The study fell into dead silence. Everyone looked at one another, each seeing the same embarrassment and helplessness in the others' eyes.
It sounded easy to talk about "countermeasures," but actually doing anything would cost who knew what price.
The Moriyama family was only a lower noble house, yet they had Tsunayashiro—one of the Five Great Houses—backing them, and they'd even cultivated seated-officer–level Shinigami.
In terms of clan strength, they were in no way weaker than any other lower noble house.
And yet that kind of force still ended in total annihilation—so complete that not even bodies were left behind.
As for Ninth Division Captain Takeda Satoru: even if he wasn't the best among captains, any Shinigami who had mastered Bankai was a powerhouse worthy of being recorded in Soul Society's history.
But now there wasn't even a scrap of news.
No living body. No corpse.
They didn't even know who the enemy was.
And then there was the rebel Shinigami faction. Akao Retsu had been specifically prepared to deal with Kuchiki Kōga.
Yet Kōga—acting like he'd taken the wrong medicine—defeated Akao even without Muramasa providing support, and won decisively in open battle.
Now the Kuchiki faction's reputation had surged, stealing the spotlight.
Whether they wanted to find the hidden killer or move against the Kuchiki, neither was easy.
One wrong step, and they might end up like Takeda Satoru.
The old man seated at the head looked at the timid crowd, disappointment flickering in his sharp eyes.
They were all high-born, but when it came time to rely on them, they weren't much different from the trash outside.
If he counted on these people, every plan would fall apart—let alone the ancestral wish still unfinished.
Just as the old man was about to speak, someone stepped forward from the group.
"My lord. I have a countermeasure."
A sharp gaze fell like a blade. Everyone's attention snapped to the upright figure.
"Speak," the old man said, a trace of satisfaction appearing as he nodded slightly.
The man gathered his thoughts, then began his analysis under the weight of many eyes.
"There have long been rumors in Seireitei: because of Kuchiki Kōga's background, the Kuchiki elders hold prejudice against him. Even Kuchiki Ginrei shows that tendency—though he never displays it openly."
"I've observed that Kōga is, by nature, an emotionally extreme man. Forced to survive in such an environment, the dissatisfaction in his heart must already be near the breaking point."
"All we need is to spark a tiny flame inside that fragile relationship, and the seemingly unshakable Kuchiki will crumble."
"After all, Kuchiki Kōga is the most important pillar the Kuchiki have."
The old man nodded. Others also looked thoughtful.
"As for how to make them turn on each other… I assume I don't need to spell it out?"
"In that field, you are the true experts."
With that, the room's tension eased. Smiles appeared. People nodded in agreement.
Nobles scheming against nobles was normal.
Incitement, manipulation, overthrow, betrayal—almost tradition.
Who didn't have a few hidden pawns planted inside rival noble houses?
To put it bluntly—
Even the "model Shinigami clan," the Kuchiki, couldn't possibly have clean hands.
Among nobles, such things weren't shameful; they were proof of skill.
"As for Takeda Satoru and the Moriyama family…"
The man offering the idea frowned, turning an apologetic gaze toward the old man.
"I'm sorry, my lord. I haven't thought of a suitable solution yet."
"No matter," the old man said evenly. "I already have a plan regarding Takeda Satoru's disappearance."
"But there is one more person we must pay attention to."
His voice rose slightly, and everyone tensed.
"Yamamoto Shigekuni's new student—Third Seat of the Central Prison—Naraku Sora."
"He is Rukongai-born, but extraordinarily gifted. In this short span from graduating the Academy to joining the ranks, he has gone from an outstanding student to the backbone of the Central Prison."
"Most importantly, whether it was the Araki incident or the Yokota estate, that man was involved."
At that, information about Naraku surfaced in everyone's minds.
When he first joined, he swept through Elysium House alone. During the Araki disaster, he nearly slaughtered the entire Araki clan by himself.
Later at the Yokota estate, he faced Hueco Mundo's "partner" alone and killed an Adjuchas named Griffith.
Worried Naraku might disrupt the larger plan, Takeda Satoru moved quickly—but couldn't take him down in a short time.
Unfortunately, Shutara Senjumaru appeared in Rukongai for reasons unknown, ruining the attempt, and Takeda later received punishment from Yamamoto.
At that point, someone asked uncertainly:
"Is it possible Takeda Satoru's disappearance has something to do with Naraku Sora?"
The moment the question landed, someone barked back:
"Use your brain before you speak. It's only been a few days since the Yokota incident—Naraku almost got one-shot by Captain Takeda's Bankai back then."
"You think he could break into captain level in such a short time?"
"Even Yamamoto can't do that—much less some brat."
Others nodded, agreeing. Even the one who raised the suspicion lowered his head in shame.
Right—progress that dramatic already defied common sense.
If someone reached captain level in such a short time and even killed a veteran captain, that wouldn't be "genius."
That would be a monster.
"In any case, be cautious," the old man said, frowning as if even he found the idea too absurd. "When executing plans or anything else, avoid that man."
"His identity is too complicated. Don't let him get involved."
After a short silence, everyone bowed and accepted the order.
With the important matters settled, the group departed at the old man's permission, Shunpo'ing away and vanishing from the estate.
But just as the one who proposed the idea was about to leave, a low voice cut through the silence again:
"Gosuke-dono, please stay."
The man turned back in surprise. The old man rose from his seat—
And though Gosuke didn't even see him move, he appeared in front of him in the next instant.
