Within the grand interior of the Soul King Palace.
Yamamoto sat across from Ichibē, the vast hall enveloped in a silence so deep one could hear a pin drop.
Yamamoto's brows were tightly knit, wrestling with an impossibly difficult decision.
The monk merely watched in silence.
"No!"
"This isn't right."
After an indeterminate stretch of time, Yamamoto finally exhaled a long breath, his tone resolute and chilling as he rejected the notion.
He calmly raised his head, locking eyes with Ichibē.
"Even if, throughout the long history of Soul Society, there were rebellions like ours or even more intense what does that prove?"
"Just because someone tried this before and failed, does that mean we, as their successors, shouldn't try?"
"What kind of logic is that?"
"If they failed, then I'll step over their corpses and their lessons to create a better Soul Society."
"And if we fail too…"
"Then our corpses will become the path that paves the way for those who come after us."
"As long as the nobility exists for even a single day, resistance will never cease."
Yamamoto's voice was steady and flat, devoid of any fluctuation.
Yet in his eyes burned the countless people and events he had witnessed, experienced, and felt across millennia.
Just as he had said.
He was nothing more than an ordinary departed soul not some noble born in the Seireitei.
Across these thousands of years of a long life, he had been a starving vagrant in the Rukongai and a merchant's apprentice in Junrinan.
He had felt the power surging through him the first time he gripped a Zanpakutō, and in his youth, he had been arrogant, seeing the world from the bottom of a well.
He had tasted failure whether against the formidable Shinigami or Hollow who stormed Soul Society.
His life had been a relentless series of ups and downs, and over those millennia, he had come to know, deep in his bones, the nobility's stranglehold on this world, their confinement, their stagnation, and all their negative influence.
Until now.
Until the day he was hailed as the strongest Shinigami in a thousand years, Yamamoto finally took up his blade and swung it down upon the souls entrenched at the pinnacle of this world.
In truth, it had been a full millennium since he set his goal, founded the Genji School, and arrived at this moment.
No one knew the inner turmoil and wavering he felt upon realizing just how colossal the five great noble families truly were.
No one understood the profound unease that gripped him when he learned of even greater powers lurking above in the heavens.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto.
Beyond the titles founder of the Genji School, the strongest Shinigami in Soul Society's history, wielder of the oldest and mightiest fire-type Zanpakutō.
He was also just an old man who liked sipping tea, grooming his beard in his spare time, and occasionally letting it grow for centuries to see how long it could get.
He wasn't all that special.
But…
As the strongest Shinigami of this era, born from the Rukongai, he carried the hopes of others expectations that "only Yamamoto could do this."
In this era, it was something only he could accomplish!
And at the same time, it was something only the Yamamoto of now could achieve!
Time had passed far too quickly.
Yamamoto knew he had reached the limit of what a Shinigami could be.
He was also well aware that even if another thousand years passed, he'd likely make no further progress. He might even grow frail, his hair and beard falling out entirely.
His stamina would surely dwindle to near weakness, just as every Shinigami eventually faced the decline of old age.
As he had once told Makoto, there was no time left.
When that day came, would he still be able to shoulder the responsibilities of this era?
Could he afford to be weak?
Could he shirk his duty?
Could he deceive himself?
Could he, like others, hide behind someone else's shadow?
Yamamoto had asked himself these questions countless times.
At last, he rose calmly to his feet.
Ichibē remained seated, still silent.
Gazing into Yamamoto's resolute eyes, he asked casually, as he had before, "Must it come to this?"
"Even in the million-year history of Soul Society, individuals as formidable as you are rare."
"If you wished it, I could, in the name of the Soul King Palace, elevate you to one of the highest ranks of nobility."
"Your family, your descendants, your comrades, and all your legacy could be woven into a colossal entity at the heart of Soul Society, enduring for thousands, even tens of thousands of years."
"All it takes is a single word from you."
Ichibē stared into his eyes.
Yamamoto let out a scoff, slowly drawing the sword at his waist.
"I have no desire to be a lapdog. I seek only perfection."
Ichibē raised his voice slightly, pressing loudly, "Even if your stubborn quest to slaughter countless nobles throws the three worlds into violent upheaval, sparking death and chaos on an even grander scale…?"
"Enough talk!"
Yamamoto cut him off decisively, turning and striding toward the exit of the grand hall.
"If our wills cannot align…"
"Then let our blades do the talking."
"Defeat me."
"For everything the strong say… is just."
Though he spoke those words, having already tasted Ichibē's power before, Yamamoto's eyes were filled with resolve and the intent to die.
"You should've said so sooner!"
Ichibē clapped his hands and stood up from the floor. "If I win, your life belongs to me!"
