That night, in the human world, a small pitch-dark shadow with amber eyes danced across the rooftops — a black cat moving with confidence among antennas, wires and gutters. It slipped along the edges, leaping here and there, pausing for an instant before setting off again. Its whiskers, working like sensors, read the sky in place of a map: a thread of reiryoku wound its way through the streets of Karakura, thin and restless — and the cat sensed it.
The thief was no match for the shadow he cast: with each leap, unknowingly, he peeled off a sliver of light from the darkness and the pitch-black cat collected them all, silently, patiently, unhurriedly, with the manner of an undertaker. They passed through a narrow alley that looked like a ravine. A little further on, leaning against the wall, a fire escape rose up next to them, black, like a spine. Then even the jagged edge of a roof, its teeth pointing upward, seemed to be biting the sky. The city below, unaware, breathed normally, filtering its own dreams: from above, however, the rhythm was a metronome of four paws that never truly touched the asphalt, barely grazing it.
At the height of a wind-eaten billboard, the pitch-black shadow slipped into the crack in the sheet metal and, an instant later, a human figure emerged: amber skin, a ponytail whipping through the air, the same smile from before recast on a human face. Yoruichi shook the stiffness from her shoulders, as if breaking free from a shirt that was too tight. She warmed up the muscles in her arms, covering herself by tearing down the curtain of the nearby shop; the scapulae left exposed gleamed under the moonlight. Then she tilted her head, her feline ear taut like a violin string. The thread of reiryoku vibrated there, before her, so close.
"I found it!" she murmured.
She slid forward, unleashing a trail of electricity in her knees and landed on the spot where the reiryoku trail was thickening. She reached out toward the thief: using her wrist, she exposed raw skin, feeling the heat and the blind jerk of her enemy's surprise. For a moment, she felt the thief's weight pulling her away... but it was only a moment, because then the defuser activated. The body disappeared between her fingers, leaving only residual heat and the smell of sweat and fear in her palm.
It wasn't an optical illusion: the thief used Shunpo, an instantaneous displacement technique. A clean flash devoured the figure and only the smell of ozone remained in the air. The space it occupied closed with a thud; the roof fell silent again, the billboard creaking slowly.
Yoruichi stood still for a moment, her palm still open, facing nothing. Her lips curved into a half-smile.
"Interesting." And she left again.
Yoruichi darted across the rooftops with the precision of a gust of wind under control. The thread of reiryoku guided her in a zigzag through the streets until, suddenly, the trail knotted in front of a low building, its sign faded and windows opaque: it looked like an abandoned dojo. The thief landed in front of the entrance, he hesitated for a moment looking behind him, then whirled upward toward her.
"Hey, you asshole, stop!" Yoruichi shouted, before leaping toward him.
She was about to drop down on him from the edge of the roof when something — like a shiver — pressed against the back of her neck from within. Yoruichi felt a tiny cold point (probably a needle) push against her skin. Behind her, she sensed a sharp presence, a killer's one, settling at her back.
She let go of the thief's gaze for a moment—distracted by the situation. One minute before the thief was there, in front of her, the next he was gone; the trail nestled toward the shadows of the courtyard. But behind her, the sensation shifted: it seemed more serious than she'd thought, deeper, more dangerous.
She turned with only her eyes, with a smile small and nervous on her lips.
"Curious… we're chasing the same prey," said a flat, almost shrill voice behind her.
The figure made to raise a hand—quick, clean, lethal. Yoruichi, however, was faster: she swung her hips, planted her foot and leaped backward, letting air fill the space where her body had been a moment before.
"Curious", Yoruichi replied, her eyes gleaming, "that you managed to get behind both me and the thief. You're not from around here, are you?"
The man looked at her, his face in the dark seeming devoid of expression. She, instead, studied him from head to toe: tall, with skin pale and smooth like wet porcelain and long straight black hair that fell neatly past his shoulders. His eyes, dark and deep, reflected almost nothing; two calm slits in an unmoving face. He wore green cotton garments, dry and fitting neatly to his body. His slender fingers rested just a few centimeters from where Yoruichi imagined he concealed needles or something equally precise. His presence was clean, sharp, measured to the millimeter.