Gosuke's pupils shrank.
That level of Shunpo was rare even among captains.
"My lord," Gosuke bowed respectfully. "Do you have further instructions?"
The old man's tone was no longer as stern as before. It softened, patient.
"Not instructions. Just a question."
"My lord, please ask."
The old man's sharp eyes locked onto Gosuke. He smiled faintly.
"Gosuke-dono… do you desire strength?"
Gosuke froze.
As a man who became captain only after his previous captain was imprisoned, he pursued power more fiercely than most.
But talent limited him. Even after training under Kurotsuchi's predecessor for over a hundred years, he had only barely touched the threshold of captain level.
That might be "enough" in other squads, but in the violence-worshipping Eleventh Division, it wasn't nearly enough.
Not when he also carried the title "Kenpachi."
To live up to that name, Gosuke never dared slack in training—yet after so many years, he still hadn't improved much.
So he chose a different path.
If any power in Soul Society had the oldest lineage, it was the Five Great Houses.
Compared to other factions, the Five Great Houses often produced individuals with extraordinary spiritual aptitude.
That made Gosuke suspect they had methods to enhance a Shinigami's potential.
After careful observation, he chose Tsunayashiro—the house most willing to accept outsiders as retainers.
In recent years, he'd received many rewards for his work:
Secret arts that increased Kidō power, sword-meditation methods far more efficient than common practice, out-of-sequence Kidō of terrifying strength, and Shunpo techniques that improved speed.
Still, it was the first time he'd been asked so bluntly.
Gosuke didn't hesitate. Determination filled his eyes.
"Yes, my lord. I desire power!"
The old man smiled with satisfaction.
"Then entrust your life to me."
"You will become stronger than ever before."
With that, the old man walked out of the study.
Gosuke took a deep breath, then followed with steady steps.
Kuroyashiki-sama… rest assured. I will never disgrace the name Kenpachi.
...
Fourth Division, training hall.
A heavy, sticky killing intent spread like a sea of corpses. Cold, bone-deep malice prowled everywhere. Under deep-sea pressure, an icy dread churned.
The moment the gentle smile vanished from that refined face, the world seemed to sink into an abyss, endless hostility flooding in from all directions.
Even when the Reiatsu-wrapped bamboo sword came down at him, Naraku still didn't understand what he'd done wrong to deserve this nightmare.
"So this is the First Generation—"
Naraku gripped his bamboo sword, knees bent, arms loaded, bracing like he faced a mortal enemy.
In the next instant, pale white robes fluttered like a butterfly gliding across the floor, her hem fanning out behind her.
At the moment their bamboo swords crossed, a few dazzling sparks burst.
That was Reiatsu condensed to an extreme—even an unsharpened bamboo blade could produce terrifying lethality.
"You're too arrogant, Naraku."
Unohana Retsu stared into the boy's face from point-blank range. Her black eyes looked as if they wanted to carve him into memory.
"If you treat enemies with that same softness… your death won't be far off."
As her words fell, her figure blurred.
Front, back, left, right—even above—white captain's haori appeared everywhere. Killing intent covered the hall.
Naraku felt as if blades surrounded him. Brow, throat, heart, lower back—
Every vital point sensed a razor-cold edge. One wrong step and the first Kenpachi would shred him without mercy.
In that same instant, multiple indistinct slashes landed on Naraku with no room to dodge.
As the air trembled, Naraku threw away all stray thoughts and poured everything into this sword duel.
He didn't know what he'd done wrong, but—
He was already here.
His bamboo sword flashed upward. Golden arcs of electricity danced along it, and the perfect fusion of sword and Kidō appeared once more before the First Kenpachi.
Even after seeing it countless times, Unohana's eyes still showed a trace of intoxication whenever that miracle-like slash appeared.
She didn't like the word "instinct," but she had to admit—products born from instinct could have value.
Swordsmanship combined with Kidō—forming a new system that could reshape high-level combat techniques.
Naraku probably didn't even realize what he'd created.
A flash of gold cut through the hall like sudden thunder.
Several illusions vanished at once, dissolving into air. The true killing blow revealed itself—her bamboo sword glowed faintly, rising like a crescent moon as Unohana slipped past Naraku with effortless grace.
The next moment—
Blood burst into the air like a blooming flower, spreading into a beautiful, terrible work of art.
Naraku's head flew up, and the boy toppled backward, as if all strength had drained away—bringing this "exchange" in swordsmanship to a perfect conclusion.
Unohana lowered her bamboo sword, walked to the "corpse," and knelt beside it, looking down with calm eyes as she sighed.
She was angry that the boy had abandoned his bright sword path to dive into Hakuda—but she was only a captain, with no right to interfere with another person's choices.
Still, seeing that stunning slash again filled her with regret.
"Naraku."
"Mm?"
The "dead" boy rubbed his neck. The bruise from the cut was already almost gone.
"What you said earlier… does it still count?"
"You mean continuing our swordsmanship exchanges, Captain Unohana?"
"Exactly."
Naraku flipped up from the floor in an instant, hand on his hilt.
Draw. Slash.
One smooth motion—cold blade light falling through the dōjō.
Unohana raised her bamboo sword on reflex.
Their blades met, heavy force surging through. A flicker of surprise crossed Unohana's eyes.
But before she could speak, something unexpected happened.
Sword-pressure—like a crescent moon—burst from the bamboo blade. Power erupted, and the technique called Dragon Flash revealed its ferocity.
~~~
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