The shockwave of Reiatsu dissipated, and the dust cleared.
The massive black coffin, formed of dark barriers, crumbled like shattered porcelain, revealing the figure at the center of the attack.
The pale Menos Grande, which had clashed with Sumashi for dozens of rounds without faltering, now resembled a victim of an iron maiden, its body riddled with countless gruesome wounds, pierced as if by a thousand spears.
Blood sprayed from its form, staining its once-pale skin a vivid crimson.
Yet, despite such grievous injuries, it clung to life with the stubborn vitality of a Hollow, struggling to remain upright.
From beneath its mask came low, guttural "ghh… ghh…" sounds, as if trying to speak but silenced.
Thud, thud,
Its heavy steps struck the ground, inching forward.
Makoto stood calmly in place.
Until, at last, the blood-soaked figure lost all strength.
Thump!
It collapsed heavily to the ground.
Makoto glanced at the corpse, then cast a fleeting look toward the rooftop of the distant academy building.
In the next moment, Chika leapt down from the roof, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a cold edge as she spoke:
"Spatial Kidō."
"He noticed us and left immediately."
"No intention of helping."
Makoto's brows furrowed. "So it was a Shinigami?"
He muttered, stepping forward to examine the body.
As the heart ceased beating, the pale, steel-like skin covering the corpse began to fade with its life force.
Once the thin layer of white armor dissolved completely, turning to black ash drifting in the air, it revealed a body clad in a tattered black Shihakushō.
Makoto nudged the corpse with his foot, flipping it over, and drew a sharp breath.
It appeared to be a burly middle-aged man.
But the surface of his body, where skin should have been, was entirely gone.
It was as if a master skinner had meticulously stripped away every layer, leaving only raw, crimson muscle fibers and pale bones.
The wounds from Kurohitsugi remained, but the blood seemed to have long since drained.
Just looking at it, identifying the man was impossible.
Yet the group, hardened by countless battles, scrutinized the body's features, searching their memories for any clue.
As they examined it, Sumashi, who had staunched the bleeding from his severed arm and leg, suddenly noticed something and spoke up:
"Makoto-sama!"
"Where are its tendrils?"
"Did you see them?"
"What?!"
Makoto froze, looking down at the corpse.
Then he noticed that where the tendrils should have been embedded in its back, there were only ten circular, radiating wounds, blended indistinguishably with those from Kurohitsugi.
In an instant, he realized something and turned toward the area previously engulfed by the black coffin.
Swish!
His figure flickered.
But when he reappeared, he found only a shallow pit covered in loose dirt.
The hole was barely wide enough for an arm.
Makoto's brows knit tightly.
[Idiot~!]
[Makoto, you idiot!]
[Isn't it common sense that the tendrils are the real body for a tentacle monster?]
His Zanpakutō, ever eager, chimed in with annoying enthusiasm, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
"Wait."
The realization hit Makoto like a bolt, his mind flashing to the tendril he'd severed back at the Nest of Maggots
Damn it! Ryoma!
BOOM!
Before he could relay the warning, barely moments after defeating the Hollow, a deafening explosion shook the air.
Everyone, including Makoto, whipped their heads toward the source.
A mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke rose from the horizon.
Blazing light illuminated the deep night, turning it as bright as day.
Unrelenting shockwaves rippled outward, stirring white waves of dust across the landscape, reverberating with continuous echoes.
"An explosion of that scale…"
"Could it be…?"
Sumashi, sitting on the ground, was nearly jolted upright by the blast, his expression stunned.
By his estimation, it could level the entire Shin'ō Academy.
He admitted that, as a captain, he doubted he could survive an attack of such intensity.
"Hey, hey, hey!"
Chika's voice rose sharply as she stared at the fiery glow, pointing in shock:
"Makoto!"
"That's… that's where the old man lives, isn't it?!"
The moment her words landed, Makoto and Sumashi grasped the severity.
"Sumashi! Protect the kid."
"Chika, with me."
"Yes, sir."
In such a moment, Chika dropped all pretense of rank or protocol.
Makoto barked his orders swiftly, then turned and raced toward the First Division barracks.
Sumashi hesitated, then realized something, his gaze dimming.
He looked down at his missing arm and leg, a bitter smile crossing his face.
He'd finally become a captain, only to be reduced to a cripple in an instant.
Is this what they mean by 'unworthy of the role'?
As expected.
A talentless man like him never should have taken the captain's position.
"…"
But as he sat in silence, the small boy with yellow pigtails approached.
Shinji took a deep breath, mustering all his courage, and said:
"Captain Sumashi!"
"Let me help you get there!"
Sumashi blinked, his pale, blood-drained face softening into a faint smile:
"Thanks, kid."
…
Clearly, Makoto wasn't the only one who noticed the explosion's epicenter near the First Division barracks.
As they advanced from the Shin'ō Academy, Makoto and Chika saw people converging from all directions, many already organized and using Kidō to extinguish fires.
But as they approached the central district, a squad suddenly blocked their path.
"Halt!"
Makoto paused, slightly taken aback.
