"BOOM!"

A deafening explosion ripped through the roof of the First Division barracks, followed by a torrent of blistering heat that surged into the sky. A massive mushroom cloud slowly billowed upward, and countless First Division members froze, eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no! Genryūsai-sama is in danger!"

"Captain-Commander Yamamoto—please be safe!"

For a moment, stunned silence reigned. Then panic erupted. The searing heat was so intense, the shinigami couldn't even approach the command room at its epicenter.

"Genryūsai-sama, are you alright?!"

"What's going on?!"

"Is this an enemy attack?!"

"Who would dare assault the Captain-Commander?!"

When the heat finally dissipated, the First Division shinigami rushed in, blades half-drawn and voices trembling, only to find Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto standing alone amid the wreckage. His Zanpakutō was still in hand, his figure unmoved—yet something felt… off.

He didn't speak. He simply stood there, head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on the blade in his hand. The silence was unnerving.

"Don't panic!"

Before the tension could boil over, Vice-Captain Sasakibe stepped forward confidently.

"It was just… a mosquito that found its way into the barracks. Captain-Commander Yamamoto has already dealt with it."

"A… mosquito?" one shinigami echoed, confused.

"That required his Zanpakutō…?"

"It was a very large mosquito," Sasakibe said with absolute calm.

Another shinigami squinted.

"But Captain Yamamoto's left eye looks bruised… Are you sure it was just a mosquito, Vice-Captain? Are we certain this wasn't an infiltration?"

"Bruise? What bruise? That's a mosquito bite, obviously."

Sasakibe's smile didn't falter.

But murmurs spread. Doubt lingered in the air. And then—

"Hahahahahaha…"

Genryūsai, still holding his Zanpakutō, suddenly let out a low, rumbling laugh.

"Good! Good… Good..."

He murmured the words three times, sheathing his sword with deliberate grace. Then, facing the crowd:

"As Sasakibe said, it was just a mosquito—a rather insolent one that entered my command room thinking it could stir up trouble. I've dealt with it. No need to worry."

"Yes, sir!"

The First Division members, reassured by his presence alone, saluted and withdrew, helping shut the broken doors behind them.

Inside, Yamamoto stood still for a long moment, then gently rubbed the corner of his eye, which was clearly swollen.

"That Araki brat's strength is improving faster than I thought... At this rate, I might finally step down as Captain-Commander."

Sasakibe was quick to respond.

"Naturally, Araki is powerful! But that's all thanks to your teachings, Master Genryūsai. His strength is a reflection of your own!"

Yamamoto chuckled again, a rare sound.

But the moment passed.

His tone turned sharp.

"By the way, Sasakibe... did you hear what that 'evil spirit'—that Jijiba—just said to me?"

Sasakibe froze.

He had heard it. And worse—he'd laughed. Loudly. Especially at the part about the 'fire stick'. If Genryūsai's Bankai dropped now, there'd be nothing left of him.

"N-not at all!"

Sasakibe waved his hands vigorously.

"I—I was born with an ear condition. Comes and goes. Truly unreliable!"

He even leaned in, looking mournful, emphasizing his tragic case of "Schrödinger's eardrum."

Genryūsai gave a slow, meaningful nod.

"Oh? Very good."

Sasakibe exhaled in deep relief.

"So... did you see who it was that hit the corner of my eye and made it swell?"

The alarm bells rang again in Sasakibe's mind.

"Master Genryūsai is invincible! How could you be injured?! It was clearly a mosquito bite!"

He bowed deeply, playing it straight.

Genryūsai studied him, then slowly nodded again.

"Very good. Very good."

He turned toward the remnants of his command desk.

"Chojiro, you're dismissed. I need some rest."

Sasakibe's heart finally unclenched.

He noted with great relief that Yamamoto had reverted to calling him "Chojiro." That meant the danger had passed. He bowed deeply.

"As you command, Master Genryūsai. Rest well!"

With that, he swiftly excused himself from the ruined command room, not daring to look back.

"Let me see, Araki... just how much vitality you can inject into this stagnant Soul Society."

