Mission

Early the next morning, Shihōin Qianri came again.

When Chōjirō stopped him at the entrance to the main hall, his expression was even darker than yesterday's. His short silver-white hair stood out sharply in the morning light.

"Is the Captain-Commander here?" he asked.

"He is." Chōjirō stepped aside.

Shihōin Qianri glanced at him without speaking, then strode into the main hall.

Yamamoto sat behind a low desk. Before him lay two things: a cup of hot tea and yesterday's blueprint. There were now several vermilion annotations on the blueprint, the ink still wet.

"Sit," Yamamoto said.

Shihōin Qianri sat down, his back even straighter than it had been yesterday. His eyes fell on the vermilion notes on the blueprint, but he did not ask about them.

Yamamoto lifted his teacup and took a sip.

"I have reviewed your proposal from yesterday."

"What does the Captain-Commander think?"

Yamamoto did not answer directly. He pushed the blueprint to the center of the desk and tapped the words "Interrogation Unit" with a finger.

"This cannot be given to you."

The main hall fell silent for a moment.

Shihōin Qianri's expression did not change.

"Why?"

"Because the Second Division does not need that function."

Yamamoto's tone was calm, as though he were stating something already decided. "Reconnaissance, Onmitsukidō, assassination, protection—those are acceptable. Interrogation alone is not."

Shihōin Qianri was silent for a while.

"Captain-Commander, what if we capture prisoners?"

"If there are prisoners, hand them over to the First Division."

Yamamoto cut him off. "I will interrogate them personally, or hand them over to Central 46."

He looked at Shihōin Qianri, his gaze as still as a pool of dead water.

"Then what happens to the prisoners?" he asked, his voice lower than before.

"I have already said it. Hand them over to the First Division or Central 46." Yamamoto set down his teacup.

"If there is truly a need in the future, I will consider establishing a specialized interrogation institution. But not now, and not under the Second Division."

He pushed the blueprint back in front of Shihōin Qianri.

"As for the rest, I have no objections. Reconnaissance, Onmitsukidō, assassination, protection—you may proceed with those. Go back, revise the proposal, and write me a new report."

He stood, rolled up the blueprint, and tucked it into his sleeve.

"Yes."

He turned toward the door. After taking two steps, he stopped again.

"Captain-Commander."

"Hmm?"

"You said it is up to you how weapons are used." He did not turn around.

"What if one day, you are no longer here?"

Yamamoto looked at Shihōin Qianri's back. There was no anger or surprise on that resolute face, only a deep calm, like an ancient well.

"Then wait until you live to see that day before asking."

Shihōin Qianri did not answer. He pushed open the door and walked out.

Chōjirō entered through a side door and stood beside Yamamoto.

"Genryusai Yamamoto."

"Hmm."

"Captain Shihōin, he..."

"I do not oppose what he wants to do."

Yamamoto said, "The Onmitsukidō is indeed something Seireitei needs. But among the things he wants to do are things he should not touch."

"Interrogation is the kind of power most likely to corrupt a person. Today, you interrogate enemies; tomorrow, you interrogate your own people. Today, it is for intelligence; tomorrow, it is to purge dissidents. The Shihōin Clan makes weapons, not politics. Qianri does not understand that—at least, not yet."

Chōjirō was silent for a while.

"Will he revise the proposal?"

"He will."

Yamamoto said, "He is a soldier, not a politician. Soldiers obey orders. But after he revises the proposal..."

He did not finish.

Chōjirō looked at him and waited, but no further words came.

Yamamoto rose and walked to the window.

"Chōjirō."

"Yes."

"Go call Shuichi. It is time to teach him something new today."

Chōjirō froze for a moment. The Captain-Commander rarely brought up Shuichi so suddenly while discussing other matters.

But he did not ask why.

"Yes."

He turned and left the main hall.

Yamamoto stood in the corridor, looking at the white walls in the distance.

