

---

​

“You bring forward a great many claims, Captain Date, and you bring them forward with a timing that invites scrutiny. You speak of my clan’s history as though your words alone should be accepted as truth, yet you offer no evidence and no context, only revelations delivered in a manner that seems crafted to provoke a reaction.”​

Taro’s mask cracks slightly, not from being unhinged or irritated but from amusement instead. His fox-like smile grows a bit wider, his enjoyment of this situation is even reflected on his closed eyes. He felt a twinge of rage within the Head of the Kuchiki clan, he wonders how he would have lashed out if he were to act on those feelings. Taro remains quiet, letting him continue to speak.
​

“So I will ask you plainly. Why now? What purpose do you hope to serve by bringing this to me in this way? Are you offering truth, or are you attempting to shape it? The Kuchiki do not bend to rumor. If what you say holds merit, you will provide proof. If it does not, then the nature of this conversation will become very clear.”​

Taro rubs his chin and looks up quizzically as if pondering the questions thrown at him, this is all done in sarcasm of course. Once his mock pondering ends he looks at Kinko once more, before he can speak the other Kuchiki chimes in, merely echoing what has already been said.
​

”Your echo is rather loud, Head Kuchiki Cog. I shall ignore it for now for everyone’s sake here. Now, what to address first I wonder? Ah, let’s start with the why now.”​

Taro fully opens his eyes, even with a smile on his face he is still every bit of a green eyed monster.

Time Ticks On
​

”Ten years ago we were under high alert for invasion from the Arrancar, revealing such information then would have helped no one and would have caused infighting on a micro level. We needed to be unified for that bit. Before that was the Civil War, that one is obvious and we Date disconnected ourselves from the daily rabble of Nobility during the period of strife the Soul Society was under. So, right now, while there is a brief respite, is the best time to tell you this info.”​

Taro glanced over his shoulder to see Fuu had arrived. Excellent, an unbiased witness, this will make things very interesting moving forward. He returns his gaze to Kinko.
​

”You also wound me, Head Cog, I am bringing you this information personally instead of via mysterious note, or random messenger. I offer only the truth, the Date butchered your family. You told me to provide proof, heh, my word is more than enough proof. Go seek out said proof yourself, you will find that I am not lying. I would also discard any petty notions of pride as well, your ilk has very little room for pride as it is. You may not bend to rumors but you will break.”​

Taro takes a step closer, the air in the room becomes thicker. This is no Reiatsu or Zanpakuto ability, that single step towards Kinko merely increased the tension in the room ten-fold. Taro's eyes close, the smile vanishes entirely and another step towards Kinko is taken.
​

”The nature of this conversation will become clear if I do not provide proof? Laughable. You talk as if I came here to goad you into a fight, to lull you into a flight of anger to strike out at me. You misunderstand, you Kuchiki and your Pride have ALWAYS misunderstood. If I wanted to fight you, you would already have been driven through a wall. So, what is stopping us from fighting you may ask? Me.”​

It is clear Taro is offended by what Kinko implied with his final sentence, assuming he knows the nature of why Taro was telling him this, assuming that he could glean why he was being told this. Taro points at Nagarashi, letting him know that he is now being spoken to.
​

”You there, Echo of the Head, tell me. If I came to you with news that I had slain your family and poisoned your Sister, would you discredit that as merely lies and slander? Would you merely tell me to leave or provide proof on the spot? Or, would you go do your own research instead?”​

Taro smiles, despite his anger boiling beneath the surface he is still very much so amused by this interaction.
​

”Tick-tock, Head Cog. Resting on your laurels for ten years, accepting the fate that your clan is nothing more than a shadow of its former self. I’ve lifted the veil, removed the shadows on who is responsible. Tick-tock. Rather than seeing me and my clan as enemies you should see us as allies who should share a unified front. The powers that were wish to be again. Tick-tock. What will you do, Ignorant Cog, the path to enlightenment is laid out before you.”​

Taro is implying something with his words all while radiating pure bloodlust. Could this lunatic be implying that another Kuchiki purge is going to happen or is he referring to something else entirely? Maybe Kinko was correct, that his being there was to merely antagonize him into a fight, an excuse to kill the head of the Kuchiki Clan. Perhaps he is there to stall while an active purge is happening right under his nose. So many branching and winding paths laid out before Kinko all while he ignores the truth, the irrefutable fact that the Date slayed his family and poisoned his sister. Worst of all he is speaking with a man who is old enough to have Kuchiki blood on his hands. For a little over 130 years he lived on peacefully, accepting things for what they were, his family was murdered by a rogue Commander and his poor sister died of illness, never once questioning any of it, never once digging deeper or searching for answers on why the Commander would do such a thing. The sands in the hour glass began falling long ago, Kinko is running out of time.
​

”Tick-tock.”​

---

​

 

[Souris]

Fuu's detour to deliver the prepared medical kit to Sameko came with an interesting development. A small act of kindness had been rewarded with a form of entertainment. She brought her hand to her mouth, partially covering an overly excited smile—not that the gesture could manage to shroud the sparkle in her eyes. It wasn't every day that she got her teeth into something juicy, but an inter-clan ruckus? That was above and beyond the usual gossip.

The initial statement she overheard did not shine any light on the subject matter, but what followed certainly did.
​

“You bring forward a great many claims, Captain Date, and you bring them forward with a timing that invites scrutiny. You speak of my clan’s history as though your words alone should be accepted as truth, yet you offer no evidence and no context, only revelations delivered in a manner that seems crafted to provoke a reaction.”

-

“So I will ask you plainly. Why now? What purpose do you hope to serve by bringing this to me in this way? Are you offering truth, or are you attempting to shape it?”

