The mission

Early the next morning, Shihōin Qianri came again.

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

"Is the Commander-in-Chief here?" he asked.

"Yes." Chōjirō Sasakibe stepped aside.

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

Yamamoto sat behind a low desk. Two things lay before him: a cup of hot tea and yesterday's plans. Several vermilion annotations had been added to the plans, their ink not yet fully dry.

"Sit," Yamamoto said.

Shihōin Qianri sat down, his back even straighter than yesterday. His gaze settled on the vermilion annotations, but he did not ask about them.

Yamamoto lifted his cup and took a sip.

"I reviewed your proposal yesterday."

"What do you think, Commander-in-Chief?"

Yamamoto did not answer directly. He pushed the plans to the center of the desk and tapped the words "interrogation unit."

"You cannot have this."

Silence fell over the main hall for a moment.

Shihōin Qianri's expression did not change.

"Why?"

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

Yamamoto's tone was mild, as though the matter had already been settled. "Reconnaissance, intelligence, assassination, protection—those are acceptable. Interrogation under torture is not."

Shihōin Qianri fell silent for a while.

"Commander-in-Chief, if we take prisoners—"

"If you take prisoners, hand them over to the First Division."

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

He looked at Shihōin Qianri, his gaze as still as stagnant water.

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

"As I said, hand them over to the First Division or Central 46." Yamamoto set down his cup.

"If the need truly arises in the future, I will consider establishing a dedicated interrogation agency. But not now, and not within the Second Division."

He pushed the plans back toward Shihōin Qianri.

"I have no objections to the rest. Reconnaissance, intelligence, assassination, protection—you may handle those. Go back and revise the proposal, then submit a new report to me."

Qianri stood, rolled up the plans, and tucked them into his sleeve.

"Yes, sir."

He turned toward the door, took two steps, then stopped.

"Commander-in-Chief."

"Yes?"

"You said you decide how weapons are used." He did not turn around.

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

Yamamoto watched Shihōin Qianri's back. There was neither anger nor surprise on his stern face, only a profound stillness, like an ancient well.

"We can discuss that when you live to see that day."

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

Chōjirō Sasakibe entered through a side door and stood beside Yamamoto.

"Genryusai Yamamoto."

"Yes."

"Captain Shihōin, he..."

"I have no objection to what he wants to do."

Yamamoto said, "Seireitei does indeed need the Onmitsukidō. But among the things he wants to do, there are some he must not touch."

"The power to interrogate through torture is the most corrupting of all. Today, you interrogate enemies; tomorrow, your own people. Today, it is for intelligence; tomorrow, to eliminate dissenters. The Shihōin Clan makes weapons. It does not play politics. Qianri does not understand that—not yet, at least."

Chōjirō Sasakibe 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 Sasakibe watched him and waited, but nothing more followed.

Yamamoto stood and walked to the window.

"Chōjirō."

"Yes, sir."

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

Chōjirō Sasakibe paused in surprise. The Commander-in-Chief rarely brought up Shuichi abruptly while discussing other matters.

But he did not ask why.

"Yes, sir."

He turned and left the main hall.

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

Shihōin Qianri wanted the Onmitsukidō.

The Tsunayashiro Clan wanted Shuichi.

The Kuchiki Clan wanted influence.

The Kasumioji Clan wanted a powerful backer.

The Ōmaeda Clan wanted to stay out of trouble.

Everyone had their own agenda.

But some things could not be handed over.

When Shihōin Qianri visited the First Division for the ninth time, Shuichi was sorting patrol reports in the hall.

He heard footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor, steady and firm, every step seeming measured. He had been hearing those footsteps from the hall for three months. At first they had been hurried, then unhurried, and now assured.

As Shihōin Qianri passed the doorway, he glanced into the hall. Shuichi happened to look up, and their eyes met briefly. Qianri did not stop, continuing toward the main hall. Shuichi lowered his head and went back to sorting reports.

Three months had passed.

Over those three months, Shihōin Qianri had visited every few days, each time bringing a roll of revised plans. Sometimes the revisions concerned organizational structure, sometimes staffing, sometimes equipment lists. Yamamoto always had objections. This would not do, that needed changing, this was unacceptable, there was too much of that.

Shuichi did not understand why a single proposal needed three months of revisions, but he noticed one thing: Qianri's expression was different every time he emerged from the main hall. The first time, his face had been dark. The second, his brow had been furrowed. The third, he had been expressionless. The fourth, the corners of his mouth had lifted slightly. The fifth, his expression had darkened again...

During his most recent visits, his expression had grown increasingly calm. Not a strained calm, but the calm of someone whose plans were moving in the direction he wanted.

Shuichi did not care much about any of that. His job was sorting reports, assigning guards, and occasionally helping Sakaki move supplies. The things on those plans—the Punishment Force, Patrol Corps, Supervision Corps, and Inner Court Corps—were far removed from him.

But he knew the Second Division was becoming something else. It had not changed in a day, but little by little over three months. Each time Qianri revised his proposal, the Second Division took on a different shape, like a stone being carved stroke by stroke, slowly revealing the form within.

