Different Treatment of Kūkaku
In an instant, the air across Soul Society grew heavy and oppressive. A breeze slipped through the window gap, only to be scattered by Shiraishi with a flick of his hand.
He turned toward the direction of the Rukongai. Oda Nobunaga's spiritual pressure had vanished, replaced by several others, powerful and unfamiliar. Where did these new forces come from?
Doubt flickered in his mind but he suppressed it. With the strength of the Gotei 13, the situation would be handled eventually. It was only a matter of time.
Right now, he needed to seize the chance to do something more pressing: eat. Escaping on an empty stomach was miserable.
"Kūkaku, let's go," Shiraishi called, crouching as if to carry someone on his back.
But Shiba Kūkaku had her own way of doing things. She leapt high, arms around his neck, her bare legs wrapping around his waist.
Shiraishi staggered forward a few steps to steady her momentum. "Don't jump so hard."
Kūkaku grinned. "You say that, but you don't really mind, do you? Otherwise, what's that poking against my calf, you pervert?"
"It's your fault," Shiraishi muttered, refusing to argue further. He kicked the door open, leapt from the building into the square, and sprinted beneath the scorching sun.
Soon, he ignored the softness pressing against his back and expanded his spiritual senses, absorbing streams of information. This was how he would find his target.
For food, he needed crowds, not quiet places.
In Seireitei, most residents and businesses clustered near division barracks—for protection and to serve the needs of Shinigami. Until now, Shiraishi had avoided them because captains resided there.
But with so many captain-level reiatsu surging in Rukongai—even Yamamoto Genryūsai couldn't handle six opponents alone—the other captains would be drawn away.
This was his chance.
Shiraishi darted through the streets, avoiding patrols from the 11th Division, and arrived at an area dense with reiatsu.
"Check that area. Stay sharp! Don't let outsiders sneak into Kikugai and disturb the nobles inside, or we'll face severe punishment!"
A seated officer of the 6th Division barked orders as his squad sprinted into patrol positions.
From a nearby rooftop, Shiraishi scanned Kikugai's entrance. Guarded by high walls and Sixth Division soldiers, it was like a fortress within Seireitei. There must be spirit particle barriers, he thought.
Kūkaku, though never a resident of Kikugai, knew it well. The entire district was protected by kido barriers—even a captain couldn't pass freely.
But she also knew of a secret. Long ago, someone restless had carved a hidden passage for slipping in and out. That person happened to be her close friend.
"I know a secret passage. When my friend lived here, she often used it to sneak out. Run this way," Kūkaku instructed.
"Got it." Shiraishi followed.
"Stop. Here."
Kūkaku hopped off his back, climbed through a window, and into a simple room. She removed a floor ornament, hooked her fingers beneath a concealed ring handle, and pulled.
Click.
The floor panels shifted aside, revealing a dark passageway.
"The entrance closes automatically in one minute," she warned, restoring the ornament before slipping down.
Shiraishi caught up. "Who dug this?"
"You wouldn't know her even if I told you. Her name's Shihōin Yoruichi—former Captain of the 2nd Division and commander of the Onmitsukidō," Kūkaku explained casually.
She held up her palm and whispered: "Hadō #31: Shakkahō."
A ping-pong-sized red fireball appeared, weak but enough to light the tunnel.
They walked in silence until Kūkaku dispersed the flame and pushed open a stone door. Beyond it was a quiet courtyard, the exit disguised as a rockery surrounded by a small pond.
No one was near—the closest spiritual pressure was thirty to forty meters away.
"Where now?" Shiraishi asked, closing the hidden door.
Kūkaku tapped her chin. "Yoruichi once said the exit leads near a small restaurant called Huahong. Let's head to the kitchen."
Shiraishi extended his senses eastward. "This way."
---
Huahong Restaurant wasn't crowded. Nobles valued elegance over noise; their establishments were quiet, refined, nearly identical in design—spacious halls, subdued decor, well-trained staff.
Shiraishi and Kūkaku crossed most of the building before hearing voices from the kitchen.
Shiraishi didn't bother concealing himself. He strode in, sword drawn. "From now on, this kitchen is mine. If you don't want to die, follow my orders."
The kitchen chief, Oshita Genichirō, a broad-shouldered man with a bull's neck, roared: "Who are you? I'm in charge here!"
But Shiraishi's sword blurred.
A faint sting cut across Genichirō's cheek. His hand came away sticky with blood. Pale, he stammered, "B-Brother… just say what you want."
The strike had been so fast he hadn't even seen it. Had Shiraishi aimed for his neck, he'd already be dead.
"You'll cook for me. Refuse, and you die. I'm the wanted criminal of Soul Society—the Gale Swordsman, Shiraishi!"
He used his reputation to cow them, then turned to Kūkaku. "Pick out some clothes to change into."
Kūkaku glanced at two female attendants and shook her head. "Forget it. Not all women are as bold as me."
Shiraishi frowned. "I don't mean their clothes. Grab men's uniforms—loincloths at least."
Kūkaku wrinkled her nose. "They reek of sweat. If you like them so much, wear them yourself."
"I'm not the one running around naked!" Shiraishi shot back.
Hands on her hips, Kūkaku smirked. "Then give me yours. You can wear theirs."
The logic floored him. "I sweat more," he argued weakly.
Kūkaku's grin widened. "That's fine. I don't mind."
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