"So that's what happened."
Senjumaru sat in her chair, listening as Makoto recounted the events surrounding Ichibē Hyōsube's appearance. Unconsciously, the skeletal hand she'd been tinkering with on the side stilled.
She was utterly engrossed.
Makoto sat across from her, rubbing his temples.
"Yeah."
"We were this close to finishing everything."
He let out a faint sigh. "If he'd come even a day later, we wouldn't be in such a mess right now."
Calling their current situation a mess wasn't an exaggeration on Makoto's part.
As the two of them sat there talking, the last batch of Genji shinigami had just relocated from their base in District 64 to the Seireitei, setting up camp in the southern sector.
Meanwhile, the nobles led by the Kuchiki whom Ichibē Hyōsube had spared at the last moment, were now cowering in the ravaged northern Seireitei, facing off against these bandits across the ruins.
One side nursed their elderly and young, the other brimmed with battle-ready vigor.
Yet both remained frozen in place.
The reason was simple.
The monk who had personally defeated Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto had demanded a one-month ceasefire.
Once this battlefield cooldown period ended, negotiations would resume under his mediation.
For now, there was one rule, no more large-scale casualties.
But neither the Genji School nor the Seireitei could figure out what this monk was up to.
Having witnessed the defeat of Yamamoto hailed as Soul Society's strongest some less resolute Genji shinigami had spent the past few days spreading rumors of an impending Seireitei counterattack. A few dozen even deserted their posts.
They were promptly executed on the spot by Kinroku's judicial squad.
Even so, enforcing military discipline with an iron fist couldn't stop the unease festering among the Shinigami.
The Seireitei nobles were just as baffled.
To them, Ichibē Hyōsube who had descended from the Soul King Palace and helped defeat Yamamoto, their archenemy, was unmistakably an ally.
Some nobles even loudly demanded him to slaughter the lowly bandits.
A few reckless ones banded together and stormed the ruins where Ichibē was temporarily staying, ordering him to avenge their families.
Their fates were predictably grim.
The front line of that group exploded on the spot, those lucky enough to leave corpses behind. A few others were reduced to smears of black ink, their human forms obliterated.
After that, the Seireitei nobles wisened up.
They finally understood.
This monk wasn't someone they could afford to cross.
And he didn't seem to be entirely on their side either.
His motives were impossible to pin down.
Caught in this stalemate where both the Genji School and Seireitei feared each other like straw dogs facing wolves, time slipped by quickly. The Genji School held meeting after meeting, and the one-month cooldown before negotiations loomed ever closer.
Equally restless, Makoto found himself once again in Senjumaru's room, hoping to glean some insight from this brilliant mind.
Senjumaru glanced at him nonchalantly. Perhaps because they were discussing serious matters, the usually sharp-tongued Senjumaru refrained from her typical barbs. Instead, she asked, puzzled, "Makoto, you're not worried about life or death, are you?"
"You don't act like this before a fight."
"…"
Makoto paused, then forced a wry smile.
"True."
"With that monk here, we're probably not going to die."
"Then what's there to worry about?" Senjumaru's expression grew more curious.
"The future."
Makoto's voice dropped, his thoughts drifting somewhere distant.
Perhaps because he'd personally thrown himself into this years-long war, even though he knew the Gotei 13's fate a millennium later from the anime and manga, he couldn't help hoping his presence might alter that future of serving as the nobles' lapdogs even just a little.
These thoughts were hard to share with Unohana; someone as pure as her wouldn't care.
Saitō was out of the question too, that idiot wouldn't care either.
But Senjumaru always seemed to see right through him.
"Makoto."
"You've already imagined what'll happen after the talks?"
"Pretty much."
Makoto nodded slightly, pouring out his thoughts in a low voice. "Given how things look now, the Seireitei's noble structure probably won't change much. We'll likely be 'absorbed' by the Soul King Palace in name, but in practice, we'll be forced into the existing noble council system, as an independent military organization."
"Now that old man's lost…"
"With his pride, he probably won't challenge that monk again."
"After all, his stubborn temper's harder than a rock in a latrine… but he's the type to honor a bet."
"Once this new structure solidifies, the nobles will likely be forced under that old man's pressure to retreat into the Seireitei, leaving the Rukongai to govern itself. In the best-case scenario, they might abolish some of the harsher laws."
"And then… that's probably it."
"The nobles will still be nobles, with their inherent right to control life and death in this world. The five great noble families will remain perched high above."
"…"
"It's depressing."
By the end, Makoto let out a long, heavy sigh.
Senjumaru watched him silently, her narrow eyes tracing a nearly enchanting curve, her gaze cool. "So what more do you want? To wipe out the nobles completely?"
"Impossible." Makoto refuted himself. "That's not realistic. There are too many nobles, and their bloodlines ensure most of their kids are born with spiritual talent."
"That monk won't let us keep going, not if he's set on maintaining stability."
Senjumaru pressed further. "Then what do you want? To dilute their power?"
Makoto kept his head lowered. "No, that's not enough."
"The very word 'noble' can't be allowed to remain nor can large families. It'd be better to replace them with a samurai class and have all the Genji shinigami passively integrated into it as well. Diluting and muddling the concept of privilege itself is what matters most. Ideally, anyone who joins the Genji School in the future would automatically take on that title."
Senjumaru's gaze seemed to flicker with a hint of light, though her voice remained flat. "And once the power's divided, the old institutions can't stay the same either, right? The Central 46 is the nobles' domain."
