Mono no Aware

by Saranel

As a Shinigami, he was taught to respect the cycle of life and death. As a scientist, he learned to accept the transience of all things subject to inevitable entropy and decay. As a man, he fought to hold on to the few constants in his ever-shifting world. An Urahara & Yoruichi character study, from childhood to the end of the Fake Karakura Town arc.

11. Ch10: Apotheosis

A/N:I couldn't find a military hierarchy that corresponds exactly to what we're given in canon for the Onmitsukidō, so the lesser ranks used here are a bit of a mish-mash from various sources. The whole thing is up on tumblr if you wanna take a look.

A psychological evaluation takes place in the second scene, and while psychology did exist at the time, it was not as advanced as its modern counterpart. I tried to keep it simple, so I hope you'll excuse the anachronisms. This scene also gave me the most trouble out of the whole chapter (can't for the life of me figure out why), so instead of the boring crap it originally was, I went for something a little different, format-wise. Hopefully you'll enjoy it and not find it gimmicky.

There is also a bit of real-life history thrown in this instalment. When researching the state of Japan in the 1773-1776 period, I came across certain political circumstances in Nagasaki that were far too tempting to ignore. There are many cultural notes already, so look to a comprehensive segment on tumblr for this part. My sincerest apologies to the memories of the real-life officials and other people I used to my heart's content in this chapter (Wikipedia had their actual names, I couldn't resist!)

There are four planned major moments in this story I've been most looking forward to writing. Milestones, if you will, either character or plot-related. This chapter, along with its companion, the next one, is the first of the four. Enjoy.

Cultural notes:

Chabudai: A short-legged table used as a study table, dinner table or what have you. Which means I dun goofed when I kept describing such tables in previous chapters as kotatsu, because the kotatsu is a far more modern invention, specifically designed to also serve as a heating device. I'll go back and edit this as soon as I can.

Ayako: Japanese female first name. Depending on the kanji used, it can mean either color, design, or kimono design (aya), and child (ko). Here it's spelled 絢子, meaning 'kimono design child.' The reason for this choice will become pretty obvious once you get to the use of the name in-chapter.

"Tsuppane, Benihime": The fourth of Benihime's known shikai abilities, which translates into 'Spurn.' It's the move Kisuke uses against Yammy to nullify his attack. Note that while it's the fourth one revealed in canon, in my story, it's only the third one Kisuke has unlocked, after Nake and Chikasumi no Tate (the shield).

Soul Sleep/Binding Chain: The two focal points of the body for Soul Reaper powers. The Soul Sleep is the source, and the Binding Chain the boost to spiritual power. They are mentioned when Byakuya first fights Ichigo, leaving him (temporarily) powerless. Given where he strikes Ichigo, I assumed that the two spots are in the abdomen and the middle of the chest, respectively.

Gaten/Hōten: Ukitake mentions these two medical substances when Yoruichi knocks out Ichigo to keep him from engaging Byakuya at the bridge. There is no further explanation given, other than the fact that they're both tranquilizers.

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CHAPTER 10: Apotheosis

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APRIL 1ST, 128 B.H.I., THIRTEENTH DIVISION BARRACKS, COURT OF PURE SOULS

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"…sign here aaaaand here."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kisuke shut his bleary eyes, sighing.

Just the other day, a comprehensive schedule of his first day in service of the Thirteen had arrived by mail. One particular detail had immediately jumped out at him: the explicit instructions to report to the barracks at 6 am, when orientation wasn't meant to begin until 10.

It was all becoming crystal clear now.

If he had to use a single phrase to summarize his day so far, it would be Hurry up and wait. Joining the Thirteen Divisions entailed a staggering amount of paperwork, as it turned out. He had spent his morning having senior officers bark at him to get moving, only to arrive at the end of yet another serpentine line of new recruits, all carrying the same beleaguered air about them.

Things had started going south from early on, when he had been ordered to report to the infirmary. After his spiritual signature had been recorded, he had spent a full hour being poked and prodded in an exhaustive array of medical examinations. Once declared healthy he was sent about his merry way.

And knee-deep into bureaucratic Hell.

Hurry up, wait in line, fill in a stack of forms. Repeat ad nauseam for two torturous hours, as he registered his weapon, had her spiritual signature recorded, then registered for board and usage of the many dojos spread throughout the Division grounds. He had signed his name so many times that the ideograms no longer resembled words.

Inside the cramped administration office, under the collective glares of the long line of recruits behind him, Kisuke sped through the last batch of paperwork. A lanky, bespectacled clerk sat behind the overlarge desk. Head propped up on his fist, he gazed down at the paper before Kisuke, his eyes glazed over. He had long ago lost interest in giving any instructions, but it mattered little now.

One last form concerning living quarters, and Kisuke would be done for good. He had hoped this might be an optional procedure for someone already in possession of a primary residence, but alas, being assigned a room was evidently mandatory. Unless on leave, all members of a Division were required to be within reachable distance. Still he wasn't about to complain. Not when light was finally, finally making its shy appearance at the end of the tunnel.

He was one step, one single kanji away from freedom, when the slam of a palm upon the form shook the whole desk. Kisuke started, glancing up just as the clerk –his eyes now perfectly focused- slid the paper over to his side.

"Aw shiiiiiit… You're an officer?" the clerk said, looking at Kisuke as though he had personally insulted his entire family.

"Er… Yes?" Kisuke said, his stomach sinking. A fat droplet of ink free-fell off his aloft brush, staining the oak desk.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a transfer, man?" the clerk said, sighing. "That's a whole different fo—"

"Not a transfer," Kisuke said in a rush. "I'm new."

"Oh… Well good," the clerk said. Then promptly crumpled up the paper, along with Kisuke's hopes and dreams of escaping this purgatory.

"You just said—!"

"It's good 'cause we don't have to start all over," the clerk said. He leaned back in his chair, stretching to reach for the filing cabinet behind him. "Still need a different form for the actual room registration. Officer Quarters are separate from the rest."

A loud, collective groan rose up from the recruits first in line after Kisuke. It was closely followed by a ripple of whispers, as those farther down the queue tried to piece together what had just happened.

"Hey, man, it's not my fault," the clerk said, addressing the recruits who were starting to complain for the delay. "Tell it to Mr. Overachiever, here."

Wellthatoughta make me popular.

Feeling the penetrating gazes of thirty or so people make a sieve out of his back, Kisuke ventured a cautious look over his shoulder. "Hi." They did not look like they were in a forgiving mood.

As the clerk went about fishing out a new form, Kisuke decided to stop fretting and just accept his fate. A few extra minutes wouldn't kill him, and there was plenty to entertain himself with as he waited. Namely picturing Yoruichi's reaction, if she'd heard that he had just been called an overachiever.

Her own first day in the Onmitsukidō was likely far more hectic, but he would have no way of knowing for another fortnight. They had met up for an early breakfast that morning, and to his surprise, had shown up in all black, looking put off. Apparently, she wouldn't be able to don her new uniform for a while, not until she had completed the new recruit boot camp. Two weeks of no outside contact, little rest, and a training program so rigorous and psychologically taxing, it would make seasoned Soul Reapers openly weep in despair.

On second thought, perhaps it wasn't the best of ideas to complain over his bureaucratic woes, or anything whatsoever, when they would be exchanging first day stories in a couple of weeks.

"Aaaand done," the clerk said, when Kisuke filled in the last few fields of the form. "Oh and, since you're an officer, you need to head over to Lieutenant Matsuo's office before orientation."

"Where is—?"

"Out the corridor, down to the left, second door on your right."

"Thank you."

Free at last from queues and other tedious minutiae, Kisuke hightailed down the corridor to the Lieutenant's office. He gave the door a discreet rap, and waited until he heard Matsuo's voice granting him entry from within. He slid the door open, stepping inside.

Matsuo Megumi's workplace was significantly larger than the registration office had been. Much like her own appearance, it was meticulous to a fault, clean and ordered. No books out of place in the bookcase behind her or otherwise strewn about, paperwork neatly stacked in small, manageable piles on the desk, and a few choice pieces of artwork decorating the walls.

She looked up from her work as soon as he entered, a genial smile on her lips. "There you are, Urahara," she said, getting up. "Just in time."

"Lieutenant," Kisuke said, bowing to her as she approached.

"Matsuo will do," she said, returning the gesture. "I was very pleased to see you accepted our offer. I'm looking forward to working with you."

"As am I," Kisuke said.

"We are not waiting on anyone else," she said, heading for the door. "So we'd better get going; need to check this off the list before your orientation begins." She led Kisuke out into the corridor again, then began making her way farther down. "Since you're our newest senior officer, I wanted you to meet the Captain first," she said. "Mind you, it won't be a long visit. Captain Ukitake is often indisposed, but today happened to be one of his better days. I figured I'd schedule you in."

Some anxiety aside —Captain Ukitake was a living legend after all- Kisuke was glad for Matsuo's initiative. Despite her own undoubtedly heavy workload, she had been courteous enough to make some time for him. She was clearly used to running a tight ship, even on a day as frantic as today.

"Thank you, Matsuo," Kisuke said, following her along the way.

Matsuo came to a stop at the end of the corridor. "When you're done, head back to the Head Administration office for orientation. You remember where it is?"

Kisuke nodded. "I do."

"Good. Go on, then," she said, motioning toward the door, then returned to her office in a brisk, but measured pace.

Kisuke took a deep breath in, readying himself for the meeting, and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

As the shōji doors split open, Kisuke was greeted by the sight of Captain Ukitake sitting behind a narrow, rectangular chabudai teeming with paperwork. Though his office was outfitted with a far bigger desk, complete with a heaving bookcase and a specifically designated seating area for guests, the Captain seemed to be more comfortable on the floor. Contrary to Lieutenant Matsuo's office, his was littered with plants and assorted knick-knacks laid out on the many cabinets and tables. The overall result wasn't cluttered, but rather had a cozy, careworn feel to it.

Over his robes, the Captain wore a thick winter haori slung across his shoulders. He looked pale, having recently recovered from an illness according to Matsuo, but otherwise appeared to be well-disposed. He set the cup he had been holding down by an elegant, ceramic kettle, then turned to his visitor.

Kisuke took a few steps in, immediately falling down on one knee, facing the pristine tatami mats. "Urahara Kisuke, Fifth Seat Officer, reporting for duty, sir."

"Ah, Urahara. I was expecting you," the Captain said in an affable tone. "Please, do come in."

Kisuke raised his head off the floor and gave the Captain a nod. "Thank you. It is an honor to meet you, Captain Ukitake." He closed the shōji behind him and hastened forward.

"Take a seat," Captain Ukitake said with a smile, motioning at the pillow on the other side of the chabudai. "Might I offer you some green tea?"

"That would be welcome, thank you, sir," Kisuke said as he sat down across him.

It hadn't been immediately noticeable upon entry, but sitting barely an arm's reach away from Captain Ukitake, Kisuke could now fully appreciate it, the quiet strength humming within the frail body. He knew the Captain was actively keeping his immense spiritual pressure under control, and Kisuke couldn't help but envy the ease that came with centuries of practice. To Captain Ukitake, a task like this was effortless, as natural and subconscious as breathing.

What caught Kisuke's attention as the Captain went about pouring him a cup of tea, was that the man's loose hair wasn't grey, as Kisuke had always assumed, but pure, uniform white, coming in stark contrast with his pitch-black eyebrows. It made for an odd combination, especially on someone so youthful-looking.

The Captain pushed the steaming cup toward Kisuke, then reached for the top folder on his pile of paperwork, laying it open before him. "Now then…" he said, his green eyes skimming over what Kisuke could now see was his personal file. "Urahara Kisuke, one hundred and seventy two, graduated from the Academy with honors in only two years. Very impressive."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Excellent kidō skills, I see," he said. "But Megumi also tells me your hand-to-hand practical was quite a spectacle. I am sorry I missed it; her report mentions you gave Shihōin Yoruichi a run for her money. That tells me all I need to know."

Through the spiraling steams emanating off the cup, Kisuke met the Captain's dazzling smile and felt the back of his neck grow warmer. Good grief. Itotallyget it now, he thought. His former classmates' wolfish grins, the yearning looks, the saccharine proclamations of love over the striking Captain: they all finally made sense.

"It says here your primary residence used to be the Shihōin Estate. You're not related, are you?"

The unexpected reminder of his alienation with Lord Shihōin had an instantly sobering effect, driving all distracting thoughts away from Kisuke's mind.

"No, sir" he said in a croak, trying to keep his watering eyes in check after taking a sip of scalding tea. "My mother was councilwoman to Lord Shihōin Ken'ichi. We relocated from our old home when she was hired, and lived there up until her passing last year."

"Oh?" said the Captain, glancing down at Kisuke's file again. "Urahara Kaede? You know, I do believe I met her once, during a visit to the estate. You have my condolences."

Kisuke remembered the incident all too well. To his amusement, he also remembered foolishly thinking at the time that Captain Ukitake was most likely newly inducted, and not awfully talented. "I appreciate that, Captain."

"Highly gifted Soul Reaper," Captain Ukitake said. "I can see where you inherited your prowess in kidō from. A shame she didn't follow up her studies with a career in the Thirteen. It seems your father did, though: Third Division. Well then," he said, closing the file shut and setting down his cup. Hands resting upon the surface of the table, the Captain joined his fingers together. "Yours is a promising resume, Urahara."

"Thank you, sir. I look forward to serving you and the Thirteenth Division."

"Your contribution will be very much welcome," the Captain said, his former genial expression giving way to a far more strained one. "I am sorry to say that you are joining us at a particularly trying period. I assume you're well aware of the current state of affairs regarding the Quincies?"

Was he, ever. "Yes, Captain," Kisuke said. "With your permission… There have been rumors, claiming we're headed toward a serious conflict. May I ask if there's any truth to them?"

"I'm afraid it is no longer a question of if, but a question of when. Negotiations have not worked in our favor."

"I see."

"I am not unsympathetic to the plight of the Quincies," Captain Ukitake said. "Their defenses against our shared enemy are meager when compared to our own. But they have failed to acknowledge the damage they are causing to the balance of the worlds, and we cannot afford to allow the pain of a few direct the future of many."

"I agree, sir."

"As I said, you have joined us at a troubling time," the Captain said. "I suspect it won't be long before we're forced to take drastic measures to prevent a catastrophe. To that end, I do hope you'll prove to be as remarkable in action as you are on paper." Tearing his gaze away for a moment, the Captain glanced at the clock on the wall above his desk. "Unfortunately, we must cut this short. I chose a highly inconvenient time to fall ill, and need to tend to a number of pressing matters that came up during my absence."

"Of course, sir," Kisuke said, setting his cup down and rising up to his feet. "I'll take my leave."

"It was a pleasure, Urahara. Welcome to the Thirteenth Division."

Kisuke fell into a deep bow. "Captain," he said, then exited the office.

Walking down the corridor, he could feel Benihime growing heavier against his hip. A ripple went through the blade, one that escaped the confines of her sheath and reverberated all throughout him, as his companion made no effort to conceal her exhilaration over the latest news.

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- Page 1 of 9 -

ONMITSUKIDŌ CANDIDATE ASSESSMENT FORM

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FAMILY NAME: Shihōin

GIVEN NAME: Yoruichi

AGE: 172

WEIGHT: 40 kgs

HEIGHT: 156 cms

Preliminary Evaluation: Recruit was top scorer in entrance examinations. Peak physical condition, with small weakness in throwing technique. Recommended training from ground up to correct form.

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- Page 3 of 9 -

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Overall Physical Assessment: Recruit displayed remarkable skill on all four disciplines. Commendable stamina, exceptional resilience. Performed admirably in teamwork scenarios on both roles, though more comfortable in leadership position. Commendable leadership skills, with few marked incidents of questionable behavior (see page 2, par 4; page 2, par 7). Commendable strategic skills, exceptional adaptability.

Hand-to-hand Combat: (1) Exceptional

Flash Stepping: (1) Exceptional

Weapon Mastery: (2) Commendable. Marked aptitude for small weapons. Recommended referral to Instructor Ueda for more thorough training.

Kidō Mastery: (1) Excellent. Exceptional control, commendable creativity, excellent range, exceptional effectiveness.

Additional Notes: Slightly underweight, recommended weight gain of 2-5 Kgs.

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- Page 5 of 9 -

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SDT (Sleep Deprivation Training) Assessment: Recruit completed SDT course in full. Reported microsleep episodes began to occur on the fifty third (53) hour mark. Resorted to non-recommended methods to maintain alertness, though reported incidents were few. Commendable self-control well into the sixty ninth (69) hour mark, with few incidents of note (see INDEX B for full transcript of post-SDT evaluation).

Stamina: (1) Exceptional (see attached document on page 6 for pre and post-SDT physical examination)

Mental Acuity: (1) Excellent.

Memory Retention: (1) Excellent (see INDEX B for full transcript of post-SDT evaluation and attached document on page 7 for examination scores)

Self-Control: (2) Commendable

Responsiveness: (2) Commendable

Astereognosis Test: Passed

Overall Mental Assessment: Recruit performed exceptionally under stress in many given scenarios. Displayed mental acuity even at the latest stages of SDT course. Was the only recruit to reach the seventy two (72) hour mark displaying acceptable responsiveness.

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INDEX B

POST-SDT MENTAL EVALUATION

Full Transcript

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Initial Assessment: Recruit entered the examination room displaying characteristic signs of impaired hand-eye coordination. Movement was slow but acceptably steady. Eye focus was highly erratic, though notably not entirely absent. Recruit assumed semi-upright sitting position, with a marked tendency to hold on to left arm.

[START OF SESSION]

PHYSICIAN: Have a seat, please. I am under obligation to inform you that this evaluation is being transcribed [physician indicates one of two assisting nurses]. Shall we begin?

RECRUIT: [recruit nods]

PHYSICIAN: So… Seventy hours. You seem to be holding up relatively well. How are you feeling?

RECRUIT: [recruit focuses eyes on physician and lowers voice] How am I feeling? Are you kidding me you, you [unintelligible]? You wanna know how— I want to tackle you and [unintelligible] with that tacky kettle and then I'm going to yank the handle off and jam it up your [censored] that's how I'm [censored] feeling.

[recruit does not appear to realize she has spoken out loud]

RECRUIT: [in normal register voice] Fine.

PHYSICIAN: No hallucinations?

RECRUIT: [recruit visibly hesitates]

[recruit experiences episode of microsleep]

PHYSICIAN: Officer?

[recruit awakens displaying minor disorientation]

PHYSICIAN: You fell asleep for a few seconds there.

RECRUIT: No hallunations. Hallunic— Hallucinations.

PHYSICIAN: Microsleep episodes are inevitable by this stage. But you remained upright, that is good. Can you please repeat the word you were asked to memorize before the start of the session?

RECRUIT: [recruit frowns, presumably in thought]

PHYSICIAN: Take your time.

RECRUIT: [long pause] Sardonic.

PHYSICIAN: Very good. [physician lowers voice] How is your hearing?

RECRUIT: Fine.

PHYSICIAN: [in low voice still] Please repeat this list: dagger, kettle, kimono, glass.

RECRUIT: Dagger. Kettle. [short pause] Kimono, glass.

PHYSICIAN: [in normal register again] I'd like to talk about this incident that occurred on April 5th. During a team exercise, a peer accused of –and I quote- 'coasting by on your name.'

RECRUIT: Yes?

PHYSICIAN: You were quite visibly angered at the accusation.

RECRUIT: I was leading. Any conc— corn— [recruit shuts eyes momentarily]

PHYSICIAN: Concerns?

RECRUIT: —Yes. Concerns should be voiced at the end. I was not endangering the… the mission. But his challenging me would have.

PHYSICIAN: You do not believe there was any merit to the accusation?

RECRUIT: No. Nor did the rest of my team.

PHYSICIAN: Is there something you would have done differently in retrospect?

RECRUIT: Not have let it get to me. Would still shut him down.

PHYSICIAN: Is there perhaps another incident throughout your training that you feel you handled poorly?

RECRUIT: [recruit frowns, presumably in thought] Infiltration. On the… [short pause] ninth day. Should have broken up team in two, not three. With better time… timing we could've completed it faster.

PHYSICIAN: What do you feel is your greatest weakness?

[recruit experiences episode of microsleep]

PHYSICIAN: Officer?

[recruit awakens displaying minor disorientation]

RECRUIT: My…?

PHYSICIAN: Your greatest weakness.

RECRUIT: Stubborn.

PHYSICIAN: In what sense?

RECRUIT: Not letting go easily. Even when I should.

PHYSICIAN: I see. [physician takes notes] Place your dominant arm to the side, please.

RECRUIT: [recruits lowers right arm]

PHYSICIAN: Now, without looking down, I'd like you to give me the name and describe the purpose of the object you will be handed.

[recruit is handed a key by assistant nurse]

RECRUIT: [recruit paws the object, frowning] [long pause] Opens doors. The purpose.

PHYSICIAN: Very good. And the object's name?

RECRUIT: Cal— [recruit shuts eyes tightly] Key. Key.

PHYSICIAN: Excellent.

[assistant nurse retrieves the key]

PHYSICIAN: [physician pauses while watching recruit] Are you digging your nails into your arm?

RECRUIT: Yes.

PHYSICIAN: Please stop, you're bleeding. Nurse, could we…? [physician indicates recruit]

[evaluation continues while assistant nurse is providing first aid]

PHYSICIAN: Your overall memory retention over the course of this training has been quite stellar. I see here your written examination scores were higher than what might be expected past the 48 hour mark. Excellent mental acuity, too. I see, however, that there might be room for improvement concerning self-control. Do you agree?

RECRUIT: Guess so.

PHYSICIAN: You look angry.

RECRUIT: Tired. Harder to… [recruit gestures vaguely] Better when I'm rested.

PHYSICIAN: I do believe that. Though I was not referring to the Sleep Deprivation training alone.

RECRUIT: [recruit clenches fists then nods after pause]

PHYSICIAN: If there is one aspect of your character you could improve upon, what would it be?

RECRUIT: Stubborn. Already answered.

PHYSICIAN: Excuse me?

RECRUIT: Same question before. You respaced… phrase… Different words.

