The Calm Before the Storm
From the time Tsunayashiro Takehiko was killed in April until Shiba Kūkaku was captured by Captain Ichimaru Gin of the Third Division, the Shiba clan's headquarters remained outside their former residence.
Most of the properties here were still registered under the Shiba clan's name.
Even after Kūkaku was imprisoned and the Shiba clan was expelled from the Five Great Noble Houses, these properties remained theirs. The Central Forty-Six had always granted nobles as much exemption as possible—while treason could be punished, mere accusations of collusion rarely were.
That was why, upon her release, Kūkaku had no intention of returning home. She didn't believe her brother would be in danger, but if she went back, he could be accused of harboring a criminal. Not only would his property be confiscated, but he could even be cast into the Maggot's Nest.
Now, however, the situation had changed. Mad King Munemasa could strike the Shiba clan at any moment, and the Gotei seemed ready to stand by and watch.
Kūkaku had no choice but to drag her brother into the storm and keep him by her side for protection.
Taking advantage of the night, she and Shiraishi rushed from West District 10 back to West District 26, where they saw two sturdy men holding aloft a banner bearing her name: "Shiba Kūkaku."
Moonlight fell on the golden-tiled house, surrounded by a vibrant sea of flowers—a beautiful scene.
Kūkaku approached, but before she could even speak, Jin and Yin burst from the rooftop.
"Master Kūkaku—is it really you?"
The two grown men were reduced to tears at the sight of her.
"Jin, Yin… it feels like ages," Kūkaku said, her face lit with joy. Prison had been torment—every day like a year. She opened her arms and embraced them.
The two wept openly. "Master Kūkaku, thank goodness you're safe."
"Enough, silly fools. Stop crying, or you'll make me cry too."
But they kept bawling. Her voice hardened. "I said stop crying!"
Bang. Bang.
A pair of fists solved the problem. The tears stopped immediately.
"This time, it's thanks to Shiraishi," Kūkaku explained. "He went to Seireitei and pulled me out of the Maō Underground Prison. Without him, I might never have made it back."
That kind of torment could drive an ordinary person insane in a century. Six thousand years… even she could not imagine enduring that.
Jin and Yin dropped to their knees before Shiraishi. "Master Shiraishi, please accept our gratitude!"
Shiraishi waved them up quickly. "I understand your sincerity. There's no need to kneel—I don't like it."
"Enough ceremony. Where's Ganju?" Kūkaku asked.
The brothers straightened. Jinyan replied, "Lord Ganju is still practicing the Ishiba Method. He's been training endlessly, until he collapses."
"That idiot," Kūkaku muttered, though her voice trembled with worry as she hurried inside.
As always, she built her living spaces underground. The Shiba clan had long favored such designs.
She strode down the long staircase into a hallway lit by glowing fireflies, then turned left. The layout was familiar, restored as it always had been.
"Shibo!"
The sliding door to the training ground opened, and a young boy's voice rang out. A black-haired child struck a rock, turning it into a pile of fine sand that spilled to the ground.
This was Stone Wave, an old Shiba technique that transformed rock into sand—perfect for underground construction.
"Huff… huff…" Ganju panted, drenched in sweat, but pushed himself on. His elder brother, uncle, and sister were gone. He was the last man of the Shiba family. He couldn't stop.
But suddenly, his chubby hand was caught. He looked up in confusion, half-believing he was hallucinating—only to see his sister standing before him.
Tears blurred his vision. "Sister… is it really you?"
"Yes, Ganju. In just these few days, you've become a fine man. I'm proud of you."
Kūkaku wiped the sweat from his face, her voice gentle. Ganju had lost weight.
He collapsed against her, sobbing. "Sis… wuwu…"
"Enough. Didn't I just praise you? Don't cry again. I'm fine."
But the boy cried even harder, clinging to her thighs. Kūkaku clenched her fists, veins bulging with frustration. She raised her hand several times, then forced it down.
He's had it hard. I can't be violent. He's my brother.
At last, Ganju cried himself to sleep. Kūkaku gently pried his arms away and carried him out.
Shiraishi, leaning against the wall, smirked. "That was gentle of you."
"You're asking for death," Kūkaku snapped, handing Ganju to Jinyan. "Take him to his room. Yin, prepare dinner."
"Yes, ma'am."
When they were gone, Kūkaku's eyes sharpened. "Did you notice anything?"
"Yes. Ganju had a strange glare on him—like surveillance. Some secret art, I'd bet." Shiraishi's instincts rarely failed him. If someone stared too long, he always sensed it.
Kūkaku's lips curled. She didn't dismiss it, but now wasn't the time. "I'll set up a barrier. You wait here for dinner."
Shiraishi nodded.
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