Chapter 97 – 97 ⥤ How Strong Would a Healthy Jūshirō Be?

Looking at the mountain of fallen rebels before him, Akira fell into deep thought.

The mission had gone suspiciously smoothly, leaving him feeling detached from reality — like a character in a game mechanically completing tasks until the quest marker changed.

The entire operation, from Genryūsai’s assignment to completion, hadn’t even taken a day.

Could it be that I’m too strong?

Akira glanced at his spotless hands and accepted this possibility.

Yoruichi flickered from her spot and seized one of the barely-living rebels, beginning to speak.

“Who sent you—” Before she could finish, the rebel’s face contorted in terror, as if hearing an unspeakable horror.

Black markings erupted from his lips, spreading instantly across his entire head.

Yoruichi’s pupils contracted at the approaching danger, and she instinctively hurled the rebel away.

BOOM!

A blood-colored firework burst in the sky, brilliantly dazzling.

“Great, you just eliminated our only living witness.”

Yoruichi shot Akira an exasperated look and explained, “These are rebel death soldiers with Kidō planted in their bodies. Capture triggers the Kidō, resulting in what we just saw. The Second Division has encountered this type many times. They’re typically involved with crucial secrets that could affect warfare or threaten noble houses.”

As a member of the Five Great Noble Houses, she understood the political machinations all too well.

“What do the rebels want with civilian souls?” Akira frowned, puzzled by their motives.

“Many uses.” Yoruichi replied, “Illegal soul modification, materials for forbidden experiments, evil rituals, and more. But we have too few clues to determine their true objective. Let’s return to the Seireitei to report. I need to brief the family elders about this.”

She sighed heavily.

Nothing involving rebels was ever straightforward. If nothing unexpected had happened yet, it soon would. All signs pointed to the rebels growing dissatisfied with their previous small-scale activities.

After collecting evidence of the rebels’ identities, she sealed the location with a Kidō barrier.

Then they formally returned to the Seireitei.

However, moments after their departure, several figures appeared near the location, cloaked entirely in black from head to toe.

Faced with the devastation before them, they rushed to assess the situation, barely processing their shock.

“The power gap was overwhelming — all killed with single strikes. The tongue-binding Kidō was triggered. The enemy may have uncovered our plans.”

“We must report this to the master immediately!”

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1st Division Barracks, Tea Room.

Genryūsai adjusted the fire before him, straightening the tea kettle with an expression calm and serene as still water.

Sitting across from him, Akira delivered an animated report, emphasizing his achievements while liberally borrowing from Yoruichi’s analysis and theories.

“I understand.” Genryūsai nodded slowly, “Though we haven’t found that suspicious person, we did eliminate a rebel base and traced the disappearing souls to them. Kisaragi, you’ve done well — you rather remind me of Kyōraku in his early days.”

Glancing at the self-satisfied young man, the old man sighed.

This kid just couldn’t tell good from bad.

“Continue the investigation. Find that suspicious person quickly, before they cause greater unrest.”

Akira nodded, having no objections.

The 11th Division’s duties were relatively relaxed anyway, so searching for someone could serve as a break between training sessions.

Just as he finished his tea in one gulp and stood to leave, Genryūsai spoke again.

“One more thing. About Ukitake…” The old man furrowed his brow, hesitating, “You must be aware of his condition. I want to ask if there are any specific solutions — whether through ritual or divination, anything that might solve the problem.”

Hearing this, Akira fell into contemplation.

He understood Jūshirō’s condition well enough.

At age three, Jūshirō had contracted a lung disease that nearly killed him. He’d survived by sacrificing his diseased lungs to Mimihagi, gaining partial power of the Right Arm, which stabilized his lungs in their three-year-old state.

To others, this seemed impossible to solve. But to Akira, it wasn’t such a big deal — wasn’t it just a matter of a lung transplant?

While current Human World technology couldn’t perform such advanced surgery — the timeline being far from the original — the Soul Society’s technology had developed along a completely different path.

Most areas of Soul Society, even the noble-inhabited 6th Division, remained in an ancient state, yet the 12th Division had already embraced modernization.

During his last visit to see Aizen at the 12th Division, he’d seen high-tech equipment beyond his comprehension.

A lung transplant impossible through medical means could be solved through technology. Surely the omnipotent Sōsuke would devise a solution.

If that didn’t work, he still had Plans B and C — and with some thought, Plan D could work too.

Speaking of which, where would a healthy Jūshirō rank in the tier list?

“There will be a solution, but I need to consult with others.” Akira spread his hands helplessly, “After all, each field has its specialists. For a case like Senior Ukitake’s, we need to make a proper assessment before taking action.”

Genryūsai nodded, temporarily setting his mind at ease.

Despite his seemingly unreliable nature, this disciple had proven quite capable when it truly counted.

Perhaps he deserved more careful mentoring?

Genryūsai pondered this thought.

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Seireitei, 6th District, Noble Quarter.

This territory, under the direct jurisdiction of the 6th Division, housed Soul Society’s nobility and aristocracy.

Deep within the district stood magnificent estates with maze-like corridors and buildings. Several dark figures slipped through the shadows, halting before an ancient study.

From inside came the murmur of conversation — the owner was receiving visitors. The figures waited silently on either side of the path.

“Enter.”

At the command, the door opened. The shadowy figures filed in, dropping to one knee to deliver their report.

“Third base has been completely destroyed, and Atsushi Jinzan is dead. Scene analysis indicates the attacker was Akira Kisaragi — that genius graduate who showed exceptional talent in the recent academy examinations.”

The elderly figure in the room lifted their head, dignity etched into their features despite their surprise.

