Northwest Seireitei

[Nobody]

"-understanding the past and confronting what might be, “are separate paths."​

Gyōja knew this, but also felt the two paths weren't necessarily exclusive to one another. Just as how separate roads may converge into one, or one road converging into two, so too did he need to both find and understand the truth, as well as use that truth to confront the past and those connected to it. He remains quiet though, for now at least. He has always respected and valued his friend's insight and advice, so he listens. The scenery changes as their unhurried steps leads them through the Seireitei, was there a destination in mind, or like with these mysteries, they were merely two souls following the road wherever it may lead them?
​

“What we do know, is that your strength isn’t measured by what someone else claims you lacked, then or now. You are strong.”​

Gyōja cracked a small smile. He knew how genuine Kouei's words were, that he only ever spoke on what he knew and what he truly felt. Unfortunately his words found themselves being contested with the reality of the past. The faces of Captain Shinka and young Keniro, the sight of their destroyed barracks and the mangled bodies of his fallen peers and comrades resurface, finding shelter in the forefront of his thoughts. Even with all their power, all his planning he couldn't take an eye, an arm, not even a finger from the enemy. How different would things be had Captain Date not arrived when he did? How much longer would he have been able to keep them safe and the enemy at bay? This invasion proved that what little strength he did have, or thought he had was not enough...not nearly enough.
​

"I have found… irregularities."​

Self deprecation is paused, the weight of Kouei's words and the air in which they were spoken of telling him that it would be best if he paid heed to all that was being said. Just as Kouei had been an attentive ear to his worries, now Gyōja shelves all his concerns and doubts, if but for a moment to hear what his friend has to say. While no investigator himself, like Kouei he too wonders what would be the purpose behind going through such lengths, if this truly was what was happening.
​

" Someone went to great lengths to ensure you heard a specific version of events. That calculated effort alone is a thread worth pulling, and I intend to follow it until the tapestry is fully revealed.”​

Gyōja's eyes widen at the implication of these words. "Are you saying our two issues are connected somehow?" While Gyōja had always strayed from politics, especially interfamily politics, he was not ignorant to them. Noble families were known to hold all manner of secrets, maneuvering through such an atmosphere was a battle in and of itself. This made him even more curious as to what exactly Kouei was looking into, what had he found? What did he suspect? Gyōja stands unwavering as Kouei invades his space, the air between them equally parts heavy and sharp. Gyōja's eyes narrow as they gaze into Kouei's eye unflinching.
​

"And Gyōja, I will walk that thread with you, step for step—but I will not be led by assumption, nor by fear. Together, we’ll let the evidence speak, no matter how uncomfortable it gets.”​

The troubled Kuchiki says nothing in response for a moment, the too locked in a stare off between each other. "You know, for a seeker of truth-" He breaks the stranglehold the silence had on them, his gaze still sharp. "-you speak with quite the ambiguous tongue." He drops his head slightly, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Speak plainly Kouei. What exactly have you found, and what is it you suspect and who do you suspect of it?" Rather than dance around the topic Gyōja asks flat out, knowing how Kouei tends to prefer to gather more information before truly speaking out on his theories and suspicions. However, he had a feeling now was not the time to stick to routine. "But not here, come with me. We'll go somewhere we'll be safe to talk." He releases Kouei's shoulder as he proceeds on. "I have others to speak to as well regarding this anyways."

[Headed to Kuchiki Manor]​

 

[TherosAestas]

Gyoja hadn’t needed to ask Tomi to keep an eye on Ren in his stead. She would have done that anyway, but she understood why he’d done so. He was trusting her in a way that they hadn’t trusted one another in the past. As she watched the two leave, her arms folded, she realized why she’d held everyone at an arms length for so long. She’d been broken into a million tiny pieces and carefully patchworked back together, but now she felt the jagged edges in her soul soften. Observing his unbridled display of emotions only solidified that she would dive into any fire to protect not just Gyoja, but Ren, Zatoichi, and Hayate too, so that they would never have to feel what she just witnessed.

We’re survivors.

