Mad King Munemasa Appears
For several days, nothing unusual happened.
The wind still blew, the sun still blazed, but Bai Shi felt like his bones were about to fall apart from idleness.
He lay sprawled on a wooden lounge chair, an umbrella shading him from the heat. Beside him, Jin Yan fanned him diligently. On the table sat a plate of iced watermelon, neatly cut and waiting to be eaten.
Despite Jin Yan's rugged, muscular appearance, he was surprisingly considerate—almost more attentive than Nie Yinmeng had been.
At first, Bai Shi resisted this treatment, but Jin Yan's stubborn insistence that this was the only way he could repay his debt of gratitude eventually wore him down. Now, Bai Shi found himself "reduced" to a man of leisure.
Another corrupt day, he sighed inwardly, spearing a slice of watermelon with a toothpick and popping it into his mouth.
Meanwhile, under the harsh sun, Shiba Kūkaku was training her younger brother.
"Ganju! Too slow!" she barked. "Don't throw all your strength into every punch blindly. What happens if the enemy dodges? You'll be left wide open!"
Sweat trickled down Ganju's forehead as he straightened his stance.
"Punch with seventy percent, hold back thirty. Be flexible. Save your full strength for the critical moment—it can mean life or death!"
"I understand!" Ganju shouted back, his eyes sharp as he rushed forward again.
Jin Yan, standing opposite him, immediately read his intent. He lifted his right foot and swung down like a guillotine.
But Ganju had anticipated the move—he ducked, swept Jin Yan's leg out from under him, and laughed triumphantly.
"Haha! Got you this time!"
Unmoved, Jin Yan praised him calmly.
"Excellent work, young master Ganju."
"Not even close," Kūkaku snapped, her face stern. "Keep going!"
"Kūkaku."
Shiraishi called out from under the parasol.
"What?" she shot back irritably.
Her temper had been fraying these days—not only was Ganju still green, but the delay in Munemasa's appearance gnawed at her. She hated the feeling of a sword hanging over her head, refusing to fall.
"We should send Ganju back inside," Shiraishi suggested.
That ever-watchful gaze on him had disappeared. Had the surveillance technique failed, or had its wielder been eliminated? He suspected the latter.
Kūkaku caught the seriousness in his expression and relented.
"Kinahiko, Ginahiko, take Ganju back to the house."
"But, big sis—"
"Go!" she barked.
The twins obeyed, escorting Ganju inside.
Kūkaku turned back, scanning the horizon.
"Can you sense his Reiatsu?"
Shiraishi shook his head.
"I only felt the watcher's presence vanish, but not the exact Reiatsu."
"Tch." Kūkaku clicked her tongue, irritated. She strode under the umbrella, snatched a piece of watermelon, and tossed it into her mouth.
"Do you think he's hesitating, afraid we might not show?"
"His nickname is 'Mad King.' If fear ruled him, he wouldn't have earned it," Shiraishi replied, stepping down from his chair and stretching. "Besides, I've been feeding you well lately."
Kūkaku rolled her eyes.
"And you've been enjoying it far too much."
The two bantered lightly as they waited. They were no novices trembling before battle—veteran fighters knew how to stay loose, conserving strength until the clash began.
Soon, dark shapes appeared on the horizon.
Kūkaku licked her lips, eyes narrowing.
"You clear the path for me."
"I think we should strike together," Shiraishi countered. Against Hollows, he didn't mind drawing things out. Against enemies like this, he aimed for swift endings.
"Let me test him first."
Kūkaku disliked fighting in groups. With a flash step, she was already ahead.
The figures resolved into view.
A dozen men and women crawled on hands and knees, backs bloodied and raw. They dared not stop.
Atop them, seated cross-legged like a king upon a grotesque throne, was Tsunayashiro Munemasa. His long, matted dark-green hair spilled down his back, stubble shadowed his jaw, and his eyes shone sharp as blades.
He was barefoot, his kimono collar loose and revealing scars shaped like writhing centipedes. He carried no Zanpakutō.
"Well, not a bad Shunpo," Munemasa said with a mocking grin. He casually took a bite from a piece of watermelon and tossed the rind aside. His living "seat" collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.
"Nice to meet you, little Shiba girl. My name is Munemasa."
Kūkaku's face twisted with disgust.
"You really are as vile as the rumors say."
"Haha, wrong," Munemasa laughed, throwing his head back. He stood and stomped down—two of his human chairs' skulls burst like melons.
"I'm scum among scum."
Kūkaku's hands tightened into fists, fury blazing, but she held back. Others were still at risk.
"Did you kill the Shinigami who was watching me?"
"You don't have to thank me."
Munemasa's smile was razor-sharp.
"If you want to repay me, just send me to the Soul King's Palace."
Kūkaku sneered.
"You think you can match the Royal Guard?"
"What's there to fear? Without their Zanpakutō, they're nothing."
He raised his arms dramatically as if grasping the sun itself.
"Two thousand years ago, I couldn't defeat them. But now… things are different. Do you know what kind of place Muken really is?"
The name alone sent a chill down Kūkaku's spine. She muttered:
"Muken… endless darkness, no light, no sound. You can't move, you can't tell if time passes, if you're alive or dead."
Munemasa's expression twisted in revulsion.
"I almost went insane."
"You were insane long before that."
"No," he said coldly. "I'm not insane. My ideas are simply different. The majority couldn't accept them, so they branded me mad, cast me out, tried to suppress me. They thought they could break me. They were wrong."
"So that's why you want to kill the Soul King? Destroy Soul Society? Just revenge?"
Munemasa spread his hands wide.
"No. I simply refuse to let anyone with nobler blood than mine exist."
"You really are a lunatic," Kūkaku spat.
Munemasa sighed, as though disappointed.
"As expected… no one understands. I'd better just kill you."
Kūkaku moved first.
Visit patreon.com/Akeyno to get 30+ chapters