Moving into the Seireitei

The former grounds of the Twelfth Division were no longer recognizable.

Most of the barracks had collapsed. The courtyard walls had been burned through by lava, leaving several enormous gaps, while black chunks of lava that had cooled and hardened were scattered across the charred ground.

The lava had not covered the entire compound, but the areas it had missed were hardly any better. Reishi arrows had left a dense web of holes in the walls, and cracks caused by the battle stretched from the ground all the way to the rooftops.

Several surviving Seated Officers were leading the Squad Members in clearing the ruins. They moved broken tiles aside, dragged away snapped timber, and dug usable supplies out of the collapsed storehouses.

Their morale was extremely low.

It was not that they were unwilling to work. They looked as if everything had been drained from them, moving mechanically with hollow eyes. The compound could be rebuilt, and the deaths of so many Squad Members could be mourned—but their captain had died.

Yamamoto appeared at the entrance to the compound with Shutara, using Shunpo.

The instant his Reiatsu descended, several nearby Squad Members reacted swiftly.

"Commander-in-Chief!"

The voices were uneven, coming at different times and at different volumes, but every one of them bowed.

Yamamoto stood there, his gaze sweeping over the collapsed barracks, the blackened ground, and the silent Squad Members. He said nothing, merely turning slightly aside to reveal Senjumaru Shutara behind him.

Shutara stood beside him. Her hair had been tied up again, and she had changed her Reishi Garment, but she was not wearing her crown.

Her back was straight, her chin slightly raised, and her calm gaze swept over the ruins and the Squad Members covered in dust and grime.

"This is your new captain, Senjumaru Shutara of the Twelfth Division." Yamamoto's voice was not loud, but every corner of the ruins could hear it.

The Squad Members carrying rubble stopped what they were doing. Those searching for supplies straightened, while those sitting on broken walls and bandaging their wounds turned their heads.

The Squad Members froze for a moment. They were surprised—extremely surprised.

Shandingsi's body had not yet been buried. The division's roster had not yet been checked, and the battered Squad Members were still struggling in their own ways to process the pain of losing their captain. Then the Commander-in-Chief had suddenly appeared and told them: This is your new captain.

They had not been prepared for it, but the feeling of surprise lasted only a very short time.

The Squad Members bowed again one after another. Their movements were more synchronized than before, their waists bent lower, and their voices were louder.

"Captain!"

There was no questioning, no resentment, and no unnecessary words.

Captain Shandingsi was gone, but the Twelfth Division remained. The division needed a captain, and the Commander-in-Chief had brought them one. That was all there was to it.

Shutara stood where she was, watching the battered and exhausted Squad Members bow to her. Her face showed no emotion.

"Mm." Shutara nodded twice lightly.

Yamamoto glanced at Shutara, then at the Squad Members who had resumed clearing the ruins. He turned and left with Shunpo.

Senjumaru Shutara remained where she was. The Commander-in-Chief had left, but the new captain was still standing there. No one knew what to do next. Several Seated Officers exchanged glances, while the ordinary Squad Members stood holding rubble, unsure whether to put it down or continue carrying it.

"Come here, all of you." Shutara's voice was not loud, but it was clear.

The Squad Members set down what they were holding and gathered around her.

Some walked quickly, some slowly. Some needed support, while others limped. They formed a loose semicircle before Shutara.

Shutara's gaze passed over their faces one by one. "State your name, seat, and area of expertise. Starting with you."

She casually pointed to the first person on the left.

The Squad Members spoke in turn. Some had powerful voices, while others mumbled and needed their companions to fill in the details.

Shutara said nothing. Only when she heard certain keywords did her eyes move slightly: Kidō, Zanjutsu, Shunpo, Hakuda, Zanpakutō, rank.

She memorized the names and faces one by one, as though placing documents into empty files.

After the last person finished speaking, Shutara remained silent for a moment.

"Okutano, step forward."

A man in his thirties walked out from the crowd. His Reishi Garment was torn in several places and had not been replaced. A wound ran from his brow ridge to his cheekbone, crusted over but not yet healed.

His stance was perfectly straight, his back rigid, and his eyes fixed on Shutara instead of darting away like the others'.

He was a Third Seat, skilled in Kidō. His report had been neither loud nor soft, but it had been clear and orderly, without a single unnecessary word.