Every thought that rang out in her mind, as she turned her back on them, adopted tones she feared would break her but instead fused her pieces back together. The brother whose fate remained unclear despite her carrying on as if he were truly gone for good.

We’re fighters!

The best friend who never got to experience the thrill of the battles she so deeply craved. Each voice was an echo of her past. The lover taken too soon and memorialized as an unyielding reminder of what was lost.

We’re dreamers.

Each step toward her office culminated in her own thoughts whispered in her own voice. Not the self assured version she portrayed as a Lieutenant, but the soft broken one that had resided within her for over a century. No longer a representation of her past but of the future she would forge for herself.

We’re not alone.

No more doing things on her own. No more shutting everyone out and that started with her entire division. As she stepped into the doorway of her office, her expression contemplative, her eyes met Ren’s.

”Gyoja has asked me to keep an eye on you while he is aw-”

Her words trailed off as she suddenly had multiple messages come through on her denreishinki from both Zatoichi and Hayate. Her brow furrowed as she scrolled through the messages. Zatoichi had stated there were no hollows present so whatever he had deemed so worthy of his attention that he would disregard a direct order to return to the barracks would presumably have to do with a human. Why would he bother himself with a human, whether they were spiritually aware or not? Her jaw tensed as she released an exasperated sigh. They’d both been made aware that there were humans living in Karakura that were spiritually aware, their existence and the presence of their reiatsu were facts known by Thirteenth division for over a decade. Now she feared they were going to cause problems for the citizens.

Tomi’s prior concern for her subordinates quickly became a stormy frustration. She couldn’t leave them to start trouble so rather than responding through her denreishinki she turned her attention back to Ren. She wasn’t going to just leave her alone at the barracks but Tomi needed to depart immediately.

”It would appear our young companions might be stirring up trouble. I must go retrieve them, so meet us in Karakura.”

Tomi dug her long nails into her palms as she disappeared with a single step. She would drag them back here if she had to. All she’d ever asked was that her division listened when she gave an order, which she didn’t do often, and while she hadn’t given an order to Hayate, she knew he would be close behind Zatoichi who had deliberately ignored her.

Heading to Karakura

​

 

[Aqua]

Kouei moved with an eerie, almost theatrical patience, each step measured as if he were traversing a stage set for revelation. The cryptic cadence of his voice wove through the shadows, words slipping out like coded messages meant for the initiated alone. To the unacquainted, his poetic ambiguity could be maddening—but for Kouei, ambiguity was a cloak, shielding both his thoughts and his deductions as he pursued the latest enigma that haunted his waking hours. Every pause in his speech was deliberate, a calculated silence allowing Gyoja’s mind to unravel the implications, while Kouei’s own gaze flickered constantly—searching, deducing, cataloguing the smallest disturbances in their surroundings. The value of secrecy was not lost on either of them; Gyoja’s world had been turned inside out by a single, lethal truth, and now paranoia pressed in from every shadow. Their voices fell to whispers, each syllable weighted with suspicion, every glance over their shoulders or toward the rooftops punctuated by the sense that unseen eyes might be watching. With each revelation, the circle of trust around them grew tighter, the air thick with the knowledge that loyalty was now a rare and precious commodity.​

"You know, for a seeker of truth- you speak with quite the ambiguous tongue." ​

Gyoja's observation, half accusation and half jest, struck closer to the truth than he might have realized. Kouei’s mind was a labyrinth, a vast reservoir where facts, suspicions, and half-formed theories swirled together. Often, his thoughts escaped in fragments—enigmatic, incomplete, like puzzle pieces scattered on a dimly lit floor. In these moments, he fought to corral the chaos, to distill his swirling deductions into words another could grasp. It was an internal battle he faced daily, a secret struggle that seldom showed on the surface but always shaped his actions.​

"Speak plainly Kouei. What exactly have you found, and what is it you suspect and who do you suspect of it?"​

Kouei faltered, a statue in the half-light, Gyoja’s hand anchoring him in place as if sensing the storm brewing within. Trepidation flickered across his features—not fear, exactly, but the measured calculation of a man about to reveal a truth sharp enough to wound. It was as though he were loading bullets, each word a potential shot fired into the dark. The silence stretched, taut as a wire, as Kouei summoned the courage to voice his suspicions, his mind cycling through possibilities, weighing danger against necessity, until—​

