Inside a vast laboratory—its emptiness stark compared to its size—only two figures stood: one woman and one man.
The woman had sleek, side-parted black hair that fell to her shoulders, adorned with intricate golden ornaments. She wore a white mantle fastened with clasps, her pale skin and refined features exuding a dignified, almost sacred beauty. Six skeletal arms coiled around her sides like ghostly attendants, amplifying her air of solemn grace. She was the very image of a classical Yamato Nadeshiko, the epitome of traditional Japanese femininity.
Beside her stood a man with deep blue hair, golden eyes gleaming with luster, and a face that could only be described as strikingly handsome.
"When I leave, this laboratory will be yours, Nemu."
The woman floated gracefully above the floor, as if gravity itself held no sway over her. A shamisen rested in her hands, her delicate fingers plucking its strings as her gaze lingered on the lab, filled with reluctant farewell.
"Rest assured, Lord Shutara. I will honor your will and preserve this laboratory," the blue-haired man—Nemu—replied with a deferential smile, his posture humble, radiating respect for the woman.
"Is that so? Leaving it to you does make me feel… 'at ease.' Take good care of it, won't you?"
This woman was Shutara Senjumaru—known as the Great Weave Guard and the creator of the Shinigami's shihakushō, the very garments that defined their identity. She was the one most worthy of ascending to the Royal Guard, and indeed, the invitation had long been extended. Only now, for reasons known to none, was she finally preparing to depart.
"Senjumaru-nee!"
At that moment, Yūshirō Shihōin entered with Yoruichi and Suzumebachi Ayame at his side.
"My, my… what rare visitors," Senjumaru said, her lips curving into a smile.
"Are you really going to the Royal Guard, Senjumaru-nee? That place sounds unbearably dull. Immortality at the cost of freedom—can one truly find eternal joy like that?" Yūshirō asked with genuine doubt.
"Who can say? Even I won't know until I've joined them."
Her laugh was soft, graceful, like a blooming peony in spring.
"Why not come with me, Yūshirō? If you join the Royal Guard, you and I could 'share' eternity together."
She floated close, her pale hand brushing gently against his cheek before she whispered into his ear without the slightest shame, unconcerned with the others watching.
"Shameless!!"
The one who reacted most fiercely was Ayame. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she pulled Yūshirō away and planted herself between them.
Senjumaru chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement. "How cute… such a little kitten."
"Don't be so tense—Senjumaru-nee was just joking," Yūshirō said, patting Ayame's head in reassurance.
"B-but…" Ayame stammered, her face still red. She couldn't deny Senjumaru's breathtaking beauty. Even as a woman herself, she felt an instinctive wariness.
"You're wrong, Yūshirō," Senjumaru interjected. "I was serious. Besides… you've received the invitation to the Royal Guard as well, haven't you? Why not come with me? It would be lonely to face those three alone."
But Yūshirō only shook his head. "No thanks. It really does sound dull up there. Still, I'll visit you every year, Senjumaru-nee."
"…I see. Then, at least walk me out?"
Before Ayame could react, Senjumaru blurred forward and clasped Yūshirō's hand.
"So fast!" Ayame's pupils trembled. As a scion of the Onmitsukidō clan, she understood all too well: if Senjumaru wished, Ayame wouldn't even have the chance to resist.
"Of course," Yūshirō nodded calmly, and together they walked toward the exit as though no one else existed.
"Lady Yoruichi… are Yūshirō and Senjumaru-nee… close?" Ayame whispered nervously.
"Well… how to put it…" Yoruichi tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Senjumaru is one of the rare few unaffected by Yūshirō's spiritual pressure. She's also helped him control it in the past. If I had to describe their relationship… I'd say it's like that of elder sister and younger brother. Much like my relationship with him."
"…I see. Then I'm relieved. Thank you, Lady Yoruichi."
Ayame exhaled, pressing a hand against her chest in relief.
Yoruichi smirked knowingly. "You care about him a lot, don't you? Don't tell me…"
"No! It's not what you think!" Ayame flustered, face crimson. "It's just… Lord Yūshirō is like my master. That's why I care about his relationships."
"Is that really how you see it?" Yoruichi frowned. "If you think of it only that way, you might hurt him."
"H-hurt Lord Yūshirō?!" Ayame froze, startled by the weight of Yoruichi's words.
"…Anyway. Let's go see Senjumaru off."
Yoruichi patted Ayame's shoulder and strode toward the exit.
"Wait for me, Lady Yoruichi!" Ayame bowed quickly toward Nemu, then hurried after her.
"…"
"Hmph. Such boring humans."
The man—Nemu—watched them leave with a flicker of disdain in his golden eyes. From the folds of his white coat, he drew out a black-and-white mask and placed it over his face.
"Well then… what should I play with next?"
This man was no mere Nemu, but rather Mayuri Kurotsuchi, who at last—after Senjumaru's departure—was ready to indulge in his experiments without restraint.