PHYSICIAN: Well-spotted. [physician takes notes] This concludes our session. Please wait outside to be escorted to your final physical evaluation, after which your sleep deprivation training course will be complete.

RECRUIT: Thank you. [recruit leaves the examination room]

[END OF SESSION]

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APRIL 15TH, 128 B.H.I., CORRECTIONS COPRS DORMITORIES, ONMITSUKIDŌ COMPLEX, COURT OF PURE SOULS – 10 PM

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There was something slick and wet below her cheek. Both the sensation and the smell was unpleasant, and Yoruichi groaned, pushing herself away from the wet spot. Rolling onto her back, she swept a lock of hair away from the sticky corner of her mouth, then reached up to soothe her throbbing temple with one hand.

Ughhhhhhhhhh...

Her stinging eyes were greeted with thick darkness as she slid them open, and it was then that her body acted of its own accord. First Call. Did I miss it? Fuck, fuck, why didn't anyone wake me up? Sitting up on her futon in a rush, she began to yank her top off, only to find a piece of paper shoved up against her nose when she tried to pull the top over her head.

The hell…?

Pulling her clothes down again, she conjured up a small sphere of light, trying to get her bearings. The first thing she noticed was that she was not in the boot camp barracks, but in a vaguely familiar room. Looking down to her chest, she saw the piece of paper that had brushed up against her face just a moment ago. Someone had pinned it to her chest. She tugged it free, holding it up under the light of the sphere, her eyes squinting.

your okaY boot camp over. SLEeP

Your okay? Your? Good grief, if she didn't already recognize her own –albeit messy- handwriting, she would be wondering who had left this message for her.

The sight of the note brought forth a salvo of memories, and Yoruichi slowly began to piece together the timeline of events. The first eleven days of physical training had lived up to her expectations: exhausting, challenging, but not nearly as onerous as the mental training had been. The last three days of the program were dedicated entirely to Sleep Deprivation Training, which was around the time Yoruichi's recall began to falter.

She had very little memory of what had transpired after the end of the first day, and she had absolutely no recollection of being brought back to the Onmitsukidō grounds, away from the undisclosed location of the boot camp. At some point she had obviously penned this note, knowing she would have trouble with disorientation upon waking up.

Your. Just how tired was I? The gigantic saliva spot on her pillow –for now she could identify it for what it was- was ample enough answer.

The one detail she did remember with perfect clarity, was that she had the entire week off before commencing her formal duties in the Onmitsukidō. She planned on spending the first half in bed, and the other half eating to her heart's content, after living on the bland –Correction: nutritious!- rations served in the boot camp mess hall. Perhaps she would even combine the two and just alternate between sleeping and pigging out in bed.

Turning her pillow over, she sank back into her futon, ready to go back to sleep, when her eye fell upon a strange shadow cast against the wall.

A Hell Butterfly –her Hell Butterfly- was perched on the surface of the nightstand, gently fluttering its wings. Yoruichi frowned. A message? But I'm on leave. Who would me calling on me now? Slipping her hand out from under the covers, she held her index finger aloft. The Hell Butterfly landed on her knuckle, and out of the small, delicate body came Kisuke's voice:

"Hey."

It was a while before Yoruichi realized that was the extent of the message, and when she did, she burst into laughter. Only Kisuke would ever think of using Hell Butterflies as a chatting device. Her heart swelled at the sound of a familiar voice; she only wished the damn fool had left a longer message. After two weeks in isolation with strangers, she ached for a real conversation –item five on her list after sleep, sleep, food, sleep- and his was a particularly soothing voice. When he wasn't acting like an idiot, at least.

Fourteen whole days and all he could say was Hey?

Well… Two can play at this game.

Bringing her index finger closer, Yoruichi whispered Hi, then sent the Hell Butterfly on its way, smiling.

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AUGUST 12TH, 128 B.H.I., THIRTEENTH DIVISION OUTPOST, NAGASAKI BAY, JAPAN

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Captain Ukitake had told him it was only matter of when before Soul Society declared war on their Quincy enemies. The when came sooner than Kisuke had expected and the beginnings of summer found the Thirteen Divisions officially engaged in full-on conflicts throughout Japan.

With little experience under his belt, it took Kisuke two long months to convince Lieutenant Matsuo of his rightful place. Not on the outskirts of Rukongai, keeping feeble Hollows at bay, nor elsewhere in the Material World on generic patrol duty, but on the warfront. He suspected it had only taken Matsuo so long to transfer him as an attempt to curb his arrogance, to quote her. Still, she must have found it increasingly difficult to come up with convincing excuses, when he would complete his missions within a scant few hours of their assignment.

And so by mid-August, after a stern preparatory lecture, Kisuke found himself relocated deep within the green mountains along Nagasaki Bay, in the outpost of the Thirteenth Division.

"You think they're hiding in Dejima?" Kisuke asked Matsuo, as they lay flat by a ledge overlooking the bay. His eyes were trained on the city of Nagasaki in the distance.

"All the intel we've been able to gather points in that direction," she said. "So now our problem is—"

"No outsiders allowed in or out of Dejima," Kisuke said, nodding. "And if the Quincies are hiding there, we can't infiltrate the compound. Not without revealing ourselves."

"Which they'll use to their advantage by alerting the humans to our presence, something they know we want to avoid," Matsuo said. "So you see the conundrum."

Kisuke nodded, brushing a piece of foliage away from his forehead to try and get a better look at Dejima Island.

Under Japan's isolationist policy, Nagasaki was the sole port where foreign trade was allowed. According to Matsuo, the few imports were limited to Chinese and Dutch merchandise. Not only was trade carefully regulated, but the merchants themselves were also forbidden from setting foot in Nagasaki. Dejima, an artificial, fan-shaped island, had been set up right by the port to house the Dutch merchants who sold their wares. But just as they not allowed to enter Japanese territory, so were the locals prohibited from entering Dejima. The few exceptions were cooks, interpreters, carpenters, clerks, and the government officials tasked with inspecting incoming ships and overseeing the transfer of goods to and fro the island.

As the Tokugawa Shogunate loosened the restrictions on the import of western knowledge, the small Dutch trading post flourished into a center of medicine and the sciences. Many a samurai visited the island under strict supervision, in order to become learned in the so-called Dutch Studies. With their scientific and mercantile services, the Dutch had managed to earn the Shogunate's trust over the years. As a result, the Japanese applied only few restrictions in the Westerners' daily life, otherwise leaving them to their own devices.

When it came to hiding places, the Quincies had chosen theirs with wisdom.

"There are very few times within a year when there is any sort of mobility to and from Dejima," Matsuo said. "Twice a year when a new ship arrives, and once a year on November, when the old Kapitan is relieved of his duties. He is tasked with traveling to Edo to pay his respects to the Shogun, and a new Kapitan gets chosen."

"Kapitan?"

In response, Matsuo slid a piece of parchment across the grass over to Kisuke. A quick glance told him it contained a summary of whatever information had been gleaned by observing Dejima over the months, as well as a list of noted officials in the area. Topping the list was the name of the Nagasaki Governor, Kurihara Morisada, and right below, the name of the highest official of the Dutch trading post. "Da… Danieru… Arumen— Good grief, that's his name?" Kisuke said. "Isn't there some sort of title—?"

"Keep reading."

"Daaaa whatever, Op… Opperu…hu— Kapitan it is."

Matsuo chuckled. "We call him Kapitan Dan," she said. "So that's about it. Read that document and you have been officially caught up. Welcome to the glamorous life of spying on Dejima day and night."

While it was true that Dejima appeared to be a dead-end for the time being, it was an instrumental location in the fight against Quincies. If their intelligence was correct, it was the hiding place of the ringleaders, the radicals who had provided the spark for the country-wide revolt against Soul Society. The war would never truly be over as long as they lived, free to guide future generations into renewed uprisings.

"What about sending someone into the city?" Kisuke said as Matsuo pushed herself up onto her feet.

"We've all tried our hand at extracting information from the locals, but there was nothing of note," she said. "Like I said, there is no interaction between them and the Dutch."

"Mind if I give it a shot?" Kisuke said.

Ear trained on their conversation the entire time, Nishimura Katsuo, the division's Fourth Seat, perked up at the sound of that. "Yes, excellent; let the rookie go."

Both he and Ito Benjirō, the division's Third Seat, had been lounging about on their futons under the small, makeshift shelter, studying a small mountain of paperwork in an effort to formulate some sort of plan to drive the Quincies out of hiding.

"I don't suppose your enthusiasm is in any way related to the fact that it was your turn today?" Matsuo said as she made her way over to them.

Nishimura's brown eyes widened in feigned offense. It made his sharp facial features stand out even more, giving him the appearance of a particularly affronted owl. "Well I never!" said the black-haired man. "I only meant that he's new; he has to learn sometime, doesn't he?"

"That he does," Matsuo said, letting out a sigh. "Get yourself into a gigai, Urahara. Time to tour the city."

Almost two hours later, Kisuke was clad in a plain gray yukata with a map in hand, mingling with the crowd weaving in and out of the port-side marketplace. In the distance, he could make out the road leading to a canopy, where two government officials were stationed. Behind the canopy, the gate led right to the Island of Dejima, and into the Dutch compound.

After perusing the many stands were peddlers sold their foreign spices, tea and produce, Kisuke finally discovered the section of the market that had intrigued him ever since he'd read through the assembled reports: the numerous book stalls.

His resolve was truly tested as one of the store clerks let him leaf through a stunning, illustrated book on anatomy. The price tag was so far beyond the meager stipend he had been issued for the mission, that the only way he could leave the market with it was by whacking the clerk over the head and making a run for it. The book was beautiful enough that he was seriously considering that plan.

"I might be interested in something a little more… recreational," Kisuke said, glancing up from the book. The Shogunate was quite categorical that the only sort of Western influence should be limited to their science. And yet Kisuke had no doubt a number of less 'serious' publications had managed to sneak their way into Nagasaki. Locating a store clerk who had some sort of connection to the black market could be a start.

The clerk cleared his throat, glancing once from side to side, before indicating a section of the stall. The stacks of books there were innocuously labelled Chemistry. Kisuke picked up the top book off the first stack and flipped it open, as per the clerk's discreet gesture. Underneath the fake cover lay a crudely bound, handwritten copy of A Modest Proposal and Other Satirical Works. The original author was foreign. It seemed the copious interpreters stationed in Nagasaki had kept themselves busy outside of their duties within Dejima.

That could be an angle, Kisuke thought. He went through a few volumes, searching for some sort of clue, perhaps an interpreter's coded signature, or any sort of mark on the manuscripts that could lead somewhere. It was during his search that he came across the most mind-bogglingly long title of a novel he had ever seen. Hidden beneath a fake cover containing the theories of one Lavoisier, the true, handwritten cover of the novel read:

The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Of York, Mariner:

Who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an un-inhabited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River of Oroonoque;

Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself.

With An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver'd by Pyrates.

Pyrates? Pirates? Kisuke's face broke into a grin upon sight of the last word. Yoruichi would love this book.

Seeing the look on Kisuke's face, the clerk hurried to wax rhapsodic about the novel's graces. "That is an excellent choice," he said, dropping his voice. "I can't get new copies ordered fast enough. It is beloved by adults and children alike, a marvelous adventure; you will not regret making the purchase."

Kisuke thought of Matsuo's reaction should he return with no more than a copy of fanciful novel he most certainly wasn't authorized to buy with the division's funds. He pictured the lecture he would no doubt get, having already tried her patience by pushing to be transferred to Nagasaki. It was not a good idea to test his luck with her.

Ahhh, screw it. I'll reimburse Matsuo when we get back. He wanted to see the look on Yoruichi's face as she unwrapped this for their birthday this year.

"How much?" he asked the clerk.

"For you, a mere two Shu."

"Two Shu?" Kisuke said, arching an eyebrow. "Really? For a black mar—"

"Okay, okay, fine!" the clerk said, flailing at Kisuke to get him to lower his voice. "One Shu."

For that much, he could've bought a brand new novel, but Kisuke decided not to haggle any further, lest they attract unwanted attention. "One Shu it is," he said, digging inside his pocket for the money bag Matsuo had handed him, rummaging through for a small, rectangular silver coin.

The clerk wore a sour expression as watched him struggle with his money bag, muttering something about being robbed blind. His crabby disposition only changed when his gaze traveled to the back of the market.

Kisuke's eyes followed the clerk's. There was a crowd assembled, and their excited whispers had drawn his attention as well. The many onlookers were blocking the exit to the marketplace, making it impossible to see what was happening outside. "What's that all about?" Kisuke said.

The clerk stood up on a stool, craning his neck and squinting toward the exit. After a moment, his eyebrows shot up, his mouth forming a perfect o. "Ooohhhhh, it's Mametarō!" he said. "I haven't seen her out and about in a while…"

"Mametarō?"

"Nagasaki's loveliest flower," the clerk said with a grin. "A former geisha from Maruyama's Nakano Teahouse. Got herself out of her contract by the age of twenty one. She's rumored to be engaged to Lord Takahashi. We all thought… well…" There was a mercurial grin on the clerk's lips as his words trailed off.

"Thought what?"

"It was no secret the Governor always favored her… I guess one might assume— But that is not to say Lord Takahashi is not deserving of a woman of her station. A fine match, if the rumors are true. Fine, indeed."

The crowd thinned out, and Kisuke was able to feast his own eyes upon the famous Mametarō as she passed by, followed by two servants. He could see why the clerk had referred to her in such a complimenting way. She was a vision in her intricately styled bun, tastefully made up face, and many-layered cinnabar kimono. Its end trailed behind her as she seemed to glide across the street in her tall platform shoes, as though she were stepping on nothing but the surface of a cloud. It was no wonder her kind were considered a moving work of art.

He'd heard of geisha, of course, the unofficial successors to the obsolete oiran. But they were a relatively new brainchild of the Material World, and as such non-existent in Soul Society. It was said they walked the line between artists and courtesans, the more modern permutations of geisha leaning toward the former role while rejecting the latter.

And as the last glimpse of Mametarō's magnificent kimono disappeared across the corner, Kisuke's jaw dropped. This is it. This is our way in. There was one profession Matsuo hadn't mentioned when outlining the list of Japanese persons allowed within the Dutch compound, but it had been noted in the report he'd been given.

His mind going into overdrive, he made a move to leave the stall, before the clerk accosted him. Kisuke paid up and slipped the book at the front of his yukata, hurrying out of the marketplace and rolling out his map.

He needed to get to the Maruyama red-light district immediately.

"My, oh my… Spending the division's money so liberally, stunning an unsuspecting saleswoman, stealing a priceless kimono… Aren't we feeling rebellious today?"

Benihime's drawl made Kisuke cringe as he stepped out of a kimono shop a few minutes later. He couldn't very well stroll into Maruyama's finest teahouses wearing that ratty grey yukata; he would be summarily kicked out. I'm returning the kimono when I'm done, he told Benihime. And I didn't stunher, I just… tweaked her perception a touch.

"Oh don't go excusing yourself; I was impressed."

Kisuke smirked. That was a rather successful memory modification spell, wasn't it?

Benihime's pleased chuckle raised his spirits, and he ran his hands down the exquisite teal kimono and black haori. The intricate weave of the silk alone would likely be enough to grant him entrance, but he wanted to leave no room for error. This was the time to exercise every ounce of his etiquette training from his time in the Shihōin court.

The Maruyama district could have been plucked out of any city in Japan. Its cobblestone streets were lined with shops both small and spacious, green trees, and small carriages loaded with goods. The only notable difference to any other district within a human city, was the abundance of women out and about. With the exception of royalty and female samurai, women in Japan held little power when compared to their male counterparts. However, in pleasure districts throughout the country, it was women themselves who held all the power and set the rules. What few men roamed the streets of Maruyama were either customers of the hundreds of teahouses, or servants to the proprietors of such establishments.

Kisuke had feared he would waste time navigating through the large district to find the Nakano Teahouse, but he needn't have worried. Upon first inquiry, he was given specific directions and told to knock on the back gate of the plum grove.

The teahouse gate was sandwiched between two tall walls that kept the enclosure private to passersby. Kisuke reached up to ring the bells hanging off the tall canopy and waited, for the first time starting to have reservations about what he had already put in motion. Having never set foot within a prostitute house before, he suddenly felt self-conscious, wary he would say the wrong thing, or betray his own inexperience in some fashion. Though the red-light district didn't truly come to life until dark, he wondered whether he would be the sole customer –of sorts- at this hour or not.

Are there actually going to be people… in the adjacent rooms…?

"Are you horrified or intrigued? Sometimes I cannot tell."

Feeling his cheeks burn, Kisuke mentally admonished Benihime for her ill timing and set about fanning his face, trying to calm himself. There was little time for shame; the gate was being opened.

The heavy wooden door creaked ajar, the entrance now flanked by two men clad in dark blue. They wore identical dismissive expressions.

"The teahouse is not open at this hour," said the one on the left.

"You would be welcome to return at—"

"Thank you, gentlemen," Kisuke said, adopting a dignified posture. His voice took on the refined lilt he employed in the presence of people like Captain Ukitake, or Lord Shihōin. "But I am not here to offer my patronage. I would like to speak to the manager of this establishment."

"Concerning?"

Yeesh, here we go; I wasn't expecting two of them.

"How different can it be, really?"

We're about to find out.

Kisuke pulled out the document Matsuo had given him, and just like he had done in the kimono shop earlier, he held it up before the two men. His free hand performed the subtle, somatic component of the memory modification spell. Casting it on a single target was complicated enough; the dexterity required to chain the spell twice was going to be an ambitious task. Thankfully, he'd had the good sense to dress the part, minimizing the amount of work needed to make his bluff believable. Changing their perception of the document alone should do the trick.

"My name is Miura Kiyoshi. I represent the Shogunate and have been dispatched to Nagasaki on a diplomatic mission. I am here on Governor Kurihara's suggestion, and would rather not say more out in the open, if you do not mind," he said.

The two men stared at the document in his hand, by now hopefully confounded enough to perceive it as an official pass bearing the Shogun's rectangular, red seal. Their eyes glazed over and they stood silent for a few seconds, gazes locked upon the mock pass.

At long last, the man on the right regained his full capacities first, then pulled the door wide open. "Please come in, Mr. Miura. We are honored to receive you," he said, as both he and his colleague fell into a deep bow.

Kisuke slipped the document back into the front of his kimono and stepped forward, thanking them.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get more entertaining."

Kisuke suppressed a smirk. He followed the winding stone steps along the elegant garden, fragrant pine trees lining his path. The two men hurried forward, leading him past a small shrine to Inari that stood underneath a tall torii, and over to the beautiful shōji bearing a pine design at the front. One of the men pulled the doors aside and they both entered first, coming to kneel on either side of the entrance as Kisuke walked into the teahouse.

A woman stood at the top of the stairwell that greeted him upon entry, most likely the manager. Once her servants had repeated the information Kisuke had presented them with, she descended the steps daintily, coming to a stop before him. She introduced herself as Madame Murata Chōchō. She was a handsome middle-aged woman; from the healthy sheen in her black updo, the thin wrinkles lining her plump face, her given name, to the very way she held herself, Madame Murata gave Kisuke the impression she had once practiced the same profession as the women she was now in charge of. There was cleverness behind her brown eyes, the kind of streetwise smarts that could only be the result of accumulated experience.

She led Kisuke to her private office just down the corridor, where they both took seats opposite a small table, engaging in idle chit-chat until one of her manservants served them their tea and then quietly excused himself.

"So, to what do we owe the honor of a visit from an esteemed representative of our government, Mr. Miura?" said Madame Murata.

Relieved not to see nor hear any customers in the vicinity, Kisuke found some of his confidence returning and slipped back into his role with ease. "His Excellency, the great Shogun Tokugawa Ieharu, has been concerned lately that our Dutch guests may not be as deserving of our generosity as we might have assumed in the past," he said.

"Indeed?" Madame Murata said, holding her cup before her plum-tinted lips. "Though I cannot say they have ever caused us trouble, I am not surprised. What more can one expect from a nest of parasites, after all? Is there talk of closing down the Dejima factory?"

"Perhaps, if his Excellency's suspicions turn out to be true. You understand, of course, that more than anything, we would like to avoid a diplomatic episode. Unrefined though the Dutch may be, their contributions to the betterment of our nation are not unwelcome. We would be wise to exercise caution and a delicate hand."

"And how does a man like the illustrious Shogun come to know of our modest little teahouse?"

"Not the Shogun himself, I'm afraid, but Governor Kurihara," Kisuke said, smiling at her. "He spoke very highly of you. When I was sent from Edo to investigate the matter and contacted him, your fine establishment was his first and only suggestion. I was given to understand he has enjoyed many a pleasant evening in the company of the talented artists in your employ."

A flash of coldness passed in Madame Murata's eyes, as swiftly as a snake bore down upon its prey. She had read through the insinuation in his words, as he'd hoped she would. She understood that he knew one of her former employees was, or had been, mistress to the Governor. Though practice of prostitution was perfectly legal, samurai were prohibited from soliciting such services. It would not bode well for the reputation of the teahouse, if word got to the Shogun that one of its employees was involved with a man of office. Especially if said employee was now betrothed to another powerful man within the city. "The Governor humbles us with his praise," she said, returning his smile.

Kisuke mentally thanked the gossiping store clerk, no longer regretting the extra Shu he had forked over for the book.

"It was my proposal," he said. "And Governor Kurihara agreed, that the best approach would be to organize a banquet in the Kapitan's honor."

"The Kapitan? You mean the Opperhoofd?"

Figuring this was the best time to showcase some humility, especially after the tension of the previous moment, Kisuke lowered his head. "Madame has a gift for language I sincerely covet; I'm afraid the title is far too foreign a word for my boorish tongue."

Though he doubted it was enough to make her forget his earlier jab, the Madame laughed at his comment, the stiffness in her shoulders easing up. "A banquet, then?"

Kisuke nodded, taking a sip off his teacup. "Perhaps on November, as a token of our appreciation for all his hard work this year, and a farewell before he departs for the capital," he said. "The details are not set in stone quite yet; I needed to speak with you first. So now that you understand the situation at hand, I would ask for your advice. As a woman with an eye for talent and beauty, would you be amenable to recommending someone suitable?"