"And… don't forget to honor your wager!"
Hearing this, Yamamoto paused, turning back to look at him.
This bald middle-aged man with an unsightly monk's tonsure met his gaze with eagle-sharp eyes and a calm voice.
"My name is..."
"Yamamoto."
"Remember it well, baldy."
…
That battle, within the colossal space unique to the Soul King Palace, erupted with flames that filled the sky, crimson light scorching the sun.
The blistering heat pushed to its zenith, engulfed the entire palace district and two auxiliary palaces, boiling the dense reishi in that isolated realm like a roiling sea.
Poor Ōetsu Nimaiya whose auxiliary palace was destroyed, had nowhere to eat for three whole days.
...
Meanwhile, in the Seireitei.
The faint sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the direction of the door. Groups of three to five Genji shinigami formed squads, scouring the Seireitei to hunt down and eliminate nobles. Yet, faintly visible amidst the chaos, clusters of nobles had banded together into scattered units, launching counterattacks in the streets and alleyways using the most primitive of methods.
Occasionally, flashes of Kidō and secret techniques illuminated various districts, a clear sign that higher-ranking Shinigami had joined the fray.
However, the Genji shinigami who should have held the advantage in terms of elite forces, were for some unknown reason missing a significant portion of their numbers.
In the sporadic battlefields dotting the area, they were actually being pushed back step by step.
It was obvious.
The number of Genji shinigami dispatched to apprehend the nobles had been drastically reduced.
As for those missing Genji shinigami, they were all gathered at that moment in the underground conference hall located at the very heart of the Seireitei.
The wall still half-destroyed and unrepaired stood as a testament to neglect.
The captains, clad in pure white haori, stood in place, listening as the injured Sasakibe and the newly arrived Makoto recounted the events that had transpired earlier.
When the two finished their tale, Kinroku instinctively adjusted his glasses, muttering under his breath in disbelief, "One strike…"
"And it sent that old man flying?"
For those who had only recently endured the Valley of Screams battle, such words sounded like something out of a fantastical tale.
After all.
This was Yamamoto they were talking about!
Kinroku wasn't the only one thinking this.
Even Saitō, the most carefree among them, couldn't help but furrow her delicate brows after hearing Makoto's description. She grumbled softly, "I know how strong Sasakibe is."
"With his Bankai, even someone like that old man would have to put in some effort to take him down."
"And right now, we can't even sense his reiatsu."
"He didn't get killed, did he?"
"I mean, think about it! That Tsunayashiro got so strong with just one Soul King bone. If the Soul King himself or some Soul Prince or Soul Duke showed up and stabbed him with eight or ten of those things, even that old man wouldn't be able to handle it, right?"
The moment those words left her mouth, every captain present felt their eyelids twitch, a chill running down their spines.
Though the thought had vaguely crossed everyone's mind, they all harbored a sense of "That's not really possible, is it?"
Only Saitō had the gall to blurt it out without hesitation!
"Captain-Commander Yamamoto isn't that weak."
At last, Yachiru Unohana stepped forward, her words firm and decisive.
"Besides, if there were truly that many powerhouses up there, the Genji School wouldn't have made it this far."
"Huh?!"
Saitō let out a loud, indignant protest. "You've never been to the Soul King Palace! How do you know there aren't any?"
"Unohana, don't think you can just take over as Captain-Commander because that old man is gone!"
"I absolutely, positively refuse to accept you!"
"Didn't Saitō lose to Unohana anyway?" Nobutsuna, never one to shy away from stirring the pot, fanned the flames even in this tense moment.
"She's only a tiny bit stronger than me! She's nowhere near that old man level!"
"I'll never submit, not even if you kill me!"
Saitō stood her ground with unwavering confidence.
Unohana shot her a dangerous glance, only to be met with an eager, almost challenging expression in return.
And it wasn't just them.
Aside from Kinroku who was still calmly weighing the pros and cons, the other captains all wore the same nonchalant, detached expressions.
It had to be said.
The top-tier forces of the Genji School were indeed a ragtag bunch, forcibly held together by Yamamoto's iron will.
Without him, they immediately showed signs of breaking apart and going their own ways.
What was so great about being bossed around every day, anyway?
Might as well go back to being a kingpin in the Rukongai like the old days.
Makoto quietly scanned the expressions of everyone present.
Finally, he stepped forward, his face devoid of fear, and said, "All you esteemed captains, don't tell me you still think you have a choice?"
"…"
His near-provocative words instantly drew every pair of eyes in the room.
Kinroku frowned at him, while the remaining roughnecks smirked dismissively. Saitō thought he was acting a bit foolish today, and Unohana, slightly surprised, seemed to ponder something deeper.
