Yo!

  I'm back with the next chapter of Transcendent Fme.

  Discimer: I own nothing.

  Without further ado, let's get started.

  Enjoy the chapter.

  Transcendent Fme

  Chapter 8

  The Stirring Savage

  Squad 1 Barracks, Sereitei

  Viktor gnced up at Zaraki. "I gather you've been waiting for a chance to resume our st session. I'd prefer you not rampage through the Seireitei, so how about we take this somewhere less… vulnerable?"

  A feral grin spread across Zaraki's face. "The Muken, then. That's the only pce we can let loose without breakin' half the city."

  Shin'etsu looked flustered, about to object again, but Viktor stood, brushing off his haori. "You've done well," he told the aide gently. "I'll handle things from here. Head back to your duties and ensure the squads remain in contact if anything arises."

  Reluctantly, Shin'etsu bowed, backing out of the room. Zaraki cackled with excitement, hefting Yachiru more securely onto his shoulder as Viktor moved past them, leading the way into the dim corridors of the underground passage that would eventually descend to the Muken.

  Yachiru cpped. "Muken time! Ken-chan's so excited!"

  Viktor let out a low hum. His mind still churned with questions about the Seki Seki walls, the Royal Pace, and the old Yamamoto's mysterious/purposeful oversight. Yet for now, he had to shelve that puzzle. There was a match to be fought, and Kenpachi was not one to be denied. Perhaps, in the depths of the Muken, Viktor might even find a fleeting moment of crity in the csh of steel.

  He nodded internally at the System's quiet remark. "Yes. Things are about to heat up indeed."

  Without another word, the three of them vanished down the torchlit corridor, their footsteps echoing as they descended into the Muken's depths, leaving the question of the Seireitei's unreturned walls waiting in the flickering shadows above.

  Descending into the Muken, the eighth level of the Central Underground Prison, Viktor, Zaraki, and Yachiru moved in silence, their footsteps echoing through the vast, oppressive darkness. The air grew heavier with every step, thick with an ancient weight that pressed against their bodies like an invisible force. The torches along the walls cast flickering shadows, their feeble glow barely penetrating the surrounding abyss. The very atmosphere of the Muken reeked of despair and forgotten violence—where the most dangerous souls were once sealed away for eternity, their residual malice still lingering like a ghostly whisper in the air.

  The sound of Zaraki's heavy steps was the only consistent noise in the otherwise deathly silent corridor. Yachiru hummed a cheerful tune, unfazed by the suffocating pressure that would have crushed a lesser soul. Viktor moved with calcuted ease, his sharp gaze scanning the endless stretch of stone walls and oppressive darkness.

  After a few minutes of silent fsh-stepping through the vast emptiness, Viktor halted at their previous sparring location. The stone beneath his feet bore the scars of their st encounter—deep fissures, scorch marks, and the remnants of Zaraki's raw power still etched into the walls. Viktor's gaze lingered on the spot where he had sent Zaraki tumbling into the deeper levels of the prison with a single, decisive strike. The remnants of that moment were still present in the air, a reminder of their unfinished business.

  Zaraki, however, didn't stop. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle and gnced back at Viktor with a predatory grin. "Nah, old man. Got too used to this pce already." Without waiting for a response, he strode forward confidently, heading deeper into the prison. "We're going further. There's better spots down below."

  Viktor arched a brow but said nothing, following silently as Zaraki led the way, Yachiru still perched cheerfully on his shoulder, giggling in anticipation. The descent continued, their steps echoing through the narrowing corridors as the air grew denser, the pressure thickening until it became an almost physical force pressing against them.

  After another ten minutes of movement, they arrived at a level where the very walls seemed to hum with tent energy, oppressive and ancient. The spiritual pressure here was staggering—far beyond what even most seated officers could withstand. The dense air pressed down on their bodies like five times the normal gravity, making every movement a testament to their immense strength and resilience. Viktor could feel it even through his formidable endurance; this was a pce meant to crush criminals and test their limits.

