"Lord Kisaragi, with resolve like yours, Lord Anzai will surely be deeply gratified."
Kusakawa Kusane—no, Kusakawa Kusakusa, as Kisaragi Akira insisted on calling him—looked at the boy before him with open admiration and a touch of melancholy.
"A genius like you should never be confined to the Seireitei," he sighed.
"The battlefield outside—that's your true world.
Not someone like me… stuck in the manor giving Lord Anzai strategic advice."
Kusakawa's spiritual-arts talent was painfully average. Even after training for more than a century, he was barely on par with a standard reaper foot soldier. His combat instincts were even worse. Forget the Thirteen Court Guards—he could be overwhelmed by an ordinary first-year in the Spiritual Arts Academy.
So when he heard that Kisaragi Akira intended to fight on behalf of the Kaneyashiro faction, his envy reached astronomical heights.
"Brother Kusane, you don't need to sell yourself short," Akira said with a sweeping wave of his hand. "C'mon, we're practically family at this point. If Lord Anzai appreciates me, that means he appreciates you too! When your brother here rises to the top, you think I'll forget you? Not a chance!"
Kusakawa opened his mouth, wanting to correct how Akira kept calling him "Kusane," but it was hopeless. After several failed attempts, he eventually decided… maybe "Kusane" wasn't such a bad nickname after all.
Just as the two were bickering, Kaneyashiro Anzai walked in from outside, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.
He stepped into the main seat and immediately slammed his fist against the armrest.
"That damned Kuchiki old fox has gone too far!"
"I'll make the entire Kuchiki clan pay—every last one of them!"
Kusakawa and Akira exchanged glances, each seeing equal puzzlement in the other.
What did the Kuchiki family do this time?
Before either could ask, Lord Anzai began explaining.
Today was the day the verdict for Enokami Otoko and the others was to be finalized. Anzai had used his influence to try and lessen their punishment. But out of nowhere, Kuchiki Ginrei—yes, that Ginrei—intervened, pushing to increase the penalties instead.
Both sides were among the Five Great Noble Houses. Both had supporters in the Chamber of Forty-Six. The moment they clashed, everything froze in deadlock.
Enokami Otoko and his men remained imprisoned in the Penitence Palace, awaiting judgment.
Because Kisaragi Akira had recently retrieved the critical Gikon (Artificial Soul) research for Anzai, the lord treated him as the rising star of his faction, not bothering to hide the details.
When he finished speaking, Anzai swept his cold gaze across the roomful of confidants.
"Lord Enokami has worked tirelessly for our grand design. We cannot allow him to be humiliated like this. Do any of you have a strategy?"
Silence.
Every one of them lowered their eyes, staring at the corners of the tatami as though answers were written there.
They were nobles—yes. But only upper or lower nobility, not the elite Five Great Houses. They could stir trouble with the Thirteen Court Squads.
But to challenge the mighty Kuchiki Clan directly?
Their hearts shrank.
Anzai felt a wave of bitter disappointment.
These people always boasted about loyalty… about charging through fire and steel for him. But when the moment finally came—they all curled up like frightened turtles.
Then, a voice rang out:
"Cut down that old fossil Kuchiki Ginrei!"
"Anyone who opposes Lord Anzai deserves death!"
Anzai blinked.
Of course—it was Kisaragi Akira.
Brash? Yes.
Reckless? Definitely.
But he was also the only one saying exactly what Anzai wanted to hear.
"Steady," Anzai said, raising a hand. "It's not time to strike at Ginrei yet. Once the Gikon technology is perfected… the Kuchiki family's downfall is guaranteed."
"And the Shihōin Clan too!" Akira added instantly. "I helped them reclaim their ancestral Zanpakutō, and those ungrateful fossils didn't show a shred of appreciation. Worse—they even insulted me. I'll make sure they pay for it!"
Anzai inhaled sharply. After a moment, he spoke slowly:
"…As you say."
He'd known the matter already. He had assumed the Shihōin Clan would never let such a talent slip away, but it turned out they were blind fools.
Not only did they ignore Akira's contributions, they even cursed him?
Utterly disgraceful.
Well… their stupidity was Anzai's fortune.
Thanks to them, he had secured a far more useful subordinate than Enokami Otoko ever was.
"Ginrei cannot be touched for now," Anzai continued. "But we can target other members of the Kuchiki household.
For example—"
A cold gleam flashed in his eyes.
"—the front-line battlefield."
──────────
Rukongai, Western District 64 — Akagane Plains
The Silent Expanse
Chaotic spiritual pressure crashed together like storm fronts piled atop one another, and the air reeked of scorched reishi.
Deafening battle cries tore apart the silence.
Flesh burst.
Steel clashed.
Reapers screamed and laughed like madmen.
Over a hundred reapers were locked in a violent melee.
Eyes bloodshot.
Breaths ragged.
Each one fighting like a demon possessed.
Kidō detonated across the battlefield in relentless bursts.
Dust surged skyward.
Flames roared and spilled over the plains.
Amid the explosions, the shrieks of dying reapers barely registered.
On a ridge overlooking the battle, Kisaragi Akira watched without blinking.
It was not yet his cue to enter.
The enemy's commander hadn't shown himself. Entering now would disrupt morale and shift the flow of the entire war.
For now, both sides were still evenly matched.
But the battlefield changed in an instant.
One side faltered.
Dozens were driven back.
Several were cut down where they stood—blood staining the barren plains.
Then—
Both commanders stepped into the fray at once.
Their spiritual pressure crashed down, thick enough to make the air tremble.
Akira studied the opposing commander.
He didn't recognize the man.
His pressure level was mediocre—fourth or fifth rank at best—worse even than Shiraki Shinichi from the academy graduation exam.