Their shadows fell on the brick roof. "Tell me who you are. Tell me your name," Yoruichi said.
"Illumi Zoldyck," he finally replied dryly. "I was paid by high-ups to recover the artifact the thief is carrying."
Yoruichi tilted her head slightly, her ponytail brushing her shoulder. "I'm Yoruichi Shihōin. I'm tracking whoever stole it. If it falls into the wrong hands, there'll be more trouble than this city can handle." She smiled briefly. "So yes, I'm here to get it back, too."
She, shortly after, narrowed her eyes questioningly. "Then let's do this: we work together to catch the thief. No obstacles, no backstabbing. Once the artifact is in our hands..." A half-smile crossed her lips "...we'll play it out. A single, clean fight. Whoever wins gets to keep it. Are you with me?"
Illumi stared at her for a couple of seconds, motionless, one hand on his chin, his eyes narrowed. "Yes, go ahead, the parameters are clear. I accept." He nodded slightly toward her. "Cooperation until recovery. Then we'll fight one-on-one for the division."
"Then it's decided", Yoruichi exclaimed.
She stepped down from the gutter with a slight twist, her soles skimming the courtyard without a sound. Illumi fell behind her just a moment later: no sound, not even a breath. Shadow within the shadow's web. They entered the dojo and what they saw was utter desolation: there was a stench mixed with old, damp wood and rust. The boards creaked softly under their feet as they crossed the central corridor and the night wind filtered in through the broken windows. A light breeze blew Yoruichi's hair as she tilted her head: the trace of reiryioku was thickest there, the strands vibrating to the left. She made a minimal gesture with two fingers, turning her head slightly, without speaking. Illumi understood and slid parallel, brushing against the wall.
They found him in the equipment storage room: a door off its hinges, a bulging duffel bag on the floor, a hand groping in the dim light. The thief turned, his wide eyes briefly reflecting the shine of Yoruichi's hair. He didn't wait to understand. He pulled out a paper seal and tore it with his teeth. The air trembled; reiryoku exploded like a whiplash thrown through the air.
Yoruichi burst forward without a hint of hesitation—half-step shunpō, a flash that ripped her from her spot and threw her a meter ahead. The blast of reiatsu left in her wake—sharp, crushing—shook her balance, but she held steady. Illumi was already gone, slipping through the shutter's gap a split second before it slammed shut. The thief vaulted the frame, rolled into the karesansui—the dry garden of gravel and stone—and locked on to the palisade, clutching the bundled package tight against his chest.
The chase began.
Yoruichi kicked into shunpō mode and dropped from the porch—clearing the steps in an instant; two quick strides and she was already in the courtyard. Illumi didn't fall behind. He cut the inside of the turns, shaved off the angles, burst forward twice and moved straight onto the thief's path—aiming for where he was about to land.
Beyond the fence, they shot into the alleys. Bamboo clumps. Hanging laundry lines. Low antennas overhead. The thief hurled a can, a bucket and a folding ladder into the path to slow them down. Yoruichi vaulted the can, slipped past the bucket without losing speed and cleared the ladder with a step on its top frame—landing already in full stride.
Illumi passed through the gap between the ladder and the wall with a margin of just a few centimeters; no contact, no sound. The distance to the target dropped from five to three meters.
They rushed down a fire escape. The metal rang and rattled top to bottom. The thief ducked under a billboard, slipped into a narrow gap between two warehouses and slammed through another fire door. He slid between shelves and crates, toppling a row of rusted dumbbells. Yoruichi vaulted over, dodging clean. Illumi trampled straight through without slowing—light as a needle threading cloth.
The thief's legs burned, his breath turning ragged. Every time he tried to break the line with a sudden turn, Yoruichi flashed to his side—forcing him back, locking him on the path she chose. Every time he tried to climb, Illumi was already there, blocking the way—silent, inevitable. There was no escape.
