Before Genryūsai arrived in Seireitei and founded the Gotei 13, the noble families held absolute control over Soul Society's resources, knowledge, reputation, and power.

Upon his arrival, Genryūsai demanded that the nobles surrender these assets. His vision was to unify their strength and build a grand institution—an academy founded upon these four pillars!

To the lesser nobles, this was a welcome development. With their meager resources, they had always been denied access to the exclusive knowledge hoarded by the great houses. Now, they too could finally learn what had once been reserved for the elite.

But Genryūsai's academy didn't stop there. His true crime, in the eyes of the aristocracy, was far worse:

He demanded that commoners from the Rukongai—the poor scum, as the nobles would say—be allowed to enroll alongside the nobles. These so-called peasants would not only gain knowledge but, upon passing graduation exams, would be given the choice to join the Gotei 13—as free Shinigami, loyal only to Soul Society.

Not as dogs loyal to noble houses.

To the great families, this was unforgivable.

He was using their ancient, sacred knowledge to cultivate independent minds rather than obedient servants. He dared to speak of fairness with "country chickens," giving them a path to power!

A heinous crime. A suicidal move.

If not for Genryūsai's overwhelming strength—if not for the fear he instilled in their very bones—they would have long since plotted his assassination.

But recently, they heard... good news.

His most senior disciple, Araki—the one called "Kenpachi"—had returned from Squad Zero. And his first act upon returning?

He fought Genryūsai.

Their spies in Squad One whispered that the old man didn't come out unscathed—half his face swollen from the exchange. It seemed the student now had the strength to challenge the master!

The nobles were enraged—these bastards from Rukongai now wielded the power they had spent centuries guarding. And worse, these two monsters were cut from the same cloth—master and disciple.

But the nobles also saw opportunity.

They had long known of the rift between them. Long ago, Genryūsai and Araki had quarreled—bitterly. Genryūsai had defeated his disciple and, as punishment, exiled him to sell noodles in the Runlin'an District for centuries, humiliated and made to serve "stupid," "lowly" wandering souls.

So it made perfect sense that Araki returned with fury, even daring to attack his own 11th Division to show his defiance.

The nobles laughed with glee.

Finally, the two mad dogs would devour each other. And once both were wounded—or dead—they would seize the Gotei 13 without spilling a single drop of noble blood.

But fantasies rarely match reality.

Inside the 11th Division's command room...

Araki sat, still sipping tea—pot after pot poured out before him. His mouth was dry from the earlier battle with the old man. Across from him, Unohana and Saito sat silently, still processing the shocking truths Araki had shared.

Suddenly—

"Someone's coming."

Araki's voice cut through the quiet. His keen senses, enhanced by his Observation Haki, had detected movement outside the barracks.

"Huh?!"

Unohana and Saito immediately rose from their seats.

"Let's go," Araki said, rising. "Let's go meet these 'dogs' sent by the nobles."

Together, the three of them headed toward the barracks.

Outside, chaos had already erupted.

A group of noble retainers, all clad in white haori, stood at odds with the rough-edged shinigami of the 11th Division. Zanpakutō were drawn. Tempers flared.

"What's going on here?" Araki asked, stepping into view, his voice sharp.

"Captain!" one of the shinigami cried. "These noble retainers are trying to force their way into our barracks!"

"Force their way in?" sneered one of the retainers. "You're the ones blocking our path! Do you even know who this man is?!"

He gestured to the sedan chair behind him—its occupant still shrouded in mystery.

"I don't care who you brought," growled one of the hot-headed 11th Division shinigami. "You trespass in our division—I'll cut you down right here!"

"Heh..."

The retainers smirked. That was all they needed.

"Who just said they'd cut me down?"

A cold voice echoed from the sedan chair.

The curtain parted.

Out stepped a man in ornate ceremonial haori, his presence as suffocating as a blade at one's throat.

"The Judge!" the retainers cried, immediately kneeling.

He was one of the Six Inquisitors of the Central 46—Soul Society's highest judicial authority.

"An... Inquisitor?!"

Shock rippled through the 11th Division shinigami.

"You," the Judge said, pointing directly at the hot-headed shinigami. "Did you threaten my life?"

"I—I...!" The shinigami stammered, sweat pouring down his face.

The Judge ignored him and looked to his retainer.

"State the penalty for threatening an Inquisitor of the Central 46."

The retainer responded flatly:

"Death."

"Please!" the shinigami dropped to his knees, hands trembling. "I didn't mean it! It was a mistake! Please—give me another chance!"

"You want me to give you a chance? It's not that I won't—it's that you just broke the law!"

The Inquisitor's tone was both apologetic and cold. "As a noble, I could pretend not to hear. But as the Inquisitor of the Central Forty-Six, I have a sacred duty to uphold the laws of Soul Society. So, forgive me, brave shinigami of the 11th Division—but I must refuse you."

He smiled down at the trembling shinigami, savoring the fear in his eyes. Nothing delighted him more than using "law" and "order" to dominate others.

His real target, of course, wasn't this nameless foot shinigami. He turned his smile to Araki.

"So, Araki-kun... how will you respond to this situation?"

This was never about law. It was about control. About showing Araki that raw power alone meant nothing in Soul Society. Even if Araki could rival Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, he still couldn't save a single condemned shinigami—unless those in power allowed it.

"This," the Inquisitor thought, "is authority."

"Pa~"

A soft but sharp sound echoed through the air.

The Inquisitor froze, his cheek beginning to swell.

He slowly raised a hand to the spot Araki had slapped, then pointed a trembling finger at him.

"You… you hit me?!" he stammered. "Do you understand the crime you've committed? To assault a Judge—a representative of the Central Forty-Six—is blasphemy! I'll have you sentenced to death! No... even better—twelve hundred years in Avici Hell! Yes, twelve hundred years!"

(※ A hidden nod to Aizen's sentence, which was extended by 1200 years for insulting the Forty-Six.)

He knew death meant little to someone like Araki. For one with such vast spiritual pressure, only eternal confinement held meaning.

"Pa~"

Another slap—this time on the right cheek.

Araki's expression remained cold.

"The Soul King once said, 'If someone strikes your right cheek—strike back on the left.'"

"You rebel! Insolent!" the Inquisitor screamed. "Do you think your power makes you untouchable?! The authority of the Central Forty-Six is derived directly from His Majesty the Soul King himself! Not even you—a captain of the Gotei 13—can defy it!"

But inwardly, he was delighted.

"Yes, that's it—go too far! Now Genryūsai will have to choose: law... or disciple."

No matter which he chose, he'd be wrong.

"Who said I'm a captain of the Gotei 13?"

Araki's voice was calm.

He turned to Unohana and quietly handed her his 11th Division haori.

The Inquisitor's heart jumped.

"What are you doing...? Are you... defecting?!"

Now he was panicking. If Araki defected, the law would no longer apply. Only Genryūsai could stop him—and Genryūsai wouldn't abandon the Seireitei. If Araki killed him and fled, no one could stop him.

"Defect? Who told you that?"

Araki didn't give him a chance to respond. From a small bag, he pulled out a new haori—one with no division number on the back. Only the symbol of four sunken lilies.

He slid it on.

Then, casually, he asked:

"Tell me... do the laws of Soul Society apply to Squad Zero?"

The entire room went silent.

Araki gave a light chuckle.

"I'm laying it on you. I'm from Squad Zero. Are you afraid?"

"...I…"

The Inquisitor fell silent, paralyzed with dread.

Far above, in the Soul King's Palace…

The fake monk looked down at his chest where the haori had gone missing—and fell into deep, uneasy thought.

Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL for more chapters.