"From now on, you are the lieutenant."

Okutano froze for a moment.

Shutara did not explain why she had chosen him.

But everyone present understood. He held the highest seat and had the most experience.

"Yes." Okutano bowed.

The reconstruction began.

Shutara stood in the open area, studying the site again and again. At last, she took out a large piece of fabric and began drawing up blueprints.

"The main building will have three floors facing south, with two underground levels. The walls will be this thick..."

"The materials depot must be no farther from the main building than this..."

"There must be corridors connecting the buildings. They cannot be exposed to the open air."

"The laboratory floor must use this material. It cannot let water seep through, produce dust, or reflect light."

The Squad Members were divided into several groups and began working.

Some carried broken tiles and snapped timber away from the ruins. Others leveled the ground and laid the foundations, while still others went to the Seireitei warehouses to collect construction materials.

No one was idle, and no one slacked off. The ruins were still ruins, but their shape changed little by little. Shutara stood there watching the Squad Members work, occasionally calling out a few words: this part was crooked, that section was too high, or a beam had been installed backward.

Over the next few days, reconstruction gradually began across the ruins of the Seireitei.

The Twelfth Division started first.

More precisely, it was Senjumaru Shutara's new research institute. The chosen plot of land lay on the edge of the Central Ring, right beside the residences of several Upper Nobility families. Shutara had taken a liking to the site, Yamamoto had nodded, and the Squad Members had begun construction.

The nobles could no longer sit still.

Several Upper Nobility families whose estates bordered the construction site came together and made their way there. They crossed streets that remained muddy after the rain, went around ruins still being cleared, and arrived before the First Division Barracks with grim expressions.

"Commander-in-Chief, we need an explanation."

The nobleman at the head of the group stood before Yamamoto's desk, his back rigid and his voice doing its best to remain calm. But his fingers were trembling slightly.

Although the estates of the several families had survived the attack, the cracks in their courtyard walls had not all been repaired. Now someone was carrying out major construction right next door.

"Why is that Shutara building barracks beside us? This is the Upper Nobility district. It has always been reserved for..."

His voice faltered. He did not say the words "reserved for us," but the meaning was obvious. The people behind him nodded repeatedly, echoing phrases such as, "Exactly," "This violates the regulations," and "Commander-in-Chief, please reconsider."

Yamamoto sat silently beside the tea table.

Silence.

The nobles stood there, waiting for a reply.

Yamamoto never raised his head, but his hand settled on the hilt of Ryujin Jakka. The blade slowly slid from its sheath. It had not even been fully drawn, yet the air of the Seireitei had already begun to heat up.

It was not an illusion or a trick of the mind. Flames from Ryujin Jakka had already begun to spill through the gap between the blade and its sheath. Red firelight reflected across Yamamoto's face, deepening his wrinkles and making his eyes shine more brightly.

The nobles' expressions changed in an instant.

It took less than a second for anger to become fear.

Several drops of cold sweat slid down the leading nobleman's temple, ran along his cheek, and hung trembling from his chin. The people behind him had begun to retreat. One stepped on the foot of the person behind him, another struck the doorframe, and a third instinctively hid half his body behind someone else. They wanted to say something conciliatory, something explanatory, something apologetic, but not one of them could form a complete sentence. Their lips trembled, their tongues felt tied, and only indistinct syllables came from their throats.

Okiba Genshirō appeared at the doorway at some point, stepping aside to clear the way out. His face was expressionless, and his manner was respectful yet distant, as though he were carrying out an ordinary task he performed every day.

The nobles fled.

The leading nobleman turned first, moving far too quickly for someone who had only recently been injured. The others nearly jogged after him, their shoes striking the wooden floor of the corridor in a chaotic, hurried rhythm. No one looked back. No one said farewell. No one remembered to bow. They remembered only the sudden heat in the room and the Zanpakutō that had already burst into flame before it was fully drawn.

The corridor of the First Division Barracks returned to silence.

Yamamoto sheathed his sword and continued reviewing the documents. The flames of Ryujin Jakka had long since vanished, and the residual heat in the air soon faded as well.

Okiba Genshirō quietly closed the door.

The following day.

The Underground Chamber of the Central 46 was even quieter than usual.

