“This is a classic case of trust but suspicion, loyalty but slander,” Ichiryu said, smiling at Ōmaeda.
“Why not doubt Captain Aizen?
He looks far more trustworthy than I do.”
“N-no!
Of course not!
I knew Brother wouldn’t do such a thing.
Someone else must be slandering him this time!
Ha… ha.” Ōmaeda’s eyes widened.
He’d spoken his thoughts aloud.
They had reached the entrance to the 2nd Division barracks.
Ichiryu stopped walking.
Ōmaeda broke into a cold sweat.
“Well… I mean… Brother certainly isn’t slandering anyone.
It’s a poor imitation.
Brother… no, no, I mean—”
“I fear Soul Society will not be peaceful.
You should take care.” Ichiryu patted his shoulder.
“Yes!” Ōmaeda agreed, as if pardoned, and hurried away.
Ichiryu stood before the barracks, frowning.
The atmosphere felt wrong.
He had no reason not to go inside.
Beyond the gate, he found no one.
Not even the usual sounds of sword practice echoed from nearby divisions.
The 2nd Division trained with discretion.
They didn’t draw attention.
Ever since Ichiryu had established the Inspection Corps years ago, people from other divisions rarely passed by.
They took longer routes.
He passed through the empty vestibule and came to the tea room.
“Captain, I’m back,” he said, opening the door.
Murderous intent erupted from behind.
Suì-Fēng dropped from the beam above the door, Suzumebachi already in its Shikai form in her hand.
She struck at Ichiryu from behind.
Her left arm hooked his neck.
Her legs locked around his body.
Her right hand drove Suzumebachi toward his heart.
The mark of Nigeki Kessatsu began to bloom on his chest, poised to complete.
Ichiryu panicked.
He threw himself forward.
As he fell, he swiped his right index finger repeatedly across the floor.
For an instant, Suì-Fēng thought he was preparing a powerful Kidō incantation.
Ichiryu used his own blood to write two words: Murderer Suì-Fēng.
“Tch.” She made a displeased sound.
Seeing the death message, she relented.
He had offered no decent resistance.
She had no choice but to stop.
“Heh.” She sneered down at him.
“Even now, you refuse to use your true strength?
Were you so sure I would stop at the last moment?
If Nigeki Kessatsu completes, not even Captain Unohana could save you.”
“Ah… has the Captain not given up yet?” Ichiryu said timidly.
He was already using Kaido to heal the puncture in his chest.
“I’ve said it countless times—I’m truly no match for you.
Otherwise, wouldn’t I have inherited… well, that person’s captaincy?”
He’d been about to say the name.
He swallowed it under Suì-Fēng’s glare.
“Oh?
You had no time to react, yet you had time to leave bloody writing?” Suì-Fēng looked at the words on the floor.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
“I actually didn’t react at all.
I meant to write ‘Captain Suì-Fēng, avenge me’.” Ichiryu sighed, spinning nonsense.
“By the way, after a hundred years, the gap between us has grown even wider.”
He’d recognized her instantly.
He hadn’t needed the touch of Suzumebachi—he knew from the familiar legs that locked around him.
“Clean the floor.
Then meet me in the meditation chamber.” Suì-Fēng turned away.
Another failed test.
The gap was growing wider?
Perhaps.
For a hundred years, Suì-Fēng had felt Ichiryu never fought her with his full strength.
Back then, Central 46 and the Captain-Commander had their own considerations.
The captaincy of the 2nd Division was decided by a duel.
The other captains who witnessed it likely only thought Ichiryu’s combat skills were inferior.
Suì-Fēng always felt he hadn’t given his all.
On the surface, Ichiryu had been struck once, grown fearful of Nigeki Kessatsu, lost his composure, and was easily defeated.
She hadn’t needed Bankai.
In reality, she had seen many opponents too terrified to attack after the first strike.
She could faintly sense that Ichiryu had been pretending.
For a century, she had tested him directly, fought beside him, worked closely with him.
She’d found no evidence.
The feeling of being unable to uncover the truth only grew stronger.
After Suì-Fēng left, Ichiryu walked out.
“Kōen, clean the blood inside.”
A short figure in Shinigami robes and a wolf mask dropped from nowhere, kneeling.
A childish voice answered, “Yes!”
Ichiryu went directly to the meditation chamber—not a place for Zen, but where Suì-Fēng practiced Zanzen and where division business was discussed.
Suì-Fēng asked about the meeting, but not for a report on its contents.
She already knew what had happened.
Her intelligence network was just as professional.
She asked, with deliberate pointedness, “Was it too hasty?
What do you think of that Ōmaeda?
Can he be an acting captain?”
“Ah?” Ichiryu looked at her helplessly.
He spread his hands.
“Forgive me, but even the Captain is like this… It really has nothing to do with me!
Many of the sages and judges these past two years, as you know, don’t care for me.”
He was just a sunny, cheerful man.
“Hm?” Suì-Fēng’s first reaction was that he wasn’t telling her the truth either.
To put it bluntly, at worst, Ichiryu had offended some people over the past two years.
He seemed less smoothly connected than before.
The main reason was his very close contacts with many nobles who failed to be selected for Central 46.
To phrase it more severely, he consorted with the sages and judges of Central 46 and other factions within their families.
It was behavior of a nature that, at the height of its ambition, befriends the crown prince, or even the feudal lord.
Therefore, within Central 46, Ichiryu’s evaluation had dipped slightly these past two years.
Only slightly.
He paid attention to scale.
He still worked diligently for them.