"Some of my girls are already familiar with the compound in Dejima. Mostly Chinese or Korean. You understand," Madame Murata said, her wrinkled upper lip curling in distaste.

Oh, he understood, alright. Courtesans were not exempt from the social ladder, with the successful geisha and the oiran before them sitting at the crown of the hierarchy. The unfortunate souls such as the girls Madame Murata was so disdainful of, lived their entire lives as little more than slaves. Nagasaki was the only city within the country where prostitution services were open to foreigners as well, but Kisuke was certain the Dutch merchants —the Kapitan excluded- would never be accepted as clients by a more celebrated geisha.

"But I assume that when it comes to entertaining the Opperhoofd himself you are looking for someone more… sophisticated?" Madame Murata said, affirming his suspicions.

"Quite so."

"You've done well to choose us for this undertaking, then," the Madame said. "Some of the girls in Murayama are —forgive me- so uncultured. A smattering of talent and they all fancy themselves to be the next Kikuya. Sweet little things, but without any substance. No matter how much you polish a pebble, it will never turn into jade, no?"

"How elegantly put."

"A demure flower for your banquet, then, full of mystique?"

"I shall defer to your wisdom and experience on this matter," Kisuke said. "I do, however, fear that an artist trained with the sensibilities of the Japanese in mind might, sadly, have little effect on a Westerner. Perhaps someone equally cultured, but with a touch of boldness? A flexible character, one who would be capable of reading and adapting to a more… crude audience."

"A fair point," Madame Murata said, her eyes rolling upwards in thought. "I have someone in mind," she said after a short pause. "A very… spirited girl."

Which was code for vulgar, or at least the Madame's definition of vulgar. Someone bold and outspoken, probably quite beautiful, too, whose whims were only tolerated because she was very successful at what she did, providing for the whole teahouse.

Perfect.

"I would love to meet her, if that would be possible."

As highly unorthodox as it was to see a geisha in anything but her full regalia, Madame Murata indulged him. One of the young servant girls scampered off to fetch Ryūko, the geisha in question, but Kisuke was cautioned that he would have to be patient. He was guided into a private room, where —surely enough- he spent the next forty or so minutes waiting. His tea had grown cold by the time the door slid open, revealing the so-called spirited Ryūko.

A less disciplined man might have whimpered. Kisuke managed to retain some of his dignity, and instead only gaped.

Ryūko was leaning against the threshold in a stance not usually employed by highly-trained geisha. And yet Kisuke couldn't imagine that fact bothering any man who laid eyes upon her. The way her hip jutted out just so, the way the side of her loose, tousled hair caressed her cheek, the slim fingers placed upon the door frame... It all made for a very inviting spectacle. And it certainly didn't hurt that the girl herself was nothing short of bewitching.

Though she lacked the round face so favored by men in Japan, Ryūko's other features more than made up for nature's one little negligence. High cheekbones, a narrow mouth with plump lips, long eyelashes, and slim, straight eyebrows that framed her dark eyes. Her hair was the deepest black, long and straight, swept to the side of her neck. The skin on her back peeking out from the low collar of her yukata was alabaster, as was her face, even without a hint of makeup on.

She stepped inside, and Kisuke saw that her previous casual stance was only a front. She was perfectly capable of moving with the practiced grace demanded in her profession. Elbows locked, hands folded before her lap, she glided into the room, the trail of her beautiful white and purple yukata fluttering behind her. She knelt down before the table across him, one hand skillfully brushing the front of her shins to tuck her yukata in place.

"Mr. Miura, I presume?" she said, her smile soft and dainty.

Kisuke cleared his throat, now wishing he had had the foresight to open up a window. "The very same. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Ryūko."

It didn't take long to fill her in on the details of his discussion with Madame Murata. Ryūko listened carefully, though he suspected she had already gotten the gist from her manager before joining him for tea.

"And what would my government ask of me, exactly?" Ryūko said.

"No details just yet," Kisuke said. "I only wanted to meet you. If both sides agree to go forward, we shall schedule a second meeting to discuss the finer points of the operation," he said. "If you have any reservations, let me assure you that we will require little more than for you to keep the Kapitan entertained throughout the evening. Possibly a number of guests, as well."

"And can I expect you to be among said guests?"

"We shall see. Would that be a problem? A... distraction, perhaps?" Kisuke said. "If you feel you might be unable to concentrate on your work with a government official present—"

"Please… If a roguish grin and a handsome face were enough to throw me, I would be destitute. Or worse, married."

"Oh, I do like her."

I bet you do.

Though he knew such compliments were not to be taken at face value from someone in her line of work, Kisuke couldn't help but blush at her words. Letting out a curt chuckle, he fidgeted with his teacup, bringing it up to his lips, only to find it empty. Ryūko's trilling laughter at his pathetic attempt to keep a dignified face only made him more flustered, but she smiled, resting her chin on her slender fingers. "I am glad to hear that," Kisuke said, setting the teacup cup down again. "This is a matter that requires a certain finesse; I would not trust anyone but a professional to see it through."

Tempted though he was to spend more time with Ryūko under the guise of discussing the operation, Kisuke knew he should be heading back to the outpost. Matsuo was bound to be waiting for his return any minute now. But more importantly, Ryūko's jasmine-scented hair was causing Kisuke to form certain mental associations he did not want to be making right about now. Or ever.

Thanking both Ryūko and Madame Murata, Kisuke promised to return in due time. He left the Nakano Teahouse and retraced his steps, pleased with the day's proceedings. Though he had acted without authorization, he felt that his venture had given the Thirteen Divisions a unique opportunity to gain insight on the Quincy hideout with no fear of detection.

He only hoped Matsuo would give him a chance to explain himself.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE A PLAN WHAT IS THAT KIMONO AND ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SUGGESTING I GO BACK TO THE CAPTAIN COMMANDER TO ASK FOR A BROTHELSTIPEND?"

Well. He couldn't deny she was giving him a chance to speak, at least.

Kisuke ignored Nishimura and Ito guffawing in the back, focusing on Matsuo's beet-colored face. "No! No, no, no..." he said, holding up both hands. "Of course you wouldn't ask that of the Captain Commander."

Matsuo took in a measured breath. "Okay, so—"

"Captain Ukitake, though…"

He supposed he was lucky he escaped with all his limbs.

Matsuo eventually gave his plan some serious consideration, but it took no small amount of supplications on his part, and time. In all fairness to her, it took about twice as long for Nishimura and Ito to stop giggling like schoolgirls. By nightfall, they had come up with a rudimentary strategy to present the Thirteen Divisions with, in order to request authorization, funds and backup for the proposed mission.

Matsuo suggested they spend the night at the Material World. They would travel back to Soul Society come dawn, leaving Ito behind until their return. Being in charge of the first shift, she sent the three of them to sleep, but not before asking Kisuke to linger back. As Nishimura and Ito headed to their respective futons, she led him a short distance away from the camp.

"Yes, Matsuo?" Kisuke said.

Matsuo turned to him, arms folded before her chest. "I will commend you for your initiative," she said. "And your insight. Despite my original reservations, you came up with a solid plan. But I would be remiss if I did not offer a few words of caution."

Kisuke's shoulders tensed up at the ominous tone, but he could not pretend he hadn't seen this coming.

"There will be occasions when you will be excused for acting independently," she said. "Time-sensitive matters, for example, or the battlefield. Today was not such an occasion. Your plan could have very well been carried out once you had first disclosed it to me."

Kisuke nodded. "You are right, of course. And I do apologize profusely. I simply... I wanted to do well."

"What you wanted was to do your own thing, you filthy little liar,"Benihime said. There was no admonition in her tone, only affection and amusement.

Hush. I have to keep a straight face, here.

"I understand," Matsuo said. "I was in your position once, too, so I know what it feels like to want to impress your superiors. But let me be clear on this, Urahara. You are a good officer, competent, smart. And I know very well you do not feel the slightest amount of remorse right now."

"Ohhhhh. Notquiteas naïve as you thought, is she?"

"You have ambition, I respect that," Matsuo said. "But don't you dare go rogue on me again, or I'll bench you till kingdom come, understood?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Benihime's throaty titters serenaded him all the way to his futon, punctuated by the occasional jab at his failure to fool Matsuo. Despite the embarrassing end, Kisuke couldn't deny it had been a successful first foray into a real mission. In between her rebukes, Matsuo had congratulated him on a plan well-formed, after all.

And that was a start.

.

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.

DECEMBER 5TH, 128 B.H.I., EXECUTIVE MILITIA BUILDING, ONMITSUKIDŌ COMPLEX, COURT OF PURE SOULS

.

Yoruichi rested her elbows against the railing, taking in a deep breath. On the horizon, the sun began to dip beneath the mountain line, its swan song for the day casting a bright, orange haze over the entire complex.

The Supreme Commander's quarters truly had the most stunning view within the Onmitsukidō grounds. Perhaps even the whole of Soul Society, Yoruichi thought.

The individual corps buildings, however, would never be praised for their architectural beauty. Strict lines, compact shape, built with purely utilitarian purposes in mind. Yet there was something oddly comforting about the hulking pillars and their timelessness. A fixture of the landscape for centuries, so timeworn they might have sprung up from the earth itself. Overlooking the Court to the south and the sprawling Rukongai to the north, they rose tall above the walls that separated nobility from the common man. Down to the southeast, Yoruichi could make out the path that led to the Yellow Gate and directly to her ancestral home.

Even among such stone giants, the Executive Militia building stood out. Meant to house leaders, the scions of her ancient clan, its construction preceded that of any other construct within the complex. Though similar to the other three main buildings in most respects, a traditional, tiled gable roof sat atop its crown, identical to the one covering the suspended walkways that connected all four structures. The surrounding wall of the courtyard down below, another older structure within the complex, had been built in a similarly traditional style, as was the Relief Station and the many administration buildings scattered throughout the grounds.

The true heart of the complex, however, beat down beneath the earth. True to their trade, the Intelligence Corps were located underground. Yoruichi assumed the original architect was not a fan of subtlety, likely finding the convergence of the literal and the figurative to be the height of hilarity. Along with the offices and living quarters of the Intelligence Corps, the structure housed the War Room, a neutral zone where all five separate divisions of the Onmitsukidō met to form strategy. Though the Intelligence Corps was the sole division located entirely beneath the surface of the earth, it was not unique in its possession of an underground segment.

Yoruichi's division owned a number of tunnels leading to all correctional facilities they overlooked. Their use was forbidden to other members of the Onmitsukidō without authorization. She had also heard of a similar tunnel leading from the War Room to the Central 46 compound, though she had never seen it with her own eyes.

But the most famous underground structure of the Onmitsukidō was the Development Center. A separate entity to all divisions but with close ties to the Sabotage Corps, it had been created in the image of the Shihōin Vault. Inside numerous labs and smithies, its researchers built the specialized gear equipped by the Onmitsukidō forces. The Armory itself, where all such creations were stored, was located above, within the Sabotage Corps building.

Yoruichi could see the fruits of the Development Center's labor being put to good use at the courtyard below, where a sea of black-clad men were practicing their aim against sophisticated mannequins. Next to her, Sergeant Saito Hideki, leader of the Apprehension Unit and her superior, joined her in observing the training. With little else to do other than wait for someone to summon them for their scheduled report, the spectacle helped pass the time.

It was almost dark outside when a servant arrived to guide them along the walkway and over to the Commander's quarters. It was not Yoruichi's first visit, but it was the first time she saw anyone other than the Lieutenant Colonel, or the Commander himself occupying said quarters.

While he hadn't dared make himself too comfortable, the person waltzing about the office with the ease and air of someone born to do so, was Akira. Her own bias aside, Yoruichi was not alone in finding the visual odd. Saito's amber eyes flitted over to her questioningly as they stood at attention by the entrance.

He held himself well, but Akira looked drained. He deposited a large pile of documents upon the desk, then directed his gaze at them. "Sergeant Saito, First Officer Shihōin," he said, gesturing inside. "Do come in."

Yoruichi and Saito took their seats by the chabudai, Akira following suit. Her eyes stayed on him, hawk-like, waiting to see if he would dare take the Commander's designated, luxurious seat.

Rising above her expectations, Akira sat on one of the empty pillows across them. "I apologize for the delay," he said. "Have you come to hand in your report for the Chiba mission?"

"Yes, sir," Saito said. "With all due respect, I was expecting Lieutenant Colonel Noguchi, there were a few—"

"I know," Akira said, skimming the piece of paper in his hands. "The Lieutenant Colonel is otherwise occupied today, but he made certain I was fully caught up on all matters."

As the newly inducted Lieutenant of the Executive Militia, Akira found himself in the delicate position of being second in command within his Corps, but not to his superior. By tradition, the Supreme Commander also held the title of Executive Militia Corps Commander. However, since the former's duties concerned the entire force, his true second, the Lieutenant Colonel, was the superior officer all other Lieutenants reported to. It was no wonder Akira looked so overwhelmed, when additionally tasked with overseeing operations for the day.

"I see," Saito said.

The Sergeant began giving Akira a full report of their last mission, and Yoruichi stayed mostly silent, only speaking when prompted. By the time Saito's report reached its end, she had to grudgingly admit to herself that Akira had been nothing but professional. Even harder to accept were his insightful comments and suggestions, displaying a keen instinct for the implicit that Lieutenant Colonel Noguchi didn't seem to possess. Overall, the report went smoothly, and Yoruichi was still astounded over the lack of incident when she and Sergeant Saito were dismissed.

"First Officer Shihōin," Akira said. "I'd like a moment of your time in private before you depart, please."

…Of course. Spoke too soon.

Bizarre though it was to be addressed thus from someone she had once called a fartbreath, Yoruichi tried to remind herself that both she and her cousin were now colleagues who were expected to follow certain protocols. After informing Sergeant Saito he need not wait on her, Yoruichi turned to Akira and stood at attention.

"Sir?" she said, mentally congratulating herself on not allowing any hints of sarcasm to color her voice.

"I see here—" Akira indicated the written report. "—that your patrol reached the compound a full ten minutes earlier than the second patrol did."

"That is true."

"You did not think a coordinated effort would be best?"

Oh, for crying out loud. You did not just hold me back to question my strategy. He didn't even have the decency to appear displeased, looking at her as though they were discussing nothing more troubling than the weather, instead.

"I suggested to Sergeant Saito –and he agreed- that my team could act as a distraction," she said. "Thus allowing the second patrol to infiltrate the compound unnoticed."

"I am not questioning the viability of the strategy itself," Akira said. He placed the report onto the desk and then sat by the edge, crossing his arms. "I am questioning whether it was a wise choice to push your team to their limits right before they were meant to engage in combat."

"My team was combat-ready when we reached the compound," Yoruichi said, tightening her grip on her wrist as she held her arms folded behind her back.

"You covered a distance of seven kilometers in less than five minutes."

"Correct. I knew they could do it, so we did."

"You mean you could do it," Akira said. "Your prowess in Flash Stepping is well-known and commendable, but you'd do well to remember that not everyone can keep up with you."

Yoruichi took in a deep, measured breath. "Like I said, sir, I knew my team was up to the task. I have personally trained them; they were all capable of pulling it off without wasting unnecessary energy. I know for a fact that they could have done it in four minutes, if pressed," she said. "So unless there were any complaints, or condemning reports issued by my patrol members themselves—"

"Oh, no, nothing to that effect," Akira said, taking a small pause before he continued. "You seem to be quite popular with your subordinates."

"And I suppose that is a bad thing?"

"No. It is, after all, one of the reasons you were chosen to be a patrol leader upon entering the Onmitsukidō," Akira said. "The majority of your boot camp peers had nothing but positive words to say about you."

"I fail to see the problem, then."

"I never said there was a problem. But I will caution you against being too… familiar with your troops," Akira said. "You are no longer in the Academy; and these are not your friends. You need to start treating these missions as more than a challenge."

His words might've been better-received if he weren't still wearing that ridiculous, tranquil expression. It was the combination that made Yoruichi suddenly see red. "Excuse me?"

"You are a good officer, a good leader, but I sometimes feel you do not keep the necessary distance between yourself and your subordinates. It is not only a matter of social standing, it is also a matter of upholding the integrity of the chain of command. That is all."

The integrity of the chain of— Oh screw you. That is not the issue here.

"Let me be perfectly clear on this," Yoruichi said, dropping all manner of humility. "The fact that I know when to relax and give my troops a much-needed break does not mean I do not take things seriously." She'd had every intention of defending herself in a calm and professional fashion, but the more she spoke, the more she stopped caring whether the recipient of her grievances was the appropriate one to begin with.

"It is not on me if you've been weighed and found wanting when compared to someone ten years your junior, so take your inferiority complex and shove it. I couldn't care less about your insecurities if I tried, Akira, and if you ever dare imply again that I do not give every single mission the care and gravity it demands, I will not hesitate to humiliate you before your own men. Feel free to report me and get me demoted if it'll help heal your fragile, fragile ego."

She didn't wait for Akira's reaction or a dismissal, turning on her heel at once and exiting the Commander's quarters, fuming.

She worked herself up to such an extent, that upon her return to the Corrections Corps grounds, crowds were parting in her wake. She'd made no effort to hide her mood and it was clear no-one wished to test her patience, people giving her a wide berth as she stalked down the corridors.

Every now and then, in between her muttering a number of choice adjectives directed at Akira, some clarity would slip through the cracks, making her question the validity of her fury. Having her behavior to her subordinates questioned was not a first since joining the Onmitsukidō. In fact, it had been one of the most prominent admonitions from her instructors at boot camp. The one stark difference? Akira was the only one who had never lectured her on this in front of an audience.

The two conflicting voices in her head never made peace once throughout the day. Frustrated, Yoruichi left work with a mounting headache and the desire to hit something, someone. Hard. She briefly considered sparring as a solution, but Kisuke was in Nagasaki. Training on her own would do nothing to alleviate her rage. So instead, she found herself knocking on Norio's door, in search of a different kind of distraction.

Late that night, when there was no more fight left in her, Yoruichi was finally able to put the incident behind her, her body comfortably boneless and sprawled over the soft futon. She was starting to slip into a hazy slumber, when Norio, in a moment of supremely bad timing, brought up the Onmitsukidō.

Head resting in the valley between her breasts, his fingertips traced circles on her bare thigh absent-mindedly. "I'm thinking of taking the Onmitsukidō entrance exam," he said.

The news was unexpected enough that Yoruichi was able to focus on him and put aside her own issues with work. Eye flitting down to him, she slipped one hand free to fork her fingers through the crown of his hair. "You are? You never told me you wanted to join."

He shifted around, chin resting on her sternum, a soft smile on his lips. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but… I couldn't wait any longer. I wanted to tell you."

Yoruichi's hand came to a rest, tufts of his brown hair locked between her fingers. There was something in his expression that gave her pause, his turn of phrase making her wonder if he was making a career decision based on their relationship, on her.

"You don't think I would be suited for it?" Norio said, probably having expected a more enthusiastic response.

"No, you'd make a fine recruit. The Intelligence Corps would be a good fit for you, I think."

The momentary scowl left his face and he smiled at her again. He began to kiss a trail up toward her collar, his hands grasping the sides of her ribcage. "You're planning on transferring there at some point, right? We would be working together."

However much hated being wrong in her predictions, this was one of the few situations Yoruichi genuinely wished she had misjudged. She was tempted to let him finish what he was starting, but she felt it might be a touch insensitive to allow him carry on, oblivious to her thoughts. "Norio?"

"Hmmm?"

"You do realize that I couldn't be with you, if that were the case?"

Norio's lips froze mid-movement, his shoulders growing rigid. "What do you mean?" he said, looking up at her, his green eyes wide.

"I plan on becoming Supreme Commander one day," Yoruichi said, disentangling her hand from his hair. "I can't have the ranks littered with my exes."

Things were different in the Thirteen Divisions. Co-operation between divisions was rare, occurring only in the face of a common enemy. Under normal circumstances, each division's affairs were its own. As such, fraternization between Soul Reapers of separate divisions, while certainly not encouraged, was not outright prohibited. The only exception was, perhaps, a relationship between members of the same division. Even then, the situation was frowned upon, but subject to the respective Captain's judgment. There were no explicit rules, merely guidelines, and it was common knowledge that said guidelines were blatantly ignored –often and with gusto- behind closed doors.

The Onmitsukidō, on the other hand, had been created as an organization that was always meant to operate as one, cohesive unit, with each division's missions feeding into one another. Should the day ever arrive when she would be called to lead them all, Yoruichi knew she could not afford to overlook any loose ties. If there was one thing Akira had succeeded in, it was to open her eyes to her potential weaknesses.

Norio climbed off her, coming to rest on his side as he regarded her with growing alarm. "So… what, are you saying I should join the Divisions instead?"

"I'm saying you should join whichever organization would be best for you," Yoruichi said. "But if you join the Onmitsukidō, we can't be together."

Sitting up on the futon, Norio stared at the wall ahead, his face a mask of betrayal. "How can you be so casual about this? You won't even…? You won't ask me to reconsider?"

It wasn't that she wouldn't miss him. They had been a couple long enough that she had grown comfortable around him, had come to enjoy his quirks and often look forward to their time together, but this was not a decision that should be made with emotional criteria.

Yoruichi rolled onto her side, supporting her chin on her balled fist. "Why would I? This is your future; if joining the Onmitsukidō is what you truly want, why should I hold you back?"

Norio scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "You really are quite something," he said, then unceremoniously got up, starting to pick up his clothes off the floor.

Yoruichi sat up on her knees, aghast that instead of appreciating her concern for his future, he was trying to guilt-trip her for her mature approach to the matter. "Are you seriously trying to make me out to be the bad guy here?" she said. "What was I supposed to say? Hold our relationship hostage to coerce you one way or the other? How petty do you think I am?"

With his back turned, Norio continued to dress himself. "I never said you're petty, just… For heaven's sake, Yoruichi; we've been together for almost a year and a half and you're acting like you'd be parting ways with an acquaintance," he said. "I… I deserve better than this."

Yoruichi turned away, arms folded, as Norio finally sought her eyes. She didn't know what he expected from her. Tears, perhaps? A cloying declaration of affection? She had always assumed that after such a lengthy relationship, he was well aware that she wasn't prone to either.