Genryūsai muttered to himself as he made his way to the nap room within the First Division's command quarters.

"Whoa..."

A sudden chill swept down from the sky, brushing past his head and halting his steps.

"Looks like I'll need to find time to fix that roof."

Genryūsai glanced up at the hole blasted open by the shockwaves of his earlier clash with Araki. The damage still lingered—a scar left not by an enemy, but by a spark of possibility.

Meanwhile, in the 11th Division barracks…

"I'm back."

Araki returned without ceremony. He passed his subordinates without a glance and walked straight into the command room.

"Welcome back, darling~!"

"Oh dear, who did this to you? Let me see—this swollen spot by your eye! It hurts me to look at it!"

"Darling, look! I'm the only one in all of the 11th Division who truly cares for you. Not like that mean Unohana—she didn't even feel sorry for you~!"

The moment Araki stepped into the room, Saito rushed over, showering him in affection and exaggerated concern.

"I got this from Old Man Yama," Araki replied flatly, grabbing Saito by the collar as she darted around him like a storm of noise. "I was asking for justice for you, and he punched me."

"WHAT?! I'll hang him up and beat him myself!"

Araki quickly restrained her again and shook his head.

"It's not that serious. It was mostly my fault anyway."

"Uh…"

Saito blinked. At first, her heart swelled with emotion—until she heard the second half of Araki's explanation. Her enthusiasm fizzled.

"…Asking her to lay hands on Old Man Yama is practically a suicide mission," Araki thought, grateful for the sudden silence. Indeed, Saito was perfect when she kept quiet.

"Araki, what's going on between you and Captain-Commander Yamamoto?" Unohana Retsu asked calmly, already pouring tea for him.

"The spiritual pressure you two released blanketed all of Seireitei."

"…So you felt it too."

Araki approached and gently held her hand still, taking the teapot from her grasp. He poured a cup for both Unohana and Saito before finishing the entire pot himself in one long gulp.

"Ahh…"

With a deep exhale, he finally relaxed.

"That means they noticed too."

"They?"

Unohana and Saito exchanged glances, startled. Of course. If they could feel it, so could every high-ranking Shinigami in the Gotei 13.

In truth, Saito had approached Araki earlier with a smug grin, proudly boasting that he'd fought Yamamoto "for her sake." But judging by Araki's words now, he clearly had something far bigger in mind.

"The noble clans," Araki said at last. "That's who I meant."

He pointed lazily into the air.

"Genryūsai's never been our enemy. The real enemies… are the termites eating away at Soul Society from within. The high nobles."

"The nobles… are our enemies?"

Unohana and Saito stared at him, dumbfounded.

This was the first time either of them had heard anyone voice such treason openly. In Soul Society, nobles were synonymous with law and order. To draw a sword against them wasn't just taboo—it was the very definition of evil. The infamous criminals of the past weren't hated merely for killing—they were hated for disregarding the authority of the noble families.

"Of course they are."

Araki smiled at their stunned expressions, then leaned back with a faint chuckle.

"All we need to do now is wait… they'll come knocking."

Genryūsai wasn't their pawn. His relationship with the nobles was one of uneasy parity—an iron-willed warrior forced onto their political chessboard by sheer strength alone. He was the first in history to stand as an equal across the negotiation table from the Five Noble Houses.

They smiled at him in public, but cursed his name in private. In their eyes, Genryūsai was a peasant—a "country chicken" daring to dine with phoenixes. But they had no choice. His sword left them no room to protest.

But now, someone even more unpredictable had returned.

A demon forged in the Royal Palace.

In front of the entire First Division, he subdued Genryūsai's men, fought the old man to a draw—and left him with no answers.

What would the nobles do?

They would try to court this new monster. Manipulate him. Pit him against Genryūsai. Divide the power and conquer both.

And that, Araki had anticipated perfectly.

"Let them come. Let them offer their honeyed words."

"Let them hang their gilded keys before my eyes."

He wouldn't need bait. Just a hook.

And once they bit down—

He would cut them all down.

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