-

“The Kuchiki do not bend to rumor. If what you say holds merit, you will provide proof. If it does not, then the nature of this conversation will become very clear.”​

And then there was more.
​

“I am inclined to agree with the young-shoot. I doubt all that culling of the Kuchiki, withering and budding alike, was on a whim. I’m curious about the Date’s motive and who your accomplices were. I dare say we must have had a traitor or few in our midst. You speak with confidence, but your story leaks. I can hear it dripping between the details you chose to skip, Taicho.” ​

It just kept getting juicier. Was the matter of old scars going to lead the way to new confrontations? Well, at the very least, if something did happen—it couldn't have been under better circumstances given her own presence. Though duty wasn't on her mind at the moment; instead, all that could walk through her mind was the unraveling of more details. She fished within her shihakushō and withdrew a small bag of chips. In her idle spectation, as the events continued, she began slowly chomping on the salted potato snacks. Briefly, she offered the bag in Sameko's direction for her to snag some before she gluttonously raptured the rest of it.

The uwasa continued on.​

”Your echo is rather loud, Head Kuchiki Cog. I shall ignore it for now for everyone’s sake here. Now, what to address first I wonder? Ah, let’s start with the why now.”​

A nerve was struck, but could the same be said for those who clung to formal masks? Nobles had such a way of feigning either indifference or floating lofty ideals as an expression of their discontent—the absence or proposed weight of words serving to conceal the cracks beneath. Contrary to them was the Date who stood between them all; his presence, his words, and his expression showed nothing more than malcontent.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, the exuberant Fuu was unfaltering. No matter which way this shaped up, it managed to be an interesting twist to her day.
​

---”Tick-tock, Head Cog. Resting on your laurels for ten years, accepting the fate that your clan is nothing more than a shadow of its former self. I’ve lifted the veil, removed the shadows on who is responsible. Tick-tock. Rather than seeing me and my clan as enemies, you should see us as allies who should share a unified front. The powers that were wish to be again. Tick-tock. What will you do, Ignorant Cog? The path to enlightenment is laid out before you.”​

Malice laced the man's tongue throughout the entire exchange. The poison that dripped from his words held a completely different air even to the way he had spoken to Fuu and Sameko not long ago. It was a distinction that made it clear to the Shiratori that the way he spoke to them was not with the same ire-tinge he exhibited in this moment. It was absolutely terrifying and yet—there she was, munching away at another snack she had tucked away in her uniform.
​

"Oooooh! They should settle this with a game of Kōtetsu Shōtotsu!" Fuu spoke to Sameko, though she momentarily looked lost in thought afterward. "Oh wait... you may not have played that growing up. So basically, each person takes one of these." As she continued, she drew out a small metal orb from an internal sleeve pocket. "You each throw them center mass at each other as hard as you can! They have to clash! The stronger of the two will hit close to its mark while the other barrels off somewhere."​

The medic spoke as if this was a normal occurrence for young children to partake in a game of physical strength that could only end in the injury of whomever was 'weaker' in this instance. Yet, she delivered this suggestion without even a break in her cheery demeanor. She was wholly aware that her upbringing was unorthodox, but still insisted nonetheless.

​

 

[Nobody]

The charmer's steps were heavy today, heavier than they've perhaps ever been. Despite his nickname, there was nothing charming about this day, not to him. Perhaps its been that way for awhile. As he walked images flashed before his eyes with nearly every other step; streaks of grey, white, black and yellow. His eyes narrow, his hair shifting back and forth, at times hiding his eyes from view. Though his dazzling smile remained, it seemed a tad duller than normal.

Like a ball of yarn, or a piece of garment with loose thread, many things were unraveling here at Fourth Division. There was the walls built between Nagarashi and his kin, being unraveled by a friendly extended hand from the clan's young head. Then, there was the truth of a tale from over a century ago, unraveling the lies told by way of the forceful conniving hand of Captain Date. Then there were the matters of Itaku, unraveling by forces both seen and unseen.

Itaku works his way through the barracks, having just been seen arriving not that long ago, passerby's now bear witness of the Captain making his way back out. His jaw tightened as he walked, refixing the mask anytime others were within clear view of him. The images were growing more frequent within his gaze. A mocking grin within his face, breath against the back of his neck. Still, he smiled running his fingers through his hair. 'Lets just go appease these meddlers and get back to more important things.' He finally steps outside the barracks themselves onto the courtyard, making his way towards the gates before he stops.

"....."

He glances over his shoulder. Is it out of concern? He is leaving his barracks with Captain Date inside. While he has done no harm thus far that could change at any time. If he decided to draw his blade who present could stop him? Or, maybe it was concern he'd never return? That this meeting would see to it he was stripped of all the luxuries he had come to know since donning the haori. Then again, maybe it was something else entirely? Itaku smirks, releasing a light chuckle before turning his head and resuming his walk, heading out of the grounds of the Fourth Division onto the streets of the Seireitei making his way towards the Central region. He had a meeting to attend to, best he not keep his hosts waiting.

Hopefully this wouldn't be a one way trip.

[Northeast Seireitei -> Central Seireitei]​

 

[KagiSenkō]

​

---

The courtyard carried its usual rhythm, yet the Captain moving through it did not. His smile drew the same soft reactions it always did, but the ease behind it had thinned. The charm remained, though something beneath it felt strained. The watcher observed from a quiet place that revealed everything below and nothing of him. His presence left no imprint on the air. His vantage offered a clear view of the man who walked as if each step required more effort than the last. The Captain’s movements held a practiced grace, yet the weight behind them was unmistakable to someone trained to read the smallest shifts in posture.


The shout alone broke the air.


“Captain. Captain!”


