The moment Ginrei's voice fell, Shunsui, standing in the Vice-Captain of the Third Division's position, narrowed his eyes, casting a subtle glance toward him.
Setting aside the merits and efforts of Katori and Sumashi, the angle of Ginrei's attack alone reeked of deliberate targeting to the former noble scion.
Both men were staunch members of the Genji School faction, poised to be Makoto's future allies.
Though Ginrei's words never mentioned Makoto, their intent was unmistakably pointed.
Yet…
Shunsui's gaze silently shifted toward the Ninth Division.
Makoto stood as composed as ever, silent.
He seemed utterly oblivious to the underlying assault.
Shunsui's brow furrowed slightly.
Despite hearing countless tales from Captain Kinroku about "Captain Makoto," the strategic genius of yesteryear, Shunsui, a prodigy himself, trusted his own eyes over others' accounts.
Did he not notice?
As the thought crossed his mind, someone stepped forward, meeting Ginrei head-on:
"Captain Kuchiki, you've truly inherited the finest traditions of the decadent nobility."
Takasugi raised his head, his voice icy as he stared at Ginrei standing rigidly beside him. "I recall when Seireitei fell, you high-and-mighty nobles were just as adept at claiming credit and dodging blame, weren't you?"
"Captain Sumashi fought valiantly, sustaining crippling injuries."
"Captain Katori's timely intelligence allowed each division to hold their posts."
"In contrast, Captain Kuchiki's Inner Court Guard lounged at the court gates all night, unmoved even as the Shin'ō Academy, right next door, was slaughtered to the last."
"If we're talking negligence, shouldn't Kuchiki-sama's name top the list?"
Ginrei shot him a glance, a flicker of deep-seated anger in his eyes, though his tone remained calm. "Aside from a few of us, there are no nobles left, Captain Takasugi."
"As for Captain Sumashi's situation, I deeply regret it."
"But that doesn't excuse the Purification Team's failure to stop the Hollow swarm, leading to massive civilian casualties."
As he spoke, he drew a list from his sleeve. "This document details enough evidence to convict seven seated officers from the Eighth and Thirteenth Divisions for dereliction of duty over the past month."
Takasugi didn't yield an inch, raising his voice again. "Since you can't stick to the facts, Captain Kuchiki, why don't you first explain to other captain here the personnel issues in the Seventh Division? How did several former nobles secure high-ranking seated positions despite failing to meet merit standards?"
As the two stood their ground, unrelenting, Sasakibe, presiding over the meeting, felt a mounting pressure.
In the days before storming Seireitei, such heated clashes were common, like wild monkeys brawling. But since taking control, under Captain-Commander Yamamoto's deliberate oversight, scenes like this had become rare.
Sasakibe thought as much, glancing downward.
Sure enough, the long-dormant killers in the room had stirred from their half-asleep haze, their interest piqued as they watched the two captains, nearly ready to draw blades.
If not for Yamamoto's lingering authority, they might've been cheering.
Kinroku, standing at the Third Division captain's post, hands tucked in his sleeves, peered through his amber glasses with a cool gaze at Ginrei and Takasugi.
Unlike the other "wild monkeys," this former strategist sensed the deeper conflict behind their clash.
Despite Yamamoto and Makoto's systemic efforts to suppress and balance the factions within Seireitei, the Shin'ō Academy's steady output of graduates and three centuries of peace had solidified class divides. With veterans aplenty, tensions between the upper and lower ranks were sharpening.
His thoughts drifted as he glanced at Kuruyashiki Ryoma behind Makoto and Shunsui behind himself.
In earlier, manpower-scarce days, talents like these two, Tier-3Reiatsu, secretly mastering Bankai, would've long risen to higher ranks.
Yet now, they'd been vice-captains for nearly a century.
It wasn't just captain and vice-captain roles.
Even seated officer positions weren't easily attained by ordinary Shinigami.
With this in mind, Kinroku's interest in Ginrei and Takasugi grew.
A clash between the former nobility and the new-generation Genji School?
Time moves fast.
They've grown this strong already.
Unlike Kinroku's detached amusement, for some, the struggle for power was a lifelong obsession, the bedrock of their sense of security.
But verbal sparring like this could never yield results.
As they exposed each other's flaws, their tempers only flared higher.
By the end, Ginrei and Takasugi's gazes burned with unmasked killing intent.
As their hands neared their sword hilts,
"Enough noise."
A cold rebuke cut through the captains' meeting hall.
The voice wasn't loud, but amid the clashing Reiatsu, it rang clear in every ear.
The Reiatsu laced in that rebuke sent a sharp, involuntary buzz through Shunsui's mind, despite his constant vigilance.
Ginrei and Takasugi froze mid-motion.
Both turned toward the Ninth Division.
Makoto stood as he always did, hands in sleeves, his half-closed eyes now cracked open. The deep, obsidian pupils beneath gleamed sharper than a blade, their gaze slicing like a chilling wind that pierced to the bone.
