"Izumi, ready the carriage. We're going to the Kuchiki main estate."
"Yes."
The sandalwood carriage of the Shihōin Clan rolled along Seireitei's wide, almost deserted main road.
Compared to the bustling central district where the Sixth Division Barracks stood, the road to the Kuchiki estate was noticeably quieter.
The wheels ground against the pale-gray spirit-stone pavement in a steady, muffled rhythm.
Hiroki leaned against the window, watching the buildings slip past.
The mansions of the noble quarter remained resplendent, yet they lacked the bustle of their heyday, as though draped in an invisible twilight.
When the carriage finally halted before the colossal ebony gates that symbolized a thousand years of Kuchiki glory, the cold desolation that greeted them felt almost tangible.
A stark contrast to the grand funeral of Kuchiki Ginrei that had just ended, the entrance now lay desolate enough to make one shudder.
The Kuchiki hibiscus crest, once proudly displayed above the gate, seemed to have lost some of its color.
The clamor of grief had receded like a tide, leaving only the wind echoing across empty courtyards—and a show of dignity barely maintained.
At the gate, two Shinigami guards in traditional Kuchiki livery stood ramrod-straight, exhaustion and bewilderment flickering in their eyes despite their posture.
The tsubas of their swords bore a faint, almost imperceptible layer of dust, no longer gleaming as they had during the funeral.
Uchiha Izumi leapt down first, toes touching the flagstone engraved with the Kuchiki crest without a sound.
She offered no superfluous gesture, merely inclined her head and spoke clearly: "The newly appointed Captain of the Sixth Division and head of the Shihōin Clan, Lord Hiroki, has arrived by appointment."
The guards exchanged a complicated look, evidently forewarned.
The senior guard swallowed and bowed deeply: "Our apologies, Captain Hiroki! The family head awaits you in the main hall—this way!" His tone stayed respectful, yet his movements held a barely perceptible stiffness.
They stepped aside, daring not to obstruct.
Only then did Hiroki descend from the carriage at a leisurely pace.
He spared the guards no glance, his gaze passing through the open gate toward the main residence hidden deep within the compound.
Uchiha Izumi stood like a silent shield, one step behind Hiroki.
They passed beneath a broad corridor flanked by massive stone lanterns. The soul-fires inside cast a dim, uncertain light, powerless to dispel the oppressive darkness farther in.
On either side, once-meticulously tended gardens now showed signs of neglect: prized morning-dew hibiscus hung their heads, robbed of former vitality; neatly trimmed lawn edges sprouted weeds; fresh moss crept over carefully stacked ornamental stones.
In the center of the vast courtyard before the main house, a lone youth stood ramrod-straight.
Kuchiki Byakuya.
His austere black mourning robes were impeccable, making his already slender frame seem even thinner.
Though his spine was ruler-straight, striving to uphold the dignity befitting the Kuchiki head,
his tightly pressed lips, the faint bruise of exhaustion beneath sunken eyes, and the whitened knuckles of clenched fists betrayed the crushing weight and marrow-deep confusion he now bore.
The position was too heavy for him.
His grandfather Kuchiki Ginrei's final words still rang in his ears: "...endure...gather strength...the path of the strong...the honor of the Kuchiki name above all..."
He forced every edge, every grievance, down into the depths of his heart, like a shadow matured too soon, carrying the teetering fate of his entire clan.
Yet when he heard that the Sixth Division captaincy had finally gone to Shihōin Hiroki, the blow had struck like the heaviest spiritual pressure upon his heart.
That seat had been the hereditary glory of the Kuchiki! It symbolized the clan's core power within the Thirteen Court Guard Squads! Had Grandfather lived, had his father Kuchiki Sōjun not died young, had the traitorous uncle Kuchiki Kōga still been in the family... that seat of protection would never have been touched by an outsider. An indescribable sense of grievance, mingled with helpless rage, seethed in Byakuya's heart, threatening to tear apart the mask of composure he fought to maintain.
Hiroki's footsteps drew nearer, stopping a few paces away.
Byakuya drew a deep breath, quelling every surging emotion, and raised his eyes to this complex, uninvited guest.
The other's deep-blue captain's haori looked almost glaring in the dusk.
Following the most exacting noble etiquette, Byakuya bowed meticulously, voice steady yet edged with unavoidable hoarse tension:
"Welcome, Captain Shihōin."
Hiroki's gaze lingered on Byakuya for a moment.
The excessive stiffness and gloom on the youth's face clashed starkly with the mischievous child his wife Yoruichi had described—"the brat who climbed trees for birds' nests and dared tussle with the 'cat demon'."
The corner of Hiroki's mouth lifted in a faint, almost warm smile, tone casual as greeting an old friend:
"Well, long time no see, Byakuya."
Byakuya—?!
The sudden intimate address struck like a thin ice needle, piercing his carefully guarded composure; his pupils contracted, a flicker of shock and instinctive displeasure racing across his eyes.
Were they close enough for this? By what right did Shihōin Hiroki so casually call the Kuchiki head by name? It bordered on offense!
Though both Shihōin and Kuchiki ranked among the Four Great Noble Clans, such familiarity might imply condescension.
Byakuya bit back the urge to correct the other; noble pride forbade an outburst over a mere breach of address, yet the line of his jaw tightened further.
Hiroki seemed oblivious to the turmoil, even tilting his head with deliberate curiosity, tone still easy:
"But didn't Yoruichi always say you were a handful as a kid? How come—" his gaze swept Byakuya up and down—"how come you're all grown-up and serious now?"
"Ah—?"
