The streets here were orderly, and the houses neat. Most of the wandering souls living in this area had some wealth, and the air was filled with an aura of comfort.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto used Shunpo to appear before an unremarkable residence.
The residence had no nameplate. The courtyard wall was low, and from outside, all one could see were the branches of an old cherry tree poking over the wall. If no one had given directions, no one would have guessed that Soul Society's only known researcher lived here.
Yamamoto entered the house and found the entrance to the underground passage with practiced ease.
The basement door was half-open. Yamamoto did not hesitate and pushed it open, walking straight inside.
The courtyard was piled high with fabrics of all kinds—silk, hemp, cotton, satin, and some materials whose names he did not recognize. Some were spread across the ground, some hung from poles, and some had been cut into oddly shaped scraps scattered everywhere.
There were also various instruments.
A woman sat beside a workbench. As she manipulated the controls, a mechanical arm behind her held a needle and sewed a white garment.
She appeared to be around thirty. Her long hair was tied behind her head, with a few loose strands hanging beside her ears. Her features were delicate and clear, and her brows and eyes held a calm concentration, as though the entire world had shrunk to the tip of the needle in her hand.
Senjumaru Shutara.
She did not look up or stop sewing.
"Commander-in-Chief, what an honor. My little courtyard can hardly bear your presence."
Senjumaru's voice was soft, her tone carrying a trace of nonchalance. "And entering without knocking hardly conforms to Seireitei's rules, does it?"
Yamamoto paid no attention to her attitude.
"Is something the matter?"
"Yes."
Yamamoto got straight to the point. "I need you to join the Gotei 13."
Senjumaru's hands paused.
"The Gotei 13?"
She repeated it, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. "The organization you're still putting together?"
"It's already operational," Yamamoto said. "The captains are all in place, and the divisions have been established."
"Then why are you looking for me? I make clothes, not war." Senjumaru stopped working and looked at Yamamoto.
"No. Your understanding of Reishi construction is the best in Soul Society." Yamamoto took a document from inside his robes, unfolded it, and placed it on the fabric before Senjumaru.
It was a battle report.
Senjumaru lowered her head and glanced at it, her brows drawing together slightly.
"The number of Captain-Class Quincies..."
She paused. "Is this figure accurate?"
"If anything, it's an underestimate."
Yamamoto said, "This conclusion was reached after compiling the battle reports from every division. The number of Quincies on the other side who can be called Captain-Class is at least three times ours."
Senjumaru fell silent.
"The Shihōin Clan's Heaven-Bestowed Divine Armaments and the Kasumioji Clan's Reishi Armaments."
Yamamoto continued, "Those pieces of equipment are barely sufficient against ordinary Quincies in the hands of the nobles. But against Captain-Class opponents, their ability to protect themselves is worrying."
"So you want me to make better equipment for them?"
"Not just the nobles."
Yamamoto said, "Every member of the Gotei 13 needs better equipment. Anything you can think of, I want. We also need to analyze the Quincies' equipment and abilities."
Senjumaru set down her needle and thread. "Commander-in-Chief, do you have some misunderstanding about me? I make clothes, not weapons."
"Limited ones, but better than what we have now," Yamamoto said.
Senjumaru said nothing.
"And you don't only make clothes."
Yamamoto's gaze fell on Senjumaru's face. "Your understanding of Reishi, your use of materials, and your grasp of structure—there isn't a second person in all of Soul Society who can do what you do."
"So?"
"So I need you."
Senjumaru looked at Yamamoto and remained silent for a long time.
The wind swept through the courtyard. Petals from the old cherry tree rustled down, landing on Yamamoto's shoulder, in Senjumaru's hair, and atop the scattered fabrics.
"Commander-in-Chief." Senjumaru finally spoke. "Do you know why I don't want to join your division?"
"Tell me."
"Because the things I make aren't meant to kill people."
Senjumaru picked up her needle and thread and resumed sewing the white cloth.
"Weapons can protect people too," Yamamoto said.
"They can also kill people," Senjumaru replied.
Yamamoto fell silent for a moment.
"The Quincies are already killing people."
Senjumaru's needle paused, then continued moving.
"If I join, can you guarantee that the equipment I make will only be used for defense?"
Yamamoto looked at her but did not answer at once.
"What I can guarantee is that I will use the equipment you make to protect Soul Society. As for how it is used and where it is used—that is my responsibility, not yours."
She folded the haori and placed it on her lap. "I'll think about it."
Yamamoto rose and left. This was not the first time he had invited her.
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
Shuichi sat inside his house.
His Zanpakutō rested across his lap.
Sword Meditation.
Shuichi closed his eyes and sank his consciousness into the depths of his Reiatsu.
Since his Zanpakutō had chosen to remain in Shikai, that meant it was constantly conversing with its master. The question was simply whether the master could hear it.
Shuichi could not.
At least, he could not hear it most of the time.
He could only do as Yamamoto had taught him: sit quietly, regulate his breathing, and let his Reiatsu settle layer by layer, like water seeping into sand, like roots sinking into earth. Then he waited—waited for that voice to appear, or not appear.
It seemed unlikely to appear today either.
Shuichi felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.
He forced himself to stay alert, straightened his back, and tightened his fingers around the hilt. He could not sleep. Sword Meditation was not sleeping. If he fell asleep, it would be meaningless. Yamamoto had said that Sword Meditation required clear perception, not the hazy dreams of unconsciousness.