The voice carried the sharp edge of urgency. The watcher listened without shifting. The subordinate nearly stumbled as he reached the Captain, breath catching in his throat. Sweat clung to his brow. His hands trembled from the sprint. Itaku waited with a patient expression that did not match the tension in his jaw. His eyes moved in small, quick glances, as if checking for something unseen. His hand settled on the man’s shoulder with a weight that did not belong to comfort. The gesture was gentle in appearance, yet the watcher could see the strain in the Captain’s fingers.


“Captain Date. He is in our Division!”


The words rang across the courtyard. The panic behind them rang louder. The Captain’s response did not match either. He asked a single question. He dismissed the concern with a smile that did not reach his eyes. The subordinate froze, confusion written plainly across his posture. His mouth opened slightly, as if searching for a reason to protest, yet no words came. The Captain walked past him with a calmness that did not match the tension in his jaw. His hand tightened. His steps grew heavier, as if something pressed against him from within. His shoulders dipped for a moment before he forced them upright again.​

Why walk away from news like that? Why show no concern when another Captain enters his barracks without warning? Why does he look as if something else is pulling at him?​

The watcher moved without disturbing the air around him. The Captain adjusted his path to slip past every Shinigami who might have spoken to him. His shoulders rose and fell with controlled breaths whenever someone approached from ahead. His smile returned whenever eyes were on him, but the strain behind it was visible from above. His hand rose to his hair again, fingers brushing through it with a tremor he tried to hide. The gesture repeated with a rhythm that betrayed unease. His gaze drifted toward corners and doorways as if expecting something to emerge from them. He reached his office and closed the door with a quiet finality. The watcher remained still. The building offered no sound. The moment stretched long enough for the watcher to note the absence of movement inside. The silence felt deliberate, as if the Captain needed the stillness to gather himself. When the door opened again, the Captain stepped out with a different weight in his posture. His expression was composed, yet the tension in his jaw had deepened. His movements carried the heaviness of someone walking toward something he did not want to face. His eyes held a faint dullness that had not been present earlier.​

Did he see something in that office? Did something occur that made him leave so quickly? Why does he look more burdened now than he did moments before?​

He moved through the barracks once more, passing those who had seen him arrive not long before. His smile returned whenever someone looked his way, but it flickered at the edges. His eyes narrowed at intervals, as if something unseen pressed against his thoughts. His hair shifted with each step, sometimes hiding his gaze entirely. His hand rose again, smoothing through the strands with a practiced gesture that failed to mask the tension beneath it. His shoulders carried a quiet weight that had not been present earlier. His steps pressed deeper into the ground, leaving the faint impression of someone walking with more on his mind than he wished to show.
He stepped into the courtyard and paused. His head turned slightly. His gaze drifted back toward the barracks he was leaving behind. Captain Date remained inside. The Captain’s jaw tightened. His shoulders rose with a quiet breath. A faint smirk touched his lips, followed by a soft chuckle that did not match the heaviness in his steps. The sound carried a hollow note that did not belong to the man known for charm. His eyes lingered on the barracks for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing something he refused to acknowledge.​

Is he worried about leaving that man behind? Is there something else weighing on him that he refuses to show? Or does he sense me? No, that cannot be it. I have been very careful. That look was not recognition. It was something else entirely, the kind of look someone gives a place when they are not certain they will see it again?​

A presence settled beside the watcher. No sound marked the arrival. No shift in the air gave it away. Only the faintest change in pressure hinted that another operative now shared the vantage. A slight tilt of the head asked the question without a word. The watcher answered in a whisper that barely touched the air.​

“Captain Ohei returned from the meeting. A subordinate approached him in distress with news of Captain Date being in Fourth. His reasons for arriving are unknown. But it seems as though the target dismissed the man, then entered his office briefly. Left again almost immediately for reasons unknown. His behavior is irregular but not actionable.”​

The second operative leaned in slightly.
“What about Captain Date?”​

“He is not our objective. I am sure our Captain would not want us to follow him or go near him. He is a possible high‑risk presence. Dangerous and unpredictable. We will only focus on Itaku right now.”​

The second operative nodded once.​

“Follow him,” the watcher whispered. “I will check his office to see if I can confirm anything else.”

The second operative vanished, leaving no trace of where he had stood.


The watcher waited until the courtyard shifted. A pair of Fourth Division members passed by the office hallway. A clerk carrying paperwork crossed the intersection. A moment of stillness followed. The watcher stepped from the rooftop and vanished in a whisper of movement. He reappeared in the shadowed corner of the hallway, unseen by the two Shinigami who walked past him without noticing the faint shift in the air.


He waited in the shadowed corner of the hallway, letting the natural flow of the barracks move around him. A nurse passed by with quiet steps, followed by a seated officer who rose from a bench and walked away without noticing the faint shift in the air. A door opened somewhere deeper in the building, releasing a brief murmur of voices before closing again. The watcher remained still, allowing the foot traffic to thin until the corridor settled into a quiet lull. Only then did he move, his steps silent as his presence folded into the edges of the passage. He approached the office door and paused, listening for any sign of movement inside. There was no breath, no shift of weight, only the distant echo of footsteps elsewhere in the barracks. Certain the moment was right, he slipped inside.


The room held the stillness of a place recently occupied. The air carried a faint trace of movement, the kind that lingers when someone leaves in haste. The watcher scanned the space with slow, deliberate care. His eyes traced the desk, the floor, the shelves, the corners where dust settled in thin lines. Nothing was disturbed. Nothing was out of place. No papers left behind. No drawers ajar. No signs of struggle or intrusion. He moved to the side of the desk, checking the floor for anything dropped. Nothing. He examined the waste bin. Empty. He checked the window latch. Secure. He studied the chair’s position. Slightly angled, as if someone had sat only long enough to stand again. His gaze returned to the desk. No letter. No note. No trace of what might have caused the Captain’s abrupt departure.​

Nothing. He left no trace at all. That is never a good sign.​

He stepped back toward the door, listening once more. A lone Fourth Division member appeared at the far end of the hallway, walking toward the office with a stack of papers in hand. The watcher waited, still as a shadow pressed against the wall. The man passed by without noticing him, eyes fixed ahead. In the instant the man’s back turned, the watcher slipped from the room, his form gliding past the doorway in a movement so quiet and precise it left no trace at all. He vanished into the corridor’s dim edges, gone before the man even completed his next step. The Fourth Division member paused mid‑stride. A faint prickle crawled up the back of his neck, the kind that made instinct whisper that something had shifted nearby. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing only an empty hallway. After a moment’s hesitation, he gave a small shrug and a quiet hmph, before continuing on his way.