The targeted surge of Reiatsu alone evoked the same dread as facing Yamamoto himself.
Their hairs stood on end.
Makoto's tone was icy, unyielding even when addressing fellow captains:
"With the Captain-Commander and a captain gravely injured, hundreds of civilians dead from the Hollow chaos, and the culprits still at large…"
"You call a captains' meeting only to bicker over internal scandals."
"And now, you two choose this moment, when the old man is wounded and no one can make a final call, to stir up this dispute-"
His gaze swept their faces as he spoke calmly:
"are you trying to spark another Seireitei Rebellion?"
Makoto's voice was soft, but its weight could crush.
At those words, Ginrei and Takasugi, moments ago on the verge of drawing blades, released their grips.
After three centuries of suppression and reeducation, the Gotei 13 had, to cement its legitimacy, erased the true causes of the "Seireitei Rebellion" through the Shin'ō Academy, Rukongai newsletters, and public texts. It was recast as a "civil war quelled," solidifying their ruling status.
Makoto's words were less a question and more a blatant threat.
Who was the rebel? Who would quell them?
The roles in this story needed no explanation.
More crucially, the one speaking had the undeniable power to make "quelling" a reality.
Shinigami, after all, spoke with their blades.
Though captains were equal in rank…
Some were undeniably more equal than others.
"Tch, boring."
Saitō, arms crossed over her scabbard, shot a disdainful glance at the two.
What are you scared of?
Why not just fight Makoto?
Unohana, watching her disciple, let a rare, gentle smile soften her usually cold expression.
This is it.
Saitō caught the detail, her irritation flaring.
"Tch!"
Sasakibe, standing at the head, couldn't help but smile.
Genryūsai-sama was right.
Makoto might be outrageously lazy, but when Soul Society needed him, he never hesitated to step up.
What a contradictory nature.
If things continued like this, it should be…
As Sasakibe mused, Makoto subtly signaled toward Kinroku's direction.
Me?
Kinroku froze, his brows knitting. His already weathered face grew even more haggard.
But if he didn't step in now, today's mess wouldn't resolve easily.
After a moment's thought, he found his resolve.
"Sigh."
Stepping out of the line, Kinroku spoke gravely: "I propose forming a joint task force of three captains, with a deadline to uncover clues about the culprits."
"The task force leader will be Captain Makoto."
"Please vote on this proposal."
Makoto, who'd just exhaled in relief, froze.
"Huh?"
Rustle,
Before he could object, a wave of sleeves rose.
Sasakibe scanned the room and nodded lightly:
"Ten to one, the proposal passes."
"Captain Makoto, please submit the organizational procedures and personnel transfer report promptly."
"Hey!"
…
After the meeting, the captains filed out of the hall.
Makoto stormed ahead, his face dark with frustration.
Trailing behind, Kuruyashiki Ryoma looked like he'd been force-fed snow while constipated, his expression utterly grim.
Are you kidding?
When had Captain Makoto ever written a report?
Those paperwork nightmares always fell to him and Jūshirō!
Jūshirō, still buried in manuscripts, had no idea of the overtime looming.
As Ryoma sighed, he noticed Takasugi hurrying past, heading toward his division's barracks.
For some reason, his face seemed unusually pale.
Though Makoto's reprimand had been harsh, Ryoma, a fellow Genji School alumnus, appreciated Takasugi's defense of "their own."
"Takasugi, you okay?"
Ryoma called out from a distance.
Takasugi flinched at the voice, his body tensing.
Turning to see Ryoma, he relaxed slightly, forcing a smile:
"I'm fine!"
"Just remembered something urgent. Gotta head back."
"That so?"
Ryoma, ever the straightforward type, had planned to invite him for drinks, seeing his rush.
"Don't take our captain's words to heart."
"He's just putting on a serious front sometimes. Deep down, he's a lecherous idiot."
"Don't mind him."
"Huh? No way!" Takasugi blinked, exhaling in relief, his smile warming. "That's our great senpai!"
"Good, then. Go handle your business!"
"Drinks next time."
Takasugi waved him off, his expression sobering as Ryoma walked away.
The color drained further from his face, his smile fading.
Turning, he vanished with Shunpo.
He reappeared at the Fifth Division grounds.
"Captain? Did your wounds reopen?"
Kensei, passing by the corridor, dropped his papers and hurried to help Takasugi up.
Takasugi forced a grin: "Ugh, troubling you again."
They entered the captain's quarters openly.
Inside, Kensei's brows furrowed, his voice low: "This fast?"
"It's been less than three days since last time."
"Who knows?"
Takasugi gritted his teeth, enduring the sensation of reishi peeling away, and propped up his weakened body with a wry smile: "Just a 'failed creation,' after all."
"Could break down anytime."
Kensei, seemingly aware, nodded slightly: "Fine, come in quick."
He reached out, slicing a thin rift in the air.
The space parted like a curtain, revealing a dark passage to an unknown realm.
Takasugi stepped in without a word.
Kensei followed swiftly.