But the drowsiness surged like a tide, wave after wave, overwhelming his will.
Shuichi's body swayed.
Then it swayed again.
At last, he toppled sideways onto the tatami. His Zanpakutō slid from his lap and came to rest beside him.
He fell asleep.
His consciousness sank into the depths.
Shuichi opened his eyes.
He stood in a sea of flowers.
Red, yellow, blue, and white Red Spider Lilies stretched across the land, from beneath his feet all the way to the horizon. The sky was azure, without a single cloud, and the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.
Shuichi recognized this place.
He had come here the last time he entered Sword Meditation, but on that occasion, he had only caught a fleeting glimpse.
This time, he saw a small house deep within the sea of flowers.
The house was not large. It had black roof tiles and gray walls, with a paper lantern hanging by the entrance. The flame inside flickered faintly. A figure stood beside the house.
The person wore a white cross-collared robe and a red cloak over it, the hem fluttering gently in the wind.
Shuichi could not make out the person's face.
It was not obscured by anything. Rather, the face itself was blurry, as though seen through a layer of mist or frosted glass. The outline and features were there, but he simply could not see them clearly. Everything was hazy, like something from a dream.
The person beckoned to Shuichi.
The motion was slight. They merely raised an arm a little and curled their fingers gently.
Come here.
Shuichi did not hesitate. He stepped over the stems of the Red Spider Lilies, crossed the sea of flowers, and walked toward the house.
By the time he reached the house, the person had already turned around and sat beneath the eaves.
A low table stood in front of them, with a chessboard placed on top.
The person beckoned again.
Shuichi sat down across from them at the low table.
The two began playing chess.
Shuichi did not know what he was doing. He was not very good at chess. The Genji School had taught some basic rules, but he had never seriously studied the game. Yet now his hands moved, and the pieces fell from his fingertips onto the board with crisp sounds.
Every move seemed to happen automatically.
The person opposite him was the same.
The two played in silence. Only the sounds of chess pieces striking the board echoed through the sea of flowers.
How long had they played?
Shuichi did not know.
Time had lost its meaning here. The sea of flowers did not change with time, the lantern never went out, and the light never shifted. Only the chess pieces continued to land on the board, one after another.
Shuichi's eyelids began to grow heavy again.
Drowsiness rose like water spilling from an even deeper place, drowning this layer of the dream and dragging him deeper still.
The sea of flowers sank into profound darkness.
Shuichi opened his eyes.
It was dawn.
Sunlight squeezed through the cracks in the window, drawing a thin line of light across the tatami. In the distance, Seireitei's morning bell rang, deep and prolonged, tolling again and again.
Shuichi lay on the tatami, his Zanpakutō still resting beside him.
When Shuichi left the house, Seireitei had only just begun to awaken.
Shuichi quickened his pace, crossed the corridor, and pushed open the gates of the First Division Barracks.
Okiba Genshirō was standing by the entrance, arranging a stack of documents. When he saw Shuichi enter, he looked up and greeted him. "You're early."
"Is the Commander-in-Chief here?" Shuichi asked.
"The Commander-in-Chief went out."
Okiba Genshirō said, "He didn't come back last night. Something urgent must have come up."
Shuichi paused.
"What about Vice-Captain Sasakibe?"
"He's in the records room." Okiba Genshirō pointed toward the end of the corridor.
Shuichi nodded and walked toward the records room.
The door to the records room was half-open.
Shuichi pushed it open and saw Chojiro Sasakibe seated at the desk. A thick stack of documents lay spread before him, and a cup of tea that had long since gone cold sat by his hand. Sasakibe's silver hair was more disheveled than usual, and his eyes behind his glasses were webbed with blood vessels. Yet the hand reviewing the documents remained steady, and his handwriting was still neat.
"Vice-Captain." Shuichi stopped at the doorway.
Sasakibe raised his head and glanced at Shuichi. "What is it?"
Shuichi entered the records room and sat down opposite Sasakibe. He did not speak at once, as though organizing his thoughts.
Sasakibe set down his pen and waited for a moment.
Shuichi finally spoke. "I fell asleep during Sword Meditation and entered a place. There was a sea of flowers, red flowers that looked like Red Spider Lilies, and a small house. Someone was sitting in front of it, but I couldn't see their face."
Sasakibe leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest as he listened.
"They told me to come over and play chess. I did, but I don't remember what I played. Later, I... fell asleep again inside the dream. When I woke up, it was dawn."
Shuichi finished speaking.
The records room was quiet for a moment.
Chojiro Sasakibe looked at Shuichi and said, "Your Inner World."
Shuichi froze.
"You entered your Inner World. That is where your Zanpakutō lives. The person whose face you couldn't see was your Zanpakutō."
Shuichi fell silent.
"Not everyone can enter their Inner World. Most Soul Reapers spend their entire lives speaking with their Zanpakutō from outside, like knocking on a door or shouting through a wall. If you can walk inside, it means your Zanpakutō was willing to let you in."
"Willing to let me in?" Shuichi asked.
"Yes."
"Your Zanpakutō is inviting you."
"Then why couldn't I see his face?" Shuichi asked again.
Sasakibe replied, "Because you aren't ready yet. An Inner World cannot be seen in its entirety all at once. A Zanpakutō reveals itself bit by bit, and you must understand it little by little. Failing to see its face or hear its name clearly is normal."
Before you continue