It might sound exaggerated, but in the past three hundred years, he could count on one hand the times someone had dared issue him such a command.
Before he could retort, he looked up and saw Sasakibe standing calmly in their way.
"Sasakibe!"
Seeing him, Makoto let out half a sigh of relief.
The old man and Sasakibe had been inseparable for over a millennium. If Sasakibe was unharmed, the old man was likely fine too.
"How's the Captain-Commander?"
But as soon as the words left his mouth, Sasakibe fixed him with a calm, piercing gaze and addressed the group coldly:
"Silence!"
"The Captain-Commander was attacked earlier and is currently receiving treatment ahead."
"No one is to proceed further."
"?"
Makoto's expression turned odd.
How much did this guy drink to act like this?
Sure, that explosion might have been terrifying for most of Soul Society.
But others were others, and the old man was the old man.
With his iron-clad constitution, could a shockwave of that level even scratch him?
Who'd believe that?
Before Makoto could press further, Sasakibe shot him a pointed look.
Makoto glanced at the growing crowd behind him and promptly shut his mouth.
Noticing even Makoto-sama held his tongue, the crowd hesitated, their clamor dying down.
If someone of his stature didn't question further, what chance did they have?
Yet, in this uneasy silence, a current of suspicion simmered.
Three hundred years was a long time, even for most Shinigami.
Long enough for nearly all members of the Gotei 13 below the top five seated officers to cycle through multiple generations.
Many younger Shinigami in the crowd had never witnessed Yamamoto's awe-inspiring power firsthand.
Naturally, they struggled to grasp what this explosion meant in the context of a "strong" figure.
Some even whispered, wondering if the Captain-Commander had perished in the blast, with "treatment" being a mere platitude to calm the masses.
The older Shinigami, seasoned and cunning, noted Makoto's sudden silence and began to speculate privately, each falling quiet.
Their "grief-stricken" expressions carried varied meanings in the eyes of those around them.
But the scene didn't linger long.
Soon, as if to deflect attention, Sasakibe directed his squad to guide others in clearing debris and extinguishing fires.
Only the First Division's central barracks, now a scorched wasteland, remained untouched.
…
"Ughh…"
The labored breathing grew heavier, the voice rasping as if a stone were lodged in the throat.
Takasugi slumped against the wall, his skin, pale from agony, dripping with viscous, egg-white-like fluid, soaking the ground and his clothes.
At his lower body, pale tendrils wormed into the empty pant legs, filling the once-flat fabric until it bulged taut.
Beneath the clothes, wet, squelching sounds echoed, like mud being kneaded.
Takasugi clenched his fists, veins bulging beneath his skin, a faint crimson glinting in the depths of his dark eyes.
After a long while, his "body" finally regained its wholeness.
Resting in place for a moment, Takasugi stood, his form initially unsteady but quickly stabilizing. His ashen skin flushed with a healthy, rosy hue.
He clenched his fist, the air snapping with a sharp pop.
Noticing the sound, the pained grimace on his face softened into a strained smile.
"To grow this much stronger…"
"Hah."
Only in moments like these could he truly feel his sacrifices were worthwhile.
But not everyone had the patience to indulge his sentiments.
Abruptly, the air rippled like water.
A figure cloaked in a black raincoat stepped out from the depths of a shadowy spatial layer, landing firmly on the ground.
Takasugi turned toward him, his expression cooling, his tone laced with detachment:
"You actually survived under that man's hand?"
"Impressive."
"Kensei."
The words carried more mockery than praise.
The man slowly lifted his raincoat, revealing a refined, gentle face.
Unfazed by Takasugi's taunt, Kensei Aizen calmly replied.
"Failing to stop them at the tavern wasn't my fault."
"It was your job to confirm the enemy's forces."
"Captain Takasugi."
"Tch!"
Takasugi spat irritably but didn't dispute Kensei's point.
The "other side" had promised to send several heavy hitters, but only a swarm of weak Hollows showed up.
It nearly cost him a part of his "true body" to escape the Nest of Maggots
Luckily, playing dead had worked, Makoto and his team dismissed it as worthless, leaving only low-ranking officers to guard it.
Otherwise, rebuilding would've taken ages.
Thinking of the "other side," a glint of malice flashed in Takasugi's eyes.
He'd settle that score later.
Seeing him calm, Kensei shifted the topic. "What about the Captain-Commander? Did it work?"
"Hmph."
"Of course it did," Takasugi said coldly, his eyes dimming slightly.
Three hundred years ago, he could never have imagined risking his life to kill the man he once revered.
Kensei raised a brow.
He'd assumed Takasugi's assassination plan would be the one to falter, compared to his own interception efforts.
"How'd you do it?" Kensei asked instinctively.
"I used the tech the 'other side' provided." Takasugi lowered his head, as if still reeling from the ordeal, and sighed. "They told me… just one of those stones could kill an Adjuchas-class Menos at close range."
"I used twenty in a trap, sacrificing three tendrils to lure that monster into position."
"If my main body hadn't been far enough away, I might've been blown to bits too."