They tore through a night market being taken down: tarps loosened, plastic crates stacked, sodium lamps still burning. The thief slipped under a wooden stall, ripped a tarp with his shoulder and climbed onto the service walkway. Yoruichi was a step behind, reiryoku burning her throat. Illumi was already at the far end of the walkway. The thief swerved—no way out—and dropped onto a flat tar-covered rooftop.
A thin rain began to needle the air. The rooftop turned slick, like soap on tile. The thief slipped for a heartbeat—almost falling—then caught himself with a desperate twist. Yoruichi closed in, two strides away, arm outstretched to cut the gap. Behind her, Illumi flicked a single needle—not to wound, but to strike the metal antenna ahead of the thief. The sharp clang made him flinch and veer; his step missed, stumbling into empty air.
"Now!" Yoruichi hissed through her teeth, bursting forward with renewed speed.
The artifact pulsed, vibrating harder than before. Ahead loomed the river and an industrial bridge of open girders, crosswinds rushing between its levels. The thief aimed for the bridge—Yoruichi and Illumi still right on his heels.
The rooftop was slick with rain. The thief planted wrong on a joint between the pergolas, lost balance, and fell toward the bridge's catwalk. He hit off-center, rolled, tried to get up—but hesitated for half a second. He couldn't match their speed anymore. And that was enough for them to catch him.
Illumi was on him in a flash—hand clamping the back of his neck like a hook, forearm locking his shoulder. A sharp, precise motion: two needles flashed through the air and drove into the joint between wrist and forearm, another into the ankle. The thief's body froze, nerves and momentum snuffed out—mouth and tongue included.
Yoruichi landed a moment later, sliding over the wet metal but touching down firmly on her feet. She crouched beside the duffel, yanked the zipper open in one swift pull—and there, between cloth and wrapping paper, she found the object.
A small reliquary of black lacquer, trimmed in brass, etched with ancient script—no larger than a fist. At its center was a sphere of white quartz, laced with violet veins. Around the frame ran five tiny kanji, chiseled into the surface like a miniature sutra.
"Kimon no Tama," she murmured, holding it up to the streetlight. "It's an access artifact: it cloaks the bearer's reiryoku and opens/forces kidō seals up to medium-high levels. If used incorrectly—or overloaded—it emits a signal that summons Hollows."
Yoruichi carefully wrapped it in cloth again and tied the package around her waist. She turned to the thief. "Why this one?" she asked curiously. Illumi took back a needle; the thief's eyes widened, then he swallowed.
"Commission... a collector. They pay well... and then it's used to... open a warehouse. Nothing—"
"A warehouse." Yoruichi raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
"That's all I know," the thief insisted, avoiding her gaze. "They left me a contact information. Delivery, then payment, and that's it."
Yoruichi stared at him for three long seconds. The wind blew a strand of hair across her cheek; she swept it away with an amused puff, then with her hand. "You know, I hate it when people waste my time with half-truths."
She straightened in an instant. "Keep him however you like," she said to Illumi, already turning away. "From what I gather, those needles will kill his urge to run for a while."
Illumi nodded, loosening his grip just enough to keep the thief from blacking out. Yoruichi dropped from the catwalk with feline speed, landing in the shadow of the pillar. "Let's go," she said without looking back. The artifact was tucked under her arm, wrapped in cloth and tied to her waist with a cord. Illumi followed in silence. Behind them, the thief lay on the bridge's grating, rain drizzling down, pinned and unmoving.
They disappeared into the alleys together. They chose silence until they reached the road to the dojo. The air, washed by the rain, was free of humidity and any peculiar odors. The river remained behind.
"Do you prefer neutral ground?" asked Yoruichi, leaping over a railing without breaking stride. "A nice, wide one, without spectators. The roof of the dojo is still there, watching us."
"Acceptable," said Illumi. "Flat surface. Few blind spots."
They climbed back up the roof to the top and saw the rainwater trickling in slow rivulets toward the eaves.