"But not here, come with me. We'll go somewhere we'll be safe to talk. I have others to speak to as well regarding this anyways."​

Kouei let out a slow, measured breath as Gyoja’s hand slipped from his shoulder—a subtle signal to move. The decision was prudent, and in that moment Kouei wondered if Gyoja’s instincts had caught the tremor of hesitation he’d tried to hide. Kouei’s mind, however, was already racing ahead, piecing together the implications, mapping out every possible betrayal and alliance. Trust was a dwindling currency, and if they meant to chase this shadowy trail, they would need more than two lone investigators. He nodded, falling into step beside Gyoja, the confidential file gripped tightly in his hand—a talisman against the unknown. With a practiced motion, he retrieved his Denreishiki from his Shikashuhou pocket, dialing with the certainty of a man who anticipated every move, every ally, every risk.

"We are gonna need more people we can trust. Perhaps even more importantly, we're gonna need some muscle."

There was no need for elaborate explanation—Gyoja understood with a single glance. Their circle was small by necessity, forged in days when minor mysteries were solved together over clandestine meetings at the academy. Now, the stakes had grown darker, more perilous, but their camaraderie remained a lifeline. Kouei lifted the device to his ear, the trill of the line echoing through the area like the slow turn of a key in a locked door, signaling the beginning of a deeper descent into the unknown.

[Going to Kuchiki Manor] [Calling Danjuro]​

 

[TherosAestas]

As Tomi stepped back onto Thirteenth Division’s grounds, her index and middle finger of her left hand gently massaged her temple. She couldn’t be too mad at them, they were young and she was sure they were quietly questioning the decisions she’s made, but she couldn’t think about that too much now. Her head was pounding and she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was frustration. Perhaps it was the fact that she hardly slept more than a handful of hours a night now, haunted by voices that would never grace her ears again.

Her tired eyes glanced at the shattered ground in the courtyard as her fingers brushed over the memorial she’d had erected. She felt like a failure, like she’d failed the people who looked to her for leadership, her family, and herself. As she approached her office, she pulled the ornamental pieces of her attire from her body, stripping herself to the simple uniform hidden behind gaudy trinkets. Her pale fingers brushed her hair back into a ponytail, leaving her bangs loose before she strapped her zanpakuto to her waist.

To her subordinates, she surely appeared done with them since she hadn’t spoken since their return. She’d simply taken silent action. She was certain they would have preferred to remain in Karakura rather than return to the Seireitei for training, but now she felt the need to expel her energy and frustrations at the world and the way people that hardly knew her looked at her, or the fact that people she’d put her trust in were keeping things from her.

Darling?

It wasn’t often that Tomi did not heed Tsukuyomi’s call, but now was one of those times. Attacks could happen swiftly and without a moment’s notice and she would ensure they were prepared for anything. Especially since one of them had a penchant for goofing off in the world of the living. As she stepped out of her office, she finally broke her silence.

”Eclipse the stars… Tsukuyomi.”

As her zanpakuto released, she flickered from sight and the spike in her reiatsu vanished along with her. A deep curiosity about how well they could keep track of her swelled within her as she suppressed her reiryoku until it was nigh-existent. Her voice, nothing more than a whisper on the wind wrapped around them.

”I told you, you would be training, and I meant it.”

Moments later, she finally reappeared within the division. She stood on the outskirts of the barracks, her arms crossed over her chest and her curved blades nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless her reiatsu emanated from them in as small of a quantity as it did from her, giving them three options of where to convene. The blade with the fiery guard waited at the center of the training grounds while the one with the deep purple guard was stabbed into the ground behind a tree not far from the courtyard. Tomi wouldn’t be surprised if Zatoichi easily discerned which was her and which weren’t, but as she remained where she stood, her spiritual signature began to spread, seemingly slithering throughout the division.

She knew being away from her blades was a dangerous tactic during training but she also knew she could reach at least one of them at a moment's notice if need be.

Let the hunt…
”Begin.”

