"You, my dear guest—would you prefer this fine bottle of Spiritual Intoxication, or this humble one of White Burn?"
Junlin'an, inside the Maple Tavern.
Behind the counter, the friendly Boss held out two bottles of sake with a warm smile, as if offering two entirely different lives.
One was an elegant clay vessel, its glaze smooth and lustrous, faint streams of Reishi light shimmering across its surface.
The other was crude pottery—plain, rough to the touch, even a little coarse.
Shiki Mirai's eyes were locked on the Spiritual Intoxication.
He could practically hear the soft pop of the cork, imagine the rich, mellow aroma bursting into the air, and feel the smooth layers dancing on his tongue with every sip.
By comparison, White Burn?
That stuff was basically grain alcohol mixed with soul-searing fire. It scorched your throat and emptied your wallet—nothing more.
Gulp.
Shiki swallowed hard. Then, in a bold motion, he plunged a hand into his robes and slammed a small cloth pouch onto the counter with a loud slap, rattling the nearby patrons' cups.
He poured out the ring-shaped coins inside with a flourish, counting each with a tap of his fingers.
"One thousand… two thousand… three thousand! A mere three thousand Kan, that's all!"
His voice was loud and confident, trying to mask the sorry state of his finances with sheer bravado.
But the price tag on the Spiritual Intoxication was clear—eight thousand Kan.
The gaping five-thousand-Kan difference landed on him like a cold slap to the face.
He grit his teeth and mustered the most obsequious grin he could, leaning toward the Boss.
"Boss, look… next month, when I get paid for my Seireitei Communication submissions, I'll pay you back—interest and all—"
The Boss's smile thinned, his expression turning apologetic.
"5th Seat Shiki, it's not that I don't sympathize. But you already owe my little shop over fifty thousand Kan."
His voice dropped low.
"I'm running a small business here too, you know. Gotta make ends meet."
Then, just as Shiki's face fell, the Boss's eyes gleamed, his smile curling with deeper meaning.
"However… you're no ordinary seat officer. You're our very own bestselling author here in Junlin'an! If you're willing—hmm—how about this? Post three extra chapters in Seireitei Communication this week, and I'll let you put another five thousand Kan on your tab."
"Hhhiisss—!" Shiki sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes went wide. His lips trembled.
"Three chapters?! Boss, that's basically a death sentence! Writing takes mental energy—an explosion of inspiration! Drinking is how I find the mood! Do you even understand the struggle of artistic creation?!"
He jabbed his index finger in the air with grave solemnity.
"One chapter. That's my bottom line. I'll grit my teeth and give you one more this week. No more."
"Oh? That so." The Boss's smile vanished in an instant.
He folded his arms, face going cold with bureaucratic efficiency.
"Then it's 8000 Kan, thank you very much. And please be sure to settle your debt next month."
"Oh right, your Captain dropped by earlier looking for you."
Shiki's fingers trembled with rage. He pointed at the Boss with a shaky "You—you—you!" for several seconds, unable to get a full sentence out.
He didn't have a leg to stand on, and he knew it.
He was already two weeks late on updates. The compilation plan he'd pitched for publishing his serial as a full volume still hadn't received confirmation from his Captain.
The pitiful pay he earned from Seireitei Communication wasn't nearly enough to fund his taste in fine sake.
Worse yet… he was actually stuck on the story.
It had reached a critical turning point—and the next development might stir up real trouble.
He was seriously hesitating: should he even keep publishing this story?
"Oh my, isn't this 5th Seat Shiki?"
A warm, rich voice—gentle as spring wind through a bamboo grove—drifted in from his side.
Shiki turned to see a young Shinigami with brown hair and black-rimmed glasses.
His features were soft, his smile tranquil, and behind the lenses shone calm, thoughtful eyes. He wore the standard uniform of a Shin'o Academy graduate, but carried himself with an elegant restraint that couldn't be hidden.
It was Aizen Sosuke.
Aizen approached with practiced ease and gently placed a few bills on the counter—exactly the price of the Spiritual Intoxication.
Looking at Shiki with a sincere smile, he said,
"Allow me to cover the cost. Good stories deserve time to breathe and the author's full attention. I'm a great admirer of your current series, 5th Seat. If you wouldn't mind, may I join you for a drink and a proper chat?"
Without hesitation, Shiki seized the bottle of Spiritual Intoxication, hugging it protectively to his chest like a long-lost lover. Only then did he beam at Aizen.
"Aha! If it isn't little Aizen—how generous! But… you just graduated from the Academy, didn't you? Where'd you get that kind of money?"
Aizen smiled modestly, his voice calm.
