Six months after Mayuri was pulled out of his cell, the Twelfth Division looked completely unrecognizable.
The messy courtyard full of rusted scrap had been replaced by a massive, high-tech white building packed with glowing monitors, strange spirit-glass tubes, and humming copper generators.
It was the official opening day of the Shin’ō Research and Development Institute.
Captains and seated officers gathered in the main lab for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Old Man Yamamoto stood near the front with his cane, nodding with rare approval at the state-of-the-art sensory radar.
Kazuma was sitting in a plush leather swivel chair in the back corner, his feet kicked up on a mahogany table, eating honey-glazed roasted nuts.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi—now wearing his bizarre black-and-white makeup and fancy scientist robes—walked past.
When Mayuri’s golden eyes met Kazuma’s lazy gaze, the mad scientist didn’t make a single smart remark.
He simply gave a stiff, polite nod, tucked his long fingers into his sleeves, and took a wide, three-step circle around Kazuma’s chair.
Beside Kazuma, Shunsui Kyōraku chuckled into his sake cup.
“My, my,” Shunsui whispered under his flower-patterned haori.
“Whatever you said to Kurotsuchi in that basement must have been quite persuasive.
I’ve never seen that creep show respect to anyone, not even the Captain-Commander.”
“I just shared some basic workplace safety guidelines, Shunsui,” Kazuma said, popping another nut into his mouth.
“A polite worker is a live worker.”
Urahara stepped up to the main podium with his wooden cane, smiling under his striped hat.
“Thank you all for coming!” Urahara announced cheerfully.
“With our new long-range spirit radar, the Soul Society can now detect dangerous Hollow surges and spatial tears three times faster than before!
No threat can slip past the borders unnoticed!”
Right as the seated officers applauded, the massive glass radar screen in the center of the room flashed bright yellow.
*BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.*
A low siren began to echo through the lab.
The room went instantly quiet.
“Radar Sector 78.
Outer Rukongai.
Abnormal spiritual reading detected.”
Urahara’s playful grin faded, replaced by a sharp look.
“A Hollow pack?”
“Negative,” Mayuri rasped, staring at the data stream.
“There are no Hollow signatures.
However…
eighty-two resident souls in District 78 have vanished completely in the span of four minutes.”
“Eighty-two souls?” Captain Kensei Muguruma of the Ninth Division stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with an aggressive scowl.
“Did a Menos eat them?”
“That is the strange part,” Mayuri replied, his golden eyes narrowing.
“Their spiritual pressure did not get consumed.
It simply ceased to exist on the grid.
The patrol squad sent to investigate found only empty clothes lying on the dirt roads.
No bodies.
No blood.
Nothing.”
A cold murmur swept through the gathered Captains.
Kazuma sat back in his swivel chair, slowly chewing on a sweet nut.
‘The field tests have started,’ Kazuma thought, his sleepy eyes narrowing just a fraction behind his straw hat.
The Rukongai soul disappearances.
The early Hollowfication experiments.
Aizen was finally rolling out his meat grinder to gather data for the Hōgyoku.
At the front of the room, Old Man Yamamoto struck his cane against the floor.
*CLANG.*
The sharp sound cut through the murmurs like an iron blade. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Captain Muguruma,” Yamamoto ordered, his voice deep and stern.
“The Ninth Division is responsible for external security.
Take your advance vanguard and set up an investigation camp in District 78 immediately.
Find whatever is responsible for these disappearances and eliminate it.”
“Understood, Old Man,” Kensei grunted, adjusting his sleeveless haori and turning toward the exit with a cocky grin.
“Let’s go, Mashiro!
We’ll crush whatever it is in half an hour!”
“Coming, Kensei~!” his green-haired Vice-Captain cheered, jogging after him.
As the Ninth Division rushed out the doors toward their doom, Kazuma didn’t feel an ounce of pity.
Kensei was loud, hot-headed, and constantly pushed for aggressive border patrols that created extra paperwork for everyone else.
If Aizen wanted to turn the Ninth Division into hollowfied test subjects in a muddy field, that was Kensei’s problem.
Near the lab’s exit, Fifth Seat Sōsuke Aizen stood with his hands tucked neatly into his sleeves.
He wore his usual gentle, innocent smile, bowing politely to Kensei as the squad sprinted past.
For a brief second, Aizen’s gaze drifted across the crowded lab, locking onto Kazuma sitting in the corner.
Aizen’s smile didn’t change, but his dark eyes carried a quiet, calculating message: *The game has begun.*
Kazuma met his gaze through the rim of his straw hat, utterly unbothered.
He raised his tea cup in a subtle, half-inch toast, took a slow sip, and looked away.
The unspoken message was just as clear: *Have fun with your science project, Aizen.
Just keep the blood off my tatami mats.*
Kazuma leaned his head back against the soft leather chair and closed his eyes.
Half the Captains in this room were going to be wiped out or exiled within forty-eight hours.
To an ordinary Shinigami, it was a tragedy.
To Kazuma, it meant fewer loud meetings, massive power vacuums, and an untouched Tenth Division that would look like the most stable squad in the entire Seireitei without him ever lifting a finger.
‘Let the ambitious idiots tear each other apart,’ Kazuma thought with a cold, lazy smile.
‘A chaotic Soul Society is the easiest place to sleep.’