Not bad.
Very good.
With a single glance, Haruto took in everything he should and shouldn't have seen. In a pleasure house, after all, there was no such thing as averting one's eyes out of courtesy.
Compared to the overly painted "black-and-white ladies" he had glimpsed earlier in the main hall, the girl before him radiated youth from head to toe.
Her skin was slightly darker than wheat-colored, and her thighs were firm and elastic without being overly plump—exactly the type Haruto preferred.
But the most important element was her outfit.
Half-hidden allure was always more captivating than complete exposure. This translucent, teasing kimono clearly designed to provoke imagination was not something that normally existed in Soul Society.
If Haruto had not been so familiar with the fashions of the World of the Living, he might have been completely captivated by it at first sight.
Originally, Haruto had entered the establishment with no expectations at all.
He had genuinely intended to simply spend the night here.
But now…
As the girl slowly loosened the sash around her slender waist and moved to sit on Haruto's lap—
His right hand, normally used to grip a sword, followed instinct and reached without hesitation toward the curve where her hip met her thigh, the place with the most appealing elasticity.
And then—
"!!"
Thump!
A heavy step struck the tatami floor.
Haruto instantly leapt backward from his cross-legged position, retreating two full steps in a single explosive motion and widening the distance between them.
At the same time, his right hand had already pulled his Zanpakutō from the center of his travel bundle.
"Sir…?"
Confusion appeared on the girl's face.
Yet what she was curious about was not Haruto's sudden movement.
It was the Zanpakutō in his hand.
Her fleeting gaze toward the weapon was subtle—but Haruto caught it.
"…"
"Filthy thing."
Haruto narrowed his eyes coldly. The pupils that had once been visible shrank into thin curved lines.
"?"
"You haven't even tried me yet. How could you say something so heartless?"
The girl's pitiful expression could have melted the hardest heart.
But Haruto showed not the slightest trace of sympathy.
He was completely different from the man he had been seconds earlier.
"Cockroaches and maggots…"
Haruto sneered.
"You wouldn't call that filthy?"
"…."
The air in the room froze.
The smile on the girl's face froze with it.
From outside the closed door came faint heavy breathing and several muffled screams.
None of it affected the chilling silence inside the room.
After what felt like several long seconds—
"Oh my."
The girl's smile slowly returned.
But compared to the seductive warmth from earlier, her voice now sounded like rusted iron scraping together.
And her face… was melting.
"Unexpected. Truly unexpected."
Her eyes remained fixed on Haruto.
But gradually even those lively eyes became hollow.
"You're clearly not a Shinigami… yet you could see through my illusion…"
A young man carrying a Zanpakutō without wearing a Shinigami uniform, appearing during the Shin'ō Academy holiday.
With those two clues, his identity was easy to guess.
"Young sir…"
Her face continued dissolving, and soon her entire body began to melt.
"If you don't mind… why not come upstairs and talk with me?"
After leaving those words behind, the "girl" collapsed onto the floor.
What remained was merely a worn burlap sack tied shut at five points.
The vague outline inside resembled a snowman crudely stacked by a child.
From the openings in the sack poured a writhing swarm of insects.
More than twenty different kinds of creatures crawled together—each one deeply repulsive.
Haruto resisted the urge to burn them all to ashes immediately.
Instead, he forced his mind elsewhere.
"Looks like there aren't many cockroaches in this shop. Otherwise they wouldn't need such a mixed army."
Thoughts like that helped him regain his composure.
The strange phantom sensation in his legs finally faded.
Once the insects had crawled away through the cracks in the floor—
"…."
Haruto let out a long breath.
His grip on the Zanpakutō loosened.
"That illusion was impressive."
"Before physical contact, I didn't notice anything wrong at all."
"At minimum, the caster must be a seated officer specializing in illusions."
"And probably around the Sixth-Class Spiritual Pressure level."
Although the strength of seated officers varied greatly between divisions, anyone possessing that level of spiritual pressure would likely be a Third Seat.
Haruto felt a little sympathy for the other customers in the building.
Even he had only discovered the problem at the last moment.
Ordinary people probably never realized anything was wrong.
Of course, since the establishment operated in Yoshiwara, not everything inside was fake.
Just as the man earlier had said, business was especially busy tonight. It wasn't easy to find suitable girls for customers with specific requests like Haruto's.
That probably explained the strange arrangement.
"What I don't know…"
"Is whether that illusion was a self-created Kidō… or a Zanpakutō ability."
Either possibility was bad news.
A Third Seat capable of creating original Kidō or specializing in illusions was already someone Haruto couldn't handle at his current level.
If the opponent could release their Zanpakutō, Haruto's only strategy would be running away as fast as possible.
However—
"'If you don't mind,' she says…"
Haruto glanced at the ceiling.
"If I leave now, the shop might try to silence me to prevent their secrets from leaking."
He was certain his reaction earlier had attracted attention.
But he couldn't help it.
There was no way he would willingly send his own body into a nest of insects.
Considering how abruptly he had gone from excitement to complete sobriety, Haruto believed his reaction had actually been quite restrained.
"A Zanpakutō lost in Yoshiwara…"
Haruto pulled the sheathed sword from his bundle and secured it tightly to his waist.
