Yoruichi had let go of the bandage and reached for Ichiryu only because she’d sensed Suì-Fēng’s reiatsu approaching.
When Ichiryu dodged, she knew it was too late.
She gave him one last, deep look and vanished without a word.
Suì-Fēng arrived a moment later to find Ichiryu straightening his clothes.
“Where is she?”
She didn’t understand what had just happened, but she could feel the faint spiritual pressure lingering in the air.
It was definitely that woman.
It wasn’t that Suì-Fēng had been slow.
The Seireitei was simply vast.
She had been on her way back, pushing her Shunpo to the point of exhaustion, and still hadn’t caught up.
“The former head of the clan — that person tried to recruit me,” Ichiryu reported earnestly.
“But my loyalty is to you, Captain, and to the Gotei 13.
I merely played along, spinning falsehoods to buy time until I felt your approach.
Only then did she leave.”
Suì-Fēng stared.
She looked him over carefully.
“Then why is your haori undone?” Her eyes fell to the large yellow croaker in his hand.
“And this is…”
“She also tried to take the fish I bought for you.
She said I wasn’t worthy of wearing a vice-captain’s haori.” Ichiryu shook his head regretfully.
“Perhaps she resents me for establishing the Inspection Corps.”
Despite his smooth explanation, a slight smile touched Suì-Fēng’s lips.
“So she at least made a move to test you.”
She knew Yoruichi wouldn’t just leave without a word.
This guy was omitting key details.
“Correct!
She pinned my throat in one move!” Ichiryu’s face was a mask of fear.
“Oh?
And after sensing my reiatsu, she didn’t try to kidnap you or attack you directly?”
“Well… I am still a member of the Shihōin clan.
And I did save Yūshirō back then.”
Suì-Fēng instinctively felt there was more to the story, but she didn’t know how much.
That woman had been here.
And the other Onmitsukidō members were watching the fish in his hands.
She let it drop.
As Suì-Fēng turned toward the main gate, Ichiryu fell into step beside her.
She asked, seemingly offhand, “Your reiatsu is remarkably stable.
It was barely third-class a century ago, and it’s exactly the same now.”
“That appears to be my limit.
It’s a victory if it doesn’t regress,” Ichiryu said, without a trace of resentment.
The numbered classes of reiatsu were statistical measures, not realms or stages.
Everyone hit their own bottlenecks.
The class was just a way to quantify the result.
First class was the lowest.
Twentieth class was the highest — though in practice, no living Shinigami had ever been formally rated at the top end of that scale.
Combat capability couldn’t be determined by class alone.
Every Shinigami knew combat effectiveness came from the four disciplines: Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō.
To be strong, you couldn’t be deficient in any, and you needed at least one specialty to form a cohesive combat style.
Since the mass production of the Zanpakutō, Shikai and Bankai had become the primary determinants of a Shinigami’s power.
“The Shihōin clan is known as the ‘Heaven-Blessed Armory.’ They possess countless artifacts.” Suì-Fēng’s tone was half-doubtful, half-probing.
“Surely there is something that could induce Bankai for you?”
She was intimately familiar with the Shihōin, more so than many of its members.
The Feng family had served them for generations.
Now, she was the one trying to manage her superior.
Generally, eighth-class reiatsu was considered the threshold for developing a Shikai.
In the Gotei 13, tenth-class was the baseline for a seated officer.
Those who reached eighth-class and achieved Shikai were almost always high-ranking officers.
Vice-captains typically possessed fourth- or fifth-class reiatsu.
Shiba Kaien, the genius of his time, graduated from the Shinō Academy in a single year with sixth-class spiritual power.
After just five years, his reiatsu was rated fourth-class, and he became vice-captain of the Thirteenth Division.
Reiatsu was only one standard.
There were many other requirements.
In terms of raw reiatsu, that was captain-level.
There was no particularly authoritative distinction between first, second, and third class.
At that level, no captain would honestly rate another.
Everyone knew the captains were all within the top three classes, but the exact order was a mystery.
Ichiryu’s reiatsu barely met the standard, yet he’d been unable to achieve Bankai.
While not uncommon, he should be anxious.
Suì-Fēng knew that if Ichiryu were truly desperate, the Shihōin clan had countermeasures.
“Such things do exist,” Ichiryu said sincerely.
“But their use carries risk.
I prefer to let matters take their natural course.”
The Shihōin clan had many treasures.
That was true, though most had nothing to do with Ichiryu’s branch.
He was aware of them.
Like the “bandage” Yoruichi had loosened earlier—a special kind of artifact.
If it entangled a Zanpakutō, the weapon’s power was suppressed.
If it entangled a person… someone like Ichiryu, with at least third-class reiatsu, would be captured alive.
Hence, he’d had to dodge.
Suì-Fēng also thought the encounter between Ichiryu and Yoruichi couldn’t have been as simple as he claimed.
Otherwise, Yoruichi wouldn’t have shown herself at all.
She had always been skeptical of Ichiryu’s strength, but pressing him now was pointless.
She let the subject drop.
Back at the Second Division headquarters, Ichiryu handed the yellow croaker to the kitchen staff to be prepared, specifying it was for the captain.
Then he summoned Kōen—the short, masked man who had helped him clean up the bloodstains earlier.
“Take off your mask, Kōen.”
Don’t ghost the story like tha,t you finished that chapter and went quiet.
Drop a comment down there, real talk.
Good, bad, whatever you got