The watcher was already far beyond him, moving across the rooftops with the silent certainty of a shadow returning to its path. While returning to reach the second operative who would been currently following Captain Ohei.
​

---

Northeast Seiretei to >>>>???​

---

 

[StephDLegend]

Kinkō remained still as Captain Date spoke, his expression composed, his posture unshaken. The captain’s barbs, the mockery, the layered insults meant to provoke a reaction slid past him like wind against stone. A Kuchiki did not rise to theatrics, and Kinkō would not grant the man the satisfaction of seeing even a flicker of irritation. His attention remained fixed purely on the substance beneath the performance: the threads of intent, the timing, the calculated escalation.

He listened to the excuse of why this revelation had not come during the Arrancar invasion or the civil war, acknowledging the logic without granting it legitimacy. Those moments had indeed been ill-suited for internal upheaval. But that did not account for the decade of silence that followed. The gap was too large, too convenient, too carefully chosen. Skepticism coiled quietly within him, buried safely beneath the calm surface of his reiatsu.

“Convenient timing does not equate to noble intent,” Kinkō stated, his voice flat. He did not reward the captain's arrogance disguised as sincerity. “Your word is not proof. It is merely a claim.”

When Tarō stepped closer, attempting to thicken the air with physical tension rather than reiatsu, Kinkō did not flinch. He had stood before commanders and beings far more dangerous than a man who relied on proximity to assert dominance. The pressure meant nothing.

“If your intent were clarity, you would offer evidence,” Kinkō continued, his gaze unwavering as Tarō attempted to weaponize Nagarashi’s presence. The hypothetical was a trap designed to force an emotional response, but Kinkō refused to be cornered. “If your intent were unity, you would not speak in riddles. And you will certainly not use my kin as a tool to validate those claims.”

The captain’s repeated tick-tock, the insinuations of another purge, and the taunts of ignorance were designed to create fear and urgency. They washed against Kinkō like waves against a centuries-old cliff face. He had lived long enough to know that lies did not become truth through repetition, and truth did not decay under scrutiny.

He allowed a brief pause, reclaiming the rhythm of the conversation to quietly remind Date who controlled the pacing of this room.

“You speak of time as though it governs me. It does not,” Kinkō said, his tone carrying the unmistakable, cutting authority of a noble who had no need to raise his voice. “I will uncover the truth. Not because of your provocations, but because I am the head of my family.”

He straightened his posture, a subtle shift that restored the absolute full measure of his presence. “Understand this, Captain Date: Whatever you hope to achieve here will reveal itself. Now if you will excuse me, I have other matters to tend to." He turned and walked towards the door, before glancing back. "Nagarashi, come. We have work to do."​

 

[Bane]

"You have the floor Kouei. Tell them, tell US everything."

“-akuja!”

Arriving from Eighth Division Barracks

A shout came from nowhere, as did its source, manifesting not from the shadows as the shinobi had, but from the very air itself. Danjūrō’s voice carried with him, echoing not off the cluttered walls of his room back in the Eighth Division Barracks, but instead the ornate walls of the Kuchiki Manor meeting room.

Confused, Danjūrō looked around, seeing nothing but barren tile in both directions. It seemed there were no windows and no doors. It wasn’t until he saw the red of his own hair, standing completely upright on its own, that Danjūrō’s perspective shifted.

It seemed that he had much to learn when it came to this particular spell. He had been correct in his latitude and longitude, matching Kouei’s location in this moment perfectly. However he had never considered the altitude or antipode when envisioning his arrival. As a result, though he had appeared at the right location, he had accidentally teleported himself both too high up, and upside down. Currently, he found himself standing on the ceiling, looking down at the Kuchiki elders meeting with his two friends, Kouei and…

“Gyōja!”

Danjūrō shouted with a smile, one that immediately faded as he[COLOR=var(--b-spirit)] fell upside down drom the ceiling. Without bother to place his feet beneath him as he fell, Danjūrō crashed to the ground, a red blur which smashed through the center of the room.[/COLOR]

CRASH!

He rose from the debris of the elder's table, as the dust began to settle. Danjūrō stood between his friends and the elders, his position acting as his own declaration of allegiance. If they wanted Kouei and Gyōja, they would have to go through him...

Danjūrō felt two blades press against his throat. On either side of him, responding just as quickly as he had arrived, were two Shinobi clad in the pink colors of the Kuchiki clan. The guards had been instructed to escort Danjūrō when he arrived, but had not expected this method of arrival. Caught by surprise, it was only a natural instinct to draw their blades towards the perceived intruder. Especially given the information they had just received, it was more likely this was a Date assassin infiltrating the compound than an ally answering a summons.

Danjūrō paid them little mind however, taking both blades into a single bare hand and pulling them from his throat like one might loosen a tie. Tearing the blades from their wielders hands, he let go and allowed gravity to drop them harmlessly to the ground. Instead, he scratched his head as he looked around the room confused.

First, he locked eyes with the two elders, his own lacking any recognition for their status. His gaze then shifted to the woman, whose dominating presence caused him to look away quickly and nervously. Finally his hand stopped scratching and an eyebrow lifted as his gaze settled on Kouei and Gyōja.

