"Mr. Proper? You mean me?"
Yanmo stopped and faced his fiancée as she flashed to a halt before him, afterimages still fading.
"You are exactly Mr. Proper," Yoruichi said.
He was used to her mischief by now. "Fine. You win. I've work to do. You called me—what's so urgent?"
Her gaze dropped to the two ledgers in his arms. Her expression cooled. "Your work… meaning you can't wait to seize the Shihōin coffers and contacts?"
If he held the purse and the web, her freedom would run on his sufferance. For someone raised to live untamed, that was galling—and Father was out of reach. Yanmo, the leash, was not.
"It's the old lord's will," Yanmo said evenly. "If your temperament were steadier, he wouldn't have entrusted me with it. In that case I wouldn't be in this house at all, and you wouldn't be facing a partner you dislike."
"You—" She faltered, then shut her mouth. She knew her own flaws.
She pivoted. "After we marry, what are your plans?"
"My plans?" He blinked, then answered plainly. "To do as the old lord intended. Support you as head of house. Guard the Shihōin standing."
"I don't mean public matters," she said. "I mean you and me."
A few attendants lingered at the far end of the veranda. She pointed away. "Somewhere private."
"The tearoom," Yanmo said. "Quiet enough."
In a stone-and-gravel court, he brewed tea with practiced economy and slid a cup to her.
"You know ceremony?" Yoruichi arched a brow. "You grew up in Rukongai."
"I did," he said. "But the man who took me in was noble-born. A lord's nephew. He taught me."
"The old man at the engagement—broad-shouldered, blunt, heavy accent?"
"That one. A soldier, even as a noble. Died covering his uncle's retreat." Yanmo's eyes softened, flicking to the Zanpakutō at his hip. "It wasn't just tea. He taught me the blade—and more."
"So the morning shrieks while you practice are his fault?" Yoruichi grimaced. "I hate it."
"It's Saru-shō, the ape's cry. This school's hallmark," he said. "You dislike my swordwork?"
"I dislike that noise. Nothing else compares." She scowled. "At dawn I'm finally asleep, and—howling. I was wrecked for days."
Yanmo gave her a faint, unreadable look. With that complexion, dark circles? "Sleep earlier."
"No late nights, no life," she said, as if reciting law.
He let it go. "Your proposal?"
"Simple. We keep harmony in public. In private, we don't interfere." Her tone turned formal. "Like other noble houses. Polite on the surface, separate lives beneath. Clear lines. Don't disgrace the family. Don't let Father find out. Everything else is fine."
Yanmo thought, then shook his head. "No."
"The old lord asked me to restrain you. Your plan frees you to do as you please. That betrays his trust."
Yoruichi's face cooled. "Must you be so literal? No room to bend?"
Bend how—so you can run with that blond brat and hang a bright hat on me? he thought, and said only, "No."
"If we sour this beyond repair, that also fails Father's hopes," she pressed, a thin edge in her voice. "You wouldn't want your father-in-law disappointed, would you?"
Yanmo stared at her. "Setting aside that twist in your tone—threatening me with your father is… very filial."
"You forced it," she snapped. "Well? Yes or no?"
He was silent a beat. Then he nodded once. "Yes—on conditions."
"Name them."
"You don't cross my lines. Or the house's."
He had no intention of wearing any hat, bright or otherwise.
"Relax," Yoruichi said, thumping her chest. "I'm not a child. I know limits."
You say that now, he thought. In the story I remember, you fled and left a vacuum. Out loud he said nothing. He would watch her closely. He would not let her run wild.
"Good. Then we keep to today's pact," she said, already lighter.
Business settled, Yanmo rose to leave. He still had work to do.
Watching his back recede, a dark idea slid through Yoruichi's mind. Just wait. When the time is right, I'll dismiss you. At the very least, she would reclaim her mornings.
For Yanmo, the ledgers were a pillow delivered with the yawn: exactly what he needed. He required matériel and steel. With Harushige's records in hand, ten days later he had the Shihōin finances firmly in grip. The clan's wealth—land, vaults, inventories—was greater than he had imagined.
He did not hesitate. He drew a tranche from stock and sent it to the Uchiha.
In the same ten days, the Uchiha mapped the Soul Society's basics and began to stand on their own.