More than half the seats were empty. White chrysanthemums still stood in flower arrangements at the places belonging to the Sages and Inquisitors who had died in the Quincy attack.

Most of those who had come were injured. Some had an arm in a sling, some had bandages wrapped around their foreheads, and some walked with a limp. Others turned pale and covered their chests when they coughed. The vacancies had not yet been filled, nor could they be filled in the short term. The Central 46 had never lost so many members at once.

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto sat in the seat reserved for the summoned party.

Across from him, several injured Sages took turns speaking. Their voices grew louder and their tones sharper, until their spittle nearly reached Yamamoto's face.

"Commander-in-Chief, what you did yesterday was a threat against the Seireitei's highest legislative body!" A Sage with a bandaged forehead slapped the table.

"The Upper Nobility has the right to know about every land-use plan in the Seireitei. Not only did you fail to inform us in advance, you even drew your sword when the nobles raised legitimate objections!"

Yamamoto said nothing.

That only made the Sages angrier. They soon began attacking from a new angle. "Senjumaru Shutara is not a noble! There is no precedent for her building barracks in the Central Ring! You brought an outsider from Rukongai into the core district of the Seireitei without authorization, and now you refuse to let the nobles question it? What kind of logic is that?"

The others chimed in.

"Commander-in-Chief! The Gotei 13 belongs to you, but the Seireitei does not!"

"The nobles' interests must be respected! They cannot be silenced by your sword!"

"If word of what you did yesterday gets out, what will people think of the Central 46? What will they think of the Seireitei's laws!"

Yamamoto waited until they had finished.

"I have decided."

Yamamoto's voice was not loud, but the domed ceiling of the chamber magnified every word several times. His voice echoed between the stone walls like the tolling of a bell.

"All of the Gotei 13's divisions will be moved into the Seireitei."

Suffocation.

For a moment, the chamber fell utterly silent.

Then it exploded like a pan of oil set alight.

"Absurd!"

An old Sage with a flushed face and bulging veins in his neck sprang from his seat. He pointed toward Yamamoto, his finger trembling. "What kind of place is the Seireitei? It is where the nobles live! It is the seat of the Central 46! It is the political core of the Soul Society! It is not your barracks!"

"Move them all in? Do you know how many noble estates there are in the Seireitei? Where do you intend to put them?"

"You threatened the nobles with a drawn sword yesterday, and today you want to drive them out of their homes? Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, what exactly are you trying to do?"

Yamamoto said nothing.

He merely released his Reiatsu. It was not the kind of earth-shattering eruption he displayed in battle, nor the despairing suppression he used against enemies. It seeped out of him little by little, like rising water. First it spread around his feet, then across the entire chair, then over the table, and finally throughout the entire chamber. The candle flames all sank at once. They had not been blown by the wind—they had been pressed down by his Reiatsu. The flames compressed into tiny blue points that trembled within their lamps.

The angry voices disappeared one by one.

It was not that the Sages no longer wanted to speak. They simply could not. His Reiatsu was like an invisible hand pressing down on their chests, crushing their lungs, their throats, and every sound they possessed. Their faces changed from red to white, then from white to blue. Some began to sweat—not the sweat caused by pounding the table to seize control of the conversation, but cold sweat. Large beads rolled down their foreheads, slid along the bridges of their noses, and dripped from their tips onto the tabletop.

At last, someone could hold out no longer. A badly injured old Sage swayed and caught himself against the edge of the table. His lips had turned purple, his pupils were unfocused, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. His injuries had not healed properly, and under Yamamoto's Reiatsu, he nearly passed out.

Yamamoto withdrew his Reiatsu—not little by little, but all at once. It was like the tide receding, like a dam opening its gates. Within a fraction of a second, the pressure in the chamber returned to normal. Breathing became easy, and heartbeats steadied. The Sages gasped for air like drowning people who had just been dragged ashore.

Yamamoto rose and turned toward the door.

No one stopped him. No one questioned him, slapped the table, or said a word.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, steady and unhurried. They gradually faded into the distance, leaving the chamber with nothing but the sound of candles reigniting and the Sages' heavy breathing.

Only after Yamamoto had gone far away and his footsteps had completely vanished at the end of the corridor did anyone dare speak softly in the chamber.

