Kisaragi Akira's hands wrapped tightly around the steaming teacup, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Nobles?!" he breathed, drawing in a sharp gulp of cool air. Right off the bat, they were hitting him with something this intense?
Seeing the boy's reaction, Kusakawa Sōkei allowed himself a small, satisfied nod. Just as he had anticipated, no one in the Soul Society could resist the allure of becoming a noble. Not a single soul.
When that certain high-ranking figure had entrusted him with this task, Kusakawa had considered it a nearly foolproof plan. If the civilians of Rukongai devoted their entire lives to becoming Shinigami, striving tirelessly for that honor, then ascending to the ranks of nobility was the ultimate goal for a Shinigami.
For most Shinigami from common origins—except for members of Squad Six, a few rare noble captains, or officers—refusing such an offer was virtually impossible.
Kusakawa Sōkei nodded once more, a subtle pride coloring his expression. "All you need is your loyalty, and the pinnacle of power is within reach."
Kisaragi Akira closed his eyes, a blissful smile spreading across his face as he imagined the life of a noble, basking in the luxuries and influence that would soon be his. Seeing this, Kusakawa felt reassured—this boy's excitement was genuine; not even the drool threatening at the corners of his mouth could be faked.
When Kisaragi Akira finally came back to reality, Kusakawa revealed the final card: "And even if you aim to become the captain of the Eleventh Squad, that high-ranking figure will support you."
"Even if you aren't yet ready to take on such a position, they will push you through all opposition!"
"Not even the Shihōin family could promise that."
Kisaragi Akira's face flushed crimson. "R-Really? You mean it?" he asked, excitement buzzing through him. "But I haven't even mastered Bankai yet…"
Kusakawa Sōkei inclined his head, calm as ever. "Fear not. That is of no consequence. Mastering Bankai is not a requirement for becoming a captain. There have been exceptional cases in every generation."
"And your talent is impressive," he continued. "That is why this figure wishes to invest in you."
Kisaragi Akira tilted his head thoughtfully. It did make sense. Everyone in the Soul Society knew his unmatched talent—even Yamamoto's strength fell short in comparison. His future would surely be a towering pillar of the Soul Society, bridging heaven and sea, gold and jade.
With a noble coming to court him, this was only natural.
As he pondered this, Kusakawa glanced out at the night, bowing slightly. "Since you, Kisaragi-san, are willing to pledge loyalty, I am at ease. But remember, this must remain secret. Not a fourth soul can know of this conversation."
"When the next Golden Seal Nobles' Council convenes, this figure will formally propose your appointment, and the Kisaragi family will be added among the lower-ranking nobles."
Kisaragi Akira nodded vigorously. "Understood! You have my word. There isn't a soul in the Soul Society who can keep a secret better than me."
Satisfied, Kusakawa rose, and the two bid farewell, leaving the Eleventh Squad barracks. Kisaragi Akira watched their figures disappear into the night, a flicker of contemplation in his eyes. Yet, he quickly dismissed it as pointless and returned to his room to sleep.
The following morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered into the barracks, many Shinigami were already hard at work. The Soul Society's population was vast, and tasks were plentiful. Beyond their regular duties, the Thirteenth Squad frequently patrolled Rukongai to maintain peace.
After two recent Arrancar invasions, Yamamoto had increased patrols threefold, sending more Shinigami out on rounds.
But not everyone began work the moment they awoke. Yamamoto, for instance, preferred the tranquility of the barracks at dawn. He would brew a pot of tea, savoring each sip in serene contemplation, his mind as still as a deep, unmoving well. Only in this state could he carry out his duties with maximum efficiency.
Seated on the terrace outside the tea room, Yamamoto held a cup between his hands, peacefully enjoying the rare calm.
"Really…"
"Sensei!"
"Captain Yamamoto!"
"Something terrible's happened!"
The sudden, thunderous shouting outside nearly made Yamamoto drop his tea. Noting the source, his usually calm face darkened.
Kisaragi Akira came barreling into the First Squad barracks, past Chōjirō Jakuhō and Genjirō Sōya, two formidable Shinigami, who couldn't stop him. Yamamoto drew in a steadying breath, setting his teacup aside and rising, moving toward the tea room.