His two closest companions, a mere missed call was enough for Danjūrō to risk his life by invading the Kuchiki Manor. His sole focus was their well-being, and as a result, he had no concern for the commotion he had caused, or the damage brought onto the room. Instead his focus was on Gyōja, as with one glance he saw the state of turmoil his friend was in.

The spiritual ribbons that danced around Gyōja were tied into knots, emotions repressed, rage, guilt, embarrassment, hatred, he was holding himself back from releasing something terrible. Just what had he gone through since last they shared a drink?

Danjūrō looked now at Kouei, whose spiritual ribbons flew with precision, calculated and efficient. He was focused on something big, and for Kouei, that could only mean a new case. Was this why they were here?

“So…”

Danjūrō’s voice cut through the tension and silence, as the dust finally settled at his feet. His voice had quieted, reflecting the calming of his demeanor. Though there was emotional trouble, nobody appeared to be in any immediate danger. It seemed maybe... he had misread the situation.

“What’s up?”

He finally asked, his voice holding all the casualness, curiosity, and confidence one might have when say...answering a phone call.

​

 

[Jushiro Izanagi]

The way things would progress depended entirely on Captain Taro’s response to them both. Nagarashi remained observant of the Date, carefully analysing his actions and overall demeanour. His words were subject to scrutiny, all the while Nagarashi sought truth in those words. Replying to what Taro said, meanwhile subconsciously piecing together everything. Looking for the missing pieces and it was apparent that there are some missing pieces. What wasn’t he disclosing at this particular juncture? As the fox-like smile grew and Taro began to speak.

”Your echo is rather loud, Head Kuchiki Cog. I shall ignore it for now for everyone’s sake here. Now, what to address first I wonder? Ah, let’s start with the why now.”​

Nagarashi’s right hand rose and rubbed his nose to dismiss the sneeze creeping up on him. That would be poor etiquette and so he put a swift and subtle end to the possibility.

“There is probably an old-hag using my name in a disparaging manner”.​

Nagarashi averting his sneeze carried some superstition with it. That perhaps some beautiful woman spoke of him with fondness. Lately though and the way this day was shaping up, he settled on it being an old hag. His hand then returned to its previous position as he stood next to Kinko. The echo as Taro so affectionately called him remained silent. He listened with intent, collating the information being given.

What were the discrepancies as it pertains to the story? Assessing the situation and Taro’s words, Nagarashi held back on verbalising his thoughts. Interrupting the Captain now means they could end up missing some vital information. He was also keeping a close watch on Kinko’s response. How much self control would he exercise? The caped Shinigami remained calm. No outward show of concern as Taro revealed what really happened all those years ago. Even more recently, the situation that was now a decade old.

He then had a thought.​

“Assuming the Date clan are all in cahoots with each other. Then that means they waited or perhaps he waited. Not out of necessity but convenience. Choosing not to reveal the truth when it was likely needed only benefitted him. Mayhaps it's intentional that he flounders behind chaos and calls it strategy. Control, it has ALWAYS been about control”. ​

How he would love to spend more time with Taro. The psychology behind the man was truly fascinating. And as the Kodo Bunseki-sha(Behaviour Analyst) of the 4th division, he couldn’t help but attempt to psychoanalyse Taro. Whether or not his assessment would stand true remains to be seen. As he continued observing Taro, he thought of an Haiku . One that was simple but told the tale.

“A century silent,
Now you choose this breath to speak,
Timing tells the truth”. ​

As far as Nagarashi was concerned, the Date orchestrated silence for over a century and is only choosing now to speak. This wasn’t because of guilt, Taro wasn’t repentant. He was measured in his approach. That could only mean something else was at play. Even more curious is whether or not Kinko would play along. Taro’s decision to step closer to Kinko did not unnerve the man. The 4th seat saw it as a way for the Captain to drive his point home. In response to Taro’s action, Nagarashi stood almost proud of the young-shoot’s reaction. The caped Kuchiki could be forgiven for hoping Kinko would react more violently. The new head of the clan was also being analysed by Nagarashi, whether he liked it or not.

The long-haired Kuchiki straightened up with a soft smile on his face as Taro addressed him.

”You there, Echo of the Head, tell me. If I came to you with news that I had slain your family and poisoned your Sister, would you discredit that as merely lies and slander? Would you merely tell me to leave or provide proof on the spot? Or, would you go do your own research instead?”​

Nagarashi didn’t immediately respond to the Captain, instead he waited a while longer for the man to finish speaking. He also wanted to hear what Kinko had to say. What kind of mood would the young-shoot be in now? Regardless of wanting to address the Date directly. Kinko’s interjection and continued dialogue did not leave room for a reply to the Captain. Nagarashi remained patient while taking note of the exchange and the small details. He figured more or less that he will soon get his turn. The moment came about as Kinko took a pause to reclaim the rhythm of the conversation. At that moment, Nagarashi took the opportunity to lean over and whisper one word to Kinko.

“Shogi”. ​

That one word was uttered so that Kinko would understand his role. They’re nothing but pieces on a board or as Taro so fondly referred to Kinko, cogs. The pieces needed to be moved in a certain way. Unfortunately some pieces will inevitably get eliminated, as is the case with Kinko’s sister. However tragic or unfair it may seem, this was all part of a bigger game. Fully aware that they had spectators and attentive ears. Kinko and Nagarashi needed to be measured in their approach.

“You assume this is about belief, it isn’t. It’s about what becomes useful once the truth is confirmed. I wouldn’t discredit you or put all my faith in your words”. ​

The blue-eyed Kuchiki held his tongue while his thoughts galloped. This moment was Kinko’s own and Nagarashi supported the young lord by choosing to remain devoid of words. As the young-shoot concluded and attempted to take his leave. Nagarashi took issue with being beckoned forth by Kinko as if he were a pup. Choosing not to openly challenge the man but instead move as a Shogi piece was supposed to. Nagarashi paused for a moment and looked at Taro with a smile that showed his satisfaction and appreciation. Choosing to openly address the Date.