Below, the dojo's main hall opened out like a rectangle: exposed main beams and cross-braces, bare walls, empty racks along the north side, stacks of tatami in the back. A single emergency lamp cast a yellow patch near the entrance; the rest lay in darkness. Drips echoed into two buckets set under the leaks, the air stripped bare and foul. At the far end, three possible exits could be seen: a broken transom window on the west side, an air vent aligned with the beams and a loosened shōji panel on the south. The best landing point was the central beam, a couple of meters below them.
"So, the rules," Yoruichi announced, placing the bag on the ground. She pulled out the reliquary and placed it on a protruding beam. "No civilians, no dirty weapons. The artifact is not to be touched during the fight."
Illumi looked at her impassively. "What will the victory conditions be?"
"Full immobilization or surrender. Count to ten." She waved her hand. "And no one gets killed. It would bore me."
"I agree." A pause. "No external support."
"No supports," she repeated, with a challenging grin.
Yoruichi bent over the reliquary. She traced three lines in the air with her index finger; she expressed a formula, the lines hovering for a moment, then descended, approached the artifact and sealed around it. The humming died away; it was now locked in a cage.
"Basic containment seal," Yoruichi explained without looking at him. "It's strong enough to keep us from having any nasty surprises."
Illumi took half a step, watching the white glint within the quartz, then turned to scan the rooftop's edge. He let a needle drop between two tiles, then another three meters away—unseen markers, sensors for the wind… and for her. At the first gust or the faintest step too close, the needles would quiver, pointing the way.
"Distance preferences?" he asked, returning to the center.
"Whatever you want," Yoruichi replied, shrugging. Her ponytail slid like wet velvet over her arms. "I'll manage."
They moved to opposite sides of the ridge. Below, the wood of the dojo creaked as if recalling the weight of past training sessions. The light rain resumed, touching the tiles with a soothing ticking sound.
"Final check?" said Illumi. "Whenever you're ready, we'll begin."
"How sweet of you to ask!" Yoruichi smiled, a feline flash in the darkness. "I'm ready, whenever you're ready."
He lifted his chin slightly. She lowered her center of gravity, her feet parallel, her breath lengthening. The roof, the city, the rain: everything seemed to stop for an instant, just before the first step.
They made the first move together and the world stopped breathing.
Yoruichi vanished and reappeared in fits and starts, one flash after another. "Too slow," she chanted behind him. A needle grazed her neck, and she felt the line of air that vibrated a strand of her hair. "Still too slow."
Illumi didn't respond: he shortened the arc of his movements and shortened the time. Every time she slipped away, he appeared closer, his arm already in the right place to intercept and his foot stealing her pivot. "Adjustment in progress," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Cute. But—" another shunpō, another trail of rain "—too slow."
The needles grew finer; their angles of entry tighter, more precise. Yoruichi read them at the very last instant—arching her back, twisting her hips, dropping half a level to let them slip past by mere millimeters. Illumi closed the gap with sharp bursts—three meters down to one in just two steps!
Their hands began to clash along the centerline. The parries were short, full of deflections and broken grabs: a palm on the wrist, a wrist on the elbow, fingers hunting the tendon. With them it was always touch—then release. The rain thickened, tiles slick underfoot. Still, their stances stayed flat, weight centered, no wasted turns. At last, they came face to face in close combat. Zero margin—just arms locking, knees searching for balance, breaths cut short.
Illumi seized her right wrist and tried to pull her off balance. Yoruichi twisted into pronation, dropped her elbow and broke the hold. Illumi shifted back half a step, then yanked her forward using the grip as leverage; his leg slid behind her knee and drove her downward. Yoruichi rode the fall, rolled to the side and in the same motion mounted him—knee cutting in, hips low, weight pressed into his torso. She pinned him straddling, wrists slammed to the ground beside his head.
The world began to breathe again before it drowned. Beneath her, Illumi's chest rose and fell steadily. Between her thighs, she felt something hard pressing through the tissue, unmistakable. Yoruichi raised an eyebrow, the feline smile returning to her face. Then she tilted her head.
"Oh... so this is your real rhythm?" she whispered, her voice low and warm. "Hard, huh? I thought you were the one wanting to maintain control!"