"Eh? Sensei, where are you going?"
"To bring you a gift."
Kisaragi Akira tilted his head. "A gift? What kind?"
"You'll see soon enough…"
Frowning, he tried to remember if there was a special occasion today, wondering why Yamamoto would have a gift prepared.
Moments later, Yamamoto emerged holding a sword with a deep purple hilt and oval tsuba, its blade wreathed in flames.
Kisaragi Akira's eyes nearly popped out. "You can't, Sensei! That's Rurijinokagami! If you just give it to me…"
A vein throbbed on Yamamoto's forehead. "When did I ever say I was giving you Rurijinokagami?"
Kisaragi Akira took a barely perceptible step back, suddenly realizing this might not be the best moment. He thought it safer to wait until tomorrow to report. But he was already too late.
In a flash, a large hand shot out, grabbing him by the back of the neck, ignoring his panicked wails, and hoisting him into the newly repaired dojo. Soon, the First Squad barracks rang with laughter and the sounds of training.
Outside, Chōjirō and Genjirō exchanged helpless glances. The good news: the captain seemed livelier than usual. The bad news: Urahara had been tasked with developing a new pacifying drug to keep Kisaragi Akira in line.
After receiving a thorough scolding, Kisaragi Akira bounced up like a springing carp, only to collapse face-first onto the floor with a dull thud.
"Help me up! I still need to deliver…" he mumbled, struggling to regain his composure.
By the time he fully recovered, Yamamoto had returned, placing a small table between them and pouring tea into two cups, sliding one toward Kisaragi Akira.
"Now then," the old man said, sipping his tea, "what is this urgent matter?"
Having witnessed the recent Arrancar incursion, Yamamoto was no longer easily surprised.
Kisaragi Akira tapped his still-dizzy head and replied casually, "Oh, it's nothing major. Last night, some old guy named Kusakawa Sōkei came to me. He said that if I pledge loyalty to that high-ranking figure, I could become a lower-ranking noble."
"Hmph. Who does he think he is?" Kisaragi Akira snorted, fully recovered, disdain in his tone. "Shafurin? That high-ranking figure? Pathetic little coward, too scared to even give a name!"
He recounted all the details, dissecting last night's events like the Soul Society's most secretive mouthpiece.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed in thought. Foolish disciple… That so-called "grassroots" figure is clearly the head of the Kusakawa family, a lower noble, and a devoted lackey of one of the Five Great Noble Houses.
A shadow passed over his expression. He hadn't expected to be forced into such compromises, with nobles dragging their schemes into the Thirteenth Squad and the entire Soul Society. If it weren't for the Soul Society's stability, why would he have bowed to such measures?
Though he tried to avoid conflicts involving rebellious factions, as captain of the Thirteenth Squad, Yamamoto knew full well that most of these so-called rebels had noble backing. The Soul Society, vast and majestic, had been muddied by these petty squabbles, leaving no one in peace.
For a man like him, thousands of years old, maintaining peace and order was no small feat. Just thinking about it stirred a deep, nameless rage in him. He longed to unsheathe his blade and carve a clear path through the chaos.
After a long, heavy sigh, he looked at his wayward disciple. "What do you think of this?"
Kisaragi Akira raised his head, giving Yamamoto a look of mild exasperation. "Think? Of course I—"
Before he could finish, flames curled along Yamamoto's fist, and his stern glare made Kisaragi Akira immediately tone down his bravado. Sheepishly, he added, "Of course I stand with you, Sensei."
Kisaragi Akira knew he couldn't outwit these centuries-old strategists. In a world ruled by force, relying on cunning alone was futile. These nobles depended on seniority, possession of Soul Society relics, and secret knowledge to manipulate affairs. Yamamoto's restraint for the sake of the Soul Society's balance was their leverage.
In earlier times, during the wars with Yuhabach, Yamamoto would have cut down anyone who dared defy him, moving from one end of the Soul Society to the other without flinching. Now, centuries of temperance had moderated his approach.
Kusaragi Akira saw this, understanding the stakes. "There's no better option, right? When facing powerful nobles, you either get assimilated or strike first."
Yamamoto fell silent, weighing the risks. He had lived through this, and he was determined not to let his disciple risk everything. There had to be another way…
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