Zaraki Kenpachi spoke up for Shiraha.
The unexpected gesture startled him. He had assumed that only Byakuya Kuchiki, Unohana Retsu, Jūshirō Ukitake, and Kyōraku Shunsui would plead with Yamamoto Genryūsai on his behalf. For Kenpachi to intervene was something he hadn't foreseen.
The atmosphere around them turned dense, the air heavy enough to feel like the very Reiatsu of the captains had congealed into pressure. Silence reigned as Yamamoto Genryūsai's eyes slowly swept across the hall, his ancient gaze steady and unreadable. After hearing the pleas of the five captains—Unohana, Shunsui, Ukitake, Byakuya, and now even Kenpachi—he closed his eyes as though weighing the scales of duty and reason.
In truth, Yamamoto had no desire to punish Shiraha. The young captain had already proven beyond doubt that he bore no connection to Aizen. Yet what Shiraha had done to Kurotsuchi Mayuri could not be ignored. Even if Yamamoto admired his talent and restraint, Seireitei's rules demanded balance. Discipline had to be seen.
He opened his eyes at last, his deep voice resonating through the dojo. "Captain Unohana, see to Captain Kurotsuchi's wounds first."
His words were calm, yet the authority beneath them brooked no challenge.
Unohana nodded gracefully. "Yes, Captain-Commander."
Her eyes flickered briefly toward Mayuri's disfigured body, assessing the grotesque damage that would have killed an ordinary soul outright. But Kurotsuchi Mayuri was far from ordinary. His body had long been a patchwork of self-made experiments—his bones replaced, organs modified, nerves rerouted. As long as his brain remained intact, he could survive almost anything.
Mayuri was half-kneeling, gasping, unable to speak. His breathing rattled through the mask covering his mouth, eyes flashing with pain and humiliation.
"Captain Shiraha," Yamamoto said evenly, "release your Shikai ability."
Shiraha bowed slightly, his tone politely regretful. "Captain-Commander, I'm sorry. I've only just mastered my Shikai. I'm not fully proficient yet and can't reverse the time effect on Captain Kurotsuchi for now."
The words sounded apologetic, but everyone in the room could hear the truth beneath them—Shiraha had no intention of lifting it.
Kurotsuchi Mayuri's strength had always been his mind, not his combat prowess. But with Shiraha's ability reversing a century of his existence, his body and Reiatsu had been thrown back to the level of a vice-captain. Even if his knowledge remained, his current power made his Bankai inaccessible. For him, that was a torment more humiliating than death.
Shiraha smiled faintly, turning toward him. "When I've fully mastered my Shikai, I'll undo the effect. Until then, I'm afraid you'll have to endure, Captain Kurotsuchi."
The tone was courteous, the words perfectly polite, but the meaning was sharp enough to draw blood.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He could see through Shiraha's act with ease, but he also understood the cause. Mayuri had schemed against Shiraha twice before, and this was the inevitable retribution. There was justice even in silence.
"Very well," Yamamoto said finally. "Then, Captain Shiraha, familiarize yourself with your Shikai as quickly as possible."
His voice was stern, but the reprimand was faint, restrained. He was not angry—merely formal.
Mayuri's fingers trembled. His golden eyes glowed with hatred as he forced out a cold snort.
Unohana knelt gracefully beside him, her hands glowing with the pale blue light of Kaidō. "Captain Kurotsuchi, allow me to stabilize your wounds first," she said gently.
"No," Mayuri rasped, shoving her hand away. "I'll return to the Twelfth Division's Research Bureau. I'll… handle my own recovery."
Before Unohana could insist, Mayuri acted.
He raised his Zanpakutō and, without hesitation, drove the blade into his own chest.
A spray of blood hit the ground as his body began to melt, dissolving into a bubbling green fluid that spread across the tiles like acid. Within seconds, the twisted remains of his figure collapsed completely, flowing through the cracks in the walls and disappearing into the shadows.
Unohana exhaled quietly. "He's used it again," she murmured.
The other captains looked on, some in curiosity, others in disgust.
"That ridiculous trick again," Kenpachi scoffed, folding his arms. "Turning into sludge just to run away."
The "Meat Spray"—Mayuri's self-created escape technique. By stabbing himself with his own Zanpakutō, he could liquefy his entire body, slip through any crevice, and escape capture. The cost was steep: he couldn't fight or reform for at least three days.
From the puddle's last echo came his fading voice. "Yinmeng… retrieve my Zanpakutō."
The liquid vanished through the wall.
Nemu stepped forward silently, bowed to the Captain-Commander, and picked up the Zanpakutō from the floor. "Understood. I will take it back to the Research Bureau," she said softly before departing.
Shunsui chuckled under his breath. "That one never runs out of strange inventions."
Ukitake smiled faintly. "Unbelievable, but fitting for him."
The hall quieted again.
A moment later, a figure appeared at the entrance—Tetsuzaemon Iba, slightly breathless from using Shunpo. "Captain Shiraha!" he called, then paused as he saw nearly every captain gathered in one place. Straightening, he bowed deeply to Yamamoto and the others. "Forgive my intrusion."
Shiraha turned to him with an easy smile. "It's fine, Tetsuzaemon. How's the situation with the squad?"
"Captain Shiraha," Iba replied, standing at attention, "I've already handed our team members to the Fourth Division. They were only rendered unconscious by your Reiatsu. No fatalities."
"Good." Shiraha nodded. "You've done well. Thank you for the report."
Iba bowed respectfully, then moved aside to quietly question Renji about what had happened before his arrival.
Yamamoto finally raised his gaze, his expression solemn. "Captain Shiraha," he said, "regarding your punishment—I have decided."
The captains' eyes turned toward him, the air thickening again.
"It is commendable that you have perfected your Zanpakutō's Shikai," Yamamoto continued, "but the disturbance you caused in the Seireitei cannot be overlooked. Furthermore, you struck a fellow captain without authorization. Though there were no casualties, such actions must carry consequence."
He lifted his staff slightly. "Therefore, as punishment, you are to go to the World of the Living. You will remain there for two months. Without my express order, you are not to return to Soul Society."
The decision hung in the air.
Chōjirō Sasakibe stepped forward silently at his commander's side. "I will make the formal announcement to the Seireitei," he said quietly.
The gathered captains exchanged looks. It was obvious to all that Yamamoto's sentence was lenient—more a formality than a punishment. Two months in the Human World was nothing compared to the offense of crippling another captain.
Kyōraku smirked faintly beneath the brim of his hat. "Old man Yama's being soft again," he murmured.
Byakuya glanced away, his expression unreadable.
Unohana simply smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. "Partial, perhaps. But fair in his own way."
Even Yamamoto himself seemed to acknowledge it in silence.
In the end, the judgment of the Captain-Commander carried not only law—but mercy.
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