"State your name!" the man roared, brandishing his Zanpakutō. "I don't cut down the nameless! I am Takeuchi Mannosuke!"
"No need," Akira replied coolly. "You'll be cut either way."
He unsheathed his blade and flash-stepped forward in a single fluid motion.
No point talking to a minor villain destined to die within three episodes. At best, for the sake of loyal client Kuchiki Aotsune, Akira might let him keep his life.
Takeuchi Mannosuke snarled, swinging his blade down with explosive spiritual power. A dazzling arc of light burst forth—
He was strong, for a direct retainer of the Kuchiki.
Balanced mastery of Zanjutsu, Hakuda, and Hohō.
Even some lieutenant-class reapers struggled against him.
How could a mere masked rebel hope to compete with Takeuchi Mannosuke, elite of the Kuchiki household?
But the instant their blades collided—
Takeuchi's face twisted in pure horror.
He had never felt power like this.
An endless wave of force surged through the metal, overwhelming him instantly. He was blasted backward, skidding across the plains and carving a long trench in the dirt.
He staggered to his feet, trembling as he stared at the boy approaching with his blade hanging lazily at his side.
Impossible.
What monster had the Kaneyashiro Clan brought here?
With strength like this, shouldn't he be dueling Kuchiki Kyōga himself?
But there was no time to think.
Takeuchi clenched his blade with shaking fingers, lowering the tip as if preparing for a ritual.
"Roar, Mōkoromaru! (Savage-Tiger Circle!)"
White light surged from his Zanpakutō.
Before Akira's curious gaze, the blade split and reshaped into twin tiger-claw gauntlets, reishi glimmering across their surface.
Without hesitation, Takeuchi lunged—tiger claws flashing.
Dozens of reishi blades shot toward Akira, tearing the air apart.
Akira simply lowered his right hand and raised his left—
placing his palm directly in the strike's path.
BOOM!!
The blades struck like thunder—and stopped.
Dead in their tracks.
No Kidō.
No technique.
Not even spiritual pressure.
Just pure spiritual-body superiority.
Takeuchi froze, mind shattering.
A Shinigami… blocked his Shikai blade barrage…
With their bare hand?
Not even ordinary Gillian-class hollows could withstand that attack!
But the nightmare was only beginning.
Akira curled his fingers.
Crack.
The reishi blades shattered instantly, dissolving into glittering particles.
"No… no, impossible!" Takeuchi screamed. "It's an illusion—it has to be!"
He slashed wildly.
Tiger-claw blades poured down like a monsoon, engulfing Akira.
Violet flames roared and spiraled upward in a towering pillar.
Akira stepped forward through the blaze.
Muscle and sinew tightened.
His fingers curled into a fist.
Genryū Style — Crushing Surge.
His fist fell.
The incoming barrage shattered like glass.
A shockwave ripped across the plains, obliterating everything in its path.
Takeuchi Mannosuke was launched skyward like a rag doll.
He hit the ground hard, coughing blood, barely conscious.
Yet as his vision blurred, he reached into his clothing with shaking hands—pulling out a very familiar talisman.
Akira blinked.
…Wait.
Wasn't that… one of his own talismans?
Takeuchi smeared blood and spiritual pressure across the black seal.
A pillar of spiritual light burst into the sky.
Everyone on the battlefield stopped and turned.
Veteran reapers recognized it immediately:
A Kuchiki war talisman.
A sacrificial invocation using the souls of the dead to summon a divine manifestation.
Blackness condensed into a colossal, twisted right arm rising from the plains.
Fear, pain, despair—all coiled within the ink-black mass.
Every fallen reaper's soul.
Every scrap of Takeuchi's power.
All consumed by the darkness, feeding the abomination.
Akira rubbed the bridge of his nose.
This was… awkward.
He had JUST teased Kusakawa about selling his mansion (and those talismans) cheaply… and now here he was, being attacked by one of them.
That karmic boomerang came back fast.
Worse yet, the talisman was stronger on a battlefield drenched with sacrifices.
The principle wasn't complicated:
Infuse it with a bit of Divine Eye power, give it permission to begin a sacrificial rite, and the strength granted depended on the value of the offerings.
And the deity—Mimihakihime—was moody.
Not everyone could get away with offering roasted sweet potatoes.
From the back of the shadowy arm, a single indifferent eye opened.
The battlefield froze.
The godlike silhouette loomed, its shifting muscles and writhing shadows resembling a living darkness.
Eye met eye.
Akira stared at the divine manifestation.
The manifestation stared back.
A long, awkward silence.
Even the deity seemed confused.
Its aura… wavered, faintly expressing:
"…wait… again?"
"Hey, uh—big guy," Akira whispered. "Do me a favor and play along."
Then he exploded with spiritual pressure.
The shadow arm paused.
A silent sigh seemed to echo through the plains.
The single eye closed.
Black shadows surged forward—attacking Akira.
But compared to previous talisman summonings…
this one was weak.
Pathetically weak.
Akira swatted aside each attack with trivial bursts of pressure.
The shadows shattered, dissolving into drifting reishi.
Takeuchi stared in despair.
His last trump card—worthless.
With that, the battle's outcome was sealed.
The rebel forces surged forward.
Victory swept across the Akagane Plains.
Within minutes, scouts from Squad Two and Squad Eight transmitted the news across the Seireitei.
The Kuchiki Clan learned of the defeat almost immediately.
The Noble Quarter erupted into chaos.
Discussions exploded everywhere.
That very evening, the Kuchiki convened an emergency clan meeting in their ancestral hall.
Meanwhile—
The Kaneyashiro household held a lavish celebration banquet.
Kaneyashiro Anzai praised Kisaragi Akira without restraint, openly naming him one of his core confidants, even revealing the details of his so-called "grand design."