"Is its owner a Shinigami who deserted the Gotei 13… or a noble exiled from Seireitei?"
Leaving immediately was not the safest choice.
Both possibilities were far more dangerous than simply knowing the pleasure district's secrets.
"Let's see what this is about."
Since the other party had chosen to invite him upstairs rather than attack directly—whether because they weren't confident of defeating him or because they didn't want to damage their business—Haruto decided to go.
But first—
Clink.
Haruto pressed his palm firmly against the hilt of his Zanpakutō.
Spiritual pressure poured into the blade.
A sharp metallic vibration filled the air.
Even the surrounding atmosphere trembled.
Soon, as spiritual pressure overflowed along the blade within the sheath, the entire sword began to glow faintly gold.
If not for the scabbard restraining it, the light might have illuminated the entire room.
Fortunately, the phenomenon lasted only seven seconds before the room returned to normal.
Seven seconds.
The exact incantation time for Zhanhualun.
Although Haruto considered this Hadō No. 78 impractical in most situations—since he could only send the blade half a meter—it was extremely effective in confined spaces like this building.
Maintaining a fully formed Kidō without releasing it required immense control over both body and spirit.
Even after consuming Tenjōmaru and greatly improving his physical strength, doing so still strained his body.
And spiritual pressure constantly leaked during the process.
At Haruto's current level, after one minute the power would drop to half strength.
After three minutes, only twenty percent remained.
After five minutes, it would disappear entirely.
Even so, that was still far better than the one-twentieth power of an incantationless version.
At twenty percent power, Zhanhualun was still stronger than an incantationless Raikōhō.
However, maintaining the technique required complete focus.
Until it was released, Haruto could not cast any other Hadō.
"If she really means trouble…"
Haruto opened the sliding door with one hand while holding the sword with the other.
"I'll finish the conversation within one minute. Even if I can't kill her, I'll strike once and report everything to the Gotei 13."
Whether she was a rogue Shinigami or an exiled noble, her identity clearly couldn't withstand scrutiny.
Compared to someone like Haruto—a legitimate future Shinigami—the Gotei 13's loyalty was obvious.
Of course, Haruto wouldn't seek help from local Shinigami.
If things went badly, he would run toward the first twenty districts of the Rukongai.
Once there, official assistance from the Gotei 13 would be easy to obtain.
Although Haruto prepared himself carefully, he wasn't acting recklessly.
After all—
He had truly seen through that illusion.
The difference of one spiritual pressure rank was not an insurmountable gap.
Haruto climbed the stairs beside the room.
No one stopped him on the way to the fifth floor.
Clearly, instructions had already been given.
The higher the staircase climbed, the steeper it became.
Strangely, Haruto heard none of the suggestive noises one might expect.
The reason wasn't better soundproofing.
Instead, the curtain separating the staircase from the hallway had been enchanted with soundproof Kidō.
"For a pleasure house, that's quite an investment."
Completely sealed soundproof barriers were common.
But creating the same effect on a curtain required considerable effort.
Haruto ignored the distraction.
Zhanhualun had a strict time limit.
Since he had already accepted the invitation, he moved quickly.
Three steps became two.
Within half a minute, he reached the door to the fifth floor.
After a brief pause—
Haruto removed his hand from the Zanpakutō.
Gripping the large sliding doors, he pulled them open.
The panels slid aside with a loud rustle.
The first thing he saw was a massive circular screen nearly touching the ceiling.
Across its grid-like pattern were painted countless butterflies.
Each one appeared trapped in a spider's web, struggling to escape.
Before the screen sat a woman.
Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders and chest, some strands curling all the way to the floor.
Her red eyes held a mixture of disdain, boredom, and amusement.
She lazily exhaled a long stream of smoke.
Between her fingers was a brass pipe nearly half her body length.
Her appearance matched her bold personality perfectly.
Her kimono hung loosely open, revealing a Western-style garment underneath that exposed the full curve of her chest.
Her waist was impossibly thin—clearly the result of tight corsetry hidden beneath the fabric.
And there was more.
Even seated, her height was obvious.
Her crossed leg bent sharply, her knee angled upward with provocative elegance.
Her kimono hem was short enough that any larger movement might reveal what lay beneath the shadows.
The woman's age was impossible to determine.
Her expression carried the maturity of experience, while her face looked remarkably youthful.
Behind her head was a small bun, explaining the uneven length of her hair.
And on her long legs—
She wore fishnet stockings.
Something utterly out of place in the Rukongai.
"Yo."
The smoke from her pipe slowly faded.
The scent of alcohol replaced it.
Around her lay a chaotic pile of bottles—sake, beer, even whiskey clearly originating from the World of the Living.
Some were empty.
Others hadn't even been opened.
"Student from Shin'ō Academy."
The woman tapped the pipe lightly against a porcelain dish, scattering ash like snow.
With the motion, her clothing shifted along her curves.
"I'm the owner of Yoshiwara."
"Ihara Naa."
"People on the street usually call me the Grand Magistrate."
The amusement in her smile deepened.
"If you don't mind…"
"Why don't you introduce yourself?"