Makoto pressed on, "Let's set aside what happens if Captain-Commander Yamamoto comes back alive. Even if he really is dead, and a palace envoy stronger than him returns to the Seireitei and sees this scene what do you think they'll do?"
The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on him.
To be targeted by a powerhouse capable of easily killing Yamamoto…
The mere thought sent a shiver down their spines.
"Kid! Watch your mouth, or you'll get yourself in trouble."
Saizō Sakahone who looked even older than Yamamoto would a millennium later spoke slowly, his serpentine eyes locking onto him.
Makoto, undaunted, shot back, "If speaking leads to a dead end, and staying silent leads to a dead end, then what difference does it make whether I open my mouth or not!?"
Saizō squinted at the blunt retort.
Makoto met his gaze calmly.
In the end, Saizō averted his eyes.
It wasn't just because Unohana both powerful and fiercely protective was present.
It was also because Makoto held a rather unique position within the Genji School.
In just two short years, every captain had witnessed this kid, starting with a mere Tier-7 Reiatsu, grow step-by-step through combat into someone now approaching Tier-3 Reiatsu.
Not only that, his mastery of Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō had reached an impressive level.
This was a bona fide genius.
His rate of growth was almost absurd.
Even Yamamoto himself had personally spoken with him.
From many subtle signs of his training, it was clear Yamamoto saw him as a potential candidate for the next Captain-Commander.
On top of that, he was Unohana's disciple.
The two strongest figures in the entire Genji School had both taken him under their wing.
His backing was as solid as granite.
Beyond that, Saizō had heard rumors that this kid had once single-handedly repelled a Vasto Lorde.
Unless absolutely necessary, even these great criminals weren't keen on making an enemy of him.
Who knew how strong he'd become shortly?
"So, what do you propose?"
Finally, Kinroku stepped in, offering Saizō an out.
Makoto's expression turned icy, his tone deliberately alarmist. "All you captains have been slaughtering Seireitei nobles for years, your hands stained with their blood. If our positions were reversed with the Seireitei's people, what they'd do should be clearer to you than it is to me."
At that, many in the room grew somber.
As had been mentioned before, many among them were former Rukongai gang leaders who'd once ruled their own territories. They knew all too well the nature of the nobles.
So, running wouldn't help.
Seeing that they were at least taking his words seriously, Makoto continued, "We don't yet know the exact relationship between the Soul King Palace and the nobles, but since someone's protecting them, it means these nobles still have some necessity to those up above."
"Maybe they're tools, maybe it's some ancient pact, or perhaps the nobles' very existence serves a purpose… or maybe those up there are negotiating with Captain-Commander Yamamoto right now."
"Whatever the outcome, it means these people have value."
Makoto's chilling gaze swept over all the instructors, his voice cold as ice. "If that's the case, then start by killing off the great nobles. Take out the strong ones, the big families, and those in key positions first. Once they're gone, seize some of their direct young bloodlines as hostages."
"We need to move as fast as possible."
"If Captain-Commander Yamamoto really is dead, and someone from Soul King Palace comes down…"
"With the nobles wiped out, it'll be a done deal. Dead people have no value! And afterward, someone will have to take control of this world."
"Us or the nobles what's the difference?"
"If those up there still want to exterminate us, we use the hostages as shields and run as far as we can."
His proposal was straightforward, almost tailor-made for the bloodthirsty killers in the room.
Truth be told, aside from such a simple plan, Makoto didn't think this group was capable of anything more complex.
This bunch of murderers couldn't be revolutionary visionaries, but couldn't they at least be someone who stabilizes the situation?
Of course, Makoto was only saying this to rally these captains who were on the verge of disbanding.
From the perspective of an Isekai victim with meta-knowledge, Makoto knew full well that Ichibē didn't actually care about the nobles' lives. All he needed was the overall stability of the three worlds.
This time, with Yamamoto heading to the Soul King Palace, it was likely just a discussion, hardly a fight to the death.
If it were otherwise, there'd be no need to establish the Gotei 13.
Since there was no real danger, Makoto saw this as a golden opportunity to take a cruel strike at the nobles' power.
At the very least, the Central 46, those who stood atop the Gotei 13, lording over them with impunity could not be allowed to remain.
Makoto's goal was crystal clear.
Anything beyond that… he didn't dare hope for.
Hearing his plan, many in the room exchanged glances, their expressions subtly shifting. Eyes gleamed, and broad grins spread as they nodded vigorously in unison, thoroughly convinced.
"Makes a lot of sense!"
"Kill them all first and figure it out later."
The First Captains of the Gotei 13 was shaping up to be something like this.
A true murder syndicate!
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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