Emerging from the passage, they stood in a vast, dimly lit underground laboratory deep beneath the surface.
Discarded tools and tangled cables littered the sides, with only a few lab tables powered. Massive glass columns, over ten meters tall, stood in rows, some shattered, their contents long evaporated.
A few intact ones held grotesque, malformed flesh masses, barely recognizable as former Hollows or Shinigami through bone masks and tattered black cloth.
Takasugi and Kensei, accustomed to the setting, strode past the damp path toward the lab's depths.
With a grating metallic screech, they pushed open the innermost door.
Inside, a single glass column stood.
The creature within was far more intact than those outside.
It was a figure over three meters tall, arms crossed over an impressively ample chest, fingers interlocked. Its delicate skin glowed faintly cyan in the dim light, fully exposed, its face serene yet intellectual, if one ignored the crab-like bone appendages splaying from its back like wings and the thick, upright tail protruding awkwardly from its front.
In the dim light, a metal plaque at the column's base read:
[Granz]
Inside the room, Takasugi, pale as death, finally exhaled, hastily tugging at his collar and addressing Kensei.
"C-Can start the activation."
Kensei nodded silently, striding toward the figure.
Takasugi let out a long breath, shedding his Shihakushō's upper half, revealing a scarred, burned torso, medals of his countless battles in Hueco Mundo.
But now, among his scars, a small bone mask, sized to cover half a face, clung to the left side of his chest, opposite his heart, like a grotesque implant.
Closer inspection revealed countless purplish veins around it, ceaselessly funneling reishi into the mask.
To eyes that could see his spiritual state, Takasugi's soul teetered on collapse.
His rare spiritual particle reserves were weaker than an average seated officer's.
Instead, dark, Hollow-like power surged through his body.
For a captain-level Shinigami, even one barely at Tier-3 Reiatsu, this was a death sentence.
Yet Takasugi seemed unfazed, exhaling deeply.
Kensei approached the figure, placing his palm on a control panel, slowly infusing Reiatsu.
As the faint Reiatsu flowed, the woman, previously dormant, reacted like a restless patient jolted awake, her face contorting in agony. Her body trembled, hands clutching her empty face, emitting silent wails.
In an instant, countless golden threads shot from her body, probing frantically in all directions as if searching.
Pop!
One thread pierced the mask on Takasugi's chest, and the woman's struggling form froze.
Takasugi exhaled, visibly relieved.
Soon, the golden thread snapped with a twang.
His pallor vanished, his skin regaining color, the frail look gone.
Seeing him rise, Kensei withdrew his hand.
The woman in the column slipped back into slumber.
Turning to Takasugi, Kensei frowned: "How long will it last this time?"
"If it's like today, I might not get you here in time."
"Who knows."
Takasugi's tone was cold, his fingers brushing the bone mask.
A light tap drew a hollow echo from beneath.
Inside his chest, where the mask sat, was nothing.
Perhaps struck by this realization, or the lingering weakness, Takasugi's fist clenched, knuckles whitening.
Right.
This power was never his.
Though he'd joined the Genji School early and found his Shikai through battle, Takasugi knew he lacked talent.
After the Seireitei Rebellion, he entered the Shin'ō Academy under squad arrangements, graduating with middling grades.
Even then, he knew no amount of effort would match those monstrous prodigies.
And so it was.
Kuruyashiki, that bastard, or Shunsui and Jūshirō, those damned ex-nobles, effortlessly claimed third-seat roles.
Meanwhile, his Reiatsu stalled at Tier-5, immovable.
To break that barrier, to become a Shinigami like Yamamoto-sama or Makoto-sama, Takasugi volunteered for the Hueco Mundo expedition two hundred years ago, hoping combat would shatter his limits.
But despite countless battles and near-death experiences, his strength didn't budge.
Until that day.
A true "monster" appeared, effortlessly slaughtering his comrades, leaving him alone, trembling on his knees.
When he came to, he wielded a terrifying power he'd never dared imagine, capable of rivaling captains.
But his heart was gone.
His hand grazed the bone mask, feeling only cold, hard surface.
No heartbeat echoed.
The alien sensation tightened his nerves.
"What's next?" Kensei's voice pulled him back.
Takasugi's face darkened, his voice steady: "Not enough."
"To face Makoto head-on, my current power is far from sufficient."
"In terms of spiritual particle volume…"
"I need at least three times more."
"We have to speed things up."
Kensei's brows furrowed: "That urgent?"
"Didn't you already cripple the Captain-Commander?"
"Yes."
Takasugi nodded grimly: "My time's running out."
"If not for that, taking a century to build up slowly would've been smarter than rushing out now."
"We need to root out all the ex-nobles in the shortest time possible."
He sighed faintly.
A fleeting life needed purpose to justify such unattainable power.
Kensei frowned, "That much volume? Where do we find that many people?"
Takasugi, as if long decided, turned to him:
"The Living World."
***
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
***
If you want to read up to 50 chapters ahead, don't hesitate to visit our patron: pat reon . com / XElenea (removespace)