East Rukon District — Sector Thirty-TwoZenteiji Ward
Neat, flat houses lined both sides of the road, with only occasional dips and rises in the terrain. As one of the more forward Rukon sectors, Zenteiji's residents looked healthy and well-fed; their clothes were plain but properly kept, and compared to people living deeper in the Rukon, their lives were already quite fortunate.
Yet every passerby wore the same expression—fear.
People walked with hunched shoulders and lowered heads, shuffling as quickly as they could, constantly glancing behind themselves or toward blind spots in their vision. Even the slightest rustle of wind sent shivers through them, forcing their footsteps into an even faster pace.
And so, a bizarre scene unfolded in this otherwise peaceful residential zone of Zenteiji.
Two boys in the blue-and-white uniform of Shin'ō Academy walked calmly down the street.
"Reishi density in the air is normal," Aizen said in his usual tranquil tone, arms relaxed at his sides, as though stating something entirely mundane.
"The lingering smell of blood still hasn't faded. Estimated number of dead: twelve to fourteen."
The faint disorder scattered across the street did nothing to shake his reasoning, nor did it influence his judgment. The moment they arrived at the location their instructor Kaede Ryūya had indicated, Aizen had already assessed the situation.
"The buildings are intact. No signs of intense combat," he continued, expression unreadable as he peered through the window of a pristine house at the grisly scene inside."Given that… the culprit's strength should—"
"What are you doing?!"
The usually placid Aizen finally cracked.
Kisaragi Akira, who had come with him, had—at some point—changed into a full shrine-priest outfit.
White was the base color, accented with ink-black markings forming the sigil of the One-Eyed Great Deity. The symbol decorated the collar and hems, making the entire outfit look both eerie and sacred. The only downside was that the clothes were a size too loose, restricting movement somewhat.
But Aizen wasn't upset about Akira changing clothes at the site of a murder.
He was upset because Akira had somehow brought out a wooden table, set it up neatly, and arranged incense and teacups on top.
"A ritual, obviously," Akira shot Aizen a sidelong glance, unable to understand why someone so intelligent would ask such a stupid question.
Wasn't it obvious?
Aizen felt a pulse throb in his temples. His blood pressure spiked.
Of course he knew it was some kind of ritual. Even if he hadn't learned the details before, anyone who spent this much time with Kisaragi Akira would be forced to learn the entire ritual procedure through sheer exposure.
What he couldn't understand was why—why this idiot insisted on doing it here.
At a murder scene.What, was he planning to commune with the dead and identify the real killer?
"The Reversing-Bone Shrine isn't like the others," Akira said cheerfully. "The simplest difference? All the other shrines—even the ones the Ise Clan venerates—worship gods that are basically made-up."
"But the One-Eyed Great Deity of the Reversing-Bone Shrine is real."
"In our hometown, they say anyone who offers everything except their own 'eye' to Him will receive divine protection."
"Like this."
Aizen stared as Akira snapped his fingers.
The surface of the tea inside the cup began to tremble.
Ripples spread outward, and one after another, distorted human faces appeared on the water's surface.
"There we go," Akira said brightly. "Today's unjust dead."
Aizen's brows tightened in confusion.
According to everything he'd learned, souls who died in Soul Society were broken down into basic reishi.The Spiritual Arts Academy textbooks were clear: death was merely part of the cycle.The living died and were reborn in Soul Society; souls in Soul Society decomposed into reishi, which eventually returned to the living world as spiritual particles and reformed into new life.
So what was he witnessing?Reborn souls?Echoes of reishi that shouldn't exist?
Questions piled in his mind, and every time he attempted to solve one, more surfaced.
Meanwhile, Akira casually dipped a finger into the cup, his expression growing serious as he muttered:"Mhm… I see… really?… how unfortunate…"
As though he were genuinely conversing with the dead.
Aizen stared, stunned, re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about this infuriating friend.
When Akira withdrew his hand, he looked up with grave determination.
"The murderer's identity is confirmed," he declared."And with our current strength, we can't beat him.""We should return and report to Instructor Kaede. After he submits it to the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, they'll send a proper Shinigami to handle it."
Aizen's eyes flickered faintly. He nodded.
But just as they cleaned up the ritual table and prepared to leave—
The reishi density in the air changed violently.
A crushing pressure slammed down on the street. A suffocating aura of despair erupted behind them.
"Going back?"The rough, echoing voice bounced through the empty street.
A figure stepped out from one of the houses.
Black shihakushō.Medium build.A hideous, scar-covered face.A zanpakutō slung diagonally across his waist.
Everything pointed to a single identity:
A rogue Shinigami.
"You two brats haven't even graduated from the Academy," the scar-faced man growled. "Since you've discovered my secret—just die."
Yet to his shock, neither boy panicked.
In fact, one of them—Akira—smiled.A casual, amused smile.The kind a hunter wore when a prey walked into the trap.
"I once heard a theory," Akira said pleasantly. "A killer often returns to the scene of the crime to admire his handiwork."
"And you just proved it true."
The rogue Shinigami froze.
He had overheard the boys earlier and assumed their investigation method was genuine—only to now realize he'd been tricked.
There were no revived dead.No divine revelations.He'd fallen for it completely.
Humiliation twisted his features.He roared:
"Fine! Then die here with the rest of these idiots!"
Akira raised an eyebrow.
"Die? Why?"
The rogue's heart skipped.
BOOM.
A surge of overwhelming spiritual pressure exploded from Akira. Light flared into existence, resonating with the floating reishi in the air, morphing into violent currents that shook the entire street.
The scar-faced Shinigami's eyes went wide.He couldn't breathe.His face flushed as if crushed under a mountain.
"Let's try this," Akira said with sudden inspiration, raising his right hand and forming a gun-shaped gesture.
"Hadō #4 — Byakurai."
A shrill cry—like a thousand birds screaming—pierced the air as blinding white lightning burst from his fingertip, racing across the empty street.
An instant later, the rogue Shinigami's chest was blown open.
His heart stopped forever.
Aizen seemed only mildly interested in the one-sided domination. The murderer was nothing more than a lower-grade Shinigami.
Instead, he looked at Akira's gunslinger pose, curious.
"The information you claimed to receive from the dead," Aizen asked, "was that just to mislead him, or can you actually do it?"
Akira turned his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"You tell me…"