​

 

[Orca_]

LOCATION: SRDI (Shinigami Research and Development Institute) → Northwest Seireitei → 12th Division Barracks

ADDRESSING: Self, N/A

In the depths of a forgotten corner of the Research and Development building was the silhouette of a man whose eyes had adjusted to the dark: with steady scritching against yellowing paper, the faint ticking of a clock, and the constant, resonating hum of machinery bombarding his senses in a way that felt torturous. Amongst the sub-levels and considered sub-human, he meticulously followed the lines of a recent report from a fellow grunt that had returned from Karakura Town some time ago with notes bordering on chicken scratch, and spaces of the template skipped on purpose.

“Hmm…Messy, messy work. No appreciation for the finer things…”

A whisper, so faint and wracked with a rasp that formed from years of inhaling smoke and tar. His lips were dry, and the skin around his cuticles and palms faded white and cracked from the effects of dehydration. Regardless, he smiled. Regardless of his isolation, he smiled. Regardless of his tunnel vision and lack of rest, he smiled.

This was it—the final page. The last report to be copied and archived was a half-assed and half-written summary that required his careful expertise to expand and make sense of. “A Hollow rampaged–” the original document stated. It raised his own questions internally:

“How large or small?”

“How many legs did it walk on?”

“How many souls or kin did it devour before being unfairly decimated??”

“Insolence… Insolence...! Idiots!”

Without warning, an unfamiliar voice broke his concentration on the final line, jolting him and causing his pen to cut upward through several paragraphs of his own interpretation. A warning of sorts was shared en masse to all units:
​

“All divisions, be advised. Captain Itaku has entered a Hollowfied state. Captain Kagi has engaged. Maintain distance from Outer Perimeter—Grid Seven, Sector Four, and proceed with caution. Captain Kagi is working to maintain containment and assess the remaining consciousness within Captain Itaku. If you arrive on scene, do not engage with aggression unless Captain Kagi issues the order. Again—proceed with caution.”

He scoffed first, then formed a grin settling between the feelings of amusement and disbelief. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his page, a charcoal sketch of the Hollow brought to life from the report's accounting cut through by his own hand at the corner of the page. He stared for a long time. An endless pity filled his bones and thoughts as his fingers caressed the image of his own design, one that held the dark lines and mask of the being with a gentle reverence.

“Poor, poor creature…”

“What do they know of Hollowfication? They don your mask with no afterthought of what it means to be hunted. They take…and take…and find justice in your slaughter.”

His thumb brushes the image again, smearing the charcoal as if saying goodbye before tearing the page in half, grabbing a fresh sheet, and beginning anew all over again. From the top of the original report again, “A Hollow rampaged–” as he carefully goes over the event, poring over the lack of details and filling them in with the logical conclusions; remaking the Hollow itself from the notes regarding its tracks, the veracity it moved with, and how much difficulty it gave the Shinigami before being apprehended and exorcised. He imagined himself in its place, how he would have handled the mission with a more intentional pace and the care that the creature deserved. The page filled slowly, as some form of war or misunderstanding was being raised on the surface above, the man known as Akiyoshi sat here, within the darkness of the SRDI’s forgotten wings, completing the last form assigned to him with the same attention he had treated all the others before it. He filed it away atop another pile of papers before taking time to organize it with the others, among the several shelves containing centuries of information on their supposed natural enemy and the various encounters that were barely survived, or resulted in death on either side.

Akiyoshi made his way to the entryway but looked back at the endlessly scaling shelves of this room, the archive of their shared histories, before finally ascending the many floors of the basement levels toward the surface. He passed by each department as a check-in, but was met with shunned expressions before moving on from each. A room of man-sized dolls to be assigned as Gigai, a room with a single blade being repaired by means that bordered on magic as much as it did science, and a room filled with monitors from wall to wall, which was usually shared with 9th Division's Communication team. The static-filled surveillance was host to several angles of the Visored in question battling it out with a fellow Captain. He looked at the stolen abilities with disgust, watching Cero blasts being shot from Shinigami hands—it felt wrong, so wrong.

