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On the slanted edge of a tiled roof, a black cat crouched, its golden eyes narrowing at the distant bursts of spiritual pressure echoing across Seireitei. It was Yoruichi, separated from Kurosaki Ichigo and the others, moving silently as only she could. Though her presence was unmistakable to anyone sensitive enough to feel her Reiatsu, to the ordinary shinigami patrolling below she was nothing more than a stray animal, unnoticed and unremarkable. None of them would ever imagine that this cat was one of the infamous ryoka aiding the intruders.
"Reiatsu is clashing everywhere," Yoruichi muttered under her breath, tail flicking as another thunderous explosion of spirit energy cracked across the night. "Don't die out there, any of you. Not now, not like this."
She leapt down from the roof, landing with the fluidity of liquid shadow—only for a figure to step behind her, deft hands pinching both of her sensitive feline ears at once.
"Finally found you, Miss Yoruichi."
Her claws snapped out by reflex, but the voice stilled her strike mid-swipe. Blinking, she twisted her head up. "Brother Shiraha?"
Indeed, Shiraha stood there with his familiar half-smile, holding her ears between his fingers as if testing their softness. Surprise flickered in Yoruichi's eyes; just moments ago, she had braced herself for an enemy. Instead, it was him.
"It's me, Miss Yoruichi," Shiraha said lightly, amusement curling his lips as he tugged gently at her ears. Truthfully, ever since he had first seen her black cat form, he had wanted to try this, but circumstances had never allowed it until now. The fur was impossibly soft, almost silken under his fingertips.
"Brother Shiraha!" Yoruichi yowled, wriggling and flicking her tail indignantly. "Let go already!"
"Alright, alright." He finally released her, only for Yoruichi to leap nimbly into his arms, glaring up at him. "You're supposed to be leading your men. Why are you here? Shouldn't the Seventh Division be chasing after Ichigo and his group?"
Shiraha chuckled. "That's Eleventh Division's responsibility, not ours. My squad doesn't need to get tangled up in it."
Yoruichi's gaze sharpened, a hint of reproach flashing through her golden eyes. "And yet yesterday, you leveled the Baidaomon without hesitation. Do you have any idea how close you came to burying us all?" She shivered at the memory, the image of that devastating strike still vivid in her mind.
His display of power had unsettled her. In the short time since his return from the Living World, Shiraha's strength had multiplied. Worse, he had manifested a terrifying new ability—something Yoruichi, like the others, had mistaken for his Zanpakutō's hidden power. After all, a technique strong enough to obliterate structures built with sekiseki stone could not be explained away as simple spiritual pressure.
Shiraha placed a hand gently atop her head, smiling faintly. "Don't worry, Miss Yoruichi. I know my limits. You saw it yourself—the attack dispersed after the gate fell. I didn't let it spread further."
Yoruichi tilted her head, studying him carefully, but did not press the matter. "Then tell me why you came to find me. Did something happen?"
"Nothing in particular. I just wanted to see you," he replied with deliberate casualness. The truth was simpler still—his division had no role in the current pursuit, leaving him with more time than purpose. Eleventh Division and Zaraki Kenpachi's men had already claimed the hunt. For him, there was little to do.
"Then at least tell me this," Yoruichi said quietly, her tone sharpening again. "How is Aizen moving now?" She knew full well that Ichigo's reckless incursion into Soul Society had been about saving Rukia, but beneath it, she sought the moment to expose Aizen's conspiracy, to force him into the open.
"Don't worry, Yoruichi," Shiraha said smoothly. "Aizen will reveal himself soon."
The confidence in his voice unsettled her. She narrowed her eyes. "Shiraha… you know something, don't you?"
He only smiled and deflected. "Since you're free at the moment, why not come with me?"
Yoruichi exhaled, recognizing that he would say no more, and let the matter drop. Curling lazily in his arms, she closed her eyes, her tail flicking once. Shiraha, amused, whispered a short incantation. With a surge of kidō, both of them vanished from the spot.
---
At the Fourth Division barracks, the general treatment wing overflowed with activity. The clinic had been inundated with injured shinigami from across the Gotei 13. Those who had clashed with the ryoka were not fatally wounded, but most were battered, scorched, and incapacitated.
Among them were Madarame Ikkaku, the Eleventh Division's Third Seat, and his comrade Ayasegawa Yumichika, both defeated by Kurosaki Ichigo and Shiba Ganju before being dragged here by their squadmates.
Inside one ward, Yumichika inspected his reflection in a polished dish, fingertips tracing the bruise on his cheek with visible despair. "Vice-Captain Kotetsu," he pleaded, "tell me my beautiful face won't scar."
Kotetsu Isane fought to keep her voice steady and professional, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "Don't worry, Yumichika. I treated it with Kaidō. There won't be any scars."
His hair, however, had suffered a different indignity, blasted upward into an absurd explosion of frizz by Ganju's fireworks.
"Nothing else for me to do here," Isane said quickly, turning before laughter could betray her composure.
The moment she stepped out, Yumichika's wail followed after her. "My hair! Damn it, my hair!"
In the next room, Madarame Ikkaku lay swathed in bandages, his body stiff and sore but his spirit as obstinate as ever. Standing at his bedside was Captain Kurotsuchi Mayuri, his pallid face twisted in a mockery of curiosity, with his silent lieutenant Nemu by his side.
"Ikkaku Madarame," Mayuri said with that rasping, unnatural inflection. "You fought the intruders long enough to have learned something—appearance, strength, weaknesses. Speak."
Ikkaku turned his head away, refusing him with stubborn silence.
Mayuri's eyes bulged, his lips twitching. "What? You mean to tell me you don't know? Not their purpose, not their location, nothing?"
"That's right," Ikkaku muttered flatly.
A vein pulsed across Mayuri's painted face. He leaned close, sneering, his skeletal hand curling as if to strike.
"Captain Kurotsuchi!" Kotetsu Isane burst into the ward, her voice sharp as she intervened. "This is the Fourth Division infirmary. Combat is forbidden here!"
"So noisy," Mayuri hissed, turning toward her. His blackened hand rose, spiritual pressure gathering for an attack. He had no intention of killing her, but even a casual blow would leave Isane gravely injured.
Before the strike could land, the air rippled. Shiraha appeared in front of her, Yoruichi still curled in his arms. His eyes narrowed faintly.
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri," Shiraha said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of command. "This place is not yours to rampage in. It's not your turn."
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