Shihōin Qianri wanted the Onmitsukidō.

The Tsunayashiro Clan wanted Shuichi.

The Kuchiki Clan wanted influence.

The Kasumioji Clan wanted someone to lean on.

The Ōmaeda Clan wanted to stay safe.

Everyone had their own calculations.

But some things could not be handed over.

The ninth time Shihōin Qianri came to the First Division, Shuichi was sorting patrol reports in the hall.

He heard footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor—steady and powerful, every step seeming to have measured the distance. He had heard those footsteps in this hall for three months, from their initial haste to later composure, and now to their present certainty.

As Shihōin Qianri passed the entrance, he swept his eyes through the hall. Shuichi happened to look up, and their gazes met briefly. Qianri did not stop and continued toward the main hall. Shuichi lowered his head and went back to sorting the reports.

Three months had passed.

Over those three months, Shihōin Qianri had come every few days, each time carrying a revised roll of blueprints. Sometimes they concerned organizational changes, sometimes personnel arrangements, sometimes equipment lists. Yamamoto always had objections: this would not work, that needed changing, this could not be included, that was too much.

Shuichi did not understand why a single proposal needed three months of revisions, but he had noticed something: Qianri's expression was different each time he left the main hall. The first time, his face had been dark. The second, he had frowned. The third, he had been expressionless. The fourth, one corner of his lips had risen slightly. The fifth, his expression had darkened again...

During the most recent visits, his expression had grown increasingly calm. It was not the calm of suppression, but the calm of someone watching events move in the direction he wanted.

Shuichi did not care much about such things. His job was to sort reports, coordinate guards, and occasionally help Sakaki move supplies. The things on those blueprints—the Punishment Force, Patrol Corps, Supervision Corps, Inner Court Corps—were far removed from him.

But he knew the Second Division was becoming something else. It had not changed overnight. It had changed little by little over three months. Every time Qianri revised the proposal, the Second Division took on a different shape, like a stone carved away blade by blade until the form within slowly emerged.

He had never seen what that stone would ultimately become, but he knew Qianri had.

"Shuichi."

Chōjirō's voice came from the doorway. Shuichi looked up and saw the vice-captain standing at the entrance to the hall, a roll of paper in hand.

"Yes."

"You have a mission." Chōjirō walked over and handed him the paper. "South District 47. The Hollow Reiatsu there has been unstable these past few days. Eighth Division members are ready and waiting for you at the west gate. Lead them there and investigate."

Shuichi accepted the paper and unfolded it for a glance. Shimura's neat handwriting listed the location, Reiatsu readings, Eighth Division contact, and precautions. There were only a few simple lines, without any unnecessary information.

"I'm leading the team?" he asked.

"You are an official member of the First Division." Chōjirō's tone was as calm as it had been when he taught Shuichi Zanjutsu two years ago.

"Leading a team to handle matters, or assisting a captain in leading one, is your duty. This time, you are only investigating an abnormal Reiatsu disturbance. Combat should not be necessary, but if anything happens... you are the captain."

Shuichi folded the paper and tucked it into his robe. "Understood."

He stood, hung his Zanpakutō at his waist, and headed for the door. As he passed Shimura's desk, Shimura looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"South District 47, Rukongai," he said.

"That area is unsettled, though it should not be anything major. The unstable Reiatsu may be Hollow activity, or it may be something else. Just go take a look."

Shuichi nodded.

"Don't die." After saying that, Shimura lowered his head and continued sorting documents.

Shuichi left the hall and crossed the corridor. As he passed the main hall's entrance, the doors were closed.

He could hear Yamamoto's deep voice inside, along with Shihōin Qianri's brief replies. He did not stop and continued toward the division barracks' main gate.

The streets of Seireitei were quiet. The afternoon sun had baked the stone-paved roads hot. In the distance, several willow branches hung motionless beside a canal. When he passed through the south gate, the guards nodded to him.