She could feel his eyes on her, his hope that she might try to soften the blow palpable, like a sunflower desperately chasing after the slightest ray of light.

When it became clear that she would not indulge him, he broke the silence. "Stay as long as you like," he said. "I'll go sleep at Miura's tonight."

There was a finality in his tone that made her look up at long last. "Is this… Are we breaking up?" she said.

"Would there be a point in prolonging this?"

Yoruichi let out a sigh. "You haven't made a decision yet, haven't even taken the test—"

"I'm not looking for a few extra months of companionship," Norio said, and she could now hear the strain in his voice, could finally understand what it was costing him to say this. "I thought… I thought there was a future here. Seems I was mistaken."

She opened her mouth, ready to start explaining herself, to contradict his words, but she could find no fault in them. There hadn't been a future in this relationship since its inception. And the fact that she had always known, while he had only just reached the conclusion was troubling. Had she had ever unintentionally led him on? Or had he perhaps thought he might one day change her mind?

The logical part of her told her she had nothing to feel guilty about, that she had never been anything but upfront, if not with words then with actions. And yet she couldn't meet his eyes again, a small but not insignificant part of her reminding her of all the times she had been less than fair, or even downright dishonest with him.

Norio threw a haori over his shoulders, pausing just long enough by the door, giving her one last chance to salvage this.

Yoruichi met his gaze, feeling that she at least owed him that much, a farewell, but remained silent. As much as she regretted whatever pain she may have caused him, she didn't once waver in her resolve to keep from jeopardizing her own future in the Onmitsukidō.

"Take care of yourself, Yoruichi."

The door closed behind him, leaving nothing but a gust of cold wind in his wake. Yoruichi pulled the covers up to her shoulders, wrapping her arms around her knees.

I'm trying to.

.

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.

MARCH 11TH, 127 B.H.I., OUTSIDE NAGASAKI, JAPAN

.

Kisuke flattened himself against the trunk of a tree, keeping his ears peeled for the first sign of movement within the grove. Across him, Nishimura, along with a smattering of Fifth and Eleventh Division members followed his lead. Ten pairs of eyes swept over the nooks and crannies of the area, searching for a trail.

Their plan to lead the band of Quincies into the grove had worked well. A little too well for Kisuke's liking. In his past dealings with this particular group, he had learned the hard way that even the best laid plans presented with complications. When they didn't, it was a sign that something unpleasant was just around the corner.

Should I force them out?

Benihime approved. "Probably the best course. The longer you wait, the more time you give them to form a counter-attack."

Kisuke raised a hand to get Nishimura's attention. He held his palm flat, pointed toward the ground to ask the group to lay low. Nishimura gave him a nod, and Kisuke turned to face the trunk down on one knee.

Levitating Benihime before him, he gave the handle a light tap, sending her into a slow spin. She gathered speed, rotating like a fan, and at the opportune moment, Kisuke reached out for the hilt with both hands. Hadō number fifty eight, Tenran!

A tornado surged out of her blade, whirling and spreading out into a cone, enveloping the entire grove. Kisuke twisted Benihime on one hand, signaling the squad to move in as the blast of kidō rendered the trees to matchsticks, scattering twigs and leaves in the air.

He sped forward, leaving the two fallen Quincies for his teammates to deal with. He had no interest in engaging with anyone but Soul Society's Most Wanted: the scar-faced Quincy. Ever since the successful operation in Dejima last November, when the Quincy hideout had been compromised, forcing them to flee the city, the young man and an elder Quincy –quite possibly his father- had been identified as the de facto leaders of the stragglers.

The spiritual signatures of the Quincy left standing lit up like candles in the air. Kisuke could feel that his target was there, indeed, but there was no sign of the elder Quincy. Matsuo's intelligence seemed to be accurate: he was likely the head a separate group on the other side of the forest, where her team was currently located, led by Captain Arima of the Fifth Division.

In the back of his mind, Kisuke recalled his orders, Matsuo's explicit instructions to fall back and request back up, should they encounter either of the two unnamed Quincy leaders. He reasoned that withdrawing now made little sense. The surviving Quincies would only escape again, leaving them with nothing to report but a positive sighting. Kisuke made up his mind. He sprinted ahead in pursuit of the scar-faced man and his two subordinates.

Behind him, he could feel Nishimura and most of their group following suit as the three Quincies leapt from tree to tree, deeper into the grove. Now flanked by Nishimura and Shirakawa, one of the Eleventh Division men, Kisuke readied Benihime, feeling her power pulse beneath his hand. She was ready to raze the forest before them at his command, her heart thumping in sync with his.

Shirakawa Flash Stepped forward ahead of Kisuke and Nishimura, pushing himself to go faster, close the distance. Kisuke had barely gotten a word out, meaning to ask him to hang back and watch his step, when there was a soft click, and Shirakawa stumbled. Activating a trip wire.

Five slim, glowing, spear-like objects zoomed out of their hiding places in the adjacent trees. Kisuke had no time to make out what exactly they were, but the configuration had been set up so they would all converge in the middle, where he was certain he had no desire to be in a second or so.

Nishimura's cry echoed throughout the grove. "DUCK!"

Already in middle of a dive, Kisuke cursed at Shirakawa, knowing now why their plan had gone so flawlessly. They had been lured into a trap. He braced himself for the fall, an explosion shaking the ground behind him, and tumbled straight for the thick underbrush ahead.

He came out of his roll, sparing only a quick glance at the blackened plot of earth behind him, before scrambling up to his feet. There was a flash of white above him, and he could have sworn he saw the scar-faced Quincy smirk straight at him before he and his men dashed away.

Kisuke pursued them, ignoring the cries behind him, his jaw set. He followed the signal of their spiritual signatures, until the trail suddenly went cold, not a sign of them in the vicinity.

DAMMIT!

Not willing to give up just yet, Kisuke leapt up onto the crown of a tall tree, landing onto a sturdy bough that gave him a good visual of the surrounding area.

For months, the Quincies had been moving from hideout to hideout in an effort to escape their relentless pursuers. Their numbers had dwindled, but the rate at which they were taken down to the rate of Soul Reapers being gravely injured or outright killed was extremely off balance.

With the resources of Soul Society backing them and their numbers, Kisuke and his colleagues should have long ago wiped out the Nagasaki group, but their progress was glacial. For a small crew of ten –previously fifteen- the Quincies had played their cards with the utmost care and had consistently come out on top. They were clever, they were careful, and most importantly: they were powerful.

His blood boiling at his idiocy for having allowed his prey to escape, Kisuke combed the area with a near savage determination. As the seconds ticked by with no clues in sight, he seriously considered picking a direction at random and giving chase. Trying his luck was better than staying behind, listless.

"OI, URAHARA!"

Shutting his eyes, jaw clenched, Kisuke willed himself not to take his frustration out on Nishimura and took a deep, calming breath. "Yes?"

"Are you deaf? I've been calling and calling!" Nishimura said from down below. "Get your ass back here, we're done for today. Matsuo's orders."

"There's two more hours till dusk," Kisuke said, eyes still on the horizon. "I'm not—"

"We have to get the injured to safety. Now."

Kisuke resisted screaming at Nishimura to keep his mouth shut until he had taken a remedial course on basic healing. The so-called injured would last another three hours before their condition became even a mild worry. The hunt didn't need to end on their account. Never dropping his eyes down, Kisuke continued to look for a sign, any sign. How do they keep vanishing like this? There has to be an explanation. They need sustenance, but there are never any signs of hunting game, or fire, nothing. No underground passages, either. How do they stay unseen, how do they—?

"Urahara."

"Ignore him. Go with your instinct; try your luck."

There must be something I'm missing, something—

"URAHARA!"

"Stun him. Just stun the moron and go—"

BE QUIET, BENIHIME! We wouldn't even be in this mess right now if you hadn't— Nostrils flaring, Kisuke sheathed his weapon.

It was the sudden spike of anger, the urge to physically hurt Nishimura, that made Kisuke realize once and for all that it was wise to abandon pursuit right now. He was not thinking clearly, and if he actually managed to locate the Quincy in this state, he would very likely get himself hurt. Sighing, he leapt off the tree, landing down to Nishimura's side.

"If I hadn't… what, exactly?"

"About fucking time," Nishimura said, his black eyebrows joined together like a thick caterpillar nestled on his forehead. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Kisuke said, a touch more tersely than would be deemed appropriate when addressing a superior. Running a hand through his hair, he turned to Nishimura, forcing his expression into one of remorse. "I apologize," he said, then knelt down by the wounded.

What had once been a tree, where Shirakawa had activated the wire, was now a charred stump. The surrounding area had been scorched by the blast, and all that remained was the blackened residue of the triggered weapons. They had melted into a single, misshapen clump of metal, barely recognizable as the original five slim blades. Kisuke made a mental note to bring the lump back to the outpost along with the wounded, study it at a later time.

"Get it together, man," Nishimura said as he joined him. His tone held no rancor, but it was clear he hadn't quite forgiven Kisuke for his attitude just yet. "You're letting them get into your head."

"If I hadn't what?"

I thought I told you to be silent.

As he slung the unconscious Shirakawa's arm over his shoulder, Kisuke could feel Benihime's anger unfurl within him like a rising spiral of smoke. It was more than mere fury, it was wrath borne out of betrayal, and she was not going to be forgetting about this insult any time soon.

"As the master wishes."

.

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.

OCTOBER 29TH, 127 B.H.I., CORRECTIONS CORPS BUILDING, ONMITSUKIDŌ COMPLEX, COURT OF PURE SOULS

.

Nose half-buried behind the folder in her hands, Yoruichi made her way down the corridor leading to Hideki's office. The occasional fool that came across her would dodge out of the way –Do they really think I can't sense them?- as she strode forward, bowing when she passed them by. Yoruichi would offer a brief, though not unkind greeting in return, too absorbed in a perplexing little puzzle to offer more than a cursory hello.

To her horror, she was beginning to not only understand Kisuke a little better, but act like him, too. If she began muttering and banging her head against the desk any time soon, she resolved to save the honor of her mercy-kill for Kūkaku. Kisuke would just gloat.

Freeing one hand, she reached for the door, only to knock on nothing but air as it was pulled open from the inside. Yoruichi looked up, coming face-to-face with Commander Sasagawa himself. Hastily shoving the folder aside, she fell into a deep bow. "Commander," she said.

Sasagawa smiled at her graciously and returned the gesture with a curt bow. The four members of his personal guard stepped out into the corridor to flank him. "First Officer Shihōin, good evening," he said. "Working late, I see?"

Though officially off duty for nearly two hours now, Yoruichi had resolved not to return to her quarters until she had untangled the nagging mystery that had her imitating her far nerdier friend. "Yes, sir," she said, straightening up. "I needed to clear a small matter up with Sergeant Saito before retiring for the night."

"I will leave you to it, then," the Commander said. "I would invite you to my quarters for a nightcap once you were through, but I'm afraid my day has been taxing, as well. Another time, perhaps?"

"I— Of course, sir. Whenever you wish," Yoruichi said.

"Have a good night, Officer."

"You, too, Commander." Yoruichi bowed to him again, then stepped aside to allow him to pass. Her eyes stayed on the black-clad figures that trailed behind him, his proposal odd enough to drive her to distraction. Was the Commander in the habit of inviting minor officers to his quarters? She highly doubted it, and wished he would stop showing her preferential treatment because of her name. He was pleasant enough, and a fair superior, but she didn't want his familiarity to undo all the effort she was putting in distancing herself from the Shihōin heritage while at work.

Shaking her head, she recalled the original reason for her visit and turned to the ajar door, giving it a gentle rap as she peeked inside.

Hideki was slumped over his desk, one hand forked through his long black hair. He raised his bleary amber eyes toward her, barely suppressing a yawn. "Oh, hello, Yoruichi."

"Bad time?" she said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. "This won't take long, I swear. I just wanted to bring something to your attention."

Rubbing one eye with the back of his hand, Hideki held the other out, beckoning her forward. "Sure, go ahead," he said. "Sorry this place is a mess; I haven't—"

"Don't worry about it, you look like you've had a long day," she said, handing him the folder she had been carrying.

Hideki tossed it atop the clutter on his desk, his eyes going in and out of focus as he tried to read its contents. "Help me out here."

"It's the arrest form for Sugawara," Yoruichi said. "Someone in processing messed up and didn't file all the necessary paperwork—"

"Please tell me you're here to bring me their head on a platter," Hideki said, scowling. Errors filing paperwork were far too common with new recruits, and one of the biggest headaches for their division.

"I'm not naming them, they're sorry enough. They know they screwed up and it won't happen again."

"Nice try with the they. It's a girl, isn't it?"

Yoruichi arched one eyebrow at him in censure, then went on. "Anyway, it's done, but the problem is that once I sent them off to file the paperwork, they came back saying Sugawara was not in the system records," she said. "Naturally, I assumed they'd messed up again, but they hadn't. I checked myself. The East Wing has no record of Sugawara, nor do the other three. He's nowhere to be found."

Hideki frowned, pressing his fist against him mouth to keep his head propped up. He went over the document again, eyes blinking tiredly every now and then. "Sugawara… That was…" Hideki's eyes rolled up, face screwed into a grimace as he tried to remember.

"Last week. October 25th."

"Oh!" Hideki said, his eyes widening as he made the connection. It was brief, but Yoruichi saw the twitch in his jaw before he made a –quite frankly terrible- show of masking his momentary alarm. "I remember now. Sugawara is actually a special case."

"Special how?"

"His transfer to the East Wing was blocked at the last minute. He has been placed under house arrest."

"House arrest?" Yoruichi said. "The man is a trained Soul Reaper. It took three of my troops to restrain him and we're just sending him back to his family after he was charged with aggravated assault?"

Hideki's fingers shook as he forked them back through his hair, his skin growing paler. "It wasn't my decision, Yoruichi," he said, giving her a sympathetic shrug. "All I know is he was selected for Commander Sasagawa's new program. I don't know if you're familiar—"

"Yes, I'm familiar," Yoruichi said, regretting her curt tone, but her weariness was beginning to affect her, and this case was making less and less sense the more Hideki spoke. "It's the reason I chose the Corrections Corps in the first place. But the Commander's rehabilitation program is not even in effect yet, and more pertinently, it's meant for political prisoners. Sugawara is a thug."

"I don't know what to tell you," Hideki said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes. "If you must, take it up with the Lieutenant, but I would advise you not to. The matter is done. Now… is there anything else?"

Yoruichi stared at Hideki. It wasn't often that he employed the tone of a superior with her. Though she treated him with the appropriate respect, they had grown close enough to be on a first-name basis, dispensing with formalities unless there were others present. The fact that he had just implicitly pulled rank on her meant that this conversation was well and truly over.

"No, that is all," she said. "Thank you for your time."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," he said, and he looked it.

Yoruichi's gaze swept over his tight lips, the genuine apology written in his eyes, and she nodded at him, exiting his office.

.

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.

JULY 1ST, 126 B.H.I., THIRTEENTH DIVISION GROUNDS, COURT OF PURE SOULS

.

"I'm telling you, you're wasting your time," Nishimura said, as he walked alongside Kisuke toward the gates of the division grounds. "You can't just drop in unannounced at a Captain's quarters and expect to be granted an audience, you know this."

"I'm not just dropping in," Kisuke said. "And one would think the Quincy War would be a priority for all involved."

Nishimura snorted. "The war? War's practically over, man," he said, shaking his head. "A handful of Quincies isn't a priority, it's a hassle. And we're the ones who have to deal with it. The Captains aren't gonna get involved any longer."

"Either way, this is important," Kisuke said. Inside his pocket, his fingertips grazed over the stopper on the small vial.

"Important to who? Not Captain Hikifune, that's for sure."

"So you're comfortable knowing nothing about Quincies, even after we have fought them twice?" Kisuke said, turning to Nishimura.

Nishimura shrugged. "We've also beaten them twice; what's there to nitpick?"

The fact alone that two Soul Reapers had fallen for every Quincy, including two Lieutenants and a Captain, was ample reason. Soul Society should ignore the need for proper research on their enemy at their own peril. And if Nishimura —like many others- couldn't recognize that they had won by virtue of numbers alone, there would be no convincing him otherwise with mere words.

"Look, man, we've all been there, okay? I get it," Nishimura said, a very knowing look in his eyes as he gave Kisuke a condescending pat on the back. "But stop pretending this is about research."

"Been where?"

"Chasing after the one that got away," Nishimura said, chuckling. "You don't give a rat's ass about the rest of the Quincies, you just wanna get him."

Kisuke chose not to dignify the accusation with a response. Hurrying his pace, he strode past the division gates, eliciting a groan out of his colleague.

"You know, you used to be a lot more fun before the damn Nagasaki operation!" Nishimura said. When Kisuke didn't respond to that comment, either, Nishimura let out a loud sigh. "Fine, whatever, go pester Captain Hikifune. I'll let you know when -Dark-and-Scarface makes a new appearance, shall I?"

Raising a hand in acknowledgement, Kisuke pressed on ahead and over to the adjacent compound, the Twelfth Division grounds.

Try as he might, he couldn't block out Nishimura's words entirely. While he maintained that researching the enemy was his true goal, he couldn't deny part of him wouldn't rest until the elusive Quincy had been taken down. Kisuke's own powers had been growing at a pace he might otherwise deem acceptable, but not in this case. Not when the power divide between him and the Quincy remained a yawning chasm.

Benihime's and his own failures aside, however, the need for better intel was undeniable. Having lost even a Captain to this threat, it stood to reason that their ignorance of their enemy had put them at a great disadvantage. If research had been conducted beforehand, Soul Society might have suffered far fewer losses.

Captain Hikifune of the Twelfth was the sole Captain known for trusting the scientific method. An exception was, perhaps, the Fourth Division, but their own endeavors focused on gigai development.

There were valid reasons for the long-held tradition of each Division being a separate entity, but Kisuke couldn't help thinking that it didn't necessarily have to be this way at all times. An organized, inter-Divisional department dedicated to research would benefit the entirety of the Thirteen. He didn't expect anything quite so lofty to spawn out of this possible meeting with Captain Hikifune. Yet as he clopped up the stairs leading to the reception, Kisuke couldn't help but hope. If he could get just one Captain to see the necessity of getting a Quincy project started, it could be a first step in the right direction.

The girl behind the desk, a blue-eyed brunette with short, springy curls, was in the middle of enjoying her lunch. Though perhaps the word enjoying was a bit of an overstatement. Eyes focused on the magazine laid open before her, she would occasionally miss as she brought the chopsticks toward the general vicinity of her mouth, hitting her cheek or her chin upon first try.

"Excuse me," Kisuke said.

The girl glanced up, her pupils dilating for a spell. She hurried to put her chopsticks down, giving her mouth a quick wipe with a napkin, then ran a hand through her curls. "Er… yes, HELLO," she said, pushing her lunch away and smiling tremulously at him. "Can I help you?"

"I understand this is an unusual request, but I was hoping for an audience with Captain Hikifune, concerning a potential research project," Kisuke said. "Would it be possible to arrange something at her earliest convenience?"

The girl's smile faltered. Her expression shifted and she looked almost sympathetic, but before she could say anything, a loud voice from the back room reached the reception.

"Fuck's sake, another one?" said the male voice. "Is it a guy again?"

The receptionist fell into a stiff grin. "You'll have to excuse Officer Hir—"

"CAPTAIN HIKIFUNE HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO." The owner of the second voice, a woman this time around, peeked out of the corner that led to the back. She was a small girl, and Kisuke was momentarily stunned that such a bellow could ever be produced from such a diminutive person. "She ain't got the luxury to coddle slackers looking to waste someone's time," she said, then disappeared into the back room again with a swish of her twin, blonde ponytails.

"Right?" said the man who had spoken earlier, likely addressing the girl. "Like, I get she's super hot and all, but—"

By the sound of it, a scuffle broke out following the man's words. Seeing Kisuke's eyebrows arch at the commotion, the receptionist scurried to get his attention back to her and away from the embarrassing situation developing between her colleagues.

"I'm afraid it won't be possible to meet with Captain Hikifune, not unless it's on Twelfth Division business," she said.

As disappointing as it was to have his expectations confirmed, Kisuke didn't dwell on it, having known it had always been a long shot.

"I take it I'm not the first one to ask for a meeting with the Captain?" Kisuke said, motioning his head toward the back room.

"No, there have been a few others," the receptionist said, forcing a renewed smile on her face.

"Did you perchance get their names?" Kisuke said. If he couldn't meet with Captain Hikifune, it might be a good idea to seek out a few like-minded individuals, perhaps to brainstorm, or share their insights.

An odd frown crossed the girl's features, one that hinted at wariness. She glanced from side to side, as though trying to make certain they were alone in the reception area, then leaned forward over the desk. "Is this whole project thing about Quincies, by any chance?" she said, her voice down to a whisper. She looked like she was very much hoping that wasn't the case.

"Yes, why?"

"Okay," she said, biting down on her lip with a grimace. "You look nice enough, certainly nicer than that freak who showed up last time—" Her voice dropped an octave when she spoke of the last person who had asked for some of the Captain's time, her face now screwed up in distaste. "—so piece of advice? Just… drop this, whatever it is."

It was an involuntary reaction, almost a reflex, but Kisuke felt the muscle in his jaw twitch upon hearing that word: freak. He found himself instantly sympathizing with the complete stranger, as opposed to the girl before him, who –despite her helpfulness- now brought out no feeling from him other than aversion.

"So, that's a no on the names?" Kisuke said, trying his utmost to keep his voice measured and polite.

"I never caught the weirdo's name," the girl said, shrugging. "But the one before him, the girl, she was with someone and I heard them call her as they were leaving. Something like… Sesshōmaru? I dunno. She was from the Fifth Division, if that helps."

"Thank you," Kisuke said, and without another word, he exited the building, the girl's faint goodbye sending him off.

He stepped out into the grounds, nostrils flared and hands tucked into his pockets. It only took a few steps before he came to a stop, a knot forming on his forehead. In his preoccupation with the receptionist's choice of words, he hadn't given any weight to her advice. Or warning, rather. It had certainly sounded like one. The girl's cautionary tone, her reluctance to go into particulars... It all brought to mind his first experiences with history classes in the Academy. Despite the griping that always resulted from Harada's sermons, he'd had a point when it came to the glaring holes in their education. Especially in regard to the Quincies.

Harada… Kisuke felt a bittersweet pang at the memory of him. Now there's a name I haven't thought about in years.

With his mind still on his erstwhile classmate, Kisuke considered his options. He still had a couple of hours before he had to hand in his latest report. It couldn't hurt to kill some time by heading over to the Fifth Division to see if he could locate this Sesshōmaru person. Maybe she would be able to shed some light on the receptionist's cryptic warning.

Finding Sesshōmaru turned out to be a time-consuming task. The name rang no bells for any passerby who sat still long enough for Kisuke to question. He was beginning to think this had been a massive waste of time, when one of the lower-ranked Officers went into a pause.

"Sesshōmaru? Do you mean Senjumaru?" he said.

"Could be," Kisuke said. "The person who gave me her name said she might have not heard right. Is she… um—" Kisuke considered how to phrase this, unwilling to mention the girl's visit to the Twelfth Division, just in case the receptionist's wariness was justified. He supposed that if Senjumaru held an interest for research, she was likely a regular in the library, or a person known for conducting her own experiments. "—bookish? A bit of a scholar, perhaps?"

"That's Senjumaru, alright. Our Sixth Seat," the guy said, grinning. "And you're in luck; she's right over there," he said, pointing at a young woman coming down the walkway that led out of the Captain's quarters.

Senjumaru was rail-thin, pale as chalk, with ink-black hair she wore up in a meticulous bun. Under a thick, glossy fringe, her eyes, blue and slanted, regarded the world with a clever, penetrating gaze. She was a striking woman, whose perfect posture and refined gait spelled out her heritage loud and clear. A noble. Hopefully the Yoruichi type, but… doubtful.

"Thank you for your help," Kisuke said to the officer who had pointed her out. "What's her last name, by the way? I wouldn't want to be too familiar."

"Oh, don't worry about it; everyone calls her Senjumaru."

His own quick observations directly contradicted the officer's words, but Kisuke decided to trust him. His best chance of getting Senjumaru to warm up to him would be to go with her wishes. Perhaps her austere expression had a lot more to do with the fact that the Fifth Division was currently in mourning, having lost Captain Arima to the battlefield.

Kisuke thanked the officer again and approached Senjumaru, a genial smile on his face.

As she came up to the end of the walkway only to find a stranger blocking her path, she scowled, staring down at him imperiously. "Yes?"

"Hello," Kisuke said. "My name is Urahara Kisuke, I'm an Officer from the Thirteenth Division. Forgive me for the intrusion, but may I have a moment of your time, Senjumaru?"

The girl's fine black eyebrows came together in a slim line, her lips pursing. "That is Officer Shutara Ayako to you, and no, you may not."

Shit. Of course this was a prank. Thank you, random asshole. And people wonder why I have trust issues. The moniker –for now it was clear that Senjumaru was just that- didn't sound offensive or anything of the sort, unless there was a very specific action attributed to said one thousand arms. Whichever the case, it mattered little why Shutara had had such an adverse reaction to it; now was the time for damage control.

"My sincerest apologies," Kisuke said in a hurry. "I was never given your full name, just—"

"The answer is still no."

"Could I perhaps contact you at a later date, if now is not suitab—?"

"No."

Damn, tough crowd. "I understand," Kisuke said, nodding. "Once again, my apologies for disturbing you. Should you change your mind, you can reach me at the Thirteenth Division's barracks, or Captain Hikifune's laboratory on Thursdays. Have a good day."

Turning around, Kisuke slipped his hands in his pockets, walking away from Shutara. Three, two, one…

"Urahara… was it? Officer Urahara?"

Kisuke smirked, then schooled his expression back into an affable one before looking over his shoulder toward Shutara. "Yes, Officer Shutara?"

"You said you're from the Thirteenth Division," Shutara said, seizing him up with both interest and a hint of mistrust. "But you work with Captain Hikifune, as well?"

Kisuke smiled at her. "Could it be that you have changed your mind?"

Shutara scowled, now visibly considering his invitation to talk. After a long bout of vacillating, she approached him, a furtive expression on her delicate features. "I can spare fifteen minutes," she said. "Has Captain Hikifune reviewed my proposal?"

Kisuke made a show of examining their surroundings before turning back to Shutara, dropping his voice. "I would rather not discuss this out in the open, if that's alright with you. Is there perhaps a private space where we could speak?"

The girl nodded, then motioned at him to follow, heading back toward the direction she had come from. "The Captain's quarters are in the process of being vacated," she said, as she led him up the walkway. "I have been tasked with inventory, so my presence there isn't likely to raise suspicion."

"My condolences, by the way," Kisuke said. "For Captain Arima. She fought courageously to the end."

"You were there?" Shutara said, her sharp gaze softening. "In Nagasaki?"

"I have been stationed there intermittently for the past two years. Every report that reached us from the battlefield spoke of her valiance."

"You're a senior officer, then?"

"Fifth Seat."

Shutara nodded and Kisuke could spot a hint of discomfort in her expression. "Senjumaru..." she said after a brief pause, her voice trailing off. "It is a nickname I only allow those dear to me to use." It was the closest to an apology he was likely to get, and he suspected she had only offered it because she regretted being so brusque with a superior.

"I see," Kisuke said. "I was misinformed then. Though, if I may, it sounds nothing but complimentary."

"I suppose so. It does seem to be catching on, at any rate."

Kisuke followed her into the Captain's quarters, sidestepping the many labelled boxes that had been piled by the entrance. Few of Captain Arima's belongings remained within the room, mostly effects that appeared to be more personal than books and equipment, like the few pieces of art collecting dust on the floor, or an empty vase by the seating area that looked like it might have been crafted and painted by a child.

A gleam of light filtered in through the half-closed blinds, dust particles dancing in the ray's spectrum as Shutara placed a well-manicured hand upon the empty desk. "Alright, Officer Urahara, I'm listening," she said. "Did Captain Hikifune ask you to contact me?"

"I wouldn't know; I've never met her."

"You hav—? You said you worked in her lab," Shutara said, her brow creasing.

"Actually, I never said that," Kisuke said. "You merely assumed—"

He had been prepared for actual, physical violence, but Shutara merely gave a huff, clearly about to walk away. Not wasting time thanking his good fortune, Kisuke pulled out the small vial he'd been carrying with the intention of showing it to Captain Hikifune and held it up before Shutara.

She came to a halt, her shoulders seizing up as she took in its contents. "Is that what I think it is?"

"It is."

Shutara narrowed her eyes at him, and unless he was very much mistaken, she was making a concentrated effort not to appear impressed. "How did you acquire this?" she said, reaching for the vial. As a measure of good faith and an apology for his earlier deception, Kisuke let her take it, trusting that she wouldn't try to make a run for it. "I have been trying to convince someone to collect a sample for me for months. They were all categorical that Quincy light arrows dissolve upon impact."

"Upon impact with objects in the Material World, yes," Kisuke said, smirking. "But they are designed to affect Spiritual Matter."

"Anecdotal evidence suggests Spiritual Matter doesn't carry traces of light arrows after penetration, either."

"Correct, not after. But during?"

Shutara's lips parted. Not bothering with any more pretense, she regarded him with new eyes as she reached the inevitable conclusion. "Did you—? You extracted your own matter… during…?"

"It was a little tricky to get the timing right," Kisuke said. "To the casual observer, yes, the light arrows do not linger. They do their work on a particle level, so if you secure the point of entry with a small barrier in time, you got yourself a sample."

"This kind of method would only net trace amounts, whatever lingers on the tissues momentarily," Shutara said, observing the small, shard-like flash of bright blue trapped within the vial. "How many times did you do this?"

"Let's just say it has been a painful few months."

A smile, even a hint of one, made a world of difference on Shutara's stern face. He knew then, that he had gained her trust with his dedication to acquiring a viable sample. "So what exactly was going to happen if I had decided to reach out to Captain Hikifune's lab and was told they had no idea who you were?"

"To be honest, I was planning on hanging out by the entrance every Thursday until you showed up."

Shutara laughed, then handed him the vial back. "I assume you were given the same spiel about not digging further into the matter of Quincies?"

"More or less," Kisuke said, pocketing the sample again. "Any idea what that's all about?"

"No specifics, but I have my suspicions," Shutara said, her face clouding. It was an entirely different look to her earlier somber expression. She now appeared to be deeply disturbed. "Have you noticed that a number of Soul Reapers have unexpectedly quit their duties as of late? Able-bodied recruits, people who seemingly had no reason for leaving the Thirteen."

Kisuke had no knowledge of Soul Reapers leaving the Thirteenth Division, but Shutara's words hearkened back to an older event, to a person Kisuke had coincidentally been musing about earlier. Only there was no such thing as a coincidence.

"Just the one," Kisuke said. "A classmate, back at the Academy. There have been more?"

"A few, yes," Shutara said. "I never thought much of it; it's not unheard of for Soul Reapers to go a different direction at some point in life. But then it happened to someone I know for a fact was also seeking an audience with Hikifune. Regarding Quincy research."

"The receptionist at the Twelfth mentioned another," Kisuke said, nodding. "Did you happen to catch his name? All I got from her was that he is a freak," he said, frowning.

"Well, she's not wrong." Upon Kisuke's arched eyebrow, she shrugged. "The girl is an insipid airhead, no arguments there, but she does have a point about that… person. We crossed paths on the day I tried to reach out to the Captain. Apparently it was his second visit. He said a few demeaning things to the girl, she started sniveling, and then he suggested she either grow thicker skin or have her tear glands removed. It had the potential of being amusing, until he actually went on to display how he'd had his own tear glands removed. Among other things, if his semi-coherent ramblings held any truth."

"Oh."

"Exactly," Shutara said. "At any rate, I'm not surprised someone like him was asked to pack up and leave the Thirteen, but the timing was suspicious, wasn't it? Once I started looking into other dismissals, I noticed a pattern: according to their colleagues, none of the Soul Reapers in question had ever expressed any desire to leave the organization."

Kisuke thought of Harada's sudden departure, of his roommate's insistence that there had been no note, no prior warning. Mostly, however, his thoughts lingered on Harada's outspoken nature and his trademark political rants. Especially his questioning of the circumstances behind the renewed Quincy attacks, on the day of the fateful Kyōto mission.

"I assume that's about the time you stopped investigating?" Kisuke said.

Shutara nodded. "I had a feeling I was going to be kindly asked to leave my post if I kept digging," she said. "As little sympathy as I hold for Quincies, the Thirteen's refusal to do proper research on our enemies is idiotic. We cannot afford to turn a blind eye to anyone, not even forces we have conquered."

Kisuke wasn't certain he agreed with Shutara's dismissal of the Quincies' side, but he had no desire to turn away the only person who could potentially offer some insight to his own observations so far. "So… since asking for Captain Hikifune's help is a dead-end, would you consider exchanging notes with me?" Kisuke said. "Discreetly, of course."

"I'm afraid I have little to share in the way of breakthroughs," she said, a look of frustration on her face. "Only senior officers have been deployed to the warfront, so any notes I have compiled are only from second-hand recounting of events. I have tried to extrapolate a few theories based on them, but I obviously cannot vouch for the accuracy of the information outlined within."

"I see."

"What I can do, however," she said. "Is send a number of reports from my Division your way. Perhaps there will be some information in there you can use."

"That could be helpful, thank you."

"Can I expect to be extended the same courtesy?"

"Of course," Kisuke said. "I'll see about copying some of the more salient reports for you."

"I enjoy the works of Sasaki. Especially his one poetry anthology. Are you familiar with it?"

"Vaguely."

"Then I suggest you take a break every now and then in between compiling those reports," Shutara said. "It might prove to be an interesting read. Good day, Officer Urahara."

Kisuke watched her go, making a mental note of securing a copy of Sasaki's poetry soon. As a Sixth Seat, Shutara was not granted access to reports from separate divisions, but a set of notes in cipher was something she would certainly have no trouble explaining.

Shortly after her departure, Kisuke followed suit, making his way back to the Thirteenth. Encouraging though his brief discussion with Shutara had been, he had no high hopes for the information he might glean from their cooperation. With extensive research a no-go, it seemed that he had now completely run out of options.

Well... almost.

There was one last thing he could try. And if he were being entirely honest with himself, he had made the choice long ago, before any attempts to disguise it had ever crossed his mind.

It is time.

Whether certain interested parties were ready or not.

.

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.

NOVEMBER 13TH, 126 B.H.I., THE TRAINING GROUNDS, COURT OF PURE SOULS

.

She was pure steel, all muscle, her movements never wasteful, always precise. It should have made for a spectacle completely devoid of grace, but there was such unspeakable beauty in the flow of her body, such artistry in the swing of her arm, the arc of her leg. Her power flowed from within her like stream, serene and unassuming, until it reached the edge, cresting, bursting forth into a raging torrent.

It had taken him so long to learn not to lose himself watching her as they sparred, that slipping back into old habits was instinctively raising alarms all throughout his body. But today he needed to observe, he needed to watch, to wait for the opportune moment.

As Kisuke thrust forward with his weapon, Yoruichi dodged, the blade whistling past her ear, and she immediately went into a crouch. Right hand touching the ground, she used her momentum to swing her powerful left leg up into a scorpion kick. Ready for her, Kisuke blocked with his free arm, already feeling the bruise that would be forming tomorrow.

Instead of bringing her entire might into the kick, however, she used the force of his block to swing her leg back to the ground, and fell into a deep squat, like a predator about to pounce. And there it was: when she pulled her arm back, he could see it, the familiar movement of her muscles, he could feel the spiritual matter coil like a spring in her abdomen, ready to be unleashed through her clenched fist.

He leapt backwards to give himself the necessary space just as she sprung forth, and he raised Benihime, giving the handle the merest flick of his wrist. "Tsuppane, Benihime!"

Yoruichi's fist was forced to a halt just a hair's breadth away from Benihime's tip. Out of the point of near-contact, a small shockwave rippled through the air between them, like an invisible barrier shattering to pieces. Kisuke allowed himself only a millisecond of enjoying the shock in her eyes, before he Flash Stepped right behind her and brought Benihime down to her neck.

It took a moment for Yoruichi to relax her position, her eyes wide and focused still on the space he had occupied only a moment ago. Panting, she let her arm drop, turning her head just a fraction in his direction. "That was new," she said, a rivulet of sweat streaming down the path from her nape toward her back.

"Mmm. Quite," Kisuke said, then drew Benihime away, the spirit's purr at his victory a gentle stroke down his spine as he re-sheathed her.

Yoruichi turned to face him fully, one eyebrow chasing her hairline, but Kisuke's mind was already otherwise occupied. He made no effort to decode her questioning look.

It was ready, then, the new technique. If he could use it against Yoruichi's speed, he could use it on anyone someone of his rank could conceivably be pit against. Soon enough, he would even be able to skip the incantation without significant repercussions to power, just like he could for Benihime's other two shikai abilities.

And yet she was still not satisfied.

He went through the motions mechanically, settling down on the ground for his and Yoruichi's usual healing routine after a spar, his thoughts still clinging to Benihime.

I bet you're loving this.

Her only response was a deep, throaty chuckle he felt all the way down to his stomach, as though she were right there, black lips hovering by his ear, warm breath caressing his neck.

"What's with you? I'm the one who just lost."

Kisuke looked up at the sound of Yoruichi's voice, his hand pausing over her wounded calf. Lower back resting against the ground, she had raised herself up on her elbows and was scowling at him. "Hnnn?"

"You look pissed off," Yoruichi said. "You didn't even brag about beating me. What's wrong?"

Kisuke shook his head at her. "Nothing. I'm not angry," he said. Not with you, at least.

Yoruichi pursed her lips. "So… New technique," she said, as Kisuke placed one hand on the pit of her knee and pulled her leg straight by the ankle. "Yay."

"Yay, indeed."

With a frustrated growl, Yoruichi yanked her leg away. It slipped out of his slack grasp like an eel, and she slammed the pad of her foot against his chest, trapping one hand there. "Okay, what is up with you?"

Part of him hesitated to speak because he didn't want Benihime to listen in, but what was the point, really? She was already privy to his every thought. What he had to tell Yoruichi, Benihime already knew, from the moment it had crossed his mind. And she was relishing in his frustration.

Kisuke placed Yoruichi's leg down gently, then ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. "It's taking too long."

"What is?"

"Bankai."

Yoruichi sat up so fast, he saw her waver on the spot for just a second, the blood rushing to her head. "Since when have you been training for bankai?" she said, her tone pregnant with something akin to betrayal.

"I haven't," Kisuke said. "Not specifically. But I should be at materialization by now and I'm not even close."

All the tension was instantly siphoned off her expression, and Yoruichi scoffed, smirking at him. "Yes, well, I've known you for over a century and only last year did I learn you prefer sweet dango to savory, you heretic," she said. "It takes time to get to know anyone, let alone your Soul Cutter."

"Ten years? Seems like such a waste of time."

"I'm sure Benihime is thrilled to hear that."

"That's not what I meant…" Kisuke said, rubbing the back of his neck.

The point was that he felt ready now, and he couldn't possibly fathom what more Benihime could expect out of him until she at least consented to materialize. His powers were growing every single day, their communication had never been better. It was time.

"At any rate, it's ten years minimum, and only after you've fully mastered shikai," Yoruichi said. "You're still developing yours."

"It's plenty developed, already!" Kisuke said, the balls of his hands digging into the ground as he dropped his weight back on his arms, head lolling backwards. "I've never been more focused, more in-tune with Benihime and she still refuses—" He let out a huff, head dropping forward again, his brow knit. "She won't materialize, no matter what I do or say."

"Which should tell you that it's too soon," Yoruichi said, pushing herself up to her feet and starting to stretch. "There are no shortcuts to this, Kisuke. You'll just have to be patient. In the grand scheme of things, ten years are nothing to someone like us. It may seem like forever now, but they'll go by faster than you think. So stop pouting like a baby."

"I'm not pouting," Kisuke said, pouting.

Without bankai, he had no hope in hell of defeating him, and if he took too long to reach bankai, someone else was likely to get the job done. The mere thought made his blood boil, this primal, territorial urge one he dared not speak of out loud. But she knew. Benihime. With her, hiding was impossible.

When he and Yoruichi bid each other farewell, Kisuke took the long way home, opting to go for a walk to clear his head. Yoruichi's words were still ringing in his ears.

Too soon.

What was too soon, anyway? Who had decided on this arbitrary number? Bankai was, after all, the benchmark all Soul Reapers aimed for, but few ever came close to touching in the first place. Bankai itself was the exception to the rule, so why frame something already so extraordinary within ordinary parameters?

There was, of course, the question of whether it was within his reach at all. However, much like he hadn't shared his innermost thoughts with Yoruichi earlier on, he had also never shared his conviction that in his mind, bankai was not only a possibility for him, but a certainty.

"Careful, boy… You're getting dangerously close to being truthful with yourself. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

He was still fuming over Benihime's remark by the time he returned home. It was a habit from the early stages of their relationship, her calling him any number of belittling names other than his own. It was also further proof of the anecdotal evidence that suggested a Soul Cutter spirit would resist submission, even though bankai was meant to benefit both parties. The only problem was that such conflict only ever arose when the spirit was already at the materialization stage. Otherwise, it was a sign that the relationship between Soul Reaper and weapon was regressing back to an earlier phase.

Unwilling to torture himself over this any longer, Kisuke decided to give his mind a well-needed break from her. Perhaps he would be able to distract himself long enough for Benihime to go dormant, allowing him to get some sleep later on that night.

It was hours before he thought of her again, occupied as he was with setting up a new booting algorithm for Fleshy. When he reconnected the power source, the core buried deep within the gigai's chest glowed a deep red, almost the exact color of her kimono.

If only it were that easy, he thought as he looked at the gigai. Just slip her into a synthetic body and—

The wrench fell off his hand to the floor with a clang, but he paid it little mind, his eyes widening and his lips parting.

Well… why the hell not?

A gigai was a receptacle for a soul. Why not a receptacle for part of his soul?

Head spinning, Kisuke scrambled across the lab, diving under his desk to the crate filled with blank journals, all of them aching to be filled. He pulled out a new one, then blindly pawed around for something, anything to write with. His fingers closed upon a piece of charcoal on the surface of his cluttered desk and he turned to the first page, his hand flying over the paper in large, purposeful strokes:

MODIFIED GIGAI PROJECT:

TENSHINTAI

.

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.

JANUARY 10TH, 125 B.H.I., COURT OF PURE SOULS

.

Her lunch mates spotted him before she did.

As Yoruichi read through the document before her, cup of warm tea in hand, a low murmur rose from the table. She looked up, finding her subordinates' attention focused on the entrance. She followed their gaze, and sure enough, there was Kisuke. They had seen him in her company often enough to know he was trustworthy, but his current state hinted otherwise. Their eyes met and Yoruichi knew what she was about to hear, without a single gesture or a word spoken. She excused herself, getting up off her seat and walking up to him.

From up close, she was glad to see that despite the glint in his eyes, he appeared to be well-rested and lucid. For months now, every time they'd crossed paths he had looked positively manic. Wild hair and eyes, unable to focus for longer than a few seconds, fingers constantly on the move, either drumming on a surface, or fidgeting with his hair and clothes. When she'd ask about his project, he would respond with a dismissive wave and a frustrating Not yet.

The last time he'd looked marginally normal had been nine days ago. She had assumed that it had been a concession on account of their birthday. That he had made an effort to crawl out of whatever hole he had dug himself into, and tried to behave more like a person. Even then, he must have been close to a breakthrough.

Kisuke came to a stop right before her and leaned in, a little breathless. "Will you come with me to the training grounds?" he said, voice dropped down to a whisper. "I have something to show you."

"I take it the experiment is over?"

Kisuke bit down on his lower lip, a small but exultant grin on his face. "I did it," he said. "I figured out the answer."

"To what?"

"Bankai." He said it slowly, one syllable at a time, dragging out the n, triumph written all over his grey eyes.

Yoruichi's knees jerked of their own accord at the revelation. Bankai? That's what he'd been working on all this time? Hadn't their last conversation on the matter convinced him it was futile to expect a result so soon? "But—"

"Half an hour; that's all I need to get you up to speed."

"I… Okay."

Holding up a finger to him, she rushed to the table. Under pretext of a vague emergency, she bid her men farewell, promising to have the week's assignments ready by nightfall. She tossed her share of the bill on the table and hurried back to Kisuke.

Without a word, they left the pub and fell into the familiar steps in tandem. She reached the Training Grounds first, but Kisuke didn't even feign annoyance at having lost the implicit race, as he usually did. Instead, he flashed her a smile and motioned at her to follow as he jumped off the edge of the cliff that lay before them.

They landed with a thud into a deep, spacious valley that Yoruichi had never seen before.

"Did you do this?" she said, taking in the area. Excluding the cliff they had just leapt off, the area was a flat expanse of sturdy ground on either side.

"Had to be done. I have a feeling we'll be needing all the room we can get," Kisuke said, admiring his handiwork.

"For… bankai training."

Unable to smother a self-satisfied grin –Really, you idiot, I know you're a damn genius, enough with the foreplay- he bent down. There was some sort of object lying beneath a sheet by his feet. He lifted it off, then pulled something white and sturdy up to him.

It was more or less human sized, of average height and flat as a board, with sharp, oddly shaped appendages. A slim piece of cord linked its right clavicle and left shoulder together. The overall effect was clearly meant to evoke a rudimentary image of a person, like a crudely made doll.

"You thought we might give ol' cookieman here a try if we get too tired hitting each other?" Yoruichi said.

"This is a Tenshintai," Kisuke said, grinning as he placed an arm upon the doll's shoulder. "And it's meant to speed up the process of achieving bankai."

She should have known by now that Kisuke would never settle for conventional time frames. They had never applied to him, after all. Yoruichi bypassed the obvious question in favor of the one that burned her the most. "Have you tried it, then?" she said, unsure of whether to be impressed or envious, or even feel a little left out.

"No, not yet. Unfortunately, this is not the kind of thing you can do more than once," he said. "But if things work as intended, it should be a matter of three to four days."

"You mean years."

"I mean days."

"…Months?"

"No. Days," Kisuke said, his grin becoming even broader.

It was plain as day he was savoring her disbelief. Shortening the process down to three years would've been a tremendous achievement. Shortening it down to three days was downright inconceivable.

Yoruichi gaped at him, mouth flapping open and shut like a fish. "But… You… But… You can't— How?"

Normally, she wouldn't have doubted Kisuke's claims on scientific matters. Experience had taught her he never shared so much as a glimpse of his outlandish projects before they were perfected, unless he needed help with testing. He liked his theatrics too much to leave room for error during the grand unveiling.

Still, Yoruichi was having a hard time believing him. She didn't doubt his honesty, she simply didn't think his goal was attainable. Not even for someone of his dizzying intellect.

Setting the Tenshintai down, Kisuke approached her, digging one hand into his pocket. He retrieved a small lump of some type of white substance and held it out before her. "This is the same material the Tenshintai was built with. Take out your Soul Cutter and stab it."

Yoruichi narrowed her eyes at the substance. "What'll happen when I do?"

"That's what you'll tell me. Nothing horrible, though, I assure you," he said, placing the lump on the ground.

With no small amount of trepidation, Yoruichi unsheathed Maya. "All right… Here we go," she said. Clenching her jaw, she took a deep breath and plunged her Soul Cutter into the white, spongy clump.

The effect was immediate. There was a hissing sound, and the lump began to change form, the surface stretching, membrane-like, as if something tiny trapped within was trying to escape.

"Stand back," Kisuke said.

Yoruichi didn't need to be told twice. She retreated, Soul Cutter at the ready, but whatever was supposed to happen never did. The lump took on an intense, strangely familiar glow, then burst into a thousand infinitesimal pieces. Yoruichi shielded herself for impact, but the explosion turned out to be insignificant. Just as she opened her eyes, however, she saw that something had managed to escape. Most likely the object concealed in the lump.

Instinctively, she pulled out Maya again, only to see that the tantō's tip was missing. Before she had time to do more than blink, whatever had escaped the explosion zoomed straight at her, and Yoruichi felt her jaw go slack as she saw it attach itself to her Soul Cutter. It was as though she were witnessing Maya's shikai release in reverse: instead of crumbling away, the blade was being reconstructed piece by piece, until it was restored back to its full, proper shape.

What… what the hell…?

From behind, she heard Kisuke approach. Kneeling down beside her, he balanced on the pads of his feet. He rested his arms on his knees, giving her a knowing look. "Well?" he said.

"That… glow," Yoruichi said, gaping at the empty air where the lump had been just seconds before. "It felt— Was it… alive?" For the briefest of moments, she had felt it: the brush of spiritual pressure.

"Nearly," Kisuke said, smirking. "You recognized it, yes? The spirit within, its spiritual signature?"

Of course she had. She would have recognized it in a sea of other spiritual entities with her eyes closed and her ears shut. "Maya," Yoruichi said. Her Soul Cutter.

"The receptacle was deliberately small, so it would dissipate before it had taken full form. Care to guess what would happen if you stabbed the Tenshintai instead?"

Yoruichi's entire back broke out in cold sweat and she turned to meet Kisuke's eyes. She had spent decades deciphering his expressions; the way his eyes glowed with warmth when he was relaxed, the sharp intelligence and playfulness usually directed at her, the way the irises turned cloudy when he was sad, the way they turned cold and piercing when he was angry.

But this… this was different. It was a rare look, the kind he only saved for special occasions, when he was triumphant, a little too much in love with that brain of his and the more refined manifestations of its brilliance.

"This is…" she said, voice wavering. "Forced materialization."

"Mmmm- hm."

Yoruichi shook her head at him, scoffing. There was little she had ever thought him incapable of to begin with, but she was starting to believe there truly was no problem he couldn't solve. If she were being perfectly honest, she wasn't certain his invention was a good idea in practice, but it was pointless to deny that as an achievement, it was beyond extraordinary. Not to mention supremely iconoclastic, even for him.

"How does Benihime feel about this?" she said. She couldn't imagine any Soul Cutter spirit would take kindly to such an affront. Especially one like Benihime, if Kisuke's throwaway comments over the years had painted an accurate picture.

His rueful smile confirmed her suspicions. "Ever since I started working on this, she has refused to even go in shikai release," he said. "On the upside, my kidō usage and hand-to-hand combat have never been in better shape."

Yoruichi pushed herself up from her knees. "Kisuke, this is an amazing invention. I mean it. But are you sure—?"

"I know it's a gigantic gamble, believe me," he said, following suit. "And you don't even know the half of it." Letting out a sigh, arms akimbo, he turned to her, a renewed sense of excitement on his face. "Shall I answer your first question, then? The how?"

"Ohhhh, I think I'm starting to piece together the how," Yoruichi said, folding her arms. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you've been living on noodles for the past few months, now, would it?"

It was his turn to goggle at her. "How…?"

"I noticed your cupboards were full of nothing but noodles when I came over for our birthday," she said. "Did you blow all your money on this?"

"I— Not all of it, but I will admit, the base material was costly—"

"Kisuke—"

"This wasn't something I could build myself in a reasonable amount of time," he said.

"What is that substance, even? How is such a thing available in the market?"

"It's not," Kisuke said. "Not in that form, at least. What I purchased was actually the raw material used in gigai, and then modified it. And before you ask, no, I couldn't just strip Fleshy; I needed something newer and stronger, more flexible. Gigai convert spiritual particles into physical matt— Well, no, actually, it's a facsimile of actual matter, but anyway. I needed something that converted one form of spiritual matter into another, you know, from blade to actual body, so I pretty much had to go over the thing inch by inch and alter its makeup, so yes, I needed good quality base material, don't look at me like that. I make enough money, I'll be fine!" he said making a flippant gesture. "What's important is that this could revolutionize the way we approach bankai!"

"By making it readily available?"

"Oh goodness, no," Kisuke said with an affected shudder. "I would never allow anyone of mediocre talent to use this. It's too dangerous."

Well, he did always know how to pique her interest. Sighing, Yoruichi gave him an only half-hearted punch on the arm, her lips pursed. "Next time you need money, ask," she said. "So… Are you going to explain what this…Tenshintai actually does, or are you going to keep rambling on about materials?"

His earlier excitement returning full-force, Kisuke walked over to the Tenshintai and picked it up. "As you saw yourself, when you stab it with your Soul Cutter, it forces the spirit to materialize."

"Right," Yoruichi said, nodding. "But what happens next? If this thing is like a gigai, what's stopping the spirit from leaving it? And even if it couldn't, you can't keep the spirit materialized forever, can you? Why should it consent to ever return to sword form, and how would it even begin—?"

"Okay, okay, one thing at a time," Kisuke said, chuckling. "As far as your first question goes, well spotted, that was my first concern. And this—" He pointed at the cord connecting the clavicle to the shoulder. "—Is what keeps it inside. But we'll get to that in a moment. According to the literature, materialization, even when it happens naturally, takes a toll on the body. It's parting with a piece of your soul, after all, however temporarily."

"Right, exactly," Yoruichi said, glad to see they were on the same page. She was about to let him continue, when something he'd mentioned earlier finally clicked, and she did the mental math. "Wait, is that what this whole three-to-four days deal was all about?"

"Correct again," Kisuke said, grinning at her. "That wasn't me issuing a challenge; it's how long I estimate I could endure. And it's not a set number. In theory, the larger one's pool of spiritual energy, the longer they can last before the strain on their soul becomes unbearable. But in reality, it's a little more complicated than that."

"Meaning?"

"In any equation you have your constants and your variables. There are certain limits no soul can go beyond before it completely loses its internal structure and self-destructs. Those are facts, the constants. Then there's you and your Soul Cutter, the variables," he said. "How much punishment can you take before you go down? How will your opponent choose to fight? Will they take it nice and slow, examine your every movement, or will they be aggressive, keeping you cornered the whole fight? From what you've told me of Maya, she is clever and patient. She would toy with you until she had a clear opening. But Benihime… she would be out for blood from the get-go," he said. "You see?"

Yoruichi nodded, liking the idea less and less the more Kisuke explained. "What happens in the end?"

"Obviously you either win or lose the fight. If you win, you have achieved bankai, hurray. If not… well... I imagine it would set the relationship with your Soul Cutter back by many years, destroying all foundation of trust."

"Kisuke…" Yoruichi said, her stomach churning. "This is—"

"A gamble, like I said," he said. "I'm not even sure I can do it."

"But you'll try anyway," Yoruichi said, sighing.

"Well, of course. This isn't the kind of experiment you use test subjects for. The theory can only tell me so much, but you can see, can't you, the thousands of ways this could go wrong? This is a volatile experiment that could be fatal to anyone, no matter how skilled. I have to do it myself."

"Then what am I doing here?"

Kisuke turned to look at her, disbelief contorting his face into a grimace. "You didn't honestly think I'd make you go through this first?"

"I—"

Yoruichi bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything she might regret. The honest answer was Yes. At least it had been at first. Until Kisuke had fully explained the nature of his creation, she had imagined they would either take it in turns, or that he would overlook and assist should he need to. Given all the information, she now understood this wasn't something he had ever meant for anyone else to test.

"No," she said. "But then… did you just want to show me…?"

"That, too. But I do need your help," Kisuke said, one hand snaking up to his nape. "Remember how you wondered what keeps the spirit locked inside the Tenshintai?"

"Yes?"

Kisuke slipped his hand to his pocket, withdrawing a cord identical to the one outfitted on the Tenshintai. "The cord on the Tenshintai makes sure the spirit stays put, but it won't hold on its own for more than a few hours. Five at the most. In order to operate at full capacity, it needs to be constantly fed spiritual pressure. Which is done by channelling it into its companion here," he said, holding up the second cord. "Clearly, I cannot do this myself while in combat; I would run out of energy in less than half a day."

"Oh, I see. But wouldn't you rather… y'know… ask someone with greater spiritual pressure?" she said. "I'm not sure how much time I could give you per day. It might not even be nine hours—"

"I wouldn't trust anyone else with this."

Ugh, you ass. Way to tug at my heartstrings.

"I'm off duty starting tomorrow. Four days. That gives me three days to achieve bankai and one day to taunt you for eating my dust," he said with a grin, ignoring her eyeroll. "Think you can help me out and change your schedule?"

Yoruichi hesitated. On one hand, she didn't want to miss this for the world. On the other, she understood there was a fine line between supporting Kisuke and allowing him to make a grave mistake. Even if his physical self wasn't irreversibly harmed in this experiment, the already tenuous relationship between him and Benihime might shatter to the point of no repair, if he failed to defeat her in time. Satisfying her own curiosity wasn't worth this. Nothing was.

But she had learned long ago just how single-minded he was about his inventions. If she refused to help him, he would find a way to do it on his own, further endangering himself. At the very least with her present, if things went south, she could try to intervene. Somehow.

"All right. I'll speak to Captain Sasagawa," Yoruichi said.

"Then I'll meet you here tomorrow. Six a.m.," Kisuke said, grinning.

Yoruichi returned the smile, hoping she wasn't about to cheer him on to disaster. "Tomorrow at six."

.

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JANUARY 11TH, 125 B.H.I., URAHARA RESIDENCE, 2ND DISCTRICT, NORTHWEST RUKONGAI – 5 AM

.

With a gentle moan, Kisuke rolled over in his futon. Eyes still shut, he reached up to stroke his right cheek. It was still warm, and as his ears adjusted to the ambience, he could hear the soft crackling of the coals in the firepit. He opened his eyes, seeking out the clock on the cabinet by the back wall. A little past five. Perfect.

"Slept well, did we?"

Grinning, Kisuke stretched under the warm covers. Mmm, like a baby. Awfully kind of Miss Shiba to lend me some valerian root extract, wasn't it?

Benihime said nothing, her rage seeping all the way down to his bones. Part of him wished he'd somehow been able to watch as she no doubt tried in vain to wake him up all night. Knowing she would have tried to sabotage his sleep, he had planned accordingly.

She stayed silent as he went about his morning routine, but he could feel her, teetering on the precipice of speech. It wasn't until he was fully clothed and in the process of stocking a bag with essentials that she spoke again.

"Do not go through with this. Stop now, and I will forget you ever conceived of such a thing."

A mellower spirit might have injected the request with a hint of genuine concern. But Benihime was too proud to let him see her vulnerable. She made no requests. Only demands.

You forced my hand, Kisuke told her, nothing but honesty in his voice. I have long ago surpassed shikai level and we both know it. I do not understand how you cannot see it.

"You are ready when I say you are, you insolent whelp!"

His determination must have been driving her to despair all night. He had never felt nor heard her sound so angry before. If her spiritual essence was visible right now, he imagined it would be frothing about her, hissing and spitting volatile particles, as her eyes, pure black, gazed upon him with nothing but loathing.

"You think I wish to see you weak, or destroyed? But strength, true strength, is not something you can force. I have been trying to make you understand for almost two years now, but you insist on keeping your ears shut to the truth."

Kisuke tied the ends of the duffel bag shut, refusing to let her words sway him. I think you have our roles confused.

"You're playing a dangerous game. And what is worse, you are dragging down an innocent with you."

Though her voice was devoid of levity, all Kisuke could do was laugh at her most desperate attempt to make him reconsider. She was no longer even going for a smidgen of plausibility.

"You think me incapable?"

Her tone left no room for doubt as to what she was implying.

I know you're perfectly capable. Just like you know that if you so much as touch a hair on her head, I will hack your materialized form to pieces, crush your blade and scatter the rinds across the four corners of the human world. Her shudder passed through him, and along with it, a chuckle tumbled out of his lips. Oh, come now… Don't feign offense. You have always enjoyed me far more when our minds think alike. Besides… I was bluffing.

He couldn't exactly blame her for not believing him. "Were you really?"

Of course I was. I would never destroy you, he told her, and they were the truer words he had ever spoken. I would simply not release you again. Ever.

It was Benihime's turn to laugh. "Now that is the true bluff. You wouldn't keep that promise, boy. You've gotten a taste for blood now and you will never stop craving it."

True enough. And that would be my punishment for allowing you to hurt her. Watching in impotence as I forever lead a peaceful life afterward... would be yours.

If there was a clearer sign that he had gotten through to her than silence, he didn't know it. Benihime spoke no more as he shouldered his bag and stepped out into the crisp morning air.

Oh and, Benihime? I will not hesitate to do the same if you try to talk your way into hurting either her or me. Just a warning.

Kisuke set off, dashing through the empty streets, the cold wind on his face awakening him fully. He felt more alive than ever, filled with purpose. And as the slate-colored sky slowly brightened, the sun peeking out inch-by-inch, he became convinced that today, he would take possibility into his hands and mold it into certainty. He would not lose. Not to her. Not to him.

He come out of a Flash Step in the middle of the valley inside the Training Grounds. Letting his eyes wander over the staging area, his mind was already hard at work, constructing the possible scenarios of Benihime's first move.

"Someone's looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

Kisuke looked up toward the source of the voice. Yoruichi was already there, perched atop a small cliff overlooking the valley. Having built the valley himself, Kisuke knew that cliff hadn't been there yesterday.

"I made this last night," Yoruichi said, reading the question in his eyes. "Before going to bed, so don't worry; I'm fully rested."

Kisuke smiled at her. "All I was going to say was good morning," he said. "Are you ready to witness history in the making?"

"Blah, blah, blah. Let's see you walk the walk, mister. Off you go."

"I need to explain the rules first," he said, beckoning her over.

Yoruichi pushed herself off the edge of the cliff, landing on the ground gracefully, then approached him.

"Have you eaten?" he said.

Yoruichi snorted. "Isn't that usually my line?"

"You'll need your strength today," he said. "Remember, it's however many hours you can give me, then a five hour break, repeated until the end of the third day. So, rule number one: make sure you stay fed," he said, handing her the duffel bag.

Yoruichi took it off his hands, then pulled the strings and took a peek at the contents. "Aren't you going to need some of this?"

"Well, yes, I didn't mean eat the lot."

Ignoring the amused smirk on his face, Yoruichi adopted a dignified expression and shut the bag closed again. "So what's the expected process here?"

"When I stab the Tenshintai, it'll disappear and Benihime will take its place," he said, pulling the second cord out of his pocket. "The cord from the Tenshintai will transfer on to her and remain attached. It keeps her contained, but it also keeps her from wandering off too far from the wielder of the twin cord, i.e. you. In other words, as long as you both remain within the Training Grounds, close to the center, she can't make a run for it and out into the world."

Not that she would. Benihime's pride would never allow her to back away from a duel, and he had already insulted her repeatedly over the past few months. She won't leave, alright. She wants to pummel me to a fine paste. Still, even with that conviction, he couldn't overlook the need for a failsafe. Predicting what her actions might be if he gained the upper hand in battle was not a precise science.

"As soon as she appears, start feeding your spiritual pressure into the twin cord to keep her from escaping," Kisuke said. "It doesn't need a tremendous amount, it only needs to be a constant, uninterrupted stream. When you're close to you limit, conserve a nice chunk of energy, about the amount you'd need for a twenties level Bakudō, and force it all in at once. That will make the Tenshintai rematerialize, and it'll stay that way, with Benihime locked inside, for about five hours. Should be closer to six, but we'll go with five to be on the safe side."

"Okay, got it."

"Rule number two: if something goes wrong, if perhaps we reach the end and I haven't made it, don't jump in to help, don't hesitate," he said. "Force the Tenshintai into rematerialization and immediately sever the head. It'll be destroyed and Benihime will be forced back into a sword."

Yoruichi's resolve seemed to waver upon hearing the second rule. She stared at him, then at the cord he had just handed her, her jaw set.

"I'll need your word, Yoruichi; we can't have a rogue spirit in our hands," he said. "There's no telling what she may do if she knocks both of us out."

Pursing her lips, Yoruichi stared at the cord resolutely, saying nothing.

"Yoruichi—"

"All right, okay! I swear it."

"Good," said Kisuke.

Despite her agreement, Yoruichi didn't make eye contact with him again, and he could see she was still troubled over what he had asked her to do. Though the possibility of Benihime lashing out was strong, Kisuke had never meant for this day to be so mired in gravity. He had every intention of keeping Yoruichi safe throughout the trial, and he had every intention of prevailing over his sword.

Deciding to lighten the atmosphere a little, Kisuke went on. "Rule number three: you'll need a cheering outfit."

Yoruichi's eyes snapped up to meet his. "What?"

"Here I am, providing this marvelous spectacle for your viewing pleasure and you won't even cheer for me? Hmmm… I'm thinking light, summery yukata, the kind that fits a little loosely— I'm kidding, I'm kidding! That's it, just the two rules."

Her withering stare turning to an eye-roll, Yoruichi shook her head at him and slung the bag of provisions over her shoulder. "Tch, so desperate."

"Are you ready?" he said, grinning at her.

"Yes. Are you?"

Oh, I've been ready for months now. Kisuke nodded. "One last thing."

Yoruichi looked up at him questioningly.

"Don't listen to her, no matter what she might say," Kisuke said. "She lies using the truth and it can be…" Horrifying. Humiliating. Debilitating. "Just ignore her if she addresses you."

It was obviously something Yoruichi hadn't expected to hear. "Would she? Address me?"

There was no escaping the fact that Benihime knew of every single one of his innermost thoughts. If she chose to do so, she could reveal any number of his most shameful secrets, use them against him as punishment or leverage. And as much confidence as he had in the effectiveness of his threat to never release her again, he wouldn't put it past her to turn to such tactics as a desperate measure.

"She might," Kisuke said.

"I take it she doesn't like me very much?" Yoruichi said, her lips twitching upward awkwardly.

"She doesn't really like many things. These days, she's not particularly fond of me, either," Kisuke said, returning her grin. "So… Let's do this," he said.

Yoruichi held out the Tenshintai before him as he withdrew his sword.

Kisuke took a deep breath in, then stabbed the Tenshintai. "Move out."

Yoruichi leapt backwards as his blade cut through the Tenshintai's chest. There was loud hissing from the point of contact, the white surface of the doll rippling. Kisuke felt the handle of his weapon slip out of his grasp just before it was absorbed completely, and the Tenshintai blew apart in a loud explosion. The shockwave pulsed between him and Yoruichi, a release of black spiritual energy filling the air. Like a cloud of dissipating steam, the darkness slowly thinned out. By the time Yoruichi was safely up on the cliff, Benihime herself had materialized before him.