“How did he find the base beneath Jinzan’s barrier? Could there be a traitor in our midst?”

The kneeling Shinigami exchanged uncertain glances, offering no answer.

The elder, clearly not expecting one, gazed thoughtfully through clouded eyes.

“If memory serves… this same brat contributed to our defeat in the war with the Kuchiki clan. Those talismans he sold to Sōjun Kuchiki turned the tide, and every attempt on his life has failed.”

“Not only that — he recently helped Yoruichi Shihōin earn her family’s Zanpakutō’s recognition. Even Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto took this Rukongai slum upstart as a disciple… What a troublesome brat indeed.”

The elder’s words trailed into a mutter.

The kneeling shadows’ faces showed a mix of surprise and astonishment. None had expected a mere academy graduate to have accomplished so much.

After a moment of contemplation, the elder issued new orders.

“Investigate this matter thoroughly. If assassination proves insufficient, we may need to employ… other methods.”

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11th Division Barracks.

Marenoshin Ōmaeda gazed thoughtfully at the carefree young man before him.

Though little time had passed, everything felt different. It seemed like only yesterday he was regularly scolding this kid, yet now this youngster could defeat Vice-Captain level Shinigami with ease.

Even more remarkable was how the Shihōin clan elders and head — whom he had to treat with utmost respect — showed both satisfaction and regret at any mention of Akira’s name.

Their satisfaction stemmed from regaining acknowledgment of their hereditary Zanpakutō through his help; their regret from his refusal to join the clan.

Such special treatment left Marenoshin feeling rather unsettled.

“Long time no see, Marenoshin-sensei.” Akira greeted him warmly, setting out the teapot, cups, and tea leaves he’d brought from the 1st Division. With practiced movements, he warmed the tea, poured it, and pushed the fragrant cup toward Marenoshin.

Though he’d never formally studied these customs, he’d learned them through careful observation.

Now he carried himself with a touch of Yamamoto’s dignity.

“Long time no see, Student Kisaragi. No — I should call you Third Seat Kisaragi now.” As 2nd Division’s Vice-Captain, Marenoshin kept well-informed.

He’d learned of Akira’s appointment as 11th Division’s Third Seat just days ago.

Though initially startled, he realized that given Akira’s strength, even becoming 11th Division’s Captain wouldn’t be unreasonable, let alone Third Seat. Perhaps he’d avoided the Captain’s position to prevent raising suspicions.

As head of the minor noble Ōmaeda clan, Marenoshin possessed sharp political instincts, particularly regarding matters that might affect him personally.

He suspected that having such an overwhelming examiner as Shiraki Shin’ichi during the graduation exam wasn’t solely due to Akira’s strength. It might have been Captain-Commander Genryūsai laying groundwork for him.

After all, only someone truly powerful and universally acknowledged could become 11th Division’s Captain and inherit the title of “Kenpachi”.

While Marenoshin pondered this, Akira had already finished his tea.

“Regarding the transfer of fixed assets, everything is complete.” Marenoshin withdrew a thick stack of bills from his pocket and placed them neatly on the tea table, “This is everything.”

Akira didn’t spare the money a second glance.

He trusted the man implicitly — Marenoshin’s important role with Yoruichi and the collective approval of the Shihōin clan spoke volumes about his character.

Seeing this, Marenoshin felt a flutter of pride.

Though this kid had often stirred up trouble during his academy days, he was, at heart, thoroughly decent.

“Brother Marenoshin.” Akira said suddenly in a friendly tone.

Seeing this, Marenoshin immediately grew wary.

Though he hadn’t taught him for long, he’d figured out this kid’s personality. That fawning expression reminded him of his own younger self.

He could tell right away that this kid was definitely up to no good!

“Just say it straight.”

“I asked Yoruichi earlier, and she said your Ōmaeda clan is one of the wealthiest noble families in all of Soul Society, involved in many businesses — restaurants, izakayas (food bar), department stores, clothing shops, contraband trading…”

Hearing this, Marenoshin’s face darkened.

What kind of talk was this? Was this something that could be discussed openly?

And why was Lady Yoruichi telling him everything? Wasn’t she being a bit too partial?

“Ahem, what exactly do you want to say?” He interrupted Akira’s increasingly outrageous statements.

If this continued, it would sound like the Ōmaeda clan owned all of Soul Society, with even the Five Great Noble Houses depending on them to survive.

“I want to ask for your help in making some clothes.” Akira said, rubbing his hands together.

“What?” Marenoshin eyed him suspiciously.

Akira took out a stack of talismans from his pocket and placed them on the table.

On the elegant white wooden pieces was drawn the image of Mimihagi — noble attire entwined with a right arm formed of shadows — giving off an inviolable aura of authority.

“I want to add this design to the outer haori. And add some promotional text too.”

Marenoshin frowned, examining the talismans while studying Akira’s serious expression.

“Promoting the shrine?”

The young man across from him nodded.

“That’s not a big deal.” Marenoshin relaxed, “How many sets do you need? I’ll have the tailors work overtime to get them made quickly.”

“Let’s start with two hundred sets, we can make more if needed.”

“…”

He now seriously suspected this kid was planning to replace the Ise clan and become the new priestly family.

Marenoshin wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Isn’t two hundred sets a bit too many?”

Akira shook his head, “Too many? Not at all. Money sitting in your pocket is just worthless paper — too stiff even to wipe your bottom with. It only becomes real money when you spend it! Besides… I’m going to give all of the Eleventh Division a complete makeover!”

Marenoshin looked at the confident young man before him with an inexplicable sense of foreboding…

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