"Your Excellency, Captain-Commander, the matter stands like this…"
Shiba Isshin's voice carried through the wide halls of the First Division barracks. The air was dense with unspoken tension, and all present seemed to hold their breath as Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni stared silently from his elevated seat.
Isshin took a slow step forward. Yamamoto's expression was as stone—stoic and immovable. Yet Isshin, despite being the former 10th Division captain, could see it: a flicker of unrest in the ancient man's eyes.
He pressed on.
"A short time ago, Captain Hirako Shinji dispatched his vice-captain to the Spiritual Arts Academy under suspicious pretense. Hirako himself later arrived at the Mao Kendō Hall, posing as an instructor. He confronted Aizen… with hostility. It escalated. Hirako used his position to apply direct pressure. Akira stepped in—to protect Aizen—and pinned Hirako to the wall of the training hall with a single sword strike."
The silence that followed cracked under Yamamoto's voice like lightning across a storm.
"Presumptuous!!"
The fury of the Captain-Commander, a man who had led the Gotei 13 for over a thousand years, ignited in a thunderous roar.
In that instant, Reiatsu burst from his form like a solar flare erupting from a dying star. The pressure alone crushed the surrounding floor tiles and flung wooden furnishings against the walls like paper in a hurricane.
Even vice-captains, trained in combat and hardened by years of duty, dropped to their knees. Sweat poured down their brows as if they stood in the center of an inferno. It wasn't just spiritual energy—it was heat. Yamamoto's Reiatsu carried the elemental signature of Ryūjin Jakka, the oldest and most powerful fire-type Zanpakutō in existence.
His fury burned—quite literally.
"The captain of the 5th Division, instead of nurturing our future Shinigami, has chosen to abuse his authority and harass a student with unmatched potential?" Yamamoto's voice thundered. "Is this what Seireitei entrusted him with—a blade to strike down talent out of envy and fear?"
Each word struck like a hammer. A few lower-seated officers instinctively backed away.
Shiba Isshin, who rarely saw Yamamoto's temper flare like this, kept his head bowed.
The old captain's eyes now flared like twin furnaces. "I offered Akira a position in the First Division because I saw in him the future of the Soul Society. A young man of immense power, integrity, and control. Yet while I hesitated, a viper sought to strike."
"Perhaps," Ukitake Jūshirō offered gently, always one to temper conflict, "perhaps Hirako was simply mistaken. He may have—"
"Mistaken?" Yamamoto snapped. "Is it a mistake to strike from the shadows? To abuse captaincy and impose fear? Because one cannot match the light another casts?"
He rose from his seat. The full magnitude of his presence blanketed the room. His haori flared slightly with spiritual force.
"Hirako Shinji," Yamamoto continued, "was trusted with a captain's haori. But that does not give him leave to use it as a tool of vengeance. I do not blame him for his suspicions. But I condemn the method."
Yamamoto's Reiatsu, now nearing full form, was nearly materialized. The heat curled the edges of banners lining the walls. Even the stone floors were warming underfoot.
"His Reiatsu…" whispered a lieutenant, wide-eyed. "That's easily over 60 kenpō."
"Unbelievable… he's not even using Shikai or Bankai!"
Akira stood calmly amid the inferno. Beneath the rim of his framed glasses, his eyes gleamed with reflection. This is the height of Reiatsu—not just pressure, not just force, but elementally integrated spiritual power. The essence of Ryūjin Jakka has merged with his very soul.
The flames weren't an after-effect—they were part of the man himself.
Akira felt Candle Yin stir at his side.
[Your Zanpakutō comments: "Do you still need instruction on merging elemental attributes into Reiatsu? Pitiful. But very well. I shall spare a moment from my Bankai cultivation to show you."]
And then it happened.
In a heartbeat, Akira 's spiritual pressure shifted—not in quantity, but in texture.
Before, his Reiatsu was immense, already towering over most vice-captains at eighteen chariots—three times the strength of Muguruma Kensei's base state. But now, it shimmered with duality.
Light and shadow. Yin and yang.
A ripple passed through the room. Subtle, but unmistakable. Candle Yin's properties—radiant clarity and devouring void—merged into his Reiatsu like ink dropped into clear water.
It was not as fierce as Yamamoto's fire—but it was colder, quieter, and deeper. The kind of power that didn't scream to be noticed, but made one feel as if they stood at the edge of a cliff on a starless night.
Yamamoto noticed. His gaze turned, and for a brief second, their spiritual pressures mingled.
An ancient flame. A newborn eclipse.
"You don't need to fight this battle," Yamamoto said finally. "Let me handle Captain Hirako. He has disgraced his post enough for one lifetime. You needn't place yourself in harm's way again."
Akira stepped forward. "I appreciate your concern, Captain-Commander. But I must go."
Yamamoto's brow furrowed. "Why?"
Akira 's eyes darkened. "Because this confrontation… is part of something larger. Something I cannot avoid."
His words echoed with hidden weight. The truth was, this confrontation with Hirako had been part of a long-devised plan—co-developed with Aizen Sōsuke. Not for glory. Not for vengeance. But to manipulate the shape of future events.
Once Akira declined the vice-captaincy of Squad 1, it had been decided: Aizen would take that post upon graduation. And from that position, he would have unparalleled access.
Yamamoto squinted. "You don't trust me?"
"It's not you I don't trust," Akira replied without hesitation. "It's Hirako."
The Captain-Commander's expression hardened.
"In Soul Society, my word is law. If I say he will not harm Aizen, he will not."
Akira paused, then asked quietly: "And how long will that hold?"
Yamamoto did not answer.
Because Akira was right.
A verbal reprimand? A written review?
Hirako Shinji was a captain, yes. But even Yamamoto, with all his power, could not simply remove him without a formal procedure sanctioned by Central 46. And Hirako had been careful—he'd acted through pressure, not violence. He had skirted formal offenses while still wielding authority like a dagger.
If Akira didn't act, this would happen again.
"You might warn him," Akira said, "but you cannot change what he is."
Yamamoto turned away, silent.
Akira stepped forward and bowed. "Your Excellency, Captain-Commander. I must go. If I do not confront him now, I will give him license to strike again—in darker ways, and at more vulnerable targets."
He retrieved the uniform Shiba Isshin had brought, adjusted the sleeves, and walked toward the Fifth Division barracks.
Behind him, Yamamoto muttered to himself:
"A flame burns. A shadow devours. But which one consumes the world first?"
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