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

"Shuichi."

Chōjirō Sasakibe's voice came from the doorway. Shuichi looked up and saw the lieutenant standing at the entrance to the hall with a roll of paper in his hand.

"Here."

"There is a mission." Chōjirō Sasakibe walked over and handed him the paper. "South District 47. Hollow Reiatsu there has been erratic over the past few days. The Eighth Division members are ready and waiting for you at the West Gate. Lead them there and investigate."

Shuichi took the paper and unrolled it for a glance. Shimura's neat handwriting listed the location, Reiatsu readings, Eighth Division contact, and precautions. Just a few simple lines, with no unnecessary information.

"I'm leading?" he asked.

"You are a full-fledged member of the First Division." Chōjirō Sasakibe's tone was as matter-of-fact as it had been when he taught Shuichi Zanjutsu two years earlier.

"Leading a team to handle matters, or assisting a captain in doing so, is your duty. This time, you are only investigating abnormal Reiatsu. Combat should not be necessary. But if anything happens... you are the team leader."

Shuichi folded the paper and tucked it inside 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.

"It's unsettled out there, but this shouldn't be anything serious. The erratic Reiatsu might be Hollow activity, or it might be something else. Just go and take a look."

Shuichi nodded.

"Don't die." With that, Shimura lowered his head and returned to his paperwork.

Shuichi left the hall and crossed the corridor. When he passed the main hall, its door was closed.

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

Seireitei's streets were quiet. The afternoon sun had heated the stone paving until it was scorching. In the distance, the branches of several willow trees hung motionless beside a canal. As 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 so loosely that they looked less like a team than strangers who happened to be waiting for a ride together. Their leader was a tall man of about thirty, a sword at his waist and his hair tied back with a cord. When he saw Shuichi emerge, he straightened.

"Taguchi, Eighth Division."

He asked, "You're Shuichi?"

"Yes."

"Just you?"

"Just me."

Taguchi gave him a look, his expression subtly shifting. It was not contempt.

Shuichi could read it in his eyes. It was a kind of uncertainty, as though he were thinking, What does the First Division mean by sending just one person?

Shuichi offered no explanation. He turned to look at the other two: a short, plump young man with an ingratiating smile, and a silent woman leaning against the wall with a hand on her sword hilt.

"When did the erratic Reiatsu start?" he asked.

Taguchi stopped sizing him up. "Three days ago. The patrol team in South District 47 reported it. They said the Reiatsu there kept rising and falling, unlike normal Hollow activity. The Eighth Division sent people to investigate. They found no sign of Hollows, but the Reiatsu was still erratic."

"How large an area?"

"Not large. About two hundred li around. But there's no pattern to the fluctuations."

Shuichi looked out beyond the south gate. Rukongai's rooftops spread in overlapping layers beneath the sunlight, growing lower and more dilapidated the farther they stretched. South District 47 was far away, out of 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, from afternoon until dusk. The Reiatsu fluctuations were like ripples on water, appearing in the east one moment and fading in the west the next. They chased them for several li without finding anything.

"It dispersed again."

Taguchi crouched, pressing his palm to the ground. "That's the fourth time already. It disappears halfway through every pursuit, as though something's hiding from us."

Around Shuichi, earthen walls leaned crookedly, the thatch on the rooftops was sparse, and several buildings had half collapsed. No one was on the street. Not even wandering souls were in sight.

"They're not hiding."

He said, "They're wounded. Several wounded Hollows fled through here. Their Reiatsu trails are scattered, without a consistent direction. That means they were running away."

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

Shuichi did not answer. He walked a few steps forward, stopped in an open patch of ground, and crouched.

The Reiatsu here was different from elsewhere.

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

This was the method Captain-Commander Yamamoto had taught him: not seeking the source of Reiatsu, but sensing its shape. Wounded Hollows left dragging traces; dead Hollows left traces of dispersal; purified Hollows left mist-like remnants that slowly faded.

But the Reiatsu here had ended.

One moment, it had been there. The next, it was gone, like a rope that had been cut—not untied, but severed. Black scorch marks marred the ground. They had not been left by Reiatsu, but by another power, purer and fiercer, like the reverse side of the same cloth as Reiatsu.

He opened his eyes.

"Quincy."

Quincy was another term Captain-Commander Yamamoto had taught him. Though he still did not know what they were, the circumstances matched.

The expressions of Taguchi and his two companions changed at once.

"Are you sure?" Taguchi lowered his voice.

Shuichi stood and pointed at the scorch marks. "The Reiatsu stopped abruptly. It didn't disperse; it was annihilated. Only Quincy can do that. And there was more than one."

He looked around. At the edge of the clearing, on the earthen walls, and among the rubble, there were seven or eight similar scorch marks, spread across a fan-shaped area.

"This wasn't small-scale."

Taguchi followed his gaze around the clearing, then fell silent for a moment. "Should we report this to the command division?"

"Report it now. We're heading back." Shuichi turned and walked north.

"Understood."