Outside the south gate, the Eighth Division members had already arrived.

There were three of them, standing in a loose, slack manner. They looked less like a squad and more like passersby who had randomly gathered while waiting for a ride. Their leader was a tall man around thirty, a sword at his waist and his hair tied behind his head with a cord. When he saw Shuichi emerge, he straightened.

"Eighth Division, Taguchi."

He asked, "Are you Shuichi?"

"Yes."

"Just you?"

"Just me."

Taguchi gave him a look, his expression somewhat strange, though it was not disdain.

Shuichi could see something else in his eyes—a certain uncertainty, as if he were wondering: What does it mean for the First Division to send just one person?

Shuichi did not explain. He turned to look at the other two: a short, plump young man with a flattering smile on his face, and a silent woman leaning against the wall with one hand resting on her sword hilt.

"When did the Reiatsu disturbance begin?" he asked.

Taguchi withdrew his appraising gaze. "Three days ago. The patrol team in South District 47 reported it. They said the Reiatsu there rose and fell unpredictably, unlike ordinary Hollow activity. The Eighth Division sent people to investigate, but they found no trace of Hollows. Yet the Reiatsu remains chaotic."

"How large is the area?"

"Not large, around two hundred li across. But the Reiatsu fluctuations have no pattern."

Shuichi looked beyond the south gate. The rooftops of Rukongai spread out in layers beneath the sunlight, becoming lower and more dilapidated the farther away they were. South District 47 was very far away, beyond sight from here.

"Let's go," he said.

The Reiatsu in South District 47 was indeed chaotic.

Shuichi led Taguchi and the other two through the southern district for several hours, walking from afternoon into dusk. The Reiatsu fluctuations were like ripples on water—one moment coming from the east, the next fading in the west. They chased after them for several miles and found nothing.

"It scattered again."

Taguchi crouched down and pressed his palm to the ground. "This is already the fourth time. Every time we chase it halfway, it disappears. It is like something is hiding from us."

Around Shuichi, earthen walls leaned crookedly, thatched roofs were sparse, and several houses had already half-collapsed. There was no one in the streets, not even wandering souls.

"It is not hiding."

He said, "They are wounds. Several Hollows were injured and fled through here. Their Reiatsu trails are scattered and lack directionality. That means they were running away."

Taguchi stood. "Injured by whom? Soul Reapers?"

Shuichi did not answer. He walked several steps forward, stopped in an open area, and crouched down.

The Reiatsu here was different from everywhere else.

He closed his eyes and extended his senses to their limit.

This was the method Captain-Commander Yamamoto had taught him. It was not about searching for the source of Reiatsu, but feeling its shape. Wounded Hollows left dragging traces. Dead Hollows left dissipating traces. Purified Hollows left mist-like remnants that slowly faded away.

But the Reiatsu here had been terminated.

One instant it was there; the next, it was gone. Like a rope that had been cut—not untied, but cut. There were scorched black marks on the ground. They had not been left by Reiatsu, but by another kind of power, purer and more violent, like the reverse side of the same cloth as Reiatsu.

He opened his eyes.

"Quincy."

Quincy. This was also a term Captain-Commander Yamamoto had taught him. Although he still did not know what it was, the circumstances matched perfectly.

The expressions of all three Eighth Division members changed at once.

"Are you sure?" Taguchi lowered his voice.

Shuichi stood and pointed at the scorched marks on the ground. "The Reiatsu stopped abruptly. It did not dissipate—it was destroyed. Only Quincy can do that, and there is more than one."

He looked around. At the edges of the clearing, on the earthen walls, amid the piles of broken stones, there were seven or eight similar scorch marks scattered across a fan-shaped area.

"The scale is not small."

Taguchi followed his gaze and looked around, falling silent for a moment. "Should we report this to the Head Division?"

"Report it immediately. We are returning." Shuichi turned north.

"Understood."