A wave of unease washed over the room, wrapping around Kisaragi Akira like a tide.
The sudden sound of Yamamoto's voice made him snap to full alert, eyes darting nervously toward the elder seated at the head of the room.
"Sensei… I just remembered—I might have left the gas on at home…"
Maako Hirako couldn't help but grin at the scene before him. This kind of spectacle was exactly the sort of entertainment he enjoyed. As someone who thrived on mischief, watching the young Kisaragi Akira squirm under Yamamoto's piercing gaze was a delight.
The last time he'd seen Akira, the boy had punched through Yachukas's skull with a single blow—leaving a lingering mental scar on him. Later, he'd heard about Akira crushing Shiraki Shinichi during the graduation exam. Naturally, Maako had assumed Kisaragi Akira was a remorseless killer. But now… well, reality seemed to be a touch less extreme than the rumors suggested.
"Never mind," Yamamoto said calmly. "Let Deputy Commander Gosuke return. You'll come with me. This matter is serious and cannot be refused."
After signaling to the others, they all turned and left. Yoruichi gave Kisaragi Akira a helpless glance before leaving as well, prompted by the deputy's urging.
In the newly renovated training hall, Yamamoto squinted slightly, studying the nervous boy before him. A teacher's intuition told him that Kisaragi Akira was hiding something—and it wasn't good.
"You heard everything I said during the meeting, right?" Yamamoto's voice was calm, but sharp.
Kisaragi Akira blinked, nodding. He had no idea what kind of game the old man was playing.
"About the investigation of last night's raid on the Twelfth Division," Yamamoto continued, "our thirteen squads alone wouldn't be able to handle this in such a short time. According to the reports, the one who escaped has at least the strength of a vice-commander."
"So, I was thinking… maybe we could use the power of the one-eyed god to aid in the investigation…"
Kisaragi Akira's eyes widened in shock. Wait—when had Yamamoto suddenly become so adaptable? He was actually suggesting borrowing the one-eyed god's power to handle this case? In Akira's experience, Yamamoto had always been rigid, a staunch traditionalist. Sure, the old man had softened slightly over time under Akira's influence, but when it came to principle, compromise wasn't something Yamamoto did lightly.
"Is there a problem?" Yamamoto asked, noticing Akira's stunned expression. His intuition flared stronger than ever.
"No, no!" Akira waved his hands frantically.
Yamamoto narrowed his eyes and studied Kisaragi Akira intently. "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"
A cold sweat broke out on Akira's forehead. He stumbled over his words, knowing that any act of deception here would be instantly read by his teacher.
Yamamoto's gaze didn't waver. The boy's expression became increasingly unnatural under the scrutiny. This scene was familiar. Yamamoto recalled centuries ago, back when he had taught at the Spirit Arts Academy—Kyōraku Harumi always looked exactly like this when he had done something foolish.
This boy was up to no good.
Yamamoto's mind raced through possibilities:
Beating a colleague? No—the Eleventh Division valued martial ethics. Even if someone got pummeled, they would admire the attacker.
Marrying into the Sōfūin family? Impossible. Akira hated the idea of marriage by arrangement and had warned Yamamoto against it.
Then… shirking duties? Yamamoto almost laughed at his own thought. If Akira had any professional sense, he wouldn't get beaten up every day.
Wait—could it be that Kisaragi Akira had ignored his orders and secretly joined the Sōmyōdai faction?
Observing the subtle change in Yamamoto's face, Akira acted without hesitation: a single forward punch—shattering the wall of the dojo.
He wasn't foolish enough to challenge Yamamoto directly. The gap in strength was too immense; even a sneak attack in Yamamoto's sleep would fail. Any attempt now would likely end with Akira flattened and returning straight to the one-eyed god's embrace.
BOOM!
The dojo trembled with a deafening roar. Dust and splinters flew as a massive hole opened in the wall, and Akira darted out like lightning across the street. He felt a thrill, sensing the exhilaration boost his speed. Victory was close at hand.
But someone was faster.
BANG!
Darkness exploded before his eyes. Akira slammed into a body like a mountain and rebounded instantly. As he shook his head, dazed, he realized a shadow now loomed over him—barely 1.7 meters tall, yet exuding the crushing presence of a 2.8-meter colossus.
"Sensei! Let me explain—"
Akira forced a sheepish grin, struggling to make his case. Yamamoto said nothing, simply lifted him back into the dojo as if picking up a squirming chick.
The squad members glanced briefly before returning to their tasks. This was nothing unusual: Kisaragi Akira, ever-confident, had overestimated himself, and the squad captain had reminded him of reality. Since Akira became Master Genryu's disciple, such weekly theatrics were standard fare. Yamamoto's roars echoed throughout the Eleventh Division barracks, a routine spectacle.
Meanwhile, Jiro Suzume and Genjiro Chōga casually sipped tea nearby.
"More tea?" Jiro asked.
"Much obliged," Genjiro replied, nodding. Jiro poured, and both sipped, letting the aroma fill their mouths, murmuring in unison, "Excellent."
Nearby, Kisaragi Akira's roars of protest echoed through the battered dojo:
"You're going too far! Yamamoto, I—"
BOOM!
A single blow obliterated the latter half of his sentence.
Inside the tattered dojo, Yamamoto sat cross-legged on the only intact floor, sipping the now-warm tea. Calmly, he said:
"Now, tell me everything you learned after joining the Sōmyōdai faction. No detail omitted."
Kisaragi Akira hesitated, then recounted every event, from Yoruichi's support to his undercover work within the Sōmyōdai faction. He carefully omitted Aizen's involvement but claimed full credit for falsifying the Soul Extraction Technology.
"I… adapted the technique," he explained boldly. "Learned everything from Kiryu Haruto's work in a single glance and even made a fake copy for Anzai Daisai."
Yamamoto shook his head, deciding it was pointless to strike the boy again. Anyone could see Akira's learning ability was absurdly high—if only he could focus for more than three minutes per lesson.
Given Akira's intentions and capabilities, he had likely prevented Anzai from obtaining the genuine Soul Extraction Technology, which could have caused chaos across both Soul Society and the human world.
"Alright," Yamamoto said. "What's next?"
Kisaragi Akira shrugged helplessly. "What else? Take it step by step. From what I gathered talking with Anzai Daisai, that old man isn't satisfied with his current status. He wants to change Soul Society."
"I don't understand him at all. If it were me, I'd be drinking and enjoying life, leaving the world as it is."
Yamamoto waved him off before his imagination spiraled further.
"Don't speak without evidence. Without orders from the Forty-Six Chambers, the Thirteen Squads cannot act against the noble families. They must resolve their own disputes."
"Investigate themselves?" Akira asked, frowning.
Yamamoto's glare said it all: "What other choice is there?"
Akira's mind worked rapidly. Without solid evidence, toppling the Sōmyōdai family was impossible. He realized he would have to wait for them to make a mistake. A solution formed in his mind. After two beatings from Yamamoto, his head felt sharper than ever.
"Sensei," he said, eyes bright, "what if we try… fishing for evidence? Helping Anzai Daisai achieve his goal… maybe we can use it to our advantage."
His grin was mischievous, but his mind was already racing with possibilities.
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