"Leaving judicial power in their hands would be utterly foolish." Makoto continued, shaking his head. "The only thing they should control is civilian affairs… yes, limited to the Seireitei's internal governance. Let them squabble amongst themselves. It'd be best to split their authority with a cabinet system, overseen by external checks…"
As Makoto muttered to himself, he didn't notice that the conversation had subtly shifted, now guided by Senjumaru.
Nor did he see the growing gleam in the sharp-tongued woman's eyes.
Many of Makoto's ideas weren't hard to grasp. They were refinements, small adjustments that cut straight to the core, striking at the real vulnerabilities.
Finally, Senjumaru interrupted, "Makoto, don't you already know exactly what you need to do?"
"What are you hesitating for?"
"…"
Hearing Senjumaru's calm question, Makoto still rambling moments ago abruptly stopped.
Uncertain, he said, "…Like that wireless spirit transmitter I asked you to make, I'm really just good at talking."
"So what?" Senjumaru's expression didn't waver. "Did anyone demand you do everything yourself?"
"All you need to do is provide the ideas."
Makoto blinked at her retort, his words tumbling out faster. "And besides, I'm just a small voice. That old man and other captains probably won't even listen to my-"
"Pfft!"
Senjumaru's laugh was laced with disdain. "You expect that pack of dung beetles to use their brains?"
"They'd love nothing more than to offload their thinking to someone else."
"You're already the most thoughtful one among them."
Yet Makoto didn't lift his head, his eyes still cast downward.
"I…"
Senjumaru's face suddenly drew closer. Her cold, skeletal hand lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"You're afraid of change."
"And you hate 'uncertain things.'"
"Right?"
Makoto's eyes went wide, his stare stiffening.
As expected of this era's intellectual powerhouse, she'd seen right through him in an instant.
Senjumaru's voice remained steady. "But, Makoto… have you ever considered?"
"People are born to change the world."
"Or rather, the moment you exist, everything in this world starts turning."
"Whether you like it or not."
"…"
Hearing this, Makoto fell silent.
Yes.
The world was already changing.
From the moment he appeared.
"I understand."
Seeing his eyes gradually clear, Senjumaru reverted to her usual venomous self, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since you've figured it out, kindly get out."
"Coming to a lady's room in the dead of night just to whine like a kid who's seen a ghost story and needs his mommy… Makoto, you're really quite pathetic, aren't you?"
[Huh?!]
[So, Makoto coming to Senjumaru's room in the middle of the night for other reasons would make him impressive?]
Senjumaru's expression turned supremely sly, her skeletal hand subtly drifting toward her abdomen as she cooed, "Makoto's welcome to try next time."
"Next time, then."
"Thanks, Senjumaru."
Makoto, still reeling from her earlier words, completely missed her jab.
Instead, it was Senjumaru who froze at his response.
Her narrow eyes widened slightly.
By the time she snapped out of it, Makoto had already strode out the door into the night.
His worries were too late, too unnecessary.
So what if the world changed?
Some things had to be done by him.
Just like Yamamoto, who'd been pushed step-by-step into his current position by strength.
If the name Makoto didn't want to fade into obscurity in the eras to come or worse, become a mere unit of measure then he had to keep moving forward.
Until he stood ahead of everyone.
Even if only for safety's sake, it had to be so.
Between advancing and retreating, he'd never had a choice.
Makoto marched through the darkness, arriving at an unfamiliar, modest courtyard. Facing Sasakibe, who stood guard at the entrance, he reported, "Sasakibe-san, please pass on a message."
"Makoto has business to discuss with Captain-Commander Yamamoto."
Chōjirō glanced at him quietly, nodding. "…Genryūsai-sama has been waiting for you for a while."
"Come in."
Makoto's expression faltered briefly before he steadied himself, replying calmly, "Understood."
...
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
On the day the negotiations were set to resume, Ichibē Hyōsube arrived early, seating himself at the long table in the center of the former underground meeting room.
He tucked his hands into his sleeves, waiting quietly.
Soon, both sides arrived punctually.
However, the choice of negotiators caught the monk off guard for a moment.
Today, Makoto wore a pure white, short-sleeved haori identical to Sasakibe's.
Sasakibe and Kinroku trailed half a step behind him, subtly indicating he was leading the delegation.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, notably, was absent.
The other captains lounged with their usual nonchalance.
None seemed fazed by Makoto taking the lead.
Only Unohana watched her disciple with a faint comforted smile.
Meanwhile, Kuchiki Ginrei, seated across at the head position, froze, his gaze tinged with confusion.
Ichibē Hyōsube's eyes drifted to the blade at Makoto's waist. After a brief moment, they returned to his face, a flicker of intrigue crossing his expression.
A rather unique little fellow, isn't he?
Makoto settled into his seat calmly, meeting the monk's gaze from nearby and explaining, "Due to his injuries, Genryūsai-sama has entrusted us to handle the discussions."
"He will attend in person on the final day."
"Doesn't matter to me either way." Ichibē waved it off, hands still tucked in his sleeves, gesturing to the two sides of the table. "Let's get started already."
"Yes."
Both sides nodded, their postures respectful toward the monk.
In the next moment, Makoto cut straight to the chase, dropping a bombshell right at the outset.
"First."
"Let's begin by abolishing the 'noble' title in the Seireitei."
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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