The name "Yoruichi" struck like a stone cast into still water, ripples spreading.
Byakuya's head snapped up, surprise and confusion showing undisguised for the first time: "You said... Yoruichi?"
"That's right," Hiroki answered calmly, yet to Byakuya it was thunder. "I'm her husband, Hiroki. Don't tell me—" he paused, brow lifting with playful intent—"you didn't know?"
"Uh..." Byakuya's expression froze.
Embarrassment, bewilderment, and a sting of shame at his own ignorance mingled on his face.
He had truly... almost forgotten! The acting head of the Shihōin Clan? He had heard Grandfather Kuchiki Ginrei mention the name only a scant few times, and always in private.
Whenever Grandfather spoke that name, his usually impassive, aged face would twist into something indescribably complex—never admiration or warmth, more like… regret?
He had been too young then to look deeper.
But with Hiroki keeping an exceedingly low profile for years and Yoruichi already exiled, Byakuya had simply pushed the matter to the back of his mind.
'Ahem.' He straightened, meeting Hiroki's gaze, fighting to keep his voice steady. 'Then, Lord Shihōin…'
'…to what do I owe the honor of your personal visit?'
The stance was that of an official parley on clan standing.
Seeing the wariness and hostility the boy fought so hard to suppress, Hiroki caught a flicker of understanding in his own eyes.
Exactly the reaction he'd wanted.
The smile on his face deepened; his manner turned casual, as though the earlier tension had never existed. With a wave he answered in a chatty tone:
'Oh, nothing important.' He paused, eyes settling on Byakuya's guarded face, tone light as tomorrow's weather forecast. 'Just telling you to report for work.'
'Work?' The word sounded jarringly out of place in the ancient courtyard of the Kuchiki estate.
Byakuya was struck dumb, unable to grasp what was meant.
'That's right.' Hiroki's grin widened—yet to Byakuya it carried only danger.
'Sixth Division. Ordinary foot-soldier.' He stressed the last two words, then added as though bestowing a grand favor: 'First thing tomorrow, official induction.'
'This—?!' Blood rushed to Byakuya's head only to freeze an instant later. A tidal wave of outrage and humiliation swallowed him whole.
The Sixth Division—once the Kuchiki's pride, a symbol he'd considered part of his very life!
Now seized by this man before him, who dared command the Kuchiki head to stoop and serve as a nameless grunt?
Was it a deliberate trampling of the clan's dignity?
A condescending insult?
Or a more insidious trial devised to break him?
Was he, Kuchiki Byakuya, to bow before the very usurper who had stolen his family's glory?
Grandfather's dying order had been to endure and gather strength—not to grovel without pride!
He would rather guard the clan's ruins alone than accept such shackled 'grace'!
Rage, shame, dread for the future collided in his chest, threatening to shatter the icy composure he clung to.
In the dusk his face went deathly pale; his body trembled from the effort of caging those emotions, his reiryoku flaring wildly.
He could feel the calm yet piercing gaze of the spring behind him, needling his back like a blade.
Just as humiliation was about to burn away the last of his restraint, Hiroki's lazy, teasing smile vanished.
'Yoruichi asked me to look after you.'
The words crashed over him like thunder, ripping through the storm in his mind. Yoruichi—again?!
Hiroki gave him no time to breathe, hurling the declaration that would overturn every expectation:
'The day you master Bankai—when you truly have the caliber to command everything…'
His voice turned unshakeable, eyes boring into Byakuya as though probing every tremor within his soul,
'…I will return to you the post of Captain of the Sixth Division!'
Boom!!!
Byakuya felt something detonate inside his skull. He stood nailed in place as though by a mighty Bakudō; blood surged to his head then drained away in an instant.
The icy mask he wore shattered completely, leaving only raw, disbelieving shock.
'You… what did you say!!!' His throat felt crushed; the hoarse words tore through clenched teeth, shaking uncontrollably.
'Is this real?'
Such a possibility had never appeared on the thorn-strewn map of endurance he had drawn for himself.
Even in his deepest dreams the best he had dared imagine was decades—perhaps centuries—of lonely cultivation, earning enough standing in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads to keep the clan from total ruin.
'Reclaim the Sixth Division'? That was a lifelong endeavor now that it rested in the hands of another of the Four Great Noble Clans!
He stood petrified, a weather-worn statue, unable even to twitch a fingertip, mind swept blank.
He could neither fathom why Hiroki would do this nor detect a shred of deception in those eyes.
Hiroki, evidently pleased by the devastation he'd wrought, let the silence stretch.
He released the pressure, relaxing once more, as though someone else had dropped the bombshell.
He flicked an imaginary speck from his captain's haori and added in the off-hand tone of discussing the weather:
'Oh, I also took the liberty of removing a few… uncooperative old fools at home.'
The crude term rolled easily off his tongue, carrying casual contempt and ruthless intent.
Those scheming Kuchiki elders who sought to undermine their young head were nothing but ants waiting to be crushed.
'This…'
Byakuya felt his throat seal completely.
If the promise of returning the captaincy felt like a mountain collapsing, this off-hand purge hurled him into abyssal depths.
The deadlock of internal elders—something he himself could scarcely imagine resolving—Hiroki dismissed with such ease?
Reading the boy's inner turmoil, Hiroki reined in the murderous aura and resumed his detached air, a faint teasing smile playing as he waved a hand at the stunned youth.
'Enough,' he said lightly. 'No need to rack your brain for thanks.'
He stepped closer, looking down at the still-reeling boy, a meaningful curve on his lips. 'Yoruichi already paid your fee.'