The entrance to the Maggots’ Nest was cold, damp, and smelled of old stone.
Deep beneath the Second Division barracks, this underground prison held people the Soul Society considered too dangerous or unstable to walk free—even if they had never committed a crime.
Standing at the heavy iron doors, Captain Shihōin Yoruichi grinned with her hands on her hips.
“Look who got dragged out of bed,” Yoruichi chuckled, looking at Kazuma’s miserable face.
“I never thought I’d see the day you volunteered to visit the creepiest basement in the Seireitei.”
“I did not volunteer, Lady Yoruichi,” Kazuma sighed, his straw hat tilted low.
“Technology betrayed me.
If I survive this, I am smashing Urahara’s stamp with a hammer.”
Urahara laughed, adjusting his striped hat.
“Now, now, Captain Kazuma.
Think of it as an educational field trip.”
“Rule one,” Yoruichi said, pushing the heavy iron lever.
“No weapons inside.
If any of the inmates get weird, use your fists.”
The massive iron gates screeched open.
They walked through dark, winding stone corridors.
In the shadows, dangerous men sat in silence, watching the three Captains with hollow, predatory eyes.
But as they looked at Kazuma—strolling with his hands in his pockets, yawning with absolute boredom—none of the inmates dared to move.
At the bottom of the lowest pit sat a solitary cell.
Inside sat a pale, slender man with slicked-back blue hair, wearing heavy white prisoner robes.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi.
Mayuri slowly raised his head.
His sharp, golden eyes locked onto the three visitors like a spider sizing up flies.
“A cat, a fool with a wooden cane, and a hobo in sandals,” Mayuri rasped, his voice sounding like two rusty blades scraping together.
“Did Central 46 finally order my execution, or did you come here to bore me to death?”
Urahara leaned against the bars, smiling casually.
“Actually, Kurotsuchi-san, I came to make you a job offer.
I’m building a new Research Bureau.
Mayuri let out a low, mocking laugh.
“Freedom?
Under the Gotei 13?
Don’t insult my intelligence, Kisuke Urahara.
Who controls the leash?”
Urahara stepped aside, pointing his thumb straight at Kazuma.
“He signed the release,” Urahara smiled.
“And his division is funding sixty percent of the lab.”
Mayuri’s golden eyes slid over to Kazuma, narrowing with sharp malice.
He stepped right up to the iron bars, gripping the cold metal, a sick grin twisting his pale face.
“A lazy Tenth Division fool,” Mayuri whispered, his tongue clicking against his teeth.
“Splendid.
That means when my research requires fresh living subjects, I won’t have to look far.
Your little squad of peaceful weaklings will make lovely raw material for my dissections.”
Yoruichi’s eyes flashed with anger, her hand already moving to strike through the bars.
Kazuma held up a single hand, stopping her.
His lazy posture vanished.
Slowly, Kazuma bent down, leaning in until his face was inches away from the iron bars.
His eyes, usually half-closed and tired, locked dead onto Mayuri’s golden pupils.
In that single second, the air inside Mayuri’s cell turned into solid lead.
No shouting.
No glowing spirit flame.
Just an absolute, crushing weight that instantly wiped every drop of oxygen out of the dark room.
The stone floor beneath Mayuri’s bare feet groaned under an impossible invisible force, and the temperature dropped so fast frost crept along the iron bars.
The color vanished from the mad scientist’s face.
His lungs seized, unable to pull in a single breath.
A thick bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple as pure, primal terror hammered against his skull.
Every instinct in Mayuri’s hyper-intelligent brain screamed a single message: *The thing standing in front of you is an apex predator.*
Kazuma stared at him through the bars with dead, flat eyes.
“Is that so…” Kazuma said softly.
Three words.
No anger.
Just absolute, terrifying certainty.
Mayuri stood completely paralyzed, his knuckles white against the iron bars, trembling so hard his teeth rattled.
Then, with a gentle blink, Kazuma pulled the pressure back into nothingness.
He straightened his back, stretched his arms over his head with a loud, lazy yawn, and turned toward Urahara with his usual sleepy grin.
“Anyway, the guy seems motivated.
Sign the papers so we can go get some noodles.”
Urahara stared at Kazuma for a second, then adjusted his striped hat with a knowing, sly grin.
“Right away, Captain.”
Mayuri stumbled back, his knees hitting the cold stone bench behind him as he gasped for air.
He gripped his own chest, staring at Kazuma’s back with wide, shaken eyes.
He hadn’t just met a funder—he had been given a clear boundary line.
Cross into the Tenth Division, and he wouldn’t even survive long enough to scream.
“I…
accept the position, Director Urahara,” Mayuri rasped, keeping his voice quiet and respectful as he sat down.
As the three walked back up the stone stairs toward the sunlight, Yoruichi bumped her shoulder against Kazuma’s arm, giving him a sharp, impressed smirk.
“You really know how to put a leash on a mad dog, don’t you?” Yoruichi whispered.
“I just don’t like replacing squad members, Lady Yoruichi,” Kazuma sighed, pulling his straw hat back over his eyes.
“Training new recruits takes way too much paperwork.
Now let’s hurry—the noodle shop closes at two.”