“I find myself in an awkward position. On one hand, I can't say I mourn the loss of certain members of my family. They were…well liabilities dressed as tradition. On the other hand though…”​

His smile of appreciation transformed into one of annoyance with an undercurrent of utter disgust. It was subtle the way in which his smile became something more twisted.

“You chose to interfere with a case that was under my care. That part is vexing. You just don’t sabotage a physician mid-procedure and call it clean work". ​

Another soft smile before directing a scowl at Fuu and the half-starved stray. They really shouldn’t be a part of this interaction, which only served to make Nagarashi even more wary of the Captain. Was it all a part of his strategy to have an audience present? Whatever the case, Nagarashi too began to take his leave as he left the Captain with a few words.

“As it stands Captain Date, you’re a variable. Color me curious”. ​

Provided there were no interruptions, Nagarashi proceeded to take his leave. He and Kinko have a multitude of things to discuss. Further investigation was needed and not to mention, there was the business of Nagarashi returning to the family manor.

 

[Adonai]

---

Date Malice
​

“Your word is not proof. It is merely a claim.”​

​

”Ah, so you mean I only said all this to take the claim of slaughtering your clan and killing your sister? Awfully bold of me to touch on such a sore spot, don’t you think, Cog?”​

Taro tilts his head to the side with a condescending grin on his face as he speaks. At this point he is saying as he pleases to rile up the two Kuchiki, he has already given them the information they need. This is extra credit, harassment for personal pleasure alone.
​

“If your intent were clarity, you would offer evidence, If your intent were unity, you would not speak in riddles. And you will certainly not use my kin as a tool to validate those claims.”​

​

”Outside of fertilizer your maggot food kin have very little use to me.”​

​

“You speak of time as though it governs me. It does not, I will uncover the truth. Not because of your provocations, but because I am the head of my family.”​

Taro remained silent, the Kuchiki failed to understand the meaning of his words, the meaning of time being against him. It’s of little consequence to Taro and more so a consequence that Kinko will have to face. He has been the head of this clan for a decade now and will only now seek the truth, surely it's not due to Taro provoking him. The Captain chuckles, he thinks that would be a fun thing to jab at him with but he opts for silence, things are amusing when the rabble are given freedom to speak brazenly.
​

“Understand this, Captain Date: Whatever you hope to achieve here will reveal itself. Now if you will excuse me, I have other matters to tend to."​

​

”It’s already been revealed, through my words. You stand in the light of day and still call it night time. Repugnant- Oop, let me contain myself. I don’t wish to offend your precious little ‘pride’.”​

Taro’s attention then shifts to Nagarashi who gives a one word response to his question.
​

“Shogi”.​

Taro raises an eyebrow at him, truly puzzled by the answer. Either his senses have fled him or they never existed to begin with.
​

“I find myself in an awkward position. On one hand, I can't say I mourn the loss of certain members of my family. They were…well liabilities dressed as tradition. On the other hand though…”​

Taro’s eyes open slightly, not out of rage but of intrigue. What a curious response from this one. There is dejection for his own family, not caring the slightest bit if certain members of his own flesh and blood were killed, going as far as to call them liabilities even. Intriguing indeed.
​

“You chose to interfere with a case that was under my care. That part is vexing. You just don’t sabotage a physician mid-procedure and call it clean work. As it stands Captain Date, you’re a variable. Color me curious”.​

​

”To clarify, beyond the initial poisoning we did nothing further. You were just incapable of healing her as any other medic would have been. Such was the intention and design. Her death was meant to be slow and agonizing for those around her, it was an emotional attack, one that strikes the hearts of those around her and weakens them. As were other key sicknesses within the Kuchiki clan. Demoralization at its finest.”​

As Nagarashi walks away Taro couldn’t help but to respond, this was just much too fun for him.
​

”I am many things, Nagarashi. You will learn that, should we meet again.”​

Taro has taken an interest in this Kuchiki as well, the obvious sign being that he called him by name. However, Taro remembering someone’s name is often never a good thing nor is having him place interest in them. There are few who exist that can live in comfort knowing that he knows their name.
​

”Sameko, lets go. We’ll be- Oh, I forgot you were here, Cog.”​

Taro says to Fuu who seems to be eating some sort of snack. Truly this is someone who cannot read the room due to ineptitude. But if what Taro sensed was correct then perhaps her attitude is the correct one to have. The strong often behave as they please and do as they please, hopefully within the laws and bounds of the Soul Society of course. He stands in silence, just “staring” at her, with his eyes closed it's hard to tell. Ten long years have passed since he last fought anyone, since the Arrancar invaded. He can still remember the sensation of tearing off that Espada’s arm, the sound of tendons and sinew stretching and tearing away. The crunching of bone, the squelching of blood. His right fist tightens as he tries to remember the feeling of her forearm being crushed in his grip.

Since then he has been surrounded by weakness, students of the academy, hopeless down to the last entrant. The Commander wanted soldiers and through pain, blood, and incapacitation Taro was forging them, but it seems like the Commander would rather have them coddled. The future of the Gotei Thirteen is bleak indeed. But before him is an individual who he could potentially harm, someone who could get back up after being cratered into the ground. He takes a step towards her and Fuu would be able to feel the hostility, she should prioritize her safety. He takes another step, closing the gap even further until… He walks past her. As he takes his leave he waves his hand.
​

”Another time and another day, Cog. The Seireitei is wound rather tightly today. No need to make anyone misinterpret a spar as anything more than that. Sameko, we’ll be heading back to our Barracks, we’ll be continuing your education.”​

With that Taro vanishes via Shunpo, moving back towards Eleventh Division Barracks.