"Forgive me, 5th Seat. My family's considered minor nobility. I do receive a modest allowance."
"Ahhh, say no more! Noble son, eh? Much respect, much respect."
Shiki nodded in exaggerated understanding, then eagerly uncorked the bottle and took in a long, luxurious sniff of the aroma, wearing a blissful expression.
He quickly stuffed the cork back in, then glanced around furtively—making sure no Captains demanding chapters or creditors were nearby—before nodding toward the tavern door.
"Too many eyes in here. Aizen, my friend—come! I know a perfect spot. Join me?"
After all, the kid had just paid 5000 Kan—most of the bottle's worth. Sharing a few cups was the least he could do.
Behind the lenses, Aizen's eyes sparkled faintly. His smile grew warmer.
"It would be an honor."
The two of them walked to a quiet riverbank just behind the tavern, where stone steps sat beneath gently swaying willows.
Shiki pulled two small ceramic cups from who-knows-where, uncorked the bottle like it was a sacred ritual, and poured out a full serving for Aizen.
Aizen accepted with grace. They exchanged a glance and clinked their cups gently.
"Cheers."
"Please."
Shiki downed his cup in one go, feeling the rich warmth of the Reishi-infused liquor slide down his throat, then spread through his limbs in a wave of mellow delight.
He exhaled, breath tinged with fragrant heat.
"Ahhh—now that's real sake! White Burn is nothing but industrial-grade poison!"
After three rounds, the mood had mellowed.
Aizen's eyes gleamed as he finally turned to the real reason for his visit.
"To be honest, 5th Seat… I've been a devoted fan since my days at the Academy. Especially your The Genius Boy's Solitude and Pride—an absolute masterpiece."
He paused, choosing his words with care. The protagonist of that story, Sozen Aisuke, shared an uncanny alignment with Aizen himself—his way of thinking, his obstacles, his elegant strategies. It felt like staring into a literary mirror of his own soul.
If he hadn't known better, Aizen might've thought someone had peered into his heart and written him into fiction.
At first, he'd suspected Shiki Mirai had some kind of Zanpakuto that could predict the future or write fate into existence.
But after a few "coincidental" encounters and subtle tests during his Academy years, he realized: Shiki had no such ability.
It was raw perception. Imagination. Insight.
And that… pleased him even more.
Because it meant he had finally found a kindred spirit.
So the Seireitei wasn't full of mediocrities after all.
Another genius existed.
Aizen Sosuke might not be so alone.
Of course, in terms of Reiatsu, Aizen had already reached Captain-level before graduation—far beyond someone like Shiki.
But intellectually? Philosophically?
Shiki Mirai was his equal.
And that was rarer than power.
Still, the story had recently reached a crucial point—and then stopped updating. That had made Aizen... impatient. Hence, his direct approach.
Aizen sipped and asked with a smile,
"Sozen has reached the peak of his power. He now stands before a wall. What will he do to cut through it?"
Shiki chuckled and topped off his cup.
No kidding. The story's basically your biography with a few tweaks. Of course it's good.
The plot had reached a decisive moment. Although he never used words like "Shinigami," "Hollow," or "Quincy" directly, any sharp reader could tell the story's power system was a thinly veiled analogy.
Now Sozen was at the pinnacle of Shinigami power. The logical next step? Have him explore either Hollowfication, or the Hollow becoming a Shinigami.
But… could he write that?
One wrong move, and he might get "invited" for tea with the authorities.
Even if he could bluff his way out now under the pretext of fiction—what about in a few decades? Or a century?
When Aizen eventually started experimenting with the Hogyoku for real, guess who'd be first in line to take the fall?
Now the guy was sitting right beside him. Time to pivot. Fast.
Shiki put his cup down, sighed lightly, and gazed at the sky.
"Tell me, Aizen… how high do you think the sky really goes?"
Aizen followed his gaze to the starlit void and whispered, "Perhaps not as high as we imagine."
Shiki's brow twitched. Damn. That's Aizen for you. Sharp as hell.
He composed himself and said calmly,
"But under the sky, there are too many chains. For Sozen to rise above it all… he must not be hasty."
"To stand above the sky?" Aizen turned, eyes glimmering. A slow smile curled across his lips.
"Indeed. Too many chains. It must be done slowly—with precision and planning."
He'd need to find the right path forward. Learn how to shatter Soul Society's restraints.
No room for recklessness. One wrong step would ruin everything.
Aizen spoke with quiet reverence.
"Sozen's choice… is the correct one."
Shiki said nothing, only smiled.
The two men raised their cups again in solemn silence.
And drank deeply.