He compartmentalized the feeling, finally departing from the Shinigami Research and Development Institute and slowly shuffled past the other barracks until meeting the entrance of his own. The 12th's banners fluttered as if welcoming him back. It had been days, or even weeks, since his last appearance here. The halls were empty, including that of the Captain’s office and chair. The lack of activity was likely the result of the chaos ensuing between realms, and members' own self-appointed missions was the result of no direct leadership. This place was beginning to feel aimless, and he pondered how long it would take for the vacancy to be filled as his tired body stood idle within the open doorway, dreaming ambitious dreams. Could a man who was given his appointment into the 12th Division on an ultimatum be considered eligible? Could he ever be accepted? He attempted to articulate his own feelings; to know if he actually cared to be seen, or if it was more appealing to simply break the status quo. The ideas danced gleefully in his bisected brain, which played tug-of-war as a dutiful Shinigami and an ostracized fanatic. Regardless, he smiled.

Perhaps this new era required fanaticism.

He looked left, then right at the empty halls. His soft grin turned wicked, curling at the edges, and showed his crooked teeth. He entered the room carefully, his fingers tracing the wooden desk's surface, which held so many memories. He pulled the chair back, lowering his body, settling into the empty seat, and laughed to himself—quietly manic and delusional.

He reached into the inner lining of his robes near his chest, revealing a crumpled box of half-empty cigarettes with a rusted lighter tucked away into the same container. The stick cracked at its filter between his fingers, infusing the menthol flavors into the rest of the item before bringing it between his cracked, dry lips. He inhaled slowly as the edge burned under the lighter's soft flame. The taste of menthol and tar settling into his lungs that curved his addiction. He tossed the box and torch to the middle of the desk, leaning back in the chair that creaked under his unfamiliar weight and smoking without a care in the world. He was never ambitious, but as Seireitei and the Living World were being laid to waste by allies and enemies alike, he quietly bathed in the shift that, to him, felt as inevitable as the smoke-infused breath he exhaled into this private moment.

 

[HankMoody]

Light emanated and was casted through the gateway, and then released the young Shinigami as he stepped out of the Senkaimon with his mind largely on what he would find himself eating for dinner. After spending a large amount of time within the living, he had grown accustomed to their various cuisines and specific cooking methods, quickly becoming a “foodie” within the span of a few short weeks. Now being back at the barracks, he dreaded the standard and rather bland eating spots situated around the shiro, having developed a new taste for different flavours. Scratching his head a moment, he turned around towards Tomi to ask her what he should eat for lunch.
​

“Hey Lieutenant, lemme holla at you real quick. Would you eat the BBQ from—”​

Before he could even finish uttering his question, he found himself turning around to see that he was now alone in the yard. It would seem that he was the only one concerned about lunchtime. Lightly throwing his hands in the air, as if to say: ‘what now?’

He quickly heard the reappearance of Tomi as the lieutenant had exited her office and released her Shikai in the courtyard. As her blade changed form, her demeanor followed suit as a darkened look would creep across her face. Hayate stopped in his tracks and gave her a sliding up and down gaze, while steadying his breath and muscles to make any move necessary she made a move herself.
​

“Hey uhh….Lieutenant…I know you said we were training but maybe we can grab a quick bite to eat first…you know…just to uhhh gulp warm up…..?” he said sheepishly. ​

Even as certain anxiety reared itself over his body, he still allowed his hand to be next to his sword's handle. Because even he knew that he may not be able to weasel his way out of this one, not this time at least.

Flickering away with her shunpo, her reiatsu then began to permeate and spread throughout the division, as her very voice became hollow and ethereal. Looking around, Hayate was wondering why they needed to immediately have a training session the moment they returned. What about lunchtime? Or second lunchtime? Or even dessert?? The shaggy haired shinigami sighed then quickly asserted a fighting position, shifting his legs shoulder width apart and steadying his hands to remove his zanpakuto if necessary. He wondered if Zatoichi would be able to join in, because he had very little intention of handling this alone. Making quick mental note of all the concentrated areas of where the lieutenants reiatsu pooled and coagulated, he never took his eyes from the spot that he had seen her last.