She swayed gently above him, her hips moving slowly, just enough for the rustle of fabric to speak louder than words. "Tell me, Illumi: do I distract you... or do I help you speed up?"
He stared up at her, dark eyes flashing for the first time. His voice came out low, velvety. "You're provoking me, Yoruichi." His fingers tested the grip on her wrists—not to break free, but to feel her more clearly. "And it's working," he finished. His breathing deepened. "But don't mistake pleasure for surrender."
She lowered her face close to his, her nose brushing his cheek. "Who said anything about surrender?" she murmured, letting a tiny added pressure promise trouble. "I'm just choosing what to do."
Illumi tilted his chin just slightly toward her, the vibration in his tone sparking him even further. "Then you choose. Let's see how long you can stay like this… without losing your rhythm."
They moved again, like two lines searching for each other within the same equation. Yoruichi let him slip out from beneath her with a springy leap; Illumi rose in a single motion, already in guard. Their trajectories crossed inside the dojo—sudden rushes, brushes of skin and fabric, holds caught mid-motion then broken apart again. Every contact left a brief spark, a heat that refused to fade.
"Still too slow," she whispered behind his ear—but her voice trembled in her chest more than usual. He answered with a flawless step-in, his side brushing hers, his arm forcing her into a two-turn spiral. Yoruichi slipped out of it with a smile and a flash of shunpō—yet Illumi was already there, right in front of her, as if he had known all along.
They touched again: forearm to forearm, wrist to wrist. Rain hammered the tiles; yet beneath their hands, both their skins burned warm. The holds shifted in tone—from force to precision. Fingers lingered in intimate places a moment longer than needed, his thumb tracing half a circle over the tendon of Yoruichi's wrist; she didn't pull back—if anything, she leaned her side closer. Their eyes locked, gleaming, hungry. Their breaths fell into sync, without either of them willing it.
Their thrusts and evasions grew short, deliberate. Each "opening" wasn't taken—it was held. Ribs brushed, hips against hips, knees searching for balance but never distance. Yoruichi tilted her chin just slightly; Illumi increased the pressure of his fingers by a single millimeter. Their mouths stopped a breath apart, the rhythm of blows slowing until it was nothing but touch: his palm sliding along her forearm, her hand rising to his tricep—grip tightening, then easing. Silent consent.
Desire was no longer within the movements—it had become the movement itself. And neither of them wanted distance anymore. Yoruichi hooked him by the nape in an elegant hold; Illumi twisted under her arm, seized her wrists and pulled her in with surgical precision. Their chests collided, hot—and in that instant, fighting ceased to be the only language they spoke.
Illumi caught her just like that, out of nowhere, and kissed her. Yoruichi answered with a smile against his lips, her breath sparking like a fuse. They stopped at the center of the hall, still close to each other. Yoruichi brushed his chin with her hand, smiling as she tilted her head slightly. Illumi took her wrist with unusual gentleness, guiding her hand to rest against his chest. His heartbeat was steady—yet warmer.
Illumi's fingers found the quick knots of the makeshift robe she had tied around herself in haste: a loop behind her neck, a double wrap at her waist, the cord threaded through the eyelets. One precise touch, then another—the tie gave way and the cloth slid soundlessly from her shoulders. Yoruichi broke the silence with a low laugh, slipped her fingers into the silk of his hair, and pulled him close. The kiss that followed was slow, measured to the millimeter; each breath, a choice.
They moved without haste, a dance shifting tempo with each touch. When Yoruichi nipped at the corner of his mouth, Illumi answered with a caress that gathered her belt at the hips and slid it halfway free—just enough for the whisper of fabric to ignite him even more, as he saw her completely bare.
"Always in control, huh?" she whispered against his mouth.
"Only what's necessary," he said, closer.
His thumb traced a slow circle around her nipple; when she stiffened, he looked up at her. Yoruichi was panting and leaned in to kiss him, her tongue tasting everything. He responded, hotter than he looked. Illumi's fingers ran between her thighs, finding moisture and warmth. He didn't rush anything: he explored, listening to the micro-movements of her body, her changing breaths. Illumi obeyed her every physical request, his gestures natural, clean. Then he sat up and took her by the hips, gently placing her on her back, her hair spread out on the tatami.
