Chapter 185: Condolences
So, with his current level of ability, did Matsushita Yusuke actually have anything he could put on the table against Yamamoto?
Oh, he had them. Plenty of them.
The only question now was how to choose.
Too many cards, if anything. He leaned back with quiet satisfaction at that thought.
Of course, given Yamamoto's unreasonable scale of power, the options Yusuke could realistically pick from were limited to just a few.
Beyond that...
This wasn't a final decisive showdown. As a probing engagement, he couldn't start by revealing everything at once.
He needed to combine them carefully. No going all-in from the opening move.
Matsushita Yusuke furrowed his brow with an expression of genuine concern.
Anxiety. Real, genuine anxiety.
There was something very roguelike about the whole situation. You cleared the easy mode, and congratulations, you've advanced to hard mode. Now clear it with multiple restrictions active. Reduced HP cap. Buffed enemy difficulty. Enjoy.
He kept turning it over, and eventually drifted into sleep somewhere in the middle of it.
A few days passed. Foggy or clear, it didn't matter. Time slipped through quickly either way.
Soon.
The appointed day was close.
On that particular morning, Sasakibe Chojiro was doing something unusual. He was already fully dressed and standing outside the Captain-General's office door at around four in the morning.
His expression was solemn. Eyes slightly closed. None of his usual composed ease visible on his face.
Sasakibe stood in silence, still as a stone, patient as a sculpture. About ten minutes passed before sounds from inside the office finally reached him, and he allowed himself a small reaction.
He opened his eyes as Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni emerged, fully dressed, his white beard combed neatly.
"Captain..."
The old man leaned on his staff. His expression carried something less composed than usual, a weight that looked like old feeling.
"Yes. Let's go."
Sasakibe stepped back half a step, let Yamamoto pass, then shook out the purple blanket he had been carrying and moved to drape it over Yamamoto's shoulders.
The blanket was almost there when the old man spoke without turning.
"Leave it. I haven't aged to the point of needing something like that to keep warm."
"But time spares no one, Captain. If this were years past, your beard wouldn't be this white."
"The body may age. The heart doesn't. The flame in my chest has never cooled."
"That truly is something."
Between them was a relationship of superior and subordinate, and also of something more: old companions who had seen each other through a thousand years of everything that could be seen.
If you were looking for the captain and vice-captain pair with the closest and most nuanced bond in the current Gotei 13, these two would certainly be among them.
A thousand years together had long since made each completely familiar with the other's presence.
They exchanged small, quiet words and walked slowly through Squad 1's long corridor. It was still early. Most of Seireitei was asleep, undisturbed, nowhere near the hour of waking.
Even Squad 1, the center of the Gotei 13 and the literal heart of all political power within it, was as quiet as anywhere else at this hour.
This outing was not something Yamamoto had wanted anyone else present for. Him and Sasakibe. That was enough.
They left the barracks, passed through the gate, and walked slowly in the direction of the Rukongai.
The journey itself was not complicated. They had made it so many times over the years that both of them could find the way without thinking.
Only.
The closer they got to the destination, the slower Yamamoto's steps became.
Sasakibe noticed. He said nothing.
As an aide, he would never unconditionally accept every decision Yamamoto made. But today, uniquely, he would say nothing that pushed back.
Today was different.
"Chojiro..."
"Yes, Captain."
"How many years have we been making this visit?"
"Nine hundred and eighty-seven, Captain."
So long.
Even someone of his age, famous for having outlasted more years than most could count, could not hold back a quiet, weary sigh at the weight of that number.
Those who had fallen were long gone. Even their graves, and whatever traces had once remained, were gone by now.
What stood in that place was something like a village.
Many years ago, Sasakibe had once raised the question of whether to relocate the people living there.
Yamamoto had given it careful thought, and in the end, refused.
Those who have already passed, we should not continue to disturb the spirit bodies who live here now. They have their own lives. And we have our own work to do.
The same principle as the words he had spoken to Ichigo Kurosaki, once. Yamamoto applied that discipline to himself without exception.
A man of consistent word and action. Rigid and serious, genuinely so, in both.
The two stood at the edge of the village now, looking from a distance toward that place. Neither made any particular gesture. They simply stood in silence, watching.
Sasakibe stood behind the Captain-Commander, watching his back.
As Yamamoto had said.
It had been too long.
In the old days, he would have called on other companions, brought his best students, and conducted a proper solemn ceremony the way it deserved.
Over several hundred years, that had gradually been simplified to something more like a quiet walk.
Rather than standing there mourning with tears for faces from the distant past, it was better to raise a cup and use the occasion to appreciate what remained.
Time kept moving. Until now.
These days, Yamamoto had learned to simplify everything. The ceremony reduced to pure remembrance.
All the elaborate ritual had ever really been for was to let the living understand. If it was simply a matter of quietly thinking of those who had passed, that act carried no cost at all.
Arrive. Be silent. Leave.
That was the whole process now.
Sasakibe didn't know how Yamamoto was feeling. In a certain sense, there was no way to know.
The Captain-Commander's inner state had always been like this, and Sasakibe's task was simply to do his work properly and offer help where it was needed.
That was what an aide's support was meant to be.
"Chojiro..."
"I'm here."
At those words, Sasakibe stepped quickly forward, one hand reaching into his robes.
He drew out a bottle of aged sake. One of Yamamoto's prized vintages. On ordinary days he would never open it for himself, reserving it for moments like this: a small quiet sip, offered in memory of companions from long ago.
He stepped forward.
And just as he was about to reach the Captain-Commander's side...
Something changed.