---

[To Southwest Seireitei: Eleventh Division Barracks]​

 

[Aqua]

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The air in the chamber is not merely still—it is oppressive, as though the very walls have learned to listen. Even the faint rustle of silk and the measured breaths of nobles seem swallowed whole by the weight of anticipation. Kouei feels it immediately, cataloging it without effort. Tension like this was familiar; it behaved predictably. It made people careless. It made them loud. It made them wrong.​

His body tightens, posture straightening with a discipline honed through years of both battlefield survival and quiet investigation. The stoicism he wears now is not the awkward imitation of youth, but something earned—refined in interrogation rooms, in autopsy reports, in the silent spaces between cause and effect. His single eye moves with deliberate restraint, never lingering long enough to challenge, never darting enough to betray unease. He studies the Kuchiki Elders the way one studies a crime scene: not for what is shown, but for what is withheld. He had no quarrel here. That much was true. But allegiance was rarely that simple.

His loyalty lay with Gyōja—not the Kuchiki name, not the weight of their lineage, and certainly not the suffocating politics that now pressed in on all sides. This was the deepest he had ever stepped into the machinery of noble affairs, and already he found himself resenting its inner workings. It was inefficient. Emotional. Burdened by pride masquerading as tradition. And yet… From another angle—one he could not ignore—this was clarity.​

He was beginning to understand the invisible weight Gyōja carried. The sleepless calculations. The constant balancing of duty against desire. Whether Gyōja wanted it or not, the Kuchiki name ensured that every fracture within the clan would eventually land at his feet. Problems were not presented to him—they gravitated toward him. And silence, here, was just another problem. Kouei’s gaze never leaves the elder as Gyōja begins to speak, recounting details Kouei had already dissected moments ago. He listens anyway, for inflection. For hesitation. For omission. When the wooden token slides across the table, however, his attention shifts with surgical precision. His eye drops, narrowing almost imperceptibly. Immediately, his mind begins its work. Material. Age. Craftsmanship. Symbolism. Wear patterns.​

With nobles, objects were rarely just objects. Even the most unassuming artifact could carry centuries of intent. The token’s presence alone suggested significance; its delivery, even more so. Kouei considers the Date—an entity synonymous with quiet chaos, their influence historically threaded through shadows rather than declarations. The Captain’s words, paired with this offering, suggested something transactional. A passing of responsibility? A warning? A manipulation? A message, certainly. But not one given freely. Nothing about the Date was ever free. They had never operated out of kindness—only design.​

SLAM​

"We do. Not. TRUST THEM! HE SPEAKS WITH A SERPENT'S TONGUE YOUNG MASTER! Rather trusting him or his vile clan to be of help we should be figuring out how to destroy them! And we certainly should destroy whatever that is!"​

The outburst is violent, but not surprising. Kouei does not flinch. Instead, he observes. The reactions around the room tell him everything he needs to know—this is routine. Predictable volatility. The elder’s history writes itself in the subtle lack of shock from his peers. Emotional instability. Reactionary judgment. A liability in any investigation. Kouei notes it, files it away. Emotion before evidence was how truths were buried. Coupled with Gyōja’s earlier flash of rage, it paints a clearer picture: this subject is infected with bias, with pain, with history that threatens to distort judgment. That alone makes every conclusion drawn here suspect.​

"What he is trying to say young Lord is we should tread carefully. He has approached you for a reason. He has told you these things, for a reason and has given you that...thing, for a reason. If they're truly the ones responsible for our turmoil, and the death of the current head's sister, then the Date can never be our allies. They like the Shihoin and Tsunayashiro would undoubtedly be our enemies."​

Kouei shifts his attention slightly. Measured and controlled. This one thinks before speaking. Already, the structure of the argument is sound—acknowledging motive without surrendering to it. Kouei finds himself aligning, if only partially. The question is not what the Date have done—but why now. Information this old, presented at this moment, is not coincidence. It is timing. And timing is intent. Is it favor, or fracture?​

"We need to look deeper, further. To do that however, we would need to speak with Nagarashi as he was the one who took the most care of the late young miss. However that would prove difficult as-"​

"-As the self ostracized fool is still too busy playing victim."​

"Nagarashi has always been a...troubled and overly dramatic soul. Ever the victim to the great and evil council of elders in his fabricated little tale. A man who cannot survive without having someone else to blame for any and everything."​

The voice that follows cuts through the room with unnatural precision. Kouei feels it before he fully registers it. His instincts sharpen instantly. Danger. Not the overt, violent kind—but something far more insidious. Controlled and calculated. The kind of presence that shifts outcomes without raising its voice. His senses—both trained and spiritual—flare quietly as he assesses her. Feminine, composed, authoritative. Not a threat in the traditional sense, but undeniably powerful. Influence radiates from her in ways that cannot be quantified—but could surely be felt by everyone in the room. Kouei does not turn. He doesn’t need to. The positioning alone tells him enough. His blind spot. Intentional. Was this a test of some kind, or a message?​

He remains still, refusing to give her the satisfaction of adjustment. Outwardly, he is unmoved. Internally, he is mapping possibilities, measuring risk.​

"It's clear we need the medical records from when the little miss was being treated. See anything that could even look remotely off. Before we go razing homes to the ground and truly making enemies, we need to verify and corroborate anything and everything."​

Verification and collaboration, finally—language he trusts. Kouei exhales slowly, though the motion is nearly imperceptible. This is the foundation of truth: Evidence. Though retrieving records over a century old… Difficult, for most. For nobles, however, or high-ranking members in the designated division, it might be trivial. Another reminder of the imbalance he continues to observe.​