"Are we really letting this go?"

The speaker was a relatively young Sage, ointment still plastered across his forehead. His voice was very low, as though he feared Yamamoto might suddenly return. No one answered him at once. Several old Sages sat in their chairs with iron-gray faces. Some clutched their chests and continued gasping, while others tried to lift their teacups with trembling hands but could not drink. Tea spilled from the corners of their mouths and soaked their collars. Everyone remained silent for a long while.

"Could we beat him?"

This time, another Sage spoke. His voice was even softer, and he sounded as though he were asking himself rather than anyone else. Not one person in the chamber could answer. They had just been crushed by Yamamoto's Reiatsu until they could not even speak. Now they were being asked to judge whether they could defeat the man who had stood at the peak of the Soul Society for a thousand years. The answer was obvious. No one wanted to admit aloud that they could not win, but no one dared claim that they could.

"That demon..."

No one knew who said it. The words were faint, as though squeezed between clenched teeth, carrying helpless resentment that was almost petulant. No one agreed or disagreed. The words simply hung in the air of the chamber before fading into the swaying candlelight.

They could not let things end like this, but they could not beat him either. Then the only thing they could do was find someone who could.

No—that was wrong. There was no one in the Soul Society who could defeat Yamamoto. They needed someone who could speak with Yamamoto as an equal, someone who could sit before him instead of kneeling, someone who could make him listen to even a few words.

The Four Great Noble Clans.

The Tsunayashiro Clan's estate lay in the deepest part of the Seireitei. Its walls rose higher than those of the other noble estates. There were no guards at the gate, which remained tightly closed year-round. Several Sages waited outside for a long time before they were finally allowed in.

Tsunayashiro Shiki sat in the main seat of the reception room, a cup of tea that had long since gone cold beside him. After hearing the Sages explain why they had come, his expression did not change at all. His tone was so calm that it sounded less like a refusal than a statement of fact unrelated to him.

"The Tsunayashiro Clan oversees the Great Spirit Library. We do not involve ourselves in struggles among the nobility."

The Sages froze.

One of them opened his mouth to speak, but the person beside him tugged at his sleeve. The Great Spirit Library was the oldest Reishi archive in the Soul Society, and the Tsunayashiro Clan had protected it for generations. They had never involved themselves in the Seireitei's power struggles. That was a fact, and no one had ever questioned its truth. But no one had expected the Tsunayashiro Clan to truly stand aside at a time like this.

Now they knew.

Shihōin Qianri received them at the Second Division's temporary headquarters. After hearing what the Sages had to say, he laughed—not because he was happy, but because he found it amusing.

"I'm the Second Division Captain. You've come to the wrong person."

The Sages withdrew in embarrassment.

The Kuchiki Clan's estate was the first of the Four Great Noble Clans to begin rebuilding. Most of its courtyard walls had already been repaired. The head of the Kuchiki Clan stood in the main hall without inviting them to sit, and no tea was served.

"The Gotei 13 entering the Seireitei will effectively improve the Seireitei's security."

That was all.

There was no "but," no "however," and no "nevertheless."

After saying that, the head of the Kuchiki Clan gave a slight bow. The steward immediately stepped forward and gestured for the guests to leave. The Sages stood there in silence for a long time before finally turning and walking out of the Kuchiki Clan's gate. The streets of the Seireitei were muddy with rainwater, and the flagstones had been churned into potholes by the constant passage of transport teams. Several Sages stood at an intersection, unsure where to go. The Tsunayashiro Clan would not get involved. The Shihōin Clan stood with Yamamoto. The Kuchiki Clan supported Yamamoto. Three of the Four Great Noble Clans had been approached, and not one stood on their side.

"There's still the Shiba Clan," someone said quietly.

Another person glanced at him. That look held everything and nothing at once. That family had always kept to itself, frequently absent even from meetings of the Four Great Noble Clans.

No one suggested visiting the Shiba Clan anymore.

The sky gradually darkened.

The Sages walked silently through the streets of the Seireitei, passing the construction site where the Twelfth Division was working at full speed, the temporary headquarters that the Second Division had already begun moving out of, the ruins that had yet to be cleared, and the noble estates where scaffolding had already been erected for reconstruction.

The Seireitei was changing.

They could not stop it.