By the time Lord Haru Shimizu and the rather useless Kuchiki heir finally dismantled the rebel plot and returned to the Seireitei, evening had already fallen.
In the distance, the dimming sunset cast a golden, blood-orange glow over the towering Sōkyoku, giving the massive execution grounds a sense of cruel, imposing beauty.
Strictly speaking, the Soul Society rarely ever used that execution device.
Most criminals were simply killed on the spot during violent arrests.
Those who still had some residual value were thrown into the Maggot’s Nest.
The truly unkillable monsters—or those whose overwhelming Reiatsu would disrupt the balance of souls if they died—were banished to Muken, the lowest level of the underground prison.
It was the ultimate waste recycling system.
Kept around just in case it ever proved useful.
Haru and Sōjun walked side-by-side toward the First Division barracks.
Sōjun had been coughing non-stop the entire way back.
Watching the man practically hack his lungs out, Haru couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Sōjun, you really need to go see the Fourth Division.
You’re so young, but you’re coughing so hard your spine is going to snap.”
Sōjun offered a helpless smile and waved a hand dismissively.
“It’s fine.
It’s an old illness.
I just pushed myself a little too hard today.
A good night’s rest will fix it.”
‘A serious guy like you?
How long are you ever actually going to rest?’ Haru thought, shaking his head.
When they arrived at the Head Captain’s office and knocked, Haru realized Yamamoto wasn’t alone.
There were two other people in the room.
One he knew by reputation, and the other’s identity was incredibly obvious just by looking at him.
Haru subtly nudged Sōjun’s arm.
‘Your old man is here.’
A stern, white-haired man with a heavily lined face was glaring strictly at the two of them.
“Head Captain.
Captain,” Sōjun bowed his head respectfully.
Haru looked at the elderly man standing next to Yamamoto.
Judging by his attire and his intense glare, this was unmistakably Sōjun’s father: Ginrei Kuchiki, Captain of the Sixth Division.
To Haru’s surprise, despite Ginrei’s perpetually rigid expression, the old man actually gave Haru a small, acknowledging nod.
‘Looks like the old man knows exactly what’s going on,’ Haru noted internally.
‘He knows his son’s limits.
I suppose he owes me a favor now.’
Haru honestly couldn’t understand these hyper-traditional nobles.
Their minds were entirely calcified.
Ginrei fully knew his son’s body was failing, yet to uphold the so-called ‘honor of the clan,’ he allowed Sōjun to lead a combat squad against a rebellion.
Haru respected the resolve, but he couldn’t fathom the sheer stubbornness of it.
His level of enlightenment simply hadn’t reached that point.
“I have received the mission report,” Yamamoto rumbled slowly, pausing for a moment before nodding.
“Well done.”
“However, little Sōjun, you really must be more careful.
Surely you know the saying, ‘A wise man doesn’t stand beneath a collapsing wall,’ right?” the third man in the room chimed in.
His voice had a strange, laid-back cadence to it.
Curly brown hair, a massive woven straw hat, a completely lethargic aura, and a disgustingly flashy pink floral haori draped over his shoulders.
He had two hairpins in his hair and dual Zanpakutō tucked into his sash.
This was the Soul Society’s number one old lecher, the absolute favorite customer of every izakaya hostess, and the undisputed king of drinking on the public dime: Captain of the Eighth Division, Shunsui Kyōraku!
Haru absolutely loved him—or rather, he loved his Zanpakutō.
Where else in the world could you find a Zanpakutō spirit that willingly gave you a lap pillow?
Haru silently prayed to the Soul King that his future Zanpakutō spirit would also manifest as a busty, incredibly accommodating woman.
“Yo!” Shunsui finished lecturing Sōjun and turned his gaze toward the young man standing in the back.
“You must be Haru.”
Haru was slightly taken aback.
“Captain Kyōraku?
Am I that famous already?”
“Not yet, but you will be soon,” Shunsui chuckled, adjusting his straw hat.
His tone shifted into something far more serious.
“Word of what you and Sōjun did today is going to spread fast.
Watch your back, Haru.”
Haru thanked him, though he felt incredibly suspicious.
Why did this old pervert suddenly care about him?
