Led by a guard, Kaito Yanagawa and Isshin Shiba passed through several heavy stone doors sealed by intricate Kidō barriers.
Eventually, they arrived at a confinement cell deep within the underground recesses of Central 46.
The walls here were constructed of a smooth, freezing special stone that admitted virtually no light.
Only a few eerie blue Reishi lamps embedded in the masonry cast a dim glow, while the air hung heavy with an oppressive, desolate silence.
Before one of the cell doors, the guard stepped aside, revealing the cramped, Spartan space within.
Perched on the edge of the cot was a diminutive boy, hugging his knees to his chest with his head bowed toward the frigid floor.
It was none other than Tōshirō Hitsugaya.
He did not react in the slightest to the sound of the opening door, as if he had lost all awareness of the outside world, enveloped completely in a despairing shroud of gloom and confusion.
That was until a familiar, booming voice rang out, laden with unvarnished concern:
“Now that sure doesn’t look like the Tōshirō Hitsugaya I know!”
Tōshirō stiffened violently and snapped his head up.
When he saw Isshin Shiba standing in the doorway—a hearty yet worried grin plastered across his face—a spark of disbelief burst in his eyes before quickly dimming, yet that deathly pall of despair was shattered.
He parted his lips, his voice raspy and dry.
“Captain…
Shiba?
What are you doing…”
His gaze then shifted to the composed young man standing beside Isshin, draped in a pure white haori.
Tōshirō possessed a sharp memory.
He recognized the face—someone connected to Momo Hinamori whom he had seen a few times before.
If he remembered correctly, his name was…
Yanagawa?
“Yanagawa…-senpai?” Tōshirō murmured hesitantly.
“You still remember me, Hitsugaya-kun,” Yanagawa said smoothly, dispersing the boy’s uncertainty.
Without offering unnecessary explanations, he simply gestured toward Isshin.
Isshin strode into the cell, entirely indifferent to the oppressive atmosphere, and dropped heavily onto the cot right beside Tōshirō, making the wooden frame groan under the strain.
Ruffling Tōshirō’s soft white hair with vigorous enthusiasm, Isshin grinned widely.
“How’s it going, kid?
How’s the food in this joint?
Anyone giving you a hard time?
Just say the word, and I’ll beat ’em black and blue for ya!”
The wildly inappropriate greeting left Tōshirō at a loss for words, yet that rough-edged concern seemed to thaw a faint, frozen corner of his heart with warmth.
Shaking his head, he murmured, “No…
It’s just…”
“Just what?!
Chin up, kid!”
Isshin delivered a hearty smack to his back.
“Let me give you some good news—I’ve already drawn up your squad application!
The moment you graduate, the Squad 10 third seat is yours!
So stop moping around in a dump like this!”
“All right, Captain Isshin.
Don’t frighten him,” Yanagawa chimed in right on cue, cutting off Isshin’s overly exuberant encouragement.
Yanagawa stepped over to a small table, lightly leaning against it as he fixed a calm gaze on Tōshirō Hitsugaya.
“Hitsugaya-kun, we can catch up later.
We’re here today to investigate the Twin Hyōrinmaru incident.
There are a few questions I need you to answer honestly.”
His tone was even, yet it possessed a persuasive gravity that made Tōshirō instinctively straighten his posture and nod.
“First,” Yanagawa began, looking straight into his eyes, “regarding Sōjirō Kusakabe.
What is the nature of your relationship?”
At the mention of that name, Tōshirō’s body trembled almost imperceptibly, the agony and confusion in his eyes deepening.
After a brief silence, he spoke slowly in a slightly hoarse voice:
“Kusakabe is my best friend at the Shin’ō Academy.”
He paused, as if reminiscing or composing himself, before continuing.
His pace was measured, but every word carried unmistakable weight:
“We met not long after enrollment.
Unlike so many others, he never shunned me or deliberately approached me just because of my hair color or innate talent.”
“We naturally grew close—attending classes together, training together, discussing Kidō and swordsmanship…”
“Training?” Isshin interjected, his tone turning a bit more serious.
“You sparred together often?”
“Yes.” Tōshirō nodded.
“We sparred constantly.
He is the person I trust most at the Shin’ō Academy.”
“Then, prior to your Zanpakuto’s initial awakening—before the call of Hyōrinmaru surfaced—did you ever sense any unique connection or anomaly between the two of you, or with your Zanpakuto?” Yanagawa probed deeper.
Tōshirō furrowed his brow, thinking back carefully.
“If you’re talking about a connection…
when our Zanpakuto awakened, it happened at the exact same time.”
Yanagawa listened quietly, his mind rapidly dissecting the pieces: best friends, prolonged sparring and shared training, simultaneous Zanpakuto awakenings…
Could these factors, under some extraordinarily rare convergence of circumstances, have interacted with the underlying principles governing Zanpakuto awakening in an unexpected way?
“Next, we see Sōjirō Kusakabe,” Yanagawa told the sage waiting outside.
The boy was tall and slender, his long black hair bound neatly into a clean topknot at the back, while several unruly strands of bangs drifted over his right cheek.
He wore the white uniform of the Shin’ō Academy.
Though rumpled at the moment, he maintained a deliberately upright posture.
Under the dim Reishi lighting, his expression betrayed a convoluted swirl of emotions—vigilance, confusion, and a faint, stubborn defiance.
Beneath it all lingered a faint trace of indignation and perceived injustice.
Yanagawa and Isshin asked similar questions, but the answers they received essentially mirrored what Tōshirō had shared.
By now, a theory was quietly forming in Yanagawa’s mind, but he still needed more information to substantiate it.