By afternoon, the snow had stopped falling over District 73 of South Rukongai.
The assassins hired by the Kasumiōji Clan had already been erased—disintegrated by Higashi Shuuichi's Zanpakutō ability. The spiritual interference devices that had been set up to mask their battle's reiatsu fluctuations were now neatly packed away, sealed and silent.
Opposite him, Yunoi Youkaku clutched the wound in his chest, gasping raggedly, breath frosting in the cold air.
Four spirit-body constructs—Reishi clones summoned by Shuuichi—stood sentinel around the defeated steward, unmoving and expressionless.
"Heh… If I were you," Yunoi managed, voice dry with blood and pride, "I wouldn't have hesitated at the last moment."
"If I were you," Shuuichi replied, crouching before the older man, voice carefully restrained, "I wouldn't be mouthing off before leaving this place alive."
The truth was—he'd been ready to kill Yunoi. Ready to sever the old man's head cleanly, vanish into Hueco Mundo, and spend the next hundred years hiding in that godforsaken desert, biding time until Aizen's inevitable rebellion tore Soul Society apart. He'd prepared for exile.
But just as his Zanpakutō's Shikai had fully activated and he was about to make a clean kill, Aizen had contacted him—perfect timing, as always.
Don't kill him. He's still useful.And Shuuichi… don't be impulsive.
Shuuichi hadn't believed that last line for a second.
There was no way Aizen hadn't been watching the entire fight, lurking nearby with Kyōka Suigetsu cloaking his presence. Otherwise, how could he have intervened so precisely?
No. That warning wasn't to protect Yunoi. That was Aizen making sure he didn't get his hands dirty.
And yet—Aizen was his superior. For now, Shuuichi was still playing the part of the loyal subordinate, the promising "employee" who followed orders to the letter. If the boss said spare him, then the bastard lives.
For now.
"You can keep going, if you really want," Shuuichi muttered, watching Yunoi closely.
Yunoi wanted to sneer, to snap back—but he wasn't stupid. Shuuichi's right hand clenched around the hilt of his Zanpakutō, veins bulging, restrained fury dancing just under the skin like a sealed explosion. The mask of civility could crack at any second.
So Yunoi wisely chose silence.
Shuuichi gave a faint nod, finding that silence just barely tolerable.
People with nothing to lose are dangerous.
And while he wasn't quite empty-handed, as long as Yunoi believed he was, that illusion was enough.
"I think it's time you heard my terms."
The words fell like frost. Shuuichi reached out with his left hand, a faint golden glow forming as he cast Kaido, the healing arts of the Fourth Division. Yunoi's breathing steadied, the worst of the bleeding stilled.
"You've got my attention," Yunoi rasped, voice hoarse but deferential now.
"I'll admit it—you Kasumiōji nobles are strong. Terrifyingly so. And while I don't fear death—I'd be glad to take a few of you with me—joining you might not be such a bad deal."
Yunoi jerked his head up like he'd been punched in the gut, face twisting as if he'd just swallowed hollow bile.
This bastard's insane, he thought. Who tries to join a noble family after nearly killing their chief steward?If he wanted in, couldn't he have led with that before stabbing me?!
His lips, pale from blood loss, trembled. No one could tell how violently his thoughts were convulsing.
Shuuichi, of course, didn't care. Or pretended not to.
"I'll return the blade. But I have conditions: I want to be into the Kasumiōji Family… and I want to learn how this Zanpakutō was made."
"That's impossible!" Yunoi cut in before the sentence even finished. "The method of forging a Bakkōtō will never—never—be shared with outsiders!"
"So that's what it's called… Bakkōtō," Shuuichi mused aloud, palm resting on the sword case beside him.
Yunoi froze.
He'd slipped.
But from that slip, Shuuichi gleaned something even more useful—the fact that Yunoi hadn't outright rejected his desire to join the Kasumiōji. No, he'd only objected to the Bakkōtō's secrets being passed on.
That alone told Shuuichi everything. Yunoi might be bleeding, humiliated, and furious—but he was already calculating the benefits of bringing Shuuichi into their fold.
And that was what made him dangerous. Worth respecting, even.
"You don't need to teach me the forging process directly," Shuuichi said with a sigh, almost regretful. "But I want to observe it. Just once. And I want access to the Great Spirit Library Corridor."
Yunoi's eyes narrowed instantly.
The Great Spirit Library Corridor—Daireishokairo—was one of the most protected archives in all of Soul Society. Built jointly by the Five Great Noble Houses to collect and preserve records, secrets, and spiritual history spanning thousands of years. Everything that mattered in Soul Society's past was there, forcibly catalogued by divine edict.
And the only ones allowed within its depths were the five noble clans—or those they explicitly endorsed.
Yunoi's instincts flared.
So that's his true aim…Joining the Kasumiōji? Watching the Bakkōtō get forged? All just a smokescreen.He wants into the Corridor—to dig into the truth behind the blades.
He smirked internally.
Let him try.
The noble clans had built safeguards into the Daireishokairo. Backdoors known only to them. Shuuichi wouldn't find anything useful in there without their permission.
He'd walk in thinking he'd cracked the code—only to find blank pages, sealed chambers, and missing volumes.
From Yunoi's point of view, this was a perfect trade. Two conditions that cost him nothing, in exchange for a Captain-class ally.
And, better yet, he could already imagine the look on Shuuichi's face when he came back from the Spirit Library empty-handed.
"…Fine."
He didn't hesitate long.
Yunoi gave his answer.
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