"Is that so? So that's what happened."
Shutara Senjumaru sat in her chair, listening as Fujimiya Makoto recounted the events surrounding the appearance of Ichibē Hyōsube. Unconsciously, the skeletal hands that had been tinkering with something to the side came to a halt.
She was completely absorbed.
Fujimiya sat across from her, rubbing his temples.
"Yeah."
"We were so close to wrapping things up."
He sighed, his expression weary. "If he had arrived just one day later, we wouldn't be in such an awkward position now."
Fujimiya's use of the word "awkward" to describe their current situation wasn't an exaggeration.
Even as the two of them sat there talking, the last group of Genryū Reapers had relocated from their base in District 64 to the Seireitei, setting up camp in the southern sector. Meanwhile, the nobles—led by the Kuchiki Clan—who had been spared at the last moment by Ichibē Hyōsube now cowered in the ruined northern Seireitei, facing off against these "Genryū bandits" across the wreckage.
One side was a ragtag group of elderly and children, while the other was a well-equipped, battle-ready force.
Yet, both sides remained at a standstill.
The reason was simple.
The monk who had personally defeated Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni had demanded a one-month ceasefire.
Only after this cooling-off period would negotiations resume under his mediation.
For now, there was only one rule:
No more large-scale casualties.
But neither the Genryū faction nor the Seireitei side could understand what this monk was trying to achieve.
Having witnessed the defeat of Yamamoto—the so-called "strongest in Soul Society"—many Reapers within the Genryū ranks, their resolve shaken, began spreading rumors that the Seireitei was preparing a massive counterattack. Some even deserted—dozens of them—only to be executed on the spot by Gon'yōmaru Kinroku and his judicial squad.
Yet, even under the iron fist of military discipline, unease festered among the Reapers.
The nobles of the Seireitei were equally baffled.
To them, Ichibē Hyōsube—who had descended from the Soul King's Palace and defeated Yamamoto, the leader of the rebellion—was clearly on their side. Many nobles had even loudly demanded that the monk slaughter the "lowly bandits."
A few particularly foolish ones had even marched into the ruins where Ichibē was staying and tried to order him to avenge their families.
Their fate was gruesome.
Those at the front were instantly reduced to splatters—if they were lucky, they left behind fragments of bone. Some were even transformed into nothing more than black ink stains, their human forms utterly erased.
After that, the nobles learned their lesson.
They finally understood:
This monk was not someone they could afford to provoke.
And he wasn't entirely on their side, either.
His motives were unclear.
And so, as the Genryū and the Seireitei remained locked in this stalemate—each wary of the other—time passed swiftly. Within the Genryū camp, small meetings were held one after another, and now, the one-month cooling-off period was nearly over.
Fujimiya Makoto, restless like the others, had once again sought out Shutara Senjumaru, hoping the brilliant woman might offer some insight.
Shutara spared him a glance, her usual sharp tongue surprisingly restrained—likely because she knew this was a serious discussion. Instead, she simply asked, "Makoto-kun, you're not actually worried about life or death, are you?"
"Your behavior before battle isn't usually like this."
"..."
Fujimiya paused, then forced a weak smile.
"You're right."
"Now that the monk's here, we probably won't die."
"Then what's troubling you?" Shutara's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.
"The future."
Fujimiya's voice was low, as if speaking to himself.
Having fought in this war for years, even though he knew what the Gotei 13 would look like a thousand years later in the original timeline, he couldn't help but hope that his presence might alter that future—one where Reapers served as lapdogs for the nobles.
These thoughts were hard to share with his teacher, Unohana. Someone as pure as her wouldn't care.
Saitō? Even less so. That idiot wouldn't care either.
But Shutara always seemed to understand him at a glance.
"Makoto."
"You've already imagined the outcome of the negotiations, haven't you?"
"Pretty much."
Fujimiya nodded slightly, his voice quiet as he confessed: "Given how things stand, the noble hierarchy of the Seireitei probably won't change much. The only difference is that we'll be nominally absorbed into the 'Royal Guard,' while in reality, we'll be forced into the existing noble council system—as an independent military organization."
"Now that the old man's lost..."
"Given his pride, he probably won't fight the monk on this."
"After all, his temper is harder than... well, let's just say he's the type to accept defeat."
"Once this new structure stabilizes, the nobles will probably be forced—under Yamamoto's pressure—to retreat into the Seireitei proper, leaving the Rukongai to govern itself. At best, some of the more brutal laws might be abolished."
"And then... that's it."
"The nobles will still be nobles. They'll still hold the power of life and death over this world, with the Five Great Noble Families remaining untouchable."
"..."
"It's depressing."
By the end, Fujimiya let out a long sigh.
Shutara simply watched him, her sharp, alluring eyes cold.
"Then what do you want? To slaughter all the nobles?"
"That's impossible now," Fujimiya immediately countered. "It's not realistic. There are too many nobles, and their bloodlines ensure most of their children are born with spiritual power."
"The monk won't let us keep fighting—not if he wants stability."
Shutara pressed further: "Then what? Dilute the nobles' power?"
Fujimiya still shook his head. "That's not enough."
"The very concept of 'nobility' has to go. Even large family structures can't remain intact... It'd be better to replace them with a warrior class, while folding all Genryū Reapers into it as well—blurring and diluting the very idea of privilege. Ideally, anyone who joins the Genryū in the future would automatically be given that title."
Shutara's eyes gleamed faintly, though her tone remained indifferent. "If you're redistributing power, the institutions can't stay the same either, can they? The Central 46 is the nobles' domain."
"Leaving judicial power in their hands is idiotic," Fujimiya agreed. "The only thing they should control is civil administration—limited to the Seireitei, at that. Let them fight among themselves. A cabinet system to disperse authority, with external oversight, would be best..."
As Fujimiya muttered to himself, he didn't notice that Shutara had subtly taken control of the conversation.
Nor did he see the growing light in her eyes.
Many of Fujimiya's ideas weren't hard to grasp—some were even minor tweaks. But they struck at the heart of the issue, targeting the true crux of the problem.
Finally, Shutara interrupted: "Makoto-kun, you seem to know exactly what to do."
"So why hesitate?"
"..."
Fujimiya froze at her question, his earlier rambling cut short.
"I... I'm like the wireless spiritual comms I asked you to make. I'm all talk."
"So what?" Shutara's expression didn't change. "Who said you have to do everything yourself?"
"All you need to do is provide the ideas."
Fujimiya still didn't look up, his gaze downcast.
"But... I'm just one voice. The teachers and the old man probably won't listen to me—"
"Pfft!"
Shutara scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. "You expect those dung beetles to use their brains?"
"They'd happily outsource their thinking to someone else."
"You're already the one with the most ideas among them."
Yet Fujimiya still didn't raise his head, his eyes shadowed.
"I..."
Shutara suddenly leaned in, a cold, skeletal hand tilting his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze.