In the depths of Hueco Mundo, a boy screamed as he was remade into something new, something glorious. Finally, the agonised screeches cut out, leaving nothing but silence as whatever remained of Kurosaki's humanity was smothered by the Hōgyoku's power. The boy hadn't blossomed into an interesting rival, so Sōsuke had decided to use him as the next best thing – a weapon.

And what a weapon he was. Thick, heavy bandages cloaked most of the newly born Arrancar's body, but two white horns sharper than any sword had pierced the cloth, and a mane of long, orange hair flowed down the former human's back. His altered appearance was nothing compared to the difference in his Reiatsu, however. The dam obscuring Kurosaki's Reiryoku had been demolished, leaving an ocean of spiritual energy in its wake. Even like this - raw and untamed - it was enough to send a weaker Captain staggering. Then again, he supposed that was the boon of being a true hybrid. The Visoreds, the Arrancar, and that Kurusu child paled in comparison when contrasted with the ultimate hybrid's might.

Aizen Sōsuke watched the results of his handiwork and smiled. While the only truly transcendent being in Hueco Mundo would be Sōsuke himself once he'd finished his work with the Hōgyoku, Kurosaki was a close second. A trill of excitement ran through the former Captain - it was rare for him to find someone who was actually worth comparing to himself.

"Gin, fetch me a brand. The ranks of the Espada have been restored."

…..

Akira was helping Sojiro with the dishes when Leblanc's door chimed, and a familiar mote of Reiatsu entered the café. While this technically wasn't the first time Ishida had visited, he'd only come to Leblanc before on Phantoms business - it was far too out the Quincy's way for a casual visit. It was clear, however, that he was there as a civilian. Instead of his usual Quincy white, Ishida was garbed in his school uniform – if it wasn't for the different coloured tie and grey slacks, it would have almost been indistinguishable from Shujin's.

"Ishida?" Akira blinked, turning around. "What are you doing here?"

Sojiro arched a brow, eyes lingering on Ishida's tie. "Another one of your friends, hm? Well, off you go – I can finish up over here."

"Thanks." Akira nodded, gesturing for the Quincy to follow him up to the attic.

"Uryū." Was the first thing out of the other teen's mouth as he settled down on Akira's threadbare sofa.

Akira plonked himself down on his bed. "Pardon?"

The Quincy shrugged. "You might as well call me by my first name. It would be childish of me to keep pretending we're merely acquaintances."

"… Sure, sounds good, Uryū." Akira smiled, though the expression was short-lived. Now that he had the time to get a good look at his friend, the younger teen's skin was pale, and there were dark rings under his eyes. His lips dropped into a frown. "What's wrong?"

"It's that obvious?" Uryū arched a brow, though there was no heat to his expression.

"Leblanc's pretty out of your way." Akira confessed. "If you just wanted coffee, you wouldn't skip town for it."

The Quincy's shoulders slumped. "That's true. Remember the man who charged into Urahara's?"

Akira nodded, lips thinning. It was hard to forget – the devastation in the man's eyes had haunted him long after he'd arrived back home. He hadn't seen anyone look so sad since the night Shiho passed. It was an experience he didn't think he needed to live through twice.

"His son was murdered in the Arrancar attack." Uryū explained. "Kurosaki Ichigo – he was a classmate of mine."

The Quincy's words hit Akira like a freight train. His knees shook – if he hadn't been sitting down, he would have fallen to his feet. Abstactly, he knew there'd been fatalities, but as callous as it was, they were just numbers - statistics. This though? This felt real. Uryū's classmate – potentially his friend – had died, and they'd been powerless to stop it.

"Oh, I know what that look is. Stop blaming yourself." Uryū sighed. The Quincy's expression softened. "I know it's not easy – god knows I felt terrible when I heard the news – but the only person culpable here is Aizen."

"You're right, you're right." Akira sighed, sweeping a hand through his hair. He noted grimly it was a small miracle more people hadn't been hurt. Besides, if anyone had the right to be upset about the news, it wasn't him. "How are you holding up?" He asked, frowning in concern as he watched his friend.

"I'm fine. Honestly, I only knew him from a distance." Uryū adjusted his glasses, his pursed lips indicating he wasn't anywhere nearly as okay as he said he was. "I'm acquainted with some of his friends, however, and they're trying to organise a care package for his family. I know you're a good chef, so I thought…"

Akira smiled, touched by the usually taciturn Quincy's gesture. "Some Leblanc curry might make their lives a little bit better?"

A look of relief crossed Uryū's face. "Yes, exactly."

"No worries." He grinned. "I can whip up a batch tonight, and how about you fetch it tomorrow?"

"Thank you, Akira." Uryū gave him a fleeting smile. "I appreciate your help."

As the boys returned to the café proper, Akira gave his friend another glance. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Uryū paused for a moment, before giving him a slight nod. "Truthfully, I think I'm less rattled by Kurosaki's passing as much as I am that someone our age died. In this day and age, Hollows primarily tend to target the elderly after all. I… I guess part of me couldn't help but think about what if that had been one of you, instead of him."

Akira shuddered – Uryū's about-face in regards to him using his first name suddenly made a lot more sense. While Shiho's passing had driven it home to the founding members of the Phantoms just how cruel the world could be, the Quincy hadn't had that awful yet formative experience. It was a pity - in a just world, Uryū would have been able to live his life in bliss.

The Quincy didn't linger after that - giving Akira his farewells, he left the store. Still, despite Uryū's absence, the older teen couldn't move on from what he'd said. If it had been one of the Phantoms who'd died that day... Akira wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to live with himself. But they've all had brushes with death, haven't they? And at his hands, no less. If Renji hadn't intercepted him, Akira's blade would have torn Rukia asunder, and just the other day, if Makoto hadn't had spare Gintō when Akira's Hollow incapacitated him…

"Akira!"

Suddenly snapped out of his thoughts, he blinked dumbfoundedly as he turned around to see the student council president herself staring at him from Leblanc's doorway. What the heck?

"Are you okay?" Makoto asked, concerned. "You're just… sort of staring at nothing."

"Sorry, sorry – got lost in thought for a moment. What are you doing here?" He asked, maudlin thoughts derailed.

"Upstairs." Sojiro suddenly droned, and Akira shot him a sheepish smile as he guided a friend to his room for the second time that day.

A sense of déjà vu settled over him as Makoto mirrored Uryū, taking a seat on the sofa, as he sat back down on the corner of his bed. Judging by the brunette's pensive expression, while the topic was likely going to be different, it wasn't going to be an enjoyable talk either.

The student council president shifted, eyes dropping to the ground. "It's Haru. She's still wearing long sleeves."

Akira stiffened. He hadn't had the time to spare the girl a second thought in the wake of the Arrancars' attack, but now that Makoto had reminded him of her, his worries came back in full force. They'd been back from Hawaii for almost a week now, and while the nights were beginning to cool down, the days were still blisteringly hot. Too hot for a fashion choice like that.

"I've done a bit of research." Makoto awkwardly cleared her throat. "Apparently, Haru's fiancé is Sugimura Daisuke, the middle child and only son of Sugimura Daichi, a conservative politician and current Diet member. How up-to-date are you on politics currently?"

"I don't go out of my way to look things up, but I tend to hear about the news." It was hard not to when Leblanc kept its TV on most days. "They're dissolving the current cabinet in the leadup to the December election, right?"

The government had been wracked by plenty of controversy this past year after all, from the Vanishing Incidents all the way up to the Phantoms' own actions. People were pissed, and calling for change.

Makoto nodded, looking somewhat pleased. "I suppose that summarises it. The popular choice of prime minister amongst the conversative candidates is currently Shido Masayoshi, but Sugimura is erring on backing him. He holds considerable sway amongst his peers – several key ministers won't support a candidate if they fail to get Sugimura's approval."

Akira listened, fascinated. Shido… the name rang a bell. Maybe he should start paying a bit more attention to this stuff in the future. "So, what does this have to do with Okumura?"

The brunette smiled, clearly noticing his interest. "This is just hearsay, but there's a lot of rumours going around that Okumura Kunikazu is planning to enter the race to become prime minister."

A lightbulb flashed in Akira's mind. "So that's why Okumura wants Haru to marry Sugimura's son! The Sugimura family gets access to his wealth, and Okumura gets his political backing."

"Got it in one." Makoto snapped her fingers. "With Sugimura's support, there's a genuine chance Okumura will be able to topple Shido from his position as preferred prime minister. He's more socially moderate than his rival, so Okumura will appeal to centrist candidates and voters who would hesitate to support Shido, along with fiscal conservatives who prioritise economic growth over their social agendas."

The teenager's eyes narrowed. "And if Okumura doesn't get Sugimura's backing?"

"He'll still earn support from more centrist ministers, but it's unlikely Okumura gain any sway over the right."

"I see…" He mused. That definitely explained why Haru didn't want to kick up any waves and tell her father about Sugimura's potential abuse. Still... Akira bit his lip. "No matter how much it'd help her dad, we can't let Haru marry a guy who'd hit her."

Okumura could run for prime minister again next election. Haru couldn't be un-abused.

"I agree." Makoto nodded. "I think the first thing we need to do is gather evidence. Given how resigned Haru seems about the situation, I doubt she'll offer us anything willingly – we'll have to find some other avenue of attack."

"Why don't we stake her out? She won't notice us if we hide ourselves with Reiatsu, so we can hopefully see how Sugimura treats her when he thinks there's no one looking. While we might be barking up the wrong tree, if someone is hurting her, he's our chief suspect." Akira rubbed his chin. "Do you think we should get the others involved? More hands on deck might make this easier."

After a moment's hesitation, Makoto shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. This is a rather… sensitive topic, after all. I doubt Haru would be happy with so many people prying into her personal business on a whim."

Akira nodded. "Fair enough. Come on, let's figure out how we're going to do this."

…..

Hitsugaya Tōshirō rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he opened up his flip phone. He'd fled the Urahara Shōten a while back – the others were engaging in dinner festivities, but the diminutive Captain couldn't muster the energy to join them. He'd perched himself on the roof instead, hoping that some peace and quiet would settle the storm raging inside his head. In the end, he had little success, and was only snapped out of his inner turmoil when his Denreishinki pinged. Frowning, Tōshirō examined the report. The 12th had picked up a lot of spiritual activity on the border between the worlds, but there had been no more incursions into the World of the Living since the attack the other day. Exhausted, the Captain massaged his forehead. Just what the hell was Aizen playing at?

Aizen… a Molotov cocktail of rage and grief burned in his stomach, and Tōshirō rose to his feet. He couldn't stay here any longer. Picking a direction at random, the Captain shunpoed off into the night. He wasn't sure how long he ran for, wind whipping at his face as the city's lights blurred into neon trails, but eventually, the itch under his skin began to settle, and Tōshirō came to a halt. His final destination was a hill shielded from the city ambience by a thick swath of trees. Shrines and graves poked their way out of the sea of muted green, separated by thick paths and stone-tiled ridges, and with a jolt, the white-haired boy realised he'd ended up in a cemetery.

He realised why a second later. Tōshirō hadn't quite ended up crashing into the man, but it was close. About twenty metres away stood Shiba – no, Kurosaki – Isshin. The former Shinigami stared blankly at a flower-covered grave, a cigarette hanging from his lips. As the Captain watched his predecessor, conflicting emotions immediately filled his lungs, choking him. Tōshirō had distantly hoped Isshin was alive for all these years, but the second he'd set eyes on the man in the flesh it had felt like a kick in the teeth. Even if he'd had no choice but to abandon them, the fact remained that for two whole decades, he hadn't even attempted to contact Tōshirō or Matsumoto to let them know he was alive. It rankled like hot coals in his stomach. All of their mourning - and mourned, they had - was for no reason.

Still… as much a part of him resented Isshin, his anger quickly dulled into something more melancholy. The World of the Living had aged his former Captain – twenty years meant little to a soul, but it was a lifetime for a human. His shoulders had broadened and his face was chiselled, dark stubble and laugh lines shaping it into something alien compared to Tōshirō's memories. Where Isshin changed the most though was in his eyes. They had once sparkled, brighter than the sun itself, but today, they were slits of flint, empty and cold.

Of course, it was at that moment that Isshin noticed him. Upon seeing his former Third Seat, the middle-aged man's expression softened. "Tōshirō-kun. Like to join me?"

The answer was 'not really', but there was no polite way of saying that, so he gave a minute nod and slowly joined Isshin's side. Thankfully, the older man made no effort to engage Tōshirō in small talk. They simply stood there, eyes glued on the dark obelisk that was all that remained of Isshin's wife and son. Impassively, Tōshirō read the names on the grave.

Kurosaki Masaki

Kurosaki Ichigo

"… What were they like?" The question escaped the Captain's lips before he even had the time to think about it.

While Isshin's smile wavered and his eyes glistened far too much given the lack of light, his voice was warm. "Masaki… she was like the sun. She radiated so much light, it was impossible not to get caught up in her orbit. Tough as nails to boot, too." He took the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a trail of smoke as he reminisced. "I only smoke when I visit her grave. It was the only time she said I looked cool."

"You've never been cool in your life." Tōshirō pointed out flatly, eliciting a laugh from the older man.

"Ichigo certainly would have agreed with you there." Isshin chuckled, but all traces of his smile quickly disappeared, replaced by a bone-weary tiredness. "Ichigo… he used to be a bit of a cry-baby when he was a kid – not that you could have guessed that as he got older, mind you. Now though... he's a bit of a grump and is as sarcastic as anything. God knows where he gets it from, but Karin – one of my daughters – is the exact same way. On the inside though, he was so kind. Used to stop by the roadside and listen to Wholes' stories – it wouldn't help them, but it'd make them feel happier, and that was enough for him. The world's a worse place without him."

Tōshirō looked at the myriad of flowers lining the memorial stone, a photo of a scruffy-haired young man with an embarrassed scowl placed in its centre. One thing was very clear – Kurosaki Ichigo had been loved.

A lump formed in Tōshirō's throat. "Momo's dead." He announced, hating the way his voice wobbled. "Aizen killed her when he betrayed the Gotei 13. She thought the world of him, and he tossed her away like trash."

Isshin gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"How…" Tōshirō squeezed his eyes shut. "How the hell are you still standing? How the hell can you be here, talking to me so calmly? Ever since Momo died... I've felt like I've been drowning in water and yet set on fire at the same time. The world is just... continuing like things are normal, like she's here, but she's not, and I just want to scream."

"You wanna know a secret, Tōshirō-kun? I want to scream too." Isshin's expression was firm. "I want to lock myself in my room and drown my sorrows on shitty sake and whiskey. I want to march right in Hueco Mundo and feel Aizen's stupid nose break under my fist. A part of me wants to set this whole goddamn world on fire for daring to take away my son."

Tōshirō shuddered – he'd seen what Isshin's Zanpakutō was capable of. If the man was in his prime, he could actually imagine him doing it. "Then why…?"

Isshin rubbed his stubbled chin. "... Why don't I? That's because I need to be strong. I still have two daughters left. They're so young, but they've already lost so much. I can't stop my grief, but if I let it consume me, I'll only end up hurting both of them even more – that's a lesson I learned the hard way from Masaki's death. Never forget those whom you've loved and lost, Tōshirō-kun, but don't let their memories turn from something pure and good into something rotten. It spreads, and will just infect others with your hurt. If you can't carry on for yourself, carry on for the sake of the world around you."

"… Okay."

For the rest of the night, the duo stood in silence, but the tension cloying the air had abated. There was no hurt or sense of betrayal, only an understanding between two old friends who had both lost a piece of their hearts and were trying desperately not to bleed out in the meantime.

For the first time since Momo's murder, the blizzard raging in Tōshirō's soul began to settle.

…..

"Alright, spill it." Futaba stared at Akira from across Leblanc's counter, eyes narrowed to slits. "Are you and Makoto boinking?"

The teenager immediately spat out his coffee, choking as the bitter liquid squirted up his nose. Out of all the things to be ambushed with on a Sunday morning, why that? Reaching blindly for a serviette, he finished expunging what was once a nice morning pick-me-up as the hacker continued to prattle on.

"No shade if you are – she does have a great ass. I wonder what your ship name would be? Makokira? Akirakoto?"

"No, fuck, Futaba, no." He wheezed, extremely grateful Sojiro was currently on a grocery run. The last thing his ex-Casanova guardian needed to hear was Futaba talking about him and a girl. "How on earth did you even come up with that idea?!"

"Well, it's just your names squished together -"

"I meant the idea that we're getting it on together in the first place."

She arched an unimpressed brow as she wiggled her phone in his face. "Uh, duh? You do realise I can track you all across Shibuya, right? You've practically been glued at the hip all week!"

... Ah. It looked like Futaba had stumbled across Operation Haru-watch.

It had been just over a week since they'd put their little scheme into action. The plan was for Makoto to keep a serendipitous eye on Haru during school, and afterwards, they'd follow her from a distance, keeping an eye on the heiress' curly brown hair until she returned back home. Occasionally, they worked alone – Makoto had cram school, and Akira had his shifts at Leblanc – but they tried to make sure at least one of them was keeping an eye on Haru until they uncovered the truth about her situation.

The plan was going… well, it was going. Truthfully, the only thing they'd been able to conclusively determine was that Haru was filthy, stinking rich. While she spent most of her afternoons pottering around on Shujin's roof, when she departed the school, instead of heading to the station like everyone else, she was picked up by a private chauffeur. A chauffeur! The brunette didn't even get them to take her that far most of the time – a couple of afternoons she simply got dropped off in Shibuya, before proceeding to spend more money than Akira had earned all year on fertilizer and pretty clothes.

Sugimura had only made an appearance a couple of times, for better or worse. Once, he'd been waiting for Haru in her car, and while the normally kind and open girl had clammed up the second she saw the man, it was impossible to determine what or if anything happened in the vehicle. When they exited the car at a florist's shop on the other side of Tokyo, however, Haru thankfully looked no worse for wear. They were clearly there to choose flowers for the wedding, but Sugimura spent most of the time scowling at his phone impatiently, while Haru wilted and wilted despite the beautiful arrangements the hapless florist showed her. Eventually, the heiress hit her limit and suggested they should come back another day, which invoked a hissy fit from Sugimura, but his tantrum was purely verbal.

The other time Akira laid eyes on her fiancé was when Haru's chauffeur brought her to a dazzling hotel in Roppongi one evening. Makoto had other commitments that day, so this time, it was just him. Slinking into the building after the Okumura heiress, Akira gawped at his surroundings – glorious red carpets lined the stairs while golden chandeliers glittered overhead, and there was a glass of champagne in the hand of every guest. The girl's final destination was a luxurious restaurant that overlooked the vast city. The teenager covered himself with a Kyokkō at that point, fearing that despite his Reiatsu cloaking him, the upper-crust elites would be able to smell the criminal on him. Seriously, he'd never seen so many people in tailored suits and pricey dresses in his life.

Sugimura was already waiting there as a man in a waistcoat escorted Haru to his table. The prat spent the entire evening bragging about his father (who was also filthy, filthy rich), making snide comments about Haru's weight whenever she ate anything more substantial than a salad, and ogling anything with breasts, Haru and some of the restaurant's fancy statues included. It was a relief Makoto hadn't been there, honestly – she probably would have punched him, and Akira wouldn't have stopped her. Haru was clearly as pleased about Sugimura's behaviour as Akira was, and spent the entire meal rebuffing his blatantly unwanted advances. While Sugimura toned down his harassment when asked, judging by his rolled eyes and crass scowl, he'd resume his loathsome behaviour sooner rather than later.

Despite all the glitz and glamour, as the evening came to an end, Akira felt unspeakably dirty. The second he got back home, he'd dialled Makoto, but unfortunately, they both came to the irritating conclusion it simply wasn't enough. Sugimura was a vile little worm, but he'd kept his hands away from Haru, if not his rotten attitude. He'd toed the line, but he hadn't quite stepped over it.

"Still… if Sugimura feels entitled enough to act like that in public, who knows what he's like behind closed doors?" Makoto had sighed.

Akira had pinched the bridge of his nose. "I guess we'll just have to keep an eye on things for longer, sadly."

Suffice to say, so far, Operation Haru-watch hadn't quite managed to lift off.

Back to the present day, as he watched his hacker friend, Akira sighed. As much as he didn't want to air Haru's private business, now that Futaba's interest was piqued, she'd snoop until she found out what she wanted to do regardless. He might as well just spill the beans.

"Okay, look, do you mind keeping this to yourself for the moment?" He asked, and continued after receiving a nod. "Do you remember us talking about Haru? The girl who hung out with us for a bit in Hawaii?"

Futaba gave him a thumbs up. "Yep! Makoto saved her ass when Uryū was having his edgy phase, right?"

"Yeah, that's her. The thing is, I noticed what looked like a hand-shaped bruise on her arm. Turns out, the real reason Makoto wanted Haru to join us was because she was worried about her – she's engaged to a man who's an A-grade sleazebag." Akira sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We've been following her this past week to make sure he's not getting physical with her."

Frowning, Futaba tilted her head. "Okumura Kunikazu – Big Bang Burger's CEO – is her father, yeah?"

He blinked. "Uh, yes?"

Futaba pursed her lips. "Look… are you sure you're stalking the right guy?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Akira furrowed his brows.

"You've heard the rumours about Okumura Foods, yeah? Wage theft, inhumane working conditions, union-busting… and that's just the stuff people know about." Futaba scratched her nose. "If you look under the surface, there's more. The company's grown a lot over the last couple of years – unnaturally so. Just this year their main competitor, Wild Duck Burger, took a huge hit when tapes of their CEO on a nudist beach leaked."

"… You think Haru's father was behind it?" He asked, troubled.

Futaba shrugged. "Possibly? I'd need to hack his servers to get any concrete proof, but that's gonna be hard without a physical entrance point – his cybersecurity is state of the art. There's a chance Okumura's just unnaturally lucky, but I smell a rat. The Wild Duck Burger scandal was plastered all over the news for weeks, but despite the uproar on social media, not a single one of Okumura Foods' controversies has hit the mainstream news. At the bare minimum, he's definitely bribing the press."

Akira steepled his fingers together, digesting everything Futaba had just told him. Suddenly, the animosity towards Okumura on the Phansite made a lot more sense. Most CEOs were rotten, but that was pretty much how big companies worked as far as Akira was aware. Still, it was clear Okumura was unusually brazen about his particular brand of awfulness. Still…

He frowned. "… Okumura Kunizaku sounds like a dick, sure, but what does this have to do with Haru's engagement?"

"It's simple." Futaba snapped her fingers. "Like you just said, Okumura's a dick. What if it's not her fiancé laying hands on her, but him?"

Akira's stomach twisted, blood running cold. Futaba was right – why wouldn't a man capable of inflicting so much indirect violence be equally as capable of inflicting it directly too? Haru hadn't acted like her father was a cruel man. She'd seemed to believe he'd see reason if she objected to her marriage, even if he wouldn't be happy about it. But what if Haru's assessment of her father was wrong? What if she was too blinded by her love of him to accept his true nature? His stomach twisted when he remembered how she'd clammed up as they talked about him.

"… I'll keep it in mind, okay?" Akira pursed his lips, hoping Futaba was on the wrong track if only for Haru's sake.

The younger teen sighed, shoulders drooping. "Man. I really wish you were just boinking Makoto."

…..

Operation Haru-watch ended up coming to its conclusion as September reached its end. Summer's blistering heat had finally gone away, autumn taking over the reins at long last. The sporadic trees dotting Yogen-Jaya had taken on a golden hue, while Akira had begun layering up in the evenings again. As much as he welcomed the end of the uncomfortably hot summer days, as he perched on top of a light pole, shivering as the breeze sunk into his bones, he'd readily admit he missed the pleasant nights.

After his talk with Futaba, he and Makoto had taken Operation Haru-watch back to the board. It was impossible (and somewhat unethical) to watch the heiress behind closed doors, so with the addition of a new suspect, the duo had changed tracks. Instead of following Haru every day – which was admittedly a bit creepy – they'd started focusing on Sugimura and Okumura instead.

Unsurprisingly, Sugimura continued to be an utter prat. He viewed anyone outside his socioeconomic status as mere worms and completely lost his shit at even the slightest inconvenience. Frankly, a part of Akira was sorely tempted to call a Phantoms raid on him purely due to the way he treated retail workers. And that wasn't even getting into his lecherous behaviour. In theory, there was nothing wrong with Sugimura's promiscuity – he and Haru were hardly a love match – but the way he treated women in general was appalling.

It was a lot harder to get a read on Okumura senior. He was superficially polite (though his snobbiness leaked through occasionally), and that was pretty much all the information they could conclusively find. He spent most of his time squirrelled away in Okumura Foods Headquarters, which had far too much security for either of them to justifiably infiltrate it. When not there, the CEO was usually out visiting political connections and fellow businessmen in equally as inaccessible locations. Akira had only ever seen Okumura interacting with Haru once. He'd joined her on a group outing with Sugimura, and while he didn't exactly mistreat her, the nicest way he could describe their relationship was distant. The only time he really seemed to talk to his daughter was when he chided her for reacting to one of Sugimura's barbs, which were infinitely more toned down in his future father-in-law's presence.

On the day things came to an end, Akira and Makoto had decided to tail Okumura again after school. He'd be in his office until god knows when, so Akira had perched himself up high to give himself a vantage point, while Makoto had taken to the streets, holding a magazine close to her face as she peered intently at Okumura Foods' door. They were so focused on the building itself, they didn't realise the danger approaching them until it was too late.

Makoto suddenly shrieked, and heart skipping a beat, Akira leapt down from the streetlight and dashed towards his friend. As he saw what had beset her, however, he froze. Behind her stood Okumura Haru, a quizzical expression on her face, and a finger hovering over Makoto's shoulder.

"H-Haru!" The student council president gasped, face flushed. "You scared the living daylights out of me! W-what are you doing here?"

"My apologies, Mako-chan." She let out a tinkling laugh, before arching a brow. "This is my father's workplace, which I assume you know, considering you've been following us all week."

"Um." Makoto froze, eyes as wide as saucers, and Akira winced at her obvious guilt. "W-what makes you think I'm doing that?"

Thankfully, Haru seemed to be taking the situation in good faith, and simply giggled. "Well, for one, you're holding your manga upside-down."

Akira groaned, facepalming as Makoto grew beet red and quickly flipped her magazine around. Shit - busted. With a sigh, he finished approaching the girls. At his arrival, Haru's eyes widened momentarily – it was clear she hadn't noticed him until then. The frizzy-haired teen supposed it was a sign at least one of them was doing the whole covert operation thing correctly, not that it mattered in the end.

"Sorry – we're not trying to be creeps, I swear." Akira raised his hands.

"Yes…" Makoto bit her lip. "I suppose this does look a bit awful, but it's not what you think." Taking a deep breath in, she sighed and bit the bullet. "Haru… has someone been hurting you? Your father, perhaps"

Paling, the heiress took a step backward. "P-pardon?"

"I noticed a bruise on your arm while you were in Hawaii. Considering the situation with your fiancé, and all the rumours going around about your dad recently…" Akira confessed, but now that he was looking Haru in the eyes, for the first time, he felt a trickle of doubt. Right now, she was wearing a short summer dress that exposed both her arms and lower legs, and there wasn't a blemish in sight outside of some perfectly ordinary dirt on her knee.

Makoto sighed. "We're worried one of them might have been getting physical with you."

Haru's brows rose, genuine surprise flashing across her face. "I'd be lying if I said my father can't get a bit… clinical about peoples' lives, but he's not a violent man. He's never tried to hurt me before."

While Makoto nodded, seemingly content to take Haru at face value, Futaba's words and Akira's prior suspicions about Haru's objectivity suddenly came rushing back to his mind.

"Are you sure?" He stepped forward. "I know he raised you, but just doesn't mean he can treat you however he wants. Even if he's kind to you at times, he can still be a bad parent. Don't let your love for him override your own well-being –"

Makoto placed a hand on his shoulder, interrupting him. "Akira, calm down. You're making Haru uncomfortable."

The haze faded from his mind and the world refocused. Haru had frozen, shoulders tense and arms braced across her torso. There was no gratitude in her eyes, only a deep-seated alarm. Immediately, a wave of guilt crashed into him.

"I'm sorry." Akira looked away, taking two steps back. "I-I didn't mean to upset you. It's just…"

"Sugimura." Haru's voice was flat, devoid of all her usual sunniness.

Akira halted. "Pardon?"

"It was Sugimura. He was the one who grabbed me." Haru didn't look relieved about getting it off her chest, merely tired. "He… he normally keeps his hands to himself in public, but if he's had too much to drink…"

The teenager's stomach flipped, bubbling rage immediately doused by the sheer misery in Haru's demeanour. Akira thought he'd feel a sense of vindication now that he'd finally found his prey. Instead, the confirmation of his suspicions simply made him feel sick.

"Akira." Makoto addressed him, eyes blazing. "I know I said we shouldn't, but… we need to assemble the Phantoms."

He adjusted his glasses. "You know, I was just thinking the same thing."

…..

"Sorry I'm late." Uryū announced as he climbed up the attic stairs. "They were renovating some of the train tracks – I had to take a detour."

It was the Sunday after Haru's confession. Given the topic they were going to discuss, Akira had wanted to do it in person, but at least one Phantom had been busy each day until then. Now that they were finally free though, they'd gathered in Leblanc – with Uryū's presence, everyone was now accounted for.

"No worries." Akira sighed, rising to his feet. "Take a seat. Makoto and I have something to tell you…"

Futaba's mouth had been drawn into a thin line even before she'd walked into Leblance, clearly realising what this must be about, but Ann and Ryuji had both been in high spirits when they'd entered Akira's abode. He felt a bit guilty about ruining his friends' moods, but it was a sad necessity. As he explained the circumstances behind Operation Haru-watch, their expression grew from curious, to concerned, and finally enraged as Akira revealed its grim conclusion.

"Before we start our discussion, I want to reiterate that making Sugimura an official Phantoms target should be our last resort." Makoto's voice was firm. "As much as I hate him, I have no intention of potentially getting him murdered and turned into a Hollow."

The grim reminder of Kobayakawa's fate immediately cut off any fledgling protests.

"Still…" Ryuji scuffed his feet, expression mulish as he glared at the floorboards. "We've gotta do something! I know damn well what it's like to live with a drunken piece of shit – nobody deserves that!"

"Yeah – especially not Haru. She's so nice." Ann frowned, twirling a finger through her hair.

Futaba cleared her throat, and all attention landed on the petite teen. "Why don't we leave this one up to me? If Haru can slip one of my rigged USBs into Sugimura's phone or computer, it probably won't take too long for me to rake up some muck. His dad's a politician after all – they're always up to some sleazy shit."

"That's probably our best option." Makoto murmured. "Reputation is everything to a man like Okumura. If Sugimura's becomes tainted, he'll probably cancel the engagement."

Uryū pursed his lips. Akira wouldn't be too surprised if he had reservations – this was technically his first non-spiritual Phantoms outing. When the Quincy replied though, Akira was both relieved and surprised that his issue was a purely practical one. "… Is this really going to solve anything, though? Let's say we do get rid of this Sugimura lout – what's stopping Okumura from marrying Haru-san off to the next slimeball that comes along?"

Akira's frown deepened. Quite frankly, Uryū had a bloody good point. While Okumura was probably ignorant about the depths of Sugimura's depravity, he knew at the bare minimum the latter had a habit of heckling his daughter. Getting rid of Sugimura would do nothing to fix the CEO's cold indifference to his child. There was a difference between not being cruel and being kind. Akira knew it intimately, after all. His parents were –

No. Stop getting distracted – that's not important right now.

"He's right." Ann sighed, blue eyes troubled. It seemed the Quincy's words had resonated with her too. "Men like Okumura… women are nothing but objects to be used for people like him."

"I don't think that's necessarily true." Makoto interjected. "Haru's defended her father – in this regard, anyway – from the start. Even though she didn't reveal the depths of his abuse initially, she's never shied away from voicing her disdain for Sugimura. I doubt she'd be so loyal to Okumura if he didn't have any redeemable traits whatsoever."

Everyone digested the brunette's statement for a few seconds. Akira didn't think he agreed with her entirely, but reluctantly he could see how Makoto had leapt to that conclusion.

"… Maybe if this engagement hits the rocks, Okumura won't try again?" Ryuji wrinkled his nose.

Uryū shrugged. "I suppose that's possible. Alternatively, he might delay doing so again until Haru's old enough for her input to be valued."

Futaba shrugged. "Either way, Sugimura's gotta go. I'll whip something up tonight, and Akira can hand it to her tomorrow."

Everyone nodded in assent. It wasn't like they had any better ideas, after all.

Sighing, Ryuji slumped himself back in his seat. "Man, this would all be so much easier if we could just use our powers. If Akira's Shikai was working, we could have just hit them both and called it a day!"

Akira's stomach turned at the reminder of his shattered connection with Tasogare no Dorobō. He'd fobbed off his Shinigami duties to Ann and Ryuji over the last few weeks, too busy with Operation Haru-watch to spend time playing Shinigami. He hadn't thought about his Zanpakutō at all – Akira was pretty sure he hadn't even touched his blade since the Arrancar invasion in Karakura. Now that Ryuji had brought the subject up again, however, the complex knot of emotions the frizzy-haired teen had repressed returned to the forefront of his mind.

Thankfully, his friends didn't dwell on the topic. Instead, Ann shot Makoto a curious look. "How is Sae-san's investigation going anyway?"

"Slowly." Makoto rubbed her brows. "Even if you ignore her other cases, there's a lot of red tape she needs to go through, such as getting warrants and the like. It doesn't help that all her colleagues are still convinced that we're the ones behind the Vanishing Incidents."

Ann turned to face Akira. "Say, what about Akechi? You're kinda friends with him, right? Maybe you could convince him to give Sae-san a hand."

Blaring alarms immediately flashed in Akira's mind. "Uh, no. Bad idea."

"Yeah." Ryuji scowled. "The dickhead is probably prancin' at the thought of us being behind Kobayakawa's death."

"Yeah, that." Akira snapped his fingers, desperately hoping they'd drop the topic.

"Have you heard much from him lately?" Makoto tilted her head.

While he'd rather not talk about Akechi at all, at least that question was a lot less loaded. "Not really." Akira shrugged. "He messaged me a couple of times when I first got back from the Soul Society, but Hawaii threw a wrench in our plans to catch up. Honestly, it's probably for the best."

Makoto nodded, and thankfully, he seemed to have sated her curiosity.

For a moment, the teens idled. While they'd made a preliminary plan for the Haru situation, the day was still young, and the atmosphere gloomy.

Ryuji then rose to his feet and rolled his shoulders. "Hey, how about we spend some time sparrin', like we did back in the Soul Society? I dunno about you lot, but after all that, I could really stretch my legs."

"Oh, that's a great idea!" Ann perked up. "Honestly, those Adjuchas were pretty scary, and the Arrancar were even worse. I'd like to be stronger just in case I have to fight something like that again."

Makoto nodded in assent. "Even if the Gotei 13 has the Aizen situation covered, we never know what might happen."

"Considering the Arrancar arrived in my hometown, honing my skills sounds like a fantastic idea." Uryū adjusted his glasses. "And unlike Makoto, I have no faith whatsoever that the Gotei 13 has anything covered at all."

Futaba let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Fiiiiiiine. I guess I can come along and tinker on some projects I've got on the back burner."

As everyone turned to him, Akira realised with a jolt he was the only one who hadn't agreed with the plan. Truthfully, the thought of using his powers made bile rise up the back of his throat, but at the same time, it wasn't like ignoring the problem would make it go away. Plus, everyone else was excited – he didn't want to rain on their parade.

"Sure." He quirked the corner of his lips into a smile and ignored his dry mouth. "Sounds good to me."

…..

In the end, the assorted group of students held their impromptu sparring session in Shujin's track field.

"It should be empty at this hour, unlike Inokashira Park." Makoto pointed out, the small green expanse in Tokyo's urban sprawl the only other reasonable training location they could come up with.

So, the gaggle of teens hopped on the train together and headed towards the high school. As they entered Shujin's grounds, Uryū looked curiously around, but thankfully a gloomy Futaba quickly vetoed Makoto's suggestion of a school tour.

"Nuh-uh – the less school I'm exposed to, the better!"

After relinquishing his mortal body to Morgana – the Mod Soul offering to keep an eye on Ryuji and Ann's vacant forms – Akira joined the others on the red rubber tracks.

"So, what's the plan?" The teenager asked in an attempt to distract himself from his unease.

Ryuji frowned, crossing his arms. "Well, we should probably do some warm-up stretches, then, uh…"

"Can we focus on our shunpo for a bit?" Ann suggested. "God knows I need to work on my speed…"

Oddly enough, it was Futaba who ended up selecting their first activity. "Why not tag? That and dodgeball are like the peak PE experiences."

"If you're in elementary school, maybe…" Ryuji snarked.

Makoto rubbed her chin. "Actually, that isn't a bad idea. It would help us work on our speed and agility, plus competition is always a good motivator…"

"And it sounds fun, too!" Ann chimed in.

While the boys – Uryū in particular – were a bit more sceptical of the plan, as they tagged the Quincy 'it' and started to run, it turned out to be exactly what Akira needed. Dashing through the school faster than the speed of light, a grin crossed his face as bolted away from Ann, running up the academy's walls.

"Catch me if you can, Panther!" He called jokingly.

She huffed, but amusement flickered in her blue eyes. "Ooooh, you're going to regret those words! Dominate, Shinkubi!"

Akira spluttered, stumbling as Ann's Shikai raced past his head and wrapped around some railings. Using her whip as an improvised grappling hook, the blonde closed the distance between them and bowled Akira over.

"Hah, you're it, Joker!"

He wheezed, rolling over as he arched a brow at his friend. "I'm pretty sure using Shikai is cheating."

Ann merely winked. "All's fair in love and tag!"

A genuine laugh bubbled out of his throat, and as the game came to an end, Akira felt lighter than he had in weeks. The teenagers moved on to more traditional training after that, with Akira practising his hand-to-hand combat with Makoto while Ryuji challenged Uryū to a duel. Ann, meanwhile, continued to work on her shunpo, acknowledging it was her weak point. In the end, Makoto grabbed Akira in a headlock, forcing him to tap out mere moments before Uryū landed his finishing blow on Ryuji.

"Sheesh, I'm beat." Ryuji sighed, wiping his brow before plonking himself down on the bench next to Futaba.

"Good. What are your measurements?" She asked, eyes still glued to her screen.

Ryuji gave her a justifiably suspicious look. "… What kinda question is that?"

Akira didn't hear whatever answer Futaba gave him, if any, as Ann yelled out from the other side of the tracks. "Hey, Makoto, can I borrow you for a bit? Let's do some strength training, girl style!"

The student council president blinked. "I… don't know what 'girl style' training is exactly, but sure?"

"It means we can get crepes afterwards!"

"… Is that so?"

Akira watched in bemusement as Makoto shrugged and jogged over to the blonde, probably realising it really wasn't worth spending that much brainpower over Ann's unique idea of a training regimen.

Uryū walked to his side, assessing the Shinigami. "Would you be interested in sparring, Akira? We're still both reasonably fresh."

He nodded, grinning. "Sure. Prepare to get your ass kicked, Uryū!"

The Quincy smirked. "Funny - I could say the same thing to you."

Akira unsheathed his Zanpakutō, a coy smile on his lips, as with a flick of his wrist, Uryū formed his Heilig Bogen. It had changed since Akira had first seen it – the Reishi seemed denser, more solid, and the bow's design had grown more elaborate over time. Immediately, the Quincy launched a scattered volley of arrows in his direction, and Akira backflipped out of the way, chanting.

"Bakudō #39. Enkōsen!"

The golden barrier sent Uryū's arrows scattering, and Akira pressed in closer. While Uryū wasn't terrible at hand-to-hand combat, he wasn't good enough to deflect Akira's blade. The Quincy also knew that though, and sensibly shot at Akira's feet, forcing the Shinigami to backpedal.

"Oi, watch it!" Ryuji called. "Don't trash the field!"

Uryū rolled his eyes, but when he fired next, it was at Akira's Shihakushō in an attempt to pin the other boy down. Twisting his torso, the arrows flew past the frizzy-haired teen, some scratching his skin but failing to stop him. Shunpoing to Uryū's side, Akira slashed his Zanpakutō downwards, aiming to smack the Quincy's bow straight out of his hands. He vastly underestimated how much force was behind his blow, however. Instead, Akira cleaved straight through the Heilig Bogen's upper half, slicing Uryū from his shoulder to his chest.

As droplets of blood flew through the air, Akira instantly grew cold. "Shit! Uryū, I'm so sorry!" Immediately, he hurried to his friend's side, shaking hands glowing with Kaidō as guilt gripped his heart.

Heilig Bogen dissipating, the Quincy furrowed his brows. "There's no need for panic, Akira. It's hardly more than a scratch."

"I wasn't aiming to hurt you at all!" He threw his hands up into the air.

From over on the bench, Ryuji sat up, lips pursed. "You two alright over there?"

Akira opened his mouth, dread welling up in his lungs, but Uryū beat him to the punch. "We're fine. Akira got in a lucky shot, and he's being ridiculous about it."

"I am not." Akira retorted mulishly as he sealed the wound shut.

Uryū rolled his eyes. "You might have failed to notice it, but I was the one to draw first blood."

Akira stilled his tongue, only then noticing the stinging on his torso. Looking down, he saw red lines sliced into his skin where Uryū's arrows had brushed him. The frizzy-haired teen bit his lip. Sure, Uryū was technically correct, but while Akira had already stopped bleeding, red liquid was still seeping into the Quincy's white shirt, staining it a vivid crimson. At the same time, he knew there was little point arguing semantics with the eternally stubborn Quincy. Instead, he gave the other boy a half-hearted shrug, and joined Ryuji and Futaba on the bench while Uryū left to get changed.

There were a few more bouts after that. Ann and Uryū competed to see who had the most range – Ann with her Kidō or Uryū with his arrows. Meanwhile, Ryuji and Makoto went over some brawling techniques together, but whenever they asked Akira to join them, he declined. Staring at the ground, something bitter entered the Shinigami's mouth. He'd gotten sloppy – he'd let his guard down, and his inner darkness had seeped through. Akira had hurt one of his friends yet again.

Eventually, the rest of the Phantoms' energy dwindled. Ryuji flumped himself down on the ground by Akira and Futaba's feet, and Makoto joined them after doing some cool-down stretches. Ann and Uryū's contest also finally came to a close – by the time it ended, the duo were putting more energy into discussing the latest Vogue edition than they were actually competing.

Ryuji let out a deep sigh. "Man, dunno about you lot, but I'm starving!" A grin then spread across his face as he sat up. "Why don't we go and grab some ramen or somethin'? There's a great place I used to go to in Ogikubo!"

"You're always hungry, Ryuji." Futaba pointed out.

Makoto mulled things over. "Hmm… by the time we get there, it probably would be time for dinner…"

"Oi, Ann! Uryū! You guys wanna grab some ramen?" Ryuji cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to the others.

"Oooh, sounds good!" Ann beamed.

Meanwhile, Uryū shrugged. "Only if we go there soon. I'd like to get back home at a reasonable hour."

Ryuji's eyes then landed on Akira, who tensed under his friend's happy grin. "What about you, dude?"

Akira's guts twisted. He couldn't think of anything less appealing than sitting around and eating a meal like nothing was wrong – anything he swallowed right now would probably just come right back up.

"Honestly… I think I'll give it a miss." He forced his lips up into a weak smile. "I'm really not feeling hungry right now."

Ryuji blinked, clearly caught off guard. At his comment, Ann's brow creased as she looked at him in concern. "If you want something lighter, we can go somewhere else."

Standing up, Akira shook his head, a maelstrom of guilt whirling within him – if he spent another second in his friends' company, it'd drown him. "Don't worry, it's fine. I've got homework I need to get done anyway."

The rest of the Phantoms watched him with various shades of uncertainty. An uneasy tension entered the air, the world going dark as a cloud drifted over the sun. The moment passed though, and as the sunlight returned, Makoto brought the stalemate to an end.

"Well, if you're sure…"

Akira nodded, a beam of relief shining through the storm that brewed in his heart. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll join you some other time, alright?"

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.