"I will make use of them for much of this. Come."​

Kouei’s Reikaku is sharp—exceptional, even—but for a fleeting moment, his focus costs him. The operative appears without disturbance, a testament to the Kuchiki’s reach and discipline. Kouei notes the failure immediately, and puts it upon himself not to fail in this way again. Never again.​

"I want you and the others to keep an eye on the Date, especially the Captain and the other one from the Ninth Division. Do not approach them. Also follow the movements of the Shihoin and the Tsunayashiro. If you see an opportunity, infiltrate their respective manors and copy any records from 130 years ago."​

The order is precise and lethal. Kouei doesn’t react outwardly, but the implications are clear. Surveillance of the Date alone is dangerous. Infiltrating rival noble estates? That borders on a death sentence. And yet—the operative accepts without hesitation.​

"Aside from family troubles, there is also something afoot within the Seireitei. Things my friend here has been piecing together. It's why he's here now. "You have the floor Kouei. Tell them, tell US everything."​

Now the weight shifts. Kouei feels it settle squarely onto him. His gaze drops—some would assume this is out of fear or hesitance, but it is in calculation. He reorders his thoughts with practiced efficiency, filtering years of data, reports, and inconsistencies. His grip tightens slightly on the file with unbridled focus. When he stands, it is sudden and deliberate. The chair’s screech is jarring, but effective in commanding attention. He opens the file slowly, methodically—like a man who understands that presentation is as important as truth.​

"W-"​

“-akuja!”​

The interruption fractures the moment. Kouei’s eye lifts instantly, tracking the disturbance before most can process it. The silhouette above registers in fragments—mass, presence, spiritual pressure. Recognition follows almost immediately.​

“Gyōja!”​

CRASH!​

Danjuro arrives exactly as expected. Which is to say—without restraint. The destruction is significant, but Kouei’s focus isn’t on the debris. It’s on reaction times. Guard positioning. Blade placement. The elders’ disdain versus their fear. Data. Always data with Kouei. It takes him only a second to recalibrate. Danjuro moves to their side, an immovable force masquerading as chaos. Kouei understands the act. He always has. Beneath the simplicity lies awareness—sharp and intentional.​

“So… “What’s up?””​

Kouei nearly exhales something dangerously close to a laugh. Instead, he swallows it. There will be time for that later. His eye meets Danjuro’s briefly—sharp, unspoken, commanding attention.​

"Well.."​

Silence returns. This time, Kouei owns it.​

"My task in Ninth Division over the last ten years has been mainly focused on assessing the actual death toll of the invasion. Part of this duty is to also distinguish between those killed in action, those missing in action and..."​

He pauses, wanting to be precise with his next words. ​

"Those who have deserted their post, and have become enemies of the Gotei 13."​

His voice is steady and clinical.​

"While this task may seem simple on the surface, it has so many moving parts.. so many layers. Those layers, once I was able to peel them back, revealed both threats and irregularities that I feel are too compelling to ignore."​

He steps forward now, closing distance intentionally. Engagement increases retention. He knows this.​

"It starts with the Vizard event, or perhaps even before. Three individuals fell victim to Hollowfication at the hands of a relic.. a device, whatever word you have for it the outcome remains the same. Hachi Ikimaku, Kasuka Rikai, and Itaku Ohei. Three individuals, yet, only one of them still holds a position in the Gotei 13. Not just a position, but he is a well-respected and powerful Captain. Kasuka and Hachi have vanished, even with the knowledge that their co-victim was completely pardoned and able to keep his status within the Gotei 13."​

He moves around the ruined table now, controlling the space.​

"I can tell that these details are meaningless to you, and seem irrelevant at first glance, but that is far from the case. During the time of this hollowfication, the Twelfth Division recorded energy readings that far surpassed anything detected in recent memory, that was.. until ten years ago. A signature of the same magnitude was detected during the invasion, but could not be pinpointed as any sort of weapon or power wielded by the invaders. This leads me to conclude that a relic of similar power resurfaced but was swept under the chaos of the war being waged on our doorstep. Put simply, there is someone in possession of something powerful. I'm not sure who, or what."​

He allows silence. Let them think about these words. Let them worry, and perhaps even succumb to fear even if for a moment. ​

"What I can say, however, is that each time these spikes in energy were detected, a highly skilled, capable, and intelligent Kido Corps member's absence followed. I do not believe in coincidence, but perhaps what's even more concerning is that none of this, whatever is in the works, is possible without several co-conspirators. While these individuals may be absent, I am almost one-hundred percent sure that their accomplices work, train, and fight among us. I believe that none of the individuals in this dossier are deceased, but instead, are operating in the shadows, and are receiving consistent and accurate knowledge of what is happening here, now, in the Seireitei, in order to properly execute their future plans."​

The file leaves his hand with purpose, landing among the remnants of the table where the nobles sat. He watches as they briefly scramble to rummage through its contents, still lending Kouei their ear. ​

"No stone should be left unturned. The people closest to these individuals were and are high-ranking officers within our military, and are perhaps our only chance in prosecuting those who are guilty."​

Now, he looks directly at them. Not as a subordinate, or a noble, or a commoner, or an officer. But as an equal in consequence.​

"As for a potential feud breaking out between the noble houses, I would say the timing would be especially convenient and opportunistic for one of these Shinigami. Hachi Ikimaku was partially responsible for the murder of the Shiba clan, and never hid his disdain for nobility. The prospect of a war against the noble houses only excited him. He was, and possibly still is a man of great influence, especially to the downtrodden citizens of the Rukongai. If he is still at large, has mastered his hollowfication, and smells even the smallest hint of weakness, The Kuchiki, and the rest of the noble houses are in imminent danger."​

He takes a final, measured pause. ​

"What I have yet to surmise is if these potential threats are connected, or if we are soon to be facing a war on several fronts."
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