The Mastermind
Buzz—the golden blade cut through the air, the rapid hum of steel vanishing in an instant.
Ukitake Jūshirō turned sharply, his pale eyes widening in shock. The spiritual pressure that flared in that moment was unmistakably captain-level.
This strangely dressed man was no powerless Rukongai resident.
How…? Why didn't I sense his reiatsu before this?
Ukitake was bewildered, but so was Shiraishi.
It was strange—he had clearly felt someone approaching him from behind. Yet the moment he drew his blade, that presence vanished as if it had never been there.
Unwilling to let it go, Shiraishi extended his spiritual perception outward—three kilometers in all directions. Turbulence stirred in the reishi flow, but it was only from Shiba Kūkaku's furious punch moments ago.
"Shiraishi, why did you suddenly draw your sword?" Kūkaku asked, turning back toward him.
Ukitake's gaze flicked toward Shiraishi's weapon. The blade, narrow and shimmering gold, caught the light unnaturally. Its hilt bore two inlaid gemstones, one large and one small, the larger emitting a faint emerald glow. Though Shiraishi had not spoken a release command, the weapon radiated the aura of a Zanpakutō in constant Shikai.
But he isn't a Shinigami… and yet he wields such a blade? No noble clan has ever produced such a figure. If they had, he would not be unknown…
Ukitake's suspicion deepened. A captain-class fighter appearing out of nowhere could not be ignored—it posed a direct threat to Seireitei.
"Someone just tried to approach me from behind," Shiraishi explained, frowning as he sheathed his weapon. "But the instant I drew my sword, they withdrew. Strange… why attack, only to retreat?"
Kūkaku's sharp olive-green eyes flicked to Ukitake. "Did you sense anyone?"
He shook his head gently. "No. My perception isn't particularly sharp."
Kūkaku didn't buy it for a moment. Among the Gotei 13, only Yamamoto and Unohana held longer tenures than Kyōraku and Ukitake. A man who had served as captain for centuries didn't "lack perception."
"Could you be mistaken? Neither of us felt anyone just now."
"Impossible." Shiraishi shook his head firmly. "No one can escape my telepathy within three steps."
The wind shifted—steel loomed behind him.
Without warning, Ukitake's blade flashed from its sheath, cutting toward Shiraishi's neck with startling speed.
Clang!
Shiraishi spun on instinct, intercepting the strike. The collision sent out a resounding shockwave that rattled the ground and tore through the air. His arms went numb, his chest tightening beneath the suffocating weight of Ukitake's reiatsu.
A ninth-level fighter had no right to stand against a captain.
But Ukitake staggered too. "Cough… cough—!" He clutched his mouth, scarlet staining his pale fingers as his old illness seized him.
"Are you all right?" Shiraishi asked quickly, concern flickering through his expression.
"It's nothing… just an old ailment," Ukitake murmured, weakly lowering his hand. His strength was always fickle—soaring at times, collapsing at others. "But I can confirm it now. Your perception wasn't mistaken. Someone did approach, even though Kūkaku and I failed to notice."
Kūkaku's frown deepened, hands planting on her hips. "So even someone like that has taken an interest in you…?"
Whoever it was, they had slipped past two veterans without disturbing the reishi flow. Their skill in shunpo and reiatsu concealment alone placed them among the very top of Soul Society.
"Don't exaggerate," Shiraishi protested. "I haven't provoked anyone like that." He conveniently left out the matter of killing Hasegawa Taizō in West Third District.
For the past four years he'd lived quietly—no murders, no serious conflicts. At most, he had been… enthusiastic in his proposals to women. Hardly grounds for assassination.
"You'd better tread carefully," Ukitake warned, wiping cold sweat from his brow. His illness gnawed at him again, cutting his words short. "Kūkaku… forgive me. I must return to Seireitei to recuperate."
"You look like you're about to collapse," Kūkaku muttered. "Want me to take you back?"
"No… I can still manage." With a flicker of shunpo, he vanished.
Left with Shiraishi, Kūkaku leapt down from the turret, striding toward him. "Be straight with me. Aside from Hasegawa, what other trouble have you stirred up? Fellow disciples? Old enemies?"
Her reasoning was sharp. Both Shiraishi and that mysterious intruder had perfectly concealed reiatsu—surely they shared some background.
"Impossible. My abilities are mine alone. No master, no fellow disciples," Shiraishi said firmly.
Kūkaku tapped her chin. "Then why can't I sense your reiatsu… or his? That kind of concealment doesn't happen naturally."
Shiraishi hesitated. He knew Soul Society possessed devices that could cloak reiatsu—artifacts rare and dangerous. And then there was his own strange advantage, born of his circumstances.
But among the known bearers of such tricks, one name eclipsed all others.
Aizen Sōsuke.
Only someone like him could erase his presence so completely, appear behind Shiraishi in an instant, and then retreat three kilometers without a trace.
But why here? Why now?
Could it be tied to Shiba Kaien? After all, the Hollow that killed Kaien had been Aizen's experiment…
A chill crawled up his spine.
"Thought of something?" Kūkaku pressed.
"…Nothing," Shiraishi lied, his tone evasive.
Kūkaku's eyes hardened. "This isn't just about you. You're living under my roof. If your secrets drag danger to my family, I won't tolerate it. If you won't tell the truth… then you'll have to leave."