The Tenth Division barracks had always operated on a single golden rule: peaceful silence.
On this particular morning, however, the peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of forty wooden sandals marching in lockstep across the gravel courtyard.
Kazuma was lying on his side on his private veranda, eyes shut, an unpeeled orange resting lazily on his stomach.
He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that his morning nap was officially ruined.
“Captain Kazuma!”
His Third Seat practically threw himself onto the wooden deck, face pale and hands shaking violently as he held up a thick stack of gold-sealed scrolls.
“The Central 46…
the Inspection Corps is here!”
Kazuma cracked one eye open.
“Tell them I died an hour ago.
Have the fourth seat arrange a modest funeral with no crying and plenty of sweet buns.”
“We can’t, sir!” the Third Seat whimpered.
“They brought an executive mandate from the Council Chambers!
They’re auditing our entire division’s operational history for the last fifty years!”
At the front gate of the courtyard stood twelve tall men wearing the stark white robes and conical masks of the Central 46 Administrative Judiciary.
Flanking them as an official liaison from the Fifth Division was Fifth Seat Sōsuke Aizen, his hands folded neatly within his sleeves, sporting his customary gentle, apologetic smile.
“Captain Kazuma,” the lead auditor announced, unrolling a heavy parchment that rustled like dry leaves.
“By decree of the High Council, a comprehensive inquiry has been opened regarding the suspicious disparity in the Tenth Division’s casualty and incident logs.”
Kazuma pushed himself up into a slouch, resting his chin on his palm.
“Disparity?
My squad members are exceptionally talented at running away.
It’s in our training manual.”
“Is that so?” The lead auditor’s voice was frigid.
“According to an analytical report compiled by the Fifth Division’s research archives, the Tenth Division has reported forty-one major Hollow subjugations over four decades where the cause of death was officially classified as ‘unfortunate terrain collisions’ and ‘spontaneous spiritual collapse.'”
Kazuma looked past the auditor straight at Aizen.
Aizen met his gaze through his spectacles, his expression an absolute masterpiece of polite innocence.
“I merely answered the Council’s request for routine statistical oversight, Captain Kazuma,” Aizen said softly, bowing his head slightly.
‘You little snake,’ Kazuma thought, his mind working with icy precision.
‘You knew physical combat wouldn’t force my hand, so you weaponized the most annoying thing in Soul Society: bureaucracy.’
The auditor tapped the parchment with an iron stylus.
“Until this audit is complete, the Tenth Division’s independent patrol jurisdiction is suspended.
Furthermore, the Council has ordered a joint containment reassignment.
Effective immediately, the Tenth Division will take full operational responsibility for the Northern Valley Barricade.”
Kazuma’s Third Seat gasped.
“The Northern Valley?
But that’s the primary migration route for wandering Hollow swarms from the 80th District!
We don’t have the combat personnel to hold a permanent barricade!”
“Then you will request emergency reinforcement from the First and Fifth Divisions,” the auditor declared coldly.
“Every engagement will be monitored by official observers to verify your…
‘unusual terrain conditions.’ If your division fails to maintain the perimeter, Captain Kazuma will face formal disciplinary review for gross negligence.”
The auditors turned and marched toward the division office to seize the record vaults.
Aizen lingered for a fraction of a second.
He walked to the edge of the veranda, offering a respectful bow to Kazuma.
“The Northern Valley is quite turbulent this time of year, Captain,” Aizen whispered, his tone silky smooth, pitched low enough that only Kazuma could hear.
“With official Council observers watching every tree and stone, it must be terribly difficult to rely on ‘lucky accidents’ to keep your men alive.
I do hope you don’t overexert yourself.”
Kazuma picked up the orange from his stomach, tossing it lightly in his palm.
He didn’t flare his spiritual pressure.
He didn’t frown.
He simply looked up at Aizen with a slow, dry smirk.
If you wanted private lessons, you could have just brought better tea.”
Aizen’s smile didn’t waver.
“I prefer to observe natural phenomena in their proper environment.
Good luck with the Council, Captain.”
Aizen turned and strolled out of the courtyard, his white-and-black uniform fluttering in the morning breeze.
The Third Seat fell to his knees beside the deck, clutching his head in despair.
“Captain…
what are we going to do?
The Northern Valley is a death trap!
If Hollows swarm the barricade and the observers see us running away, the Council will strip your haori!”
Kazuma peeled the orange in one clean, unbroken spiral, popping a slice into his mouth.
Underneath the casual laziness, his mind was already laying out the counter-strike.
‘He thinks he boxed me in,’ Kazuma analyzed.
‘If I fight like an ordinary Captain, I blow my cover in front of Central 46 observers.
If I do nothing, my division collapses and I lose my quiet estate.’
Kazuma chewed slowly, feeling the icy resonance of Jakumetsu humming quietly against his soul.
‘Aizen wants a spectacle,’ Kazuma thought, looking toward the northern mountains where storm clouds were gathering.
‘He wants to see how I handle a crisis when the whole world is watching.’
Kazuma stood up, dusting off his white haori with a slow, deliberate movement.
“Gather the squad,” Kazuma said mildly.
“Pack thirty folding chairs, two crates of tea leaves, and ten parasols.”
The Third Seat blinked in shock.
“P-Parasols, sir?”
“The sun in the Northern Valley is terrible for the complexion,” Kazuma yawned, sliding his wooden sandals on.
“If Central 46 wants to watch a show, we might as well make sure the audience is comfortable.”
The chess match was heating up, but Kazuma had no intention of playing by anyone else’s rules.