"I want to see you," he told her.
He climbed on top of her, slowly entering her, just the tip, then a little deeper, waiting for her to squeeze him. Yoruichi raised her legs, welcoming him completely with a low moan that vibrated in his mouth when he kissed her.
"Come in... deeper..." she asked. Illumi listened and followed her: he moved with a measured, precise rhythm, but each thrust was hotter than the last. Yoruichi's fingers traced his back with her nails; her heels pushed his hips.
"Faster...," she murmured against his jaw. He sped up, but without losing the cadence, the control that was driving her crazy.
She grabbed his face with both hands and held him close, forehead to forehead. "Look at me," she commanded with a smile. Illumi was truly looking at her, his eyes less dull than before, his breath finally catching.
"If I hurt you, tell me and I'll slow down," he panted.
"You'll only hurt me if you stop now."
He rose and stood straight in front of her. Her grip tightened; he slid a hand between their bodies and massaged her clit, precise and rhythmic.
"I want you to watch me cum," he murmured as she gripped him even tighter. Illumi tilted his head back and increased his speed.
"Oh, yes, like that, don't stop..." she whispered.
Yoruichi opened up, her voice hoarse; electricity coursed up her spine. The wave came sharply: her body trembled against his, a clean, powerful orgasm that drowned her voice in a strangled "Illumi—" He held out for three more thrusts, then stopped at the bottom, his breath ragged in her hair. He stayed like that, inside, still, until the trembling stopped.
***
In the dojo, the rain had faded back into a low murmur and the emergency lamp still held its same yellow circle over the tatami and their heads. Yoruichi set the duffel with the artifact down, keeping one hand resting on it.
"Why did you want it?" she asked, still bare before him.
Illumi didn't glance at the corners of the room—he looked straight into her eyes. "I don't want it to open doors," he said. "But to disappear. The Kimon no Tama masks reiryoku but also the Nen; I needed its pattern, not the object. I want to cross certain areas, during the Hunter Exam, without triggering a single alarm."
"A job?" she asked.
"More than one."
Yoruichi uncovered the sphere just enough to feel it vibrate. "Then you need the trick, not the piece itself."
Illumi tilted his head. "I've already taken it." He touched a needle tucked into his sleeve; it gave off a faint hum—the same as the artifact's, only deeper, like an echo. "All I needed was to record the frequency and tune it to my needles. It works without the sphere. And it doesn't draw anything—no Hollows too."
She closed the bag and tied it around her waist. "I, on the other hand, have to keep this artifact here. As long as it's lying around, someone could use it to break seals and sneak in things that aren't needed here."
Illumi nodded once. "Then you keep it."
"That simple?"
"Yes. Your reason outweighs mine, even if I've already figured it out." A brief pause. "And if one day I need to get through here unseen, I can ask you to show me a better way."
Yoruichi smiled sharply. "But bring yourself next time, don't just come by and go."
He looks at her seriously:
"Of course."
They approached the entrance. Outside, the courtyard smelled of wet grass. Yoruichi took a deep breath and touched his wrist. "You turned down a job, thank you."
"I got a better reference."
"Whose?"
"Yours."
She poked him in the chest with two fingers. "Come back then...I'll wait for you."
"As soon as possible."
***
Epilogue
At dawn, Yoruichi left the dojo with the Kimon no Tama strapped high at her side—destination: Urahara's candy shop, the only one capable of sealing it. At the edge of the roof, for a moment, she saw Illumi standing still—a black point against the pale sky. Then nothing more.
When she came back up, she found a yellow needle pinned into a folded sheet on the central beam. Inside, it read:
Thank you for the wonderful evening. If you want me unseen, call me. Come find me…
Yoruichi folded the note and placed it where she kept the things she couldn't afford to lose. Then she leapt back onto the rooftops. She became a cat again as the city slowly woke and in that instant, there was no hurry. One less problem was circling and Yoruichi slipped away—with one more promise.