Takasugi glanced at the lingering mushroom cloud, his gaze heavy, his tone steady:
"Anyway, the first phase of the plan is barely complete."
Sensing a waver in his voice, Kensei smiled faintly:
"Captain Takasugi."
"At this point, there's no turning back."
"Be it the one you respected most or admired most…"
"I know!" Takasugi cut him off, his voice rising with impatience.
He clenched his fists, suppressing a trembling tone. "The current Genji School, whether it's Genryūsai-sama or his successor, Makoto-sama, they've all gone rotten!"
"They're blind to the nobles, nearly wiped out long ago, now flooding Seireitei through that academy!"
"Meanwhile, the old guard of the Genji School is shackled by Makoto's endless rules!"
"Three of the thirteen captains are former enemies!"
"And nearly a third of the vice-captains and senior officers!"
"Those fools!"
"Damn it!"
Takasugi clawed at his scalp, his eyes bloodshot. "Why is everyone so indifferent?!"
Kensei replied calmly, "Because of the illusion of peace."
"Long wars have drained their patience."
"If they can maintain a façade of stability, who'd want to fight from Rukongai to Seireitei like you did back at the Genji School?"
His voice was even. "Yamamoto-sama is old."
"His heir, Makoto-sama, lacks the makings of a true leader."
"In times like these, someone has to step up."
"Captain Takasugi."
"…"
With his words, Takasugi's heavy breathing gradually steadied.
Kensei patted his shoulder lightly, then turned to walk toward the alley's other end.
Takasugi remained in the shadows at the alley's end, head bowed, unmoving for a long time.
…
When Kensei returned to his residence, his wife stepped out at the sound, still dusty from travel, her scabbard still at her waist.
Seeing her husband, a bright smile lit her face.
"Ken-chan! You're back!"
"I'm back!"
Before Kensei could say more, his wife jogged into his arms with a thump.
Startled, he caught her, quickly saying.
"Careful! You're pregnant!"
"It's fine, it's fine!" Sosumi dismissed with a wave. "Just a little movement, no big deal!"
"No way!"
He put on a rare stern husbandly tone. "It's been dangerous lately. Sosumi, you should take maternity leave."
"Makoto-sama's strict about it, six months, plenty to cover until the due date."
"Hey!" Sosumi raised her voice. "I'm a vice-captain! A vice-captain!"
"Way tougher than you, a measly fifth seat."
"If anyone's worrying, it should be me worrying about you."
"Yes, yes..." Kensei chuckled helplessly.
Then he called toward the courtyard, "Sōsuke! Bring us some food, and heat some water!"
"Yes!"
A young voice echoed from the back of the small courtyard.
Soon, a tiny figure, about seven or eight years old, scurried from the kitchen with plates, wobbling adorably.
Watching him, the Aizen couple shared a knowing smile.
Though just a kid picked up from Rukongai, he was diligent and earnest.
After giving instructions, the couple settled at a small table, chatting idly.
"Tonight, the squad was swamped…"
…
With such a major incident, the aftermath couldn't be resolved in one night.
The next day, as expected, a captains' meeting was convened.
Yet, the Captain-Commander's absence persisted.
Sasakibe stood at the center of the two rows, acting as proxy, his expression grave:
"After yesterday's treatment, the Captain-Commander's condition has stabilized, but he remains unconscious."
"Captain of the Fourth Division Tenjirō is providing long-term care at the First Division and cannot attend."
"Captain of the Thirteenth Division Sumashi, gravely injured, is also recovering."
The words stunned the room.
After yesterday's display, many assumed Sasakibe was withholding details to avoid leaks, saving them for the captains' meeting.
But what did this mean now?
Kinroku, choosing his words carefully, asked, "An explosion of that scale shouldn't have… injured Yamamoto-sama to this extent."
"What exactly…?"
Sasakibe maintained his formal demeanor, replying calmly, "The Captain-Commander was ambushed during training."
"According to Captain Tenjirō, his primary injuries are internal, caused by developing a new Bankai, not the attack itself."
The explanation clicked for everyone.
He was researching a new Bankai?
That made sense!
An injury mid-process could easily be fatal.
Except for a certain Makoto who stubbornly couldn't unlock his Bankai, every captain present had trained one.
They knew the dangers well.
But Makoto eyed Sasakibe suspiciously.
Others might not know, but he did.
In the original story, Yamamoto's Bankai only evolved in form from a thousand years ago, not overhauled like Ichigo's or Renji's.
Though he had guesses, he said nothing.
Knowing the old man, if he was holed up, he was probably up to no good.
"Now, please discuss how to address this incident."
The hall fell silent.
No direct clues about the culprits had surfaced, and information from the Shin'ō Academy was tightly sealed.
In such circumstances, no one knew where to begin.
In the quiet, a figure stepped forward.
Ginrei, expression cold and eyes forward, spoke: "As Captain of the Seventh Division's Inner Court Guard, I demand an immediate investigation into the negligence of Captain of the Eighth Division Katori and Captain of the Thirteenth Division Sumashi!"
His words drew every gaze to him.
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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