Since November, he had actively avoided his inner world and she hadn't summoned him either, not once. The closer the Tenshintai had been to completion, the more Kisuke had grown curious as to how she was dealing with the impending event. He had fully expected her to look furious upon being forced to materialize, just like she had been this morning, yet she looked anything but.

Wearing her usual subtle smirk, Benihime stood in the middle of the Training Grounds as though she owned the whole world, not a hint of worry on her beautiful features. Her black eyes lingered on him for a moment before they swept the scene, coming to a stop at Yoruichi.

"Hmm… Funny. She looks different from up close," she said. Her voice was calm and even, but loud enough to carry all the way over to Yoruichi.

It was neither a taunt, nor a clear disregard for his earlier order. Kisuke suspected she had merely been unable to resist the temptation. At any rate, he was certain he didn't want to know what Benihime had meant by that, and she never elaborated, turning to face him again.

"Hello, Benihime," Kisuke said. "You heard everything?"

"I did."

"Will you accept the duel?"

Benihime's head cocked to the side, a curtain of glossy, black hair shadowing half her face. Moment of truth. "As long as I get to set the rules," she said.

"That is fair."

Benihime slinked her way over to him. With every step, the ground beneath her turned grey and cracked, as though her talons were sapping the very life out of the earth she walked upon. She strode forward with the entitlement of a Queen, but the graceful body held within all the capriciousness of a Princess, instead. She unsheathed her weapon, and instead of stopping before him, she deviated off course, grazing the tip over his right hand as she swept past him.

Kisuke felt something solid and heavy materialize in his palm, and when he looked down, he saw that he was now holding a very peculiar sword. Though it resembled a regular katana in every way, its outline was blurred and constantly shifting, like a sword made of black fire.

"This Soul Cutter has the power to become any Soul Cutter you wish it to be," Benihime said as she circled around him, her sword scraping the ground in her wake. "A melee type, a projectile type, a kidō blade… You may come at me with fire, ice, or any other element. You may even come at me with a perfect replica of a blade you are familiar with. Any blade you can conceive of."

A replica of an existing blade?

It was difficult not to make an immediate mental jump to Ryūjin Jakka, the Captain-Commander's legendary sword. Kisuke realized very quickly, however, that the keyword here was familiar. He knew nothing of Ryūjin Jakka except that its element was fire. Every warrior worth their salt kept the true power of their blade a secret, and Kisuke had a sneaking suspicion the last time the Captain-Commander had ever needed to release his weapon, it had been eight hundred years ago. Besides, Ryūjin Jakka would never work for him the way it did for its true master.

The test wasn't to simply copy the strongest blade he knew of; the true test was coming up with a blade that would be able to counter Benihime's powers, whatever they might turn out to be.

"Any blade, that is," Benihime said, leaning close to his ear as she came up on his left side. "Except for me."

Kisuke smirked at that last tidbit of information. And really, had he expected any different from her? Of course the test would be all about her trying to make him see that no blade was a match for her. Not even the most versatile weapon his imagination was capable of conjuring up.

Kisuke held the shifting sword up before him. "I suppose wishing straight out for a blade that can defeat you will not work?"

Benihime let out a throaty laugh as she ambled back to her original position. "It will not. Prove that you can win without me, or your flashy spells, and I will submit to you."

A true sword fight then. No holds barred. She really did know the way to his heart. "Do I have your word?"

"Careful, boy," Benihime said, whipping around to face him. Her crimson kimono swung alongside her movement. "You have been treading on thin ice for quite some time now. I will respect the outcome of the duel. Of that, you needn't fret. The question is… will you?" she said, the challenge written in her eyes.

Kisuke met it head-on. "I guess it's safe to say we've both been looking forward to this."

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JANUARY 11TH, 125 B.H.I., THE TRAINING GROUNDS, COURT OF PURE SOULS – 4 PM

.

Kisuke was down to his eleventh version of the blade, when Yoruichi began to feel the end of her power reserves drawing near.

The fact that he had even held out for so long was a testament to his mastery of the art of the sword. His successful run as an officer had given birth to both admiration and envy throughout the ranks. She knew what the naysayers were whispering behind his back: his true talent lay in kidō, he had lucked into a versatile blade, and so on.

Part of Yoruichi wished there was a way they could spectate this duel. She'd love to hear what they would have to say if they could witness him fight for ten straight hours against an opponent of Benihime's caliber.

Kisuke's spirit was not only a master swordswoman, she was also wickedly fast. Fast enough that Yoruichi now suspected the only reason her friend had stood his ground long enough was his quick thinking. Not that any of his ideas had made much of an impact.

Yoruichi could find no fault with his reasoning so far. He had started by testing the elements, experimenting with blades that rained down fire on Benihime, or blasted her with ice, or summoned thunder at her feet. Locking down the element that would hurt her the most first, then the technique was a wise strategy, but it had proved to be fruitless. No matter what he threw at her, it made no impact. One by one, his attacks would either miss, or when they connected, they seemed to lose their internal structure with a mere sweep of her sword.

Throughout all this, there was an unsettling serenity about her, like the outcome of the battle had already been decided long before Kisuke had even summoned his first blade. The notion alone had put Yoruichi on edge. She had been, ever since she'd laid eyes on Benihime. Despite Kisuke's concerns, all Benihime had done upon manifestation was to direct a seemingly benign comment at her. But her cold eyes, her overall appearance had made Yoruichi's insides grow frigid.

She was striking, that much she couldn't deny. A creature possible of existing only in someone's imagination, both lovely and terrible. Her beauty evoked a haunting, eerie sensation, as though this form was but a shadow of her true self. A self that only ever manifested in nightmares. Everything about her was suggestive, from her voice down to her clothing. Yoruichi had long ago suspected Kisuke had lied to her about the maple connection, and she was now starting to see why. The fact that Benihime was clad in something that held a deep emotional significance to him was probably very distressing, a constant, visual representation of two opposing aspects of his life clashing together.

Yoruichi couldn't pretend she hadn't been just as tight-lipped when it came to Maya. However, her reasons for keeping her struggles a secret had had more to do with her failure to communicate with her spirit. Especially since Kisuke had beaten her to the punch within a week of acquiring his Asauchi. She had never imagined that his own reasons for secrecy might be quite so rooted in darkness. Was he ashamed of who Benihime, of who he truly was? She couldn't deny that seeing Benihime in the flesh had been a bit of a shock at first. She also could not deny that the longer she watched the two of them together, the more she couldn't believe she'd never pictured Benihime exactly as she was.

With the last few vestiges of her strength clinging on for dear life, Yoruichi waited for the opportune moment. She readied herself, just as Kisuke rolled out of the deadly path of Benihime's blade in the nick of time. Concentrating her will on the cord in her hand, she took a deep breath and poured all her remaining energy in.

Down below, she saw Kisuke pause for a moment, mid-swing, taken aback by the sudden disappearance of Benihime. His eyes immediately sought hers.

"It's been ten hours," Yoruichi said, to both their surprise. She hadn't expected to last longer than nine hours, if even that. "That's about it for me."

Kisuke nodded, the blade in his hand shifting back to its original shape. Plunging it into the ground, he Flash Stepped over to her, his knees shaking when he made the landing.

He was trying to disguise it, but it was evident he was beyond exhausted. His entire body was covered in sweat, the tendrils of hair that usually framed his face now wet and sticking to his slick skin. But her greatest worry was the pallor to his complexion she had never before seen. This wasn't mere fatigue, or pain, or even frustration at his inability to wound Benihime even once. He looked ill, and Yoruichi knew it was the result of having a piece of his soul forcibly torn out. Even if he had all the time in the world to recuperate, he would never be able to operate at full capacity, not until Benihime returned to her usual form. And it was bound to get worse the closer they got to the three day mark.

Kisuke dropped down to his knees beside her, a groan escaping his lips as he unceremoniously plopped down upon the futon she had laid out for him. He shut his eyes, arm draped over his head, his chest swelling and contracting in time with his pants. "So… That's going swimmingly," he said, the edges of his lips twitching up in a wry grin.

Yoruichi let out a feeble chuckle, setting the cord aside and taking a seat next to him. She pulled at the drawstrings of the duffel bag, starting to unload the provisions he had packed. Kisuke was watching her through half-lidded eyes, looking about ready to fall asleep as she pushed a container of rice over to him.

"After you've eaten something, get some rest," he said, sitting up on the futon.

"What about you?" Yoruichi said, opening a packet of dried fruit and tossing a few slices of apricot into her mouth.

"We'll take it in turns," he said, his fingers shaking as he tried to hold his chopsticks upright. "I was going to go wash by the stream anyway—"

"It's January; you'll freeze."

"It'll help with the soreness."

Yoruichi chewed on her fruit, her eyes trained on him even as he avoided making eye-contact. Despite his earlier quip, she knew he wasn't in a loquacious mood right now, having expected to do better against Benihime. "Okay, but I'm healing you first," she said.

Kisuke grimaced, washing down his large mouthful with some water off the canteen. "It's fine, get some sleep—"

"Wouldn't it be better if I healed you now so I can fully recover my energy during sleep?"

He couldn't argue with her logic, though she could see he was trying to find a loophole. "I seriously reek right now," he said, finally glancing up at her with a wince.

"Yeah, I know; I train with you almost every day," Yoruichi said, setting the packet of fruit down and motioning at him to undress. "You keep eating."

Letting out a sigh, Kisuke put his food down and removed his top. The reason for his hesitation to let her heal him became plain the moment he did. He hadn't wanted her to see just how badly Benihime had gotten him, even in a seemingly uneventful fight. His back was peppered with bruises, both big and small, and what she had thought was a miss, had instead left him with a nasty-looking cut on the left side of his abdomen.

Yoruichi suppressed a shudder at the sight. She schooled her expression into a passive one, as though she wasn't becoming increasingly panicked about his chances.

Kisuke took a seat down on the futon, his back turned to her, and reached for his food again, not saying a word.

Willing her hands to stop trembling, Yoruichi scooted closer, her legs splayed out on either side of him as she set about healing his abdomen. "By the way," she said, desperate for something other than tense silence to fill the air between them. "Your spiritual pressure grew during the course of the fight. Did you notice?"

"It did?" Kisuke said, straightening his slumped back.

"Mmmm-hm. It's actually quite intriguing to witness," she said. "It also probably means you'll need more time to recover your energy, so after I'm done, forget about the bath and keep on eating. Toss some nuts and fruit in there, they're dense in calories and nutrients."

"You need to rest, too."

"I'll be fine with a couple of hours of sleep."

Kisuke ate a few more bites, letting her work in silence, before he plunged his chopsticks into the food and set the bowl aside. "I'm screwing this up."

Yoruichi's spiritual pressure faltered at his dejected tone. It was a desperate cry for some comfort, but she was struggling to find any soothing words when her own outlook was so bleak. "Kind of, yeah," she said.

Shoulders tensing up, Kisuke gaped at her over his shoulder, as though hoping he had heard wrong.

Yoruichi shrugged, grasping at the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Well it's true," she said, grinning at him.

"And yet you seem quite sanguine. Wait— Did you just come here to watch as I get the snot beaten out of me?"

"Partly," she said, and was glad to see that he joined her in laughing. "But no, I'm not concerned."

One of Kisuke's pale eyebrows shot up. "Why not?"

"Because I know you'll win."

"You know."

She shrugged again. "It's what you do. You watch, you analyze, then boom. Checkmate," she said, only now realizing that this pep talk was easing both their fears. When explaining his own process out loud, she found herself growing calmer, regaining hope. Was this how he always felt when he gave his trademark little speeches to lift her spirits?

"Checkmate, huh? It took me seventy-two years to beat your father, you know," Kisuke said.

"Yes, well, father is a bit cleverer than Benihime. No offense," she said. "But here's the thing: you've done this a hundred times. You hate fighting without knowing your opponent inside-out. So when you have to do just that, you hold back, you watch. Sounds exactly like what you've been doing with Benihime to me."

A knot formed on Kisuke's brow as he considered her words. They were having the desired effect, but he still clung to some uncertainty. "She's not just any opponent."

"True. So it's a good thing you have all this time," she said, as she swept her fingers over the freshly healed wound, checking for swelling. "Play it safe for now. She is pretty sneaky, after all. Then again—" She glanced up at him, smirking. "—you've got plenty of experience with sneaky."

Kisuke only vaguely returned the smile as he turned to the side, half-facing her. There was that look in his eyes again, the one that rendered her silent and flustered, the kind of penetrating gaze that sometimes kept her up at nights with its intensity, and she would toss and turn, finding no comfort until the early morning hours. A shadow passed over his gaze, his pupils dilating, the grey irises growing darker. Yoruichi wondered if her chest was heaving as visibly as his was.

"Yoruichi—"

The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Get some sleep," she said, smiling at him. Whatever he'd meant to say next, she was certain now was not the time. He had a trial to get through, and he could not afford wasting a single moment of rest.

"I— Yeah. Okay." He adjusted his top, making a clear effort to keep his brittle grin from faltering. "Thanks for healing me. Don't let me sleep too long, okay?" he said, settling down on the futon.

He closed his eyes, and in the couple of seconds it took Yoruichi to answer him, he was fast asleep.

As she watched Kisuke's pallid chest rise and fall with his faint breaths, Yoruichi mentally replayed their conversation, trying to instill herself with some of the confidence she had displayed to him.

For the first time in her life, she felt the keen desire to have Maya materialize next to her. More than anything, she wanted to bury her face into her friend's soft fur, snuggle the warm body and let her purrs ease all her worries away.

In response, Maya offered her the next best thing. Her gentle trills reverberated throughout Yoruichi's chest as her friend kept her company in spirit, sharing the load of her fears, making them a little easier to carry.

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JANUARY 13TH, 125 B.H.I., THE TRAINING GROUNDS, COURT OF PURE SOULS – 2 AM

.

His vision blurred for a moment as he stared at a fixed point on the ceiling, his consciousness slipping. Kisuke started, fingers digging into his futon, and he forced his eyes wide open, heart drumming.

As much as he needed to rest, he couldn't afford to right now. In a few hours, the second day would be officially over, and he was no closer to beating Benihime than he had been at the beginning. Counting on the following twenty four hours for more insight was a waste. His soul was under so much strain already, that he doubted he would make it to two and a half days, let alone three.

Though his pool of power had flourished, he had little use for it. Without a better strategy, it wouldn't matter how powerful he was. Not if he could not use said power effectively.

Benihime had so far deflected everything he'd thrown at her. The only times he had wounded her, it had been through sheer swordsmanship alone, the blade's abilities being of no help. If anything, trying to come up with new permutations of the sword had only been a hindrance. Near the end of the first day, he had entertained the theory that the blade itself was a distraction, but it had led nowhere. Even without the weapon's unique powers, he was struggling with hurting her, often landing a blow only to find himself cut, instead. It was not a matter of poor determination, he knew as much. The answer was far simpler: he was weaker without her. Forcing him to reach that conclusion had always been the point of the trial.

Even armed with that knowledge, he could see no clear path to victory. He hadn't been able to for two whole days now.

Next to him, Yoruichi was in deep slumber, buried up to her shoulders under the futon to keep the cold at bay. Head rolling to the side, Kisuke watched her sleep. The permanent knot marring her forehead these past two days had finally relaxed. Benihime's trial had taken its toll on her as well, and guilty though he felt for getting her involved, he couldn't help but also be in awe of her. Anyone else with an equivalent pool of spiritual power wouldn't have been able to make it last eight hours, but she had been consistently stretching it, doling it out with such care and precision that she had afforded him ten hours instead. In the third and last cycle, she had actually managed to come close to eleven.

He should've woken her up almost an hour ago, but he'd neither had the heart to do so, nor did he think there was any point. He wasn't going to be getting any sleep himself. He'd recovered as much of his spiritual energy as he could through sustenance, but his mind was running a mile a minute. It wouldn't find peace until the trial was over, one way or another. Occasionally his eyes would slip shut, but something in his subconscious would immediately shake him awake. The world would rush back into focus, his surroundings a reminder of his grim circumstances.

Kisuke pulled Yoruichi's futon up to her ears, tucking the edge behind the crook of her neck, then turned to face the ceiling again, sighing.

The more he thought about it, the more Benihime's test made both all the sense in the world, and no sense at all. Her reasoning behind the rules was obvious: she wanted him to acknowledge her superiority over other swords. From the beginning of their relationship, all she'd ever wanted was for them to work as one, as equals, so why would she ever ask him to prove he could win without her? The second rule was absolute: he would not be able to summon her.

Victory in this trial wasn't a matter of pure, raw strength. He had conjured up the strongest blade he could imagine, and it had failed, just like every other had. Then again, perhaps there was a flaw in his reasoning when coming up with the strongest weapon. One's perception of strength could vary from situation to situation. There was but one sure-fire metric of strength, or rather potential in Soul Cutters, and it was—

Eyes snapping wide, Kisuke sat up on his futon fast enough to make himself nauseated, but he paid his protesting body no mind.

This is it. I know how to beat her.

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JANUARY 13TH, 125 B.H.I., THE TRAINING GROUNDS, COURT OF PURE SOULS – 3 AM

.

Yoruichi rolled on to her back, letting out a soft moan. Deeply ensconced in the warmth and softness of her futon, her mind still trapped in that sweet, post-sleep haze, she shimmied down, burying her nose under the rim of the covers. She was beginning to awaken, but she had no intention of getting up just yet, figuring she might as well lie in until First Call.

She could hear shuffling from somewhere in the vicinity, which didn't bode well for her plans. If her bunkmates were already up and about, the bell was about to ring. Sighing, Yoruichi cracked one eye open, shifting her bleary gaze toward the source of the noise.

Kisuke stood before her and there was a towel slung around his neck, his hair damp. The kosode of his black robes was undone and he was inspecting a wound on his abdomen.

Hold on— Kisuke? What is he—? THE BANKAI TRAINING!

Yoruichi sprang up from the futon, her eyes wild, memories of the last two days rushing back to her all at once. "What time is—? Why didn't you wake me up!"

"Morning," Kisuke said, grinning as he redressed the wound she had healed many hours ago. "It should be getting close to 3 am, I was just about to wake you."

Honestly, that fool. Did he not understand that getting him rested and fed was a priority? Even if she managed to stretch her own powers enough to give him twelve, twenty hours, none of it would matter if he couldn't last three.

Forking a hand through her hair, Yoruichi looked around for the duffel bag as she tried to get her bearings. By the time Kisuke had finished wrapping the bandage around his waist, she was hastily shoving down handfuls of crackers, in a last-ditch effort to restore her spiritual energy to its full capacity.

"Slow down," he said, chuckling as he adjusted his kosode. "There's still some time."

"Did you get any sleep?" she said.

"I'm fine," Kisuke said, and for the first time in three days, he looked it.

Yoruichi seized him up, her brows coming together. Just as she had predicted, the burden of being parted with his inner spirit for two full days now was evident on his body. He had bathed and changed clothes while she slept, but it was clear he hadn't gotten much –if any- rest at all. And yet something about him was different. He was smiling. He was confident. Somewhere in there, past the exhaustion, the look in his eyes was one of pure resolve.

"You got a plan?" she said.

"More like… a hunch," he said, meeting her eye, lips stretched out in a smirk.

And it was then that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to win. Today. Right now.

Swallowing her mouthful, Yoruichi reached for the canteen of water and splashed some on her face. Washing all vestiges of sleepiness off her face, she got up on her feet and went through a swift stretching routine to get herself ready.

"Okay, I'm up," she said. When she picked up the cord, she could sense that the spiritual power she had used to seal Benihime was about to run out. "It's nearly time. You ready?"

With a nod, Kisuke Flash Stepped to the valley below and pulled the sword out of the ground. Within seconds, the fallen Tenshintai began to morph into Benihime's shape once again.

After a brief, quite frankly tormenting round of inane pleasantries, they finally got down to business. This time around, Kisuke went for a simple, compact blade. He didn't bother employing any abilities, focusing on speed instead of power. He still had difficulty cutting Benihime, but he stayed on top of the fight, countering her slashes and keeping his cool.

Come on, come on…

As Kisuke and Benihime's swords were about to clash again, Yoruichi sensed the shift; he was gathering up a massive release of spiritual power, ready to unleash it the moment their swords made contact. It was a familiar move, one he often used against her when he wanted to push her back and gain some distance. It was also a risk, wasting such a big amount of energy on a single attack when he was meant to be spending it wisely, trying to make it last, something she knew he was all too aware of. And it could only mean one thing.

He's about to finish this.

The two swords met with a clang. As Yoruichi had foreseen, the force behind the attack pushed Benihime back. She didn't lose her balance as her clawed feet scraped the ground, already poised for a counterattack, but Kisuke made good use of that one second the powerful blow had afforded him. He Flash Stepped backwards to put more space between them and brandished his weapon.

The sword reverted back to its original state or ever-shifting, black flame-like matter, and Yoruichi held her breath.

When the shape solidified, however, she found that she could feel no power whatsoever within the new blade. Not a single speck. It was a completely blank sword, much like the Asauchi given to them as Academy students.

Benihime seemed to share her confusion, looking downright affronted at Kisuke's newest attempt. "Is this a joke? You think an empty blade will be able to defeat me?" she said, her brow knit.

Kisuke's only response was to let out a smirk, twisting the weapon ostentatiously around his wrist as he allowed just a hint of his spiritual power to seep into the blade.

Yoruichi realized what was about to happen barely a second before Benihime did, and it took everything in her power to keep herself from letting out a joyous scream.

The sword shifted again, but it wasn't the result of Kisuke's will. It was the result of his power impregnating the blank blade. And just like it had transpired four years ago, with that single droplet of spiritual energy, the sword in his hand was no longer an Asauchi, but—

"Awaken, Benihime!"

Benihime's face registered nothing but shock as she saw her own self reflected in the sword Kisuke now held.

Channeling every last reserve of power left in him, Kisuke fell into a Flash Step so fast, so beautifully executed, that Yoruichi could only feel pride at both her tutelage and his progress.

Before Benihime could even comprehend what had happened, the sword in Kisuke's hands had run her through.

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.

