Mud-slick roads in the Living World. A creaking carriage trundled toward Osaka-fu.
"Uugh—"
A window banged open; a head popped out. Muguruma Kensei surrendered first—spectacularly.
"kekekekeke~"
Inside, two women laughed themselves breathless.
"You're so lame, Kensei-taichō!" Matsumoto Rangiku clutched her chest, giggling.
"Honestly, Kensei-kun, if you jogged alongside the carriage, you might feel better," Kabuma Sayako suggested, palm hiding her smile.
"No way. I, Muguruma Kensei, would rather vomit to death in this thing than take one step running! Urgh—"
He gagged again—dry heaves now—face a heroic shade of green.
"Shuuichi-sama?"
Seated beside Sayako, Nagasawa Satomi watched Higashino Shuuichi read a message from Urahara Kisuke, then turn and smirk. She tilted her head, curious.
"Called it. Kyōraku Shunsui's making that 'investigation' as loud as possible on purpose—classic beat-the-grass-to-scare-the-snake."
Shuuichi rubbed his fingers together; the inked paper crumbled to dust under a whisper of Reiatsu.
"Beat the grass… to scare who? The blade thief who fled toward Osaka-fu? Does he have some backup plan?" Sayako asked.
"No backup plan. We are the backup plan. He says he wants us to 'protect'—but what he really wants is for us to nab the thief before Shiba Kaien's team even arrives. He even sent a likeness."
Shuuichi unrolled a portrait for the group, details written along the edge:
Name: Yokozawada Tsuna. Long purple hair, star earring in right ear, claw-scar on left cheek. Male. Gaunt, slightly hunched. Former Third Division fukutaichō. Zanpakutō: Nikuramamaru (肉车丸). Shikai: enlarges parts of his body, multiplying his strength several times.
Simple, crude—and impossible not to remind Shuuichi of a certain "human cannonball."
The front half was fine, but when he read "former Third Division fukutaichō," Shuuichi nearly cracked. This guy? Ichimaru Gin chose this guy as his lieutenant? Gin's blade go dull, or did Third Division run out of people?
Also—your division's traitor, and the captain doesn't have to personally chase him because "new to the job, too young, didn't know better"? Soul Society's tolerance for prodigies was… amazing.
"Ugh, he's so ugly," Rangiku said, with the only normal reaction.
"Truly," Satomi nodded—privately thinking Kisaragi Shūsuke counted among the better-looking Shinigami.
"Shuuichi-kun, perhaps close it," Sayako added, gaze politely drifting away.
…Were all three of them grading his face?
Shuuichi had expected a round of analysis—ability, former post, likely tactics. He'd even drafted rebuttals in his head. One glance at the scroll and his analysts had evaporated.
Fine. Face-judgers, the lot of you.
He rolled the portrait shut. To be fair, in a world of pretty-boy Shinigami, looking as rough as Yokozawada Tsuna made you a rare specimen.
"Anyway, per Shunsui, Seireitei just finalized the Living World team. It's a mix from the divisions, led by Thirteenth's fukutaichō Inada Tsukasa with Third Seat Shiba Kaien. Before they depart, Twelfth will give them a quick course on using Gigai."
"We need training to use a Gigai?" Rangiku blinked.
Isn't it just… put it on?
"Standard procedure—so some rank-and-file don't do something idiotic like 'forget to take off the Gigai mid-fight,'" Shuuichi said.
Back in this era, Gigai were new to most Shinigami.
"Conservatively, they'll be two days behind us. Our job is to catch that fleeing Yokozawada Tsuna in those two days—then hand him to Shiba Kaien's team."
He didn't judge Shunsui's arrangement aloud. The intent was sound: solve the problem before Kaien even left—ideal on paper.
The problem? It assumed Yokozawada would run.
What if he didn't?
What if Osaka-fu itself was a trap?
Shuuichi replayed what he'd learned from Kurotsuchi Mayuri. The Reigai data handoff had indeed been forced "over the last year." But two years ago—right when Mayuri took the post—he'd already begun quietly moving research out, including some of his own products.
Two years isn't long—but it isn't short. If the prep started even earlier, with enough documentation, you could churn out results.
Shunsui… did it occur to you this might be a staged trial? A live test of someone's brand-new toys?
From Soul Society, you can't see what Shuuichi could. He had no doubt Shunsui still hadn't crawled out of the shadows of that night two years ago—and hadn't gamed it out this far. Otherwise, no way would he risk pushing Shiba Kaien into this.
But Mayuri's slip had reminded Shuuichi of the man he'd nearly forgotten—and the words that man had said the day he left:
"If the East Administration doesn't suit you, come see us in the West Administration. I've got my eye on you~"
As if he'd known Shuuichi's path already.
If the plan started then—or earlier—then now was exactly the right time for the first flower to bloom.
"That's easy," Kensei puffed from outside. "We go to the center of Osaka-fu and use Bakudō #58: Kakushitsuijaku (Summoning of the Tracking Sparrows). He'll pop right up!"
"Didn't you just swear you'd—"
Shuuichi bit back a laugh—Kensei cut him off.
"Hey, Shuuichi, you don't get it—running in the Living World feels amazing. Once I started, I couldn't stop. Come try!"
"Hard pass. Enjoy your run. And Kensei—strolling into Osaka's center and popping Kakushitsuijaku? We don't even know what's waiting here, or what their abilities are. Use big, flashy Kidō now and we'll die without knowing how."
He slid the carriage door shut—mostly to keep Kensei's flying mud from splattering the seats.
If this were Soul Society—facing Shinigami or Hollows—Kensei's method would be quick and clean.
But this was the Living World. Their enemies were likely Fullbringers—rule-benders who didn't care about Reiatsu in the first place. Pure idealists with reality-twisting tools.
Against them, even a mountain of Reiatsu could end in a gutter.
Which was exactly why Shuuichi craved Fullbring.
Time pushed on. By noon, when Kensei flopped on the carriage roof like a dead dog, they finally reached the Osaka-fu of this era.
No towering walls on the edge—just little fences you could vault with a hop.
"Urahara Shōsha?"
At the gate, Kisaragi Shūsuke handed over papers: a trading company Urahara Kisuke had registered.
Shuuichi couldn't decide if Kisuke was fearless—or if Soul Society was blind. Surely some patrolling Shinigami had seen the name "Urahara Company" and felt… something?
"Yes—our shareholders are inside," Shūsuke said smoothly. A year of cramming had paid off; he could pass for a local now.
"Let's see. Big shots in town recently. Everyone's checked thoroughly."
The two guards walked to the carriage. They ignored the exhausted Kensei on the roof, swung the door wide—and were immediately hypnotized by the three women inside.
One of them literally drooled.
"Ahem. Gentlemen? Are we done?" Shuuichi asked kindly, after a soft cough.
"All set—go on."
At least they weren't the type to start grabbing people in broad daylight. Otherwise, Shuuichi would be picking a different gate.
As the wheels creaked forward and Shūsuke drove them in, one guard traded a look with his partner—then slipped into the city.
A month ago, several "honored nobles" had arrived in Osaka-fu. One, especially, adored beautiful women. He had an odd habit: he liked a given beauty only once, then gifted her to others. The city guards had quietly adopted a policy—spot a beauty at the gate, report to that "lord" first.
Today would be no different.
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