He let the silence envelop the barracks, and also become still as the quiet itself. Even with his eyes directly forward, his senses remained omniversal, eagerly anticipating the next change in this stagnant pattern. He had no intention of approaching her, but had every intention of defending himself should she become impatient waiting for him to make a move on her. After all, slow and steady wins the race.
​

“I really hope I still have an appetite after this..."​

 

[Orca_]

LOCATION: 12th Division Barracks → SRDI (Shinigami Research and Development Institute)

ADDRESSING: Toru Tsunayashiro

The world spins idly by as Akiyoshi spins in this quaint, rustic office. A break in the monotony, something buzzes and beeps. He continues to rotate in full circles in the captain’s chair, fiddling within the inner lining of robes to receive the Denreishinki supplied to all members. He adjusts his grip to hold the device by its far edges, as if disgusted by the technology itself or perhaps the social obligation it encapsulates, before bringing it to his ear. His expression is monotone, taking a deep, centering breath to respond; He is, however, denied the opportunity to speak as the grating voice of an unfamiliar person booms over the receiver
​

"Hellooooo! Toru Tsunayashiro here. Don't worry about how I got this contact! I do however need to ask you for a favour, I promise I'll return the favour. Need you to run a scan of Karakura. Lookin' for dense Reishi signatures, please ignore the Hollow in the area. Any information would be fantastic, thank youuu!"

A favor. A poorly disguised command that Akiyoshi would have no choice but to respond to in kind if he wanted to avoid the chopping block. He was already standing, moving back toward the S.D.R.I building to get ahold of the necessary equipment for such an order, and during the travel his mind went through the mental archive of members within the 12th Division who would be on duty. The speaker on the other end would only receive static and incoherent mutterings to know that the task was being handled forthwith. The man had declared himself ‘Tsunayashiro', a commonly known noble house, but as one to turn his nose down at the aristocratic foundations, the given name Toru nearly brought up nothing to mind. As he came through the doors, it struck him, the realization of a kindred spirit on the other line; notes in Taro's file stating his eccentric tendencies and love for biological mysteries. The connection brought a hideous grin to his face, now motivated by the aforementioned ‘favor’ as he finally responded, already at the terminal to complete the scan over Karakura Town.

He typed away, making small talk with the same cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth, the Denreishinki tucked between his shoulder and cheek as both hands busied themselves in expert fashion.

”Tsunayashiro, huh? Understood, I’m running a pass thru for anomalies between Karakura’s cardinal sectors now. The 12th Division is like a family, is it not? Consider it a simple kindness, my friend.”

His fingers were a blur as multiple screens of code, archived imagery, and live comparisons popped up in front of him.

”Though…I would be lying if I were to omit my hopes for… compensation… for such a sudden request. Fret not, you’re in good hands nonetheless. The data is showing... yes, yes here it is.”

Multiple dots would begin to ping along the West sectors of Karakura Town, some flashing, some fading, and the anomalies in question, compared to the usual spiritual energy the living world emits, would come to a stable reading for Akiyoshi to analyze.

“Aside from your own signatures, I was able to pinpoint a faint, but concentrated mass of energy along the Western edge of the city. Yes…yes, wait—What the hell is…”

He’d lean forward, removing the cigarette from his mouth and blowing to the side to not obstruct his focus. He’d scratch his chin, comparing maps and general city blueprints to confirm exact positioning. This wasn’t the part that concerned him; it was the active fluctuation of one of the signatures—unlike that of a soul or Hollow. An artifact?

Regardless, it was above his pay grade, and rather than warning them of the potential dangers, he’d grin wider, thinking of Taro’s various biological samples and petri dishes likely somewhere within the S.R.D.I labs that would free game if the worst were to occur.

”Sorry. Still there? Western edge of the city, approximately four clicks beneath the surface. Sending exact coordinates over to your device now. Confirmation of two signatures too stable to be that of Hollow or rats. Good luck down there! Don’t call again.”

He’d hit the button to end the call abruptly, tucking the device away into the usual spot on his person and would lean closer toward the screen one more time. The peculiar reading resonated more closely with that heartbeat as it pulsed ominously, a silent catalyst for the change Akiyoshi so desperately craved.