They shared the same hobbies, sure, but they had never interacted before.
Did Haru possess some kind of treasure Shunsui wanted?
‘Wait, what do I even have?’ Haru pondered.
‘Aside from Yoruichi and Shaolin?
I have absolutely nothing!’
After Yamamoto handed out some generic, cost-free verbal praise, Haru took his leave.
To his surprise, the moment he stepped out of the First Division gates, a voice called out from behind him.
“Haru!
Hold on, wait up!”
Shunsui came jogging after him.
“Did you need something, Captain Kyōraku?”
“With such beautiful scenery and gentle moonlight, wouldn’t you care to join this humble man for a cup of sake?”
“Captain Kyōraku…
the sun hasn’t even set yet,” Haru said, taking a cautious step back.
“And just so we’re clear, I am strictly into women!”
“Huh?” Shunsui scratched his cheek.
“That doesn’t matter.
Come on, let’s go get a drink.”
Refusing to take no for an answer, Shunsui practically dragged Haru toward the commercial district, making a massive spectacle of them walking together.
Along the way, Haru felt several intense, hidden gazes lock onto him.
He didn’t say a word.
If he could sense them, there was no way Shunsui—one of the most powerful Captains in the Gotei 13—couldn’t.
‘Is this Eighth Division Captain…
actively trying to protect me?’ Haru realized.
By parading Haru around town, Shunsui was sending a blatant warning to any lurking rebel spies: This kid is under my protection.
Shunsui led Haru down the commercial street, pacing back and forth twice.
He stared longingly at a row of red lanterns hanging outside a notoriously lively hostess bar, his face twisting in genuine agony.
Finally, gritting his teeth, he forced himself to walk away and entered a completely normal, boring izakaya instead.
“To our first meeting!
Cheers!”
The small porcelain cups clinked together, and both men downed their sake in one gulp.
Shunsui picked up some edamame with his chopsticks, chewing slowly before dropping an absolute bombshell.
“Haru, logically speaking, you really should be calling me ‘Uncle’.
We ought to be much closer.”
???
Haru froze.
‘No way.
Don’t tell me…’ Haru’s mind began racing at lightspeed.
‘Did this degenerate old bastard sleep with my mother?!
Is my real name Haru Kyōraku?!’
Seeing Haru’s eyes grow increasingly dark and murderous, Shunsui physically shivered.
The kid was definitely getting the wrong idea.
“Don’t misunderstand!
It’s nothing like that!” Shunsui frantically poured Haru another cup of sake to appease him.
“What I mean is…”
He scratched the back of his head, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.
“Your father and I…
we were very close.”
???
Haru inhaled sharply, a violent shudder of sheer horror running down his spine.
‘Are you kidding me?!
That’s even worse!
Am I supposed to call him Auntie Shunsui?!
Which one of them was the bottom?!’
Watching the sheer disgust and contempt radiate from Haru’s face, Shunsui immediately realized the boy’s imagination had run right off a cliff.
“Ugh—as embarrassing as this is to admit out loud, your father and I were drinking buddies,” Shunsui quickly clarified, his face flushing slightly.
“We drank together all the time…
you know…
at the other kind of izakaya.”
Oh.
Haru let out a massive sigh of relief.
‘Why couldn’t you just say that normally from the start?!
Why did you have to make it sound so incredibly gay?!’
“You mean you guys went to hostess clubs together?
Come on, Captain Kyōraku, I’m not a kid anymore!
I’m an outstanding, well-adjusted young educator!”
“Haha,” Shunsui laughed awkwardly.
“It just feels a bit shameful trying to explain to my old friend’s son that we were fellow degenerates.”
Shunsui took another sip of sake, a deeply nostalgic, emotional look crossing his face.
“His voice and his smile live on in my memory, Haru!
Back in the day, your father and I were always ‘accidentally’ running into each other at the clubs.
Whenever the girls were ushering the patrons out for the night, the two of us were always the very last ones to leave.”
He sighed heavily, mourning the loss of his greatest wingman.
“Unfortunately, I heard you’re quite entangled with the Princess of the Shihōin Clan right now.
So, Uncle Shunsui can’t exactly drag you out to the red-light district to drink with the girls.
What an absolute shame!”