He felt it, the moment the blade pierced through her heart. Hands shaking on the grip, he no longer knew where she ended and he began.

Her shock morphed into pain, agonizing pain laced with a hint of betrayal, the unspoken question written in her eyes: Why? But she smiled through it, her hand reaching out toward him, the tip of her thumb tracing his cracked lips. "Clever boy…"

The black pools of her irises swallowed him whole, and he allowed himself to be drawn in, closing his eyes, only to reopen them in the dark.

There was a forced stillness in the air, a sense of an impending event, the calm before the storm.

The maple stood tall and healthy, its branches heaving under the weight of brilliant, crimson leaves. And there she sat beneath it, more beautiful and serene than she had ever been, the smile gracing her face beatific.

"In the beginning, there was only darkness," she said. "And on the day we came into this world, screaming with the exquisite pain and ecstasy of birth, we became this world. Primordial and absolute, the One who is both creator and creation."

She stood up, her gaze never leaving his as she approached with the determined yet leisurely gait of a lover.

"And then we called out into the void, saying It is I, but none answered other than our own echo. And so we knew fear, for who among us does not fear in the face of solitude? But what had we to fear, when fear itself only refers to a second? And so we knew loneliness, desire, and called out once more, our cry splitting the One in half."

Coming to a stop before him, she raised her arm, the sleeve of her kimono slipping past her delicate wrist as she held her hand out, letting it hover in the space between them, never touching him. "And we became you and I," she said, gesturing from him to herself. "Torn asunder, cast off to opposite ends of this world, fighting, always fighting. To be One again."

She took the final step forward, placing her palm over his heart, the sole dark cloud in her calmness that hint of betrayal, the Why. "All you had to do was say the words, you know," she said. "I would have stood down. But you found another way. You always do."

His lips parted, breath held in as she leaned forward, her other hand coming up to cup his face. There was an endearing, childish innocence in the reluctance with which she placed her mouth against his, as though she were testing the waters, virginal and unassuming.

Her touch filled him with warmth, a heat that spread down to his core and all throughout him like wildfire. The uncertain mouth became aggressive, and while he'd only found himself cautiously reciprocating before, he was now returning the kiss in kind, one hand fisting her hair as he coaxed her lips apart. There was neither affection nor lust in the exchange, but an immeasurable, irresistible urge to quench his thirst for something just out of reach, something nameless and nebulous which was only becoming clearer the more she drew him in, all teeth, tongue and roaming hands.

And then his eyes snapped open, his whole body growing rigid in her embrace when he felt it, the ripple in the still air, the breeze that blew past them, a herald for the coming storm.

The wind swept past the maple tree, carrying with it the crimson leaves while the ground beneath him shook, his whole world starting to fall apart as the hurricane enveloped them. Benihime dug her fingernails into his scalp, her mouth hot and relentless against his, every movement of her lips drinking in the life out of him, until he could no longer breathe or move or do anything but gape in horror at the whirlwind of crimson that had encircled them.

Benihime pulled away, her hair dancing in the wind as she held his face in her hands. "Shhhh… Fear not, my sweet. There will be no more solitude for us, nor desire for the unattainable. What have we to fear, when we are One?"

With a smile, she let go, her body dissolving in a flurry of crimson leaves and before he could do more than reach out in futility, the hurricane around him glowed redder and closed in on him, his scream the last thing he heard before being swallowed into oblivion.

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JANUARY 13TH, 125 B.H.I., THE TRAINING GROUNDS, COURT OF PURE SOULS – 3:30 AM

.

It happened so fast, she never even got the chance to cheer for him.

One moment Benihime was there, body skewered upon Kisuke's sword, and the next, she was dissolving like a slain Hollow. Particles of black spiritual matter scattered in the air, revealing the Tenshintai beneath, and they reformed in his hand into the familiar shape of his Soul Cutter.

The second she was back in his hand, the new, subdued Benihime, Kisuke fell down on his knees, panting, his grip on Benihime so tight his knuckles turned white. No hint of triumph on his face, no elation, nor exhaustion, but pure, sheer panic as he was starting to exhibit difficulty to breathe.

Yoruichi had Flash Stepped to him in the blink of an eye, all thoughts of celebration evaporating from her mind at once. "Kisuke?"

Dropping his sword, Kisuke took in a rasping breath, one hand clutching his chest. Something was happening within him, the flow of his spiritual pressure turning intermittent. There was a moment, the merest fraction of a second when their eyes met, and then his entire body was flooded with a raging torrent of uncontrollable energy.

"KISUKE!"

As soon as he saw her move to come to his aid, Kisuke held up one hand, looking more terrified than she had ever seen him. "NO, STAY BACK!"

His spiritual pressure left the confines of his body, encasing him in an empyreal, volatile haze of the purest red, tendrils of energy swaying about erratically like a living, growing crown of thorns. It was as though someone had stretched his Soul Sleep wide open, and the flood of energy that spewed forth was endless, a seething, snarling beast that had been caged for too long.

"What's happening to you?" Yoruichi said, frozen mid-step, at a complete loss of what to do.

Kisuke could only shake his head, as he still clutched his chest, now unable to draw a single breath.

He had warned her, a long time ago, that with every sudden growth spurt of his powers he would need to practice caution and patience, learn how to work with it and keep it under control. For the past three days, she had watched as his spiritual pressure had grown in an alarmingly fast rate. It was said that the mere feat of achieving bankai release gave a Soul Reaper five to ten times the amount of power they previously had.

Left to this state, he was going to burn from within by his own newfound strength.

Yoruichi pursed her lips, fingernails digging into the pads of her palms as she clenched her fists. "Hold it in."

"I… I can't—"

"Less than a second. That's all I need."

Kisuke met her gaze and seemed to understand. With tremendous effort, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

Yoruichi lay in wait, poised to move at any moment. Kisuke's power continued to fluctuate wildly, but the volatile, erratic flow was slowing down. Yoruichi suspected it took all he had not to scream agony, but with one final push, Kisuke managed to give her an opening: the erratic flow of his power came to a sudden halt, the tendrils in the halo of red that surrounded him now swaying gently, like stalks of grass in the breeze.

She swept in, willing every single cell of her body to move faster than it ever had, and she pulled her right arm back. Palm steady and flat as a board, she brought it forward, concentrating all her spiritual power at her fingertips. Kisuke's eyes snapped wide as her hand plunged straight through the flesh and into his abdomen, shattering his Soul Sleep.

The pupils of his eyes dilated, consuming the irises and the whites until there was nothing but black, and for a second, Benihime's eyes stared back at her with raw, pure hatred. The darkness withdrew, Kisuke's eyes rolled back into their sockets and he was knocked out cold, the red haze of energy surrounding him dissolving at once.

Wasting no time, Yoruichi tossed him over her shoulder, grabbed Benihime and sped off. Left unattended, his damaged Soul Sleep would permanently close, never to release spiritual power again. But if she hurried, she could get him to the Relief Station before any irreparable damage set in. She had no time to come up with an excuse for his injury, she would just have to wing it and hope for the best.

The fatigue of the last few days and the added effort of Flash Stepping for miles caught up with her. When she materialized at the reception of the Fourth Division's Relief Station, she could barely stand.

The normally busy emergency room was quiet at this late hour, only a handful of medics waltzing about the hallways. The receptionist's eyes were dull and bloodshot as she looked up from her desk. She did a double take, as did every other single person in the vicinity.

Drenched in sweat, carrying an unconscious body over her shoulder, her white kosode covered in blood that wasn't hers, Yoruichi met the receptionist's stunned gaze. "His Soul Sleep has been heavily damaged," she said, in between pants.

There was a flurry of movement as the medics brought forward a stretcher. The receptionist scrambled down the hall, no doubt in search of a superior officer on call. Yoruichi listened to the instructions relayed to her carefully, about to help the medics deposit Kisuke onto the stretcher, when she felt his hand brush against her back. Turning to face him, she saw that he had only barely regained consciousness, eyes shifting about slowly as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

Yoruichi knelt down by his side as he was lowered to the stretcher. This was the only chance she would get to warn him before he was taken away. "It's okay, Kisuke," she said, coloring her voice with as much pathos as she could muster. "You'll be okay now," she said, using the guise of stroking his hair to lean down to his ear and whisper, "Gaten."

A knot formed on Kisuke's forehead, but before she could offer any further explanation, or at the very least make sure he'd even heard her, he was whisked away, past the red line on the floor that denoted the off-limits area to visitors.

Yoruichi watched him disappear behind the double doors, and it was only then that she allowed herself to process what had happened, to realize that the fake concern she'd displayed only moments ago hadn't been so artificial after all.

As the medics eased her into a small examination room to tend to her, she tried to reason that she had done the best she could. In her mind, there was simply no competition between a dead Kisuke and a powerless one, but would he feel the same way once all was said and done? If her desperate attempt to save him had unwittingly terminated his career as a Soul Reaper, left him with no outlet for his brilliant ideas, his passion, would he ever forgive her? Would he ever be Kisuke again? It would seem especially ironic now, almost like a punishment for his newfound confidence. Not to mention his crowning achievement, a feat so diametrical to the deeply entrenched rules of their world, that it could only make his name famous overnight. Be that in a positive or negative light.

Though far from collected, she pushed her own thoughts aside for now. Keeping them both out of trouble was the immediate priority. She answered the healer's questions as vaguely as she could, avoiding specifics on their sparring methods, using her alleged shock to duck out whenever cornered. After asking her to fill in and sign a number of forms, the medics declared her unharmed. She could do nothing else but sit at the deserted Waiting Room.

Curled into a tight ball of numbness, she kept her eyes on the minute hand of the clock on the wall, waiting in vain for news of Kisuke's condition. It was nearing daybreak when she heard the distant sound of footsteps clopping down the hall. She looked up, hope and dread battling it out within her, only to find none other than Captain Unohana herself approaching.

Dread lopped Hope's head clean off, taking its seat on the throne of her heart with a smirk.

Yoruichi had never felt smaller or more petrified than the moment the Captain came to a stop before her, the expression on her face inscrutable.

"Is… is he…?" Yoruichi said, her voice no more than a strangled whisper.

"Out of danger," Captain Unohana said. "I oversaw the procedure performed by Officer Yamada and it was a textbook operation; the damage to Officer Urahara's Soul Sleep has been reversed, the wound and incision nearly healed. All he requires now is some rest to recover his depleted reserves of power."

The breath that got expelled from Yoruichi's lungs was one she wasn't even aware of holding in. Burying her face in her hands, she willed her drumming heart to slow down, an endless mantra echoing in her head. He's fine, he's fine, he's fine, he's finehe'sfine…

"For a—" Yoruichi looked up just in time to see Captain Unohana check out the form on her binder. "—miscalculated hit, it was a curiously precise one. A lucky shot, no doubt. So lucky, in fact, that a four millimeter deviation would have meant complete destruction of the Soul Sleep, instead of the actual end result: a small collapse that just so happened to seal it up. How very lucky, indeed. Why, a more suspicious person might have considered the odds and reached the conclusion that such a coincidence is a near impossibility."

Yoruichi shrank back into her seat, wrists locked between her knees.

"To the great surprise of all the statisticians in the land, however," Captain Unohana said. "Officer Urahara corroborated your story when he regained consciousness. Awfully insistent that he was the one who suggested it, too."

It took a great measure of self-control not to smile at the sound of that. So Kisuke had heard her, after all, and had even managed to offer an explanation that coincided with hers. A training accident, one that had taken place when he had agreed to help her test out an Onmitsukidō maneuver that involved dealing a single blow laced with tranquilizer. She'd remembered mentioning it once, glad to see he had been paying attention. What Captain Unohana didn't know but obviously suspected, was that Yoruichi had needed no additional help to master the technique.

"We… we both… agreed to this," Yoruichi said, hoping that placing the blame on both parties might lessen the chances of grave punishment from either side.

"And I suppose you can offer no explanation as to how a Fifth Seat has about thrice the amount of spiritual power my Lieutenant does? Or how there were no traces of medicine in his bloodstream whatsoever?"

There was no fooling a competent healer when it came to concealing the truth behind injuries. And Captain Unohana was far from merely competent. Despite her best efforts to keep her story vague, Yoruichi had known that certain elements simply wouldn't add up. If anyone was bound to notice, it was someone of the Captain's caliber.

"I… I never actually administered the tranquilizer," Yoruichi said. "I saw I misjudged my blow, so…"

It was clear as day that Yoruichi's answer hadn't addressed the part of the inquiry the Captain felt was more salient, but the latter didn't ask any follow-up questions. Instead, she fixed Yoruichi with a sphinx-like stare. "I see," she said, then turned to her binder, where she made a few notes.

Yoruichi thought it best to stay silent until prompted by the Captain, wary of saying anything that would turn the tipping point of the precarious situation against their favor. The only saving grace was that Captain Unohana herself held no power over a member of a different Division or the Onmitsukidō. Nevertheless, she could still petition for an investigation, or write a particularly damning report that would find its way into the hands of their respective superiors.

Captain Unohana finished taking down notes then turned back to Yoruichi. "I will allow a brief visitation, no longer than five minutes. Regular visiting hours begin at 8 am."

Unable to hide her shock, Yoruichi gawked at Captain Unohana, certain she had misheard.

In response, the Captain rolled her eyes and snapped her binder shut. "My dear, if I reported every training injury for what it truly was, there would be few others left to fill these halls but the Captain-Commander and myself," she said. "Goodness knows I've had more than enough members of the Eleventh hobble in here with a severed limb or their actual viscera in hand, insisting they fell down the stairs. At least both you and Officer Urahara made an effort to come up with something semi-convincing. And you both look plenty remorseful. That is enough for me. I trust that today will serve as a cautionary tale on the perils of dangerous training methods?"

Yoruichi couldn't have disagreed if she'd wanted to. As the air around her grew a touch colder, the atmosphere heavier, Yoruichi nodded vigorously at Captain Unohana's broad smile, breath caught in her throat.

"Room 304, second turn down the hallway, to your right."

"Thank you, Captain," Yoruichi said, giving Captain Unohana a curt, stiff bow before she all but sprinted away in search of Kisuke's room.

Once there, she found the door ajar and stepped inside the dimly-lit room. Kisuke was the sole occupant, she was glad to see, the other cot made and empty. Clad in a white hospital gown, he lay on the bed, eyes closed. Upon hearing the gentle creak of the door, he turned toward the entrance.

"Did you get in trouble?" he said, his voice faint.

Yoruichi shook her head, coming to take a seat by the empty side on his bed.

Relief flooded Kisuke's features. "Good," he said, nodding. For a moment, Yoruichi thought he might've fallen asleep, but after a brief pause, he looked up at her. "Am I in trouble?"

Yoruichi let out a chuckle. "I don't think so. Good job on decoding my message, by the way."

"Mmm. You must be sick and tired of saving me by now."

"I was saving my ass, too."

"S'not what I…" Kisuke said, one hand gesturing hazily. "I'd be dead if you hadn't…"

She watched him in silence as his guilt-ridden face fell into a frown, like he was struggling with concepts far too complex to put to words when under the influence of strong painkillers. Eventually, he stopped trying to find the means to express whatever it was he had wanted to say and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes, a subtle smirk on his lips.

"So… truth," he said, his voice starting to slur. "How jealous are you right now?"

Yoruichi sighed, reminding herself that attacking him within the walls of the Relief Station would likely not get her a second pass. "I'll admit to a sliver of jealousy," she said. "But I'll always have the image of Kisuke sashimi to console me whenever I feel that way."

Kisuke started laughing, matching the grin on her face, but his amusement was short-lived. He started coughing and let out a groan, hand hovering over his abdomen. Even though Captain Unohana had mentioned no wound or incision had been left, the area would still likely be very tender.

"You okay?" Yoruichi asked.

"Hnnn, fine, I jus'— Ohhhh…"

"What? What is it?"

A long-drawn-out moan of pleasure escaped Kisuke's lips, his eyes glazing over. "Oh, wow, now s' really start'n t' kick in…" he said, one hand fisting the bed sheet. The muscles in his throat corded as he shut his eyes, head sinking down into the pillow. "Fuuuuuuuck…"

Yoruichi bit down on her lip to keep from laughing out loud, now eagerly awaiting for the day he'd make a full recovery, so she could start bringing up this incident until it stopped being funny. Which would be never. "You need some privacy?" she asked, smirking.

Kisuke chuckled at that, letting out a sigh as his eyes slipped open again. "Hey, Yoruichi…"

"Yes?"

There was more to his smile than lassitude, even though he was now visibly trying to stay awake. Pride and elation was written all over his face, from the upward twitch of his lips to the crinkles by his eyes. "I did it."

She returned the smile. "I know."

His lips moved but no sound came out as the hand on the mattress moved slowly toward hers, his fingers a little unsure in their movements. "You stayin'?"

"Captain Unohana only let me in for a few minutes, she says you need to rest. I'll come by tomorrow, okay?"

"Kay."

When his eyes slipped closed this time, they didn't reopen. Yoruichi stayed on the bed, watching as he fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, the hand that had tried to reach for hers lying still on the mattress. Yoruichi placed her palm over it, every now and then reaching for his pulse just to make sure it was still there. The nurses allowed her to stay for a full fifteen minutes, despite Captain Unohana's orders.

Before she left, and just because she was certain he would never know, Yoruichi bent down, sweeping his hair away to press her lips against his forehead.

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JANUARY 13TH, 125 B.H.I., FOURTH DIVISION RELIEF STATION, COURT OF PURE SOULS – 6 PM

.

She lost count of the times she had to reassure the nurses that the bento dinner she was carrying wasn't a gift for a patient, but was meant for herself. Yoruichi strode down the corridor, grinning as she pictured the look on Kisuke's face when she'd take a seat right across him and start eating her mackerel sashimi piece by piece, as slowly and as leisurely as was possible.

Pushing the door to his room open, she stepped inside, making every attempt to look nonchalant, only to be greeted by the sight of his empty bed. In fact, the whole room was vacant, both beds made and looking as though they hadn't been used in hours.

Frowning, Yoruichi checked the number by the door again. She had made no mistake. Has he been moved? She made the trip all the way back to the reception, walking up to the nurse behind the desk.

"Excuse me."

The blond man looked up at her with a genial smile. "How may I help you?"

"I am here to visit Urahara Kisuke," she said. "He was in room 304 up until this morning, but I assume he has been moved elsewhere?"

"Urahara Kisuke? One moment, please…" the nurse said. He turned to the file cabinet behind him and went through the name tags at the top of the folders. "Urahara… Urahara… There it is," he said, fishing Kisuke's file out of the cabinet. He laid it open in front of him, eyes skimming through the first couple of pages. "I see here Officer Urahara has been discharged."

"Already?"

"Yes," the nurse said, a frown of disapproval forming on his face. "He signed a DAMA form at noon."

"DA—?"

"Discharged against medical advice."

"What?" Yoruichi said, nearly dropping her package when she threw herself over the desk, wanting to see the file with her own eyes. "Is that even…? Is this allowed?"

"The patient was not in critical condition," the nurse said. "Healers caution against this, but we cannot hold a patient against their will when their life is not in any immediate danger."

Yoruichi's face clouded while she read through the file, trying to find any clue as to why Kisuke might've been in a hurry to leave. And more importantly, why he hadn't contacted her.

"Miss? Please, I cannot grant you access to confiden—"

"He had a visitor?" Yoruichi said, her eyes coming to a stop upon sight of a name she couldn't quite make out upside down. "Before me?"

"Yes," the nurse said, pulling the file out of her reach. "Officer Nishimura of the Thirteenth."

One of his colleagues, then? Was there some sort of an emergency?

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I… No, thank you," Yoruichi said, turning her heel and hurrying outside.

Her two swift trips to his home and the Training Grounds yielded no results. She headed to his division barracks next, hoping she hadn't wasted time in pointless pursuits. In the end, it didn't matter. At the Thirteenth Division, she was informed that a squadron of Soul Reapers had left for the Material World hours ago, Kisuke among them.

The reasoning behind his decision to return to active duty so soon still eluded her, as she made her way to the Onmitsukidō grounds. It wasn't as though Kisuke didn't have a single reckless bone in his body. He had several, in fact, but there had always been a method to his madness. They both had enough sense not to cross beyond a point where recklessness outweighed sanity. Kisuke in particular only ever took calculated risks, when the odds were staggeringly skewed in his favor. The few times he'd acted on instinct without a solid plan had been out of desperation.

He had no reason whatsoever to refuse treatment after such a narrow brush with death, to head to battle in his state when they had all but officially won the war. The Quincies had been decimated and Soul Society troops had returned home en masse, with only a few groups remaining behind to hunt down the last few stragglers.

What were you thinking?

If she were being entirely honest, what hurt the most was his refusal to confide in her, to let her in on whatever it was he was planning.

Being in no mood for pointless pleasantries, Yoruichi gave the guard at the gate a cursory nod and stepped into the complex.

"First Officer Shihōin!"

Turning around, Yoruichi arched an eyebrow at the guard approaching her. "Yes?"

"This missive was left for you by an officer of the Thirteen Divisions a few hours ago," the man said, handing her a small scroll.

Hours ago? Frowning, Yoruichi took the scroll in hand and tugged at the string. The handwriting was immediately recognizable, but the contents of the letter were uncharacteristically laconic. In the middle of the otherwise blank parchment, only two words had been written:

Thank you.

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A/N: So ummm… surprise? xD;;; Yeah, that was what the tease concerning 'next two chapters' was all about in my previous closing notes. I'm not quite that sadistic as to keep you waiting for too long like, say, his captain exam to see the bankai, I promise. In fact, I'm making the reveal in the very next chapter.

By the way, Apotheosis is a Greek word, meaning the elevation of someone to a god, or god-like status. As a literary device, and in the words of the great Joseph Campbell (whose writings on mythology were a major influence for this chapter), apotheosis is "the expansion of consciousness that the hero experiences after defeating his foe," or rather the hero's crowning achievement. The two often coincide, though not necessarily.

There is one final tumblr entry I want to post concerning Kisuke's inner world and everything Benihime was saying after he defeated her, but it will be coming along with the next chapter, as it is chock-full of spoilers for the bankai, which is why I deliberately never went into depth before.

Let me know what you thought of the chapter! :)