"Aren't you a dignified Fifth Seat? Can't you find someone to plead on our behalf?!" Mother demanded once she understood the situation. In her view, it wasn't a small matter, but it wasn't so big either. With the right connections, surely it could be smoothed over.
That was the first time Shirō realized—his father was "only" a Fifth Seat. Yes, only a Fifth Seat. From Shirō's perspective, captains didn't seem all that impressive, lieutenants were basically background characters, and a Fifth Seat? That might as well be ranked in the hundreds.
What Shirō overlooked, however, was that strength wasn't everything. In Soul Society, power and authority didn't always align.
After all, the men of Central 46 were mostly frail, powerless elders, yet they sat at the very pinnacle of the Soul Society's hierarchy.
To put it in modern terms: if captains were provincial governors, then even a mere Fifth Seat was equivalent to a city official—still wielding real influence. And not just any Fifth Seat, but one of the Second Division.
The Second Division was unique. Its members weren't just on par with other divisions; they also doubled as the Onmitsukidō, the covert ops. That meant more responsibility, more subordinates, and more authority.
The Onmitsukidō operated independently of the Gotei 13, like the Kidō Corps, handling intelligence and enforcement. Clad head-to-toe in black, hiding their identities, they struck only at critical moments.
The Second Division captain usually doubled as Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō, as well as head of the First Unit: the Punishment Force.
By custom, the lieutenant of the Second Division commanded the Patrol Corps, the Third Seat commanded the Detention Corps, and Shirō's father—holding Fifth Seat—was simultaneously the commander of the Fifth Unit, the Communication Corps.
Because the Onmitsukidō was tied directly to the Shihōin clan, the Second Division was more complicated than most. Noble politics meant its seats weren't decided purely by strength, but heavily by lineage.
Just as Ōmaeda Marechiyo would one day inherit the lieutenant position from his father, Ōmaeda Hōinshiro.
Of course, inheritance had limits. At minimum, one had to be strong enough to manifest a Zanpakutō. No matter your bloodline, if you couldn't even awaken a blade, you'd never be allowed a seat. That was why Shirō's father trained him so relentlessly: his noble bloodline guaranteed him a chance, but he still needed real power to hold it.
And yet, the Fifth Seat of the Second Division was widely considered a sweet post.
Why? Because the Communication Corps' duties didn't demand overwhelming combat power. Even without noble ties, the position wasn't hard to fill. For Shirō, who was being groomed from childhood, it was practically secured. Compared to the Third Unit, stationed in the godforsaken Maggot's Nest and requiring immense strength, the Fifth Unit was paradise.
But here was the true reason it was called a fat post: the Communication Corps delivered orders. Put bluntly, they were the messengers of Soul Society. Or, to use an unflattering analogy, eunuchs of the ancient court—and the commander of the corps was the head eunuch. He dealt with every division's captain, and even Central 46, on a daily basis.
So while he might not scare a captain, every lieutenant would show him some respect. That constant proximity to power made the position invaluable.
That was why Mother thought Father could leverage his ties to seek mercy.
But she overlooked the crucial detail: the Second Division was entirely the Shihōin clan's domain. The only reason others associated with the Emiya family at all was because of those ties.
Had Shirō offended a lieutenant or seated officer, plenty of allies might have stepped forward. But Yoruichi Shihōin herself? Who would dare? The safest move for everyone else was to stay far, far away, lest they be dragged down with the Emiya.
Father only shook his head and sighed. How could he explain? That would only deepen their worry. Once, he had felt so proud—winning the Fifth Seat with his Zanpakutō ability. Who would have thought things would turn out like this?
Back then, he'd been a rising star. Not because his Zanpakutō was powerful, but because it was uniquely suited for the Communication Corps. It was a blade born for that division.
His ability was simple: instant communication with anyone in range. Think of it like a telephone, but sharper. Unlike Kidō #77: Tenteikūra, which broadcasted messages one-way, his sword allowed two-way dialogue. That meant orders could be relayed, responded to, and adjusted in real time.
Efficiency soared, and the upper echelons loved it. With that gift, Father had secured his seat, and the Emiya family rose in status.
He believed his own position was safe enough—but Shirō's? That was another matter. If the family's noble standing was stripped, everything they'd built could collapse overnight.
Just then, the knock came.
"Emiya Shirō! Which one of you is Emiya Shirō?!"
"It's come at last," Father sighed. "Let's go."
"No! I won't hand my son over!" Mother clutched Shirō tightly.
And Shirō himself? He was petrified. In his mind spun a whirl of words: exile, Hueco Mundo…
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150 P.S = 1 Extra Chapter