  Zaraki, on the other hand, seemed invigorated by the intensity of the atmosphere. He stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck with a loud pop. "Yeah… this is more like it," he muttered, his grin widening as he scanned the area.

  Their surroundings were grim—scattered remains of broken bones and skulls littered the cold stone floor, remnants of those who had once been imprisoned here and left to wither away in isotion. The sight didn't seem to faze Zaraki, who stepped over the remains without a second thought. Yachiru, however, tilted her head, poking at a cracked skull with mild curiosity. "Ken-chan, do you think they got bored down here?"

  Zaraki chuckled darkly. "Nah, they just weren't strong enough to make it interesting."

  The oppressive darkness of the level was nearly absolute, with only a single flickering torch in the distance, barely illuminating the far end of the corridor. Viktor's sharp eyes scanned the space, assessing the battlefield Zaraki had chosen. The uneven ground, the heavy air, the haunting remnants of death—this pce was a testament to survival through sheer willpower and strength.

  Zaraki turned to Viktor with an eager gleam in his eyes. "What do you think, old man? This pce enough for ya? Or do you wanna go even deeper?"

  Viktor stood motionless for a moment, letting the weight of the environment settle over him. The System chimed in with a dry remark, "Feeling the pressure yet, Viktor? Quite the scenic spot Zaraki's dragged you into."

  Ignoring the voice in his head, Viktor met Zaraki's expectant grin with a calm, unyielding gaze. "This will suffice," he said simply, his tone carrying an unspoken promise of battle.

  Zaraki's grin widened, his fingers twitching in anticipation. "Good."

  As the st of the torchlight flickered, their shadows stretched across the broken remnants of the past, two titans standing at the precipice of another csh—one driven by relentless hunger for battle, the other by the burden of responsibility and an unshakable will.

  And somewhere deep within Viktor's mind, beneath the stoic fa?ade of Yamamoto, he couldn't help but think, 'This is going to be one hell of a fight.'

  Zaraki pced Yachiru down gently, his rge hand lingering on her head for a brief moment. She pouted immediately, crossing her arms with an exaggerated huff. "Ken-chan! I like it better up there. It's the best seat in the area!" she protested, her pink hair bouncing as she stamped her foot.

  Zaraki, grinning in his usual rough way, gave her a pat on the head. "Not this time, Yachiru," he said, his voice carrying a rare note of seriousness. "The old man ain't the type to hold back. Gotta focus."

  Yachiru shot Viktor an accusatory gre, her small face scrunching up in a pout. "You're a big bad meanie, y'know that, Old Man?" she said, sticking her tongue out at him in pyful defiance.

  Viktor simply smiled—a small, knowing curve of his lips. "That I am," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

  Yachiru studied him for a moment, rocking on her heels before sighing dramatically. "Fiiiine," she relented, hands on her hips. "But Ken-chan, if you're in trouble, I'm jumping in! No matter what!" Her bright eyes gleamed with unwavering loyalty.

  Zaraki chuckled at that, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get in my way." The warmth in his tone was fleeting but unmistakable, a rare dispy of sentiment from the usually battle-hungry captain. He stepped back from her, his predatory grin widening as his gaze fixed on Viktor, sizing him up once more.

  Viktor watched their exchange, his sharp eyes assessing not just Zaraki but the unbreakable bond he shared with Yachiru. There was something unique about it—something deep that even the wild, bloodthirsty Zaraki himself might not fully understand. But now was not the time for such thoughts.

  Straightening, Viktor folded his hands behind his back, his stance exuding composed authority. "Tell me, Zaraki," he said evenly, his gaze steady. "Did you grasp the basics I taught you st time?"

  Zaraki's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained excitement. "Loud and clear, Old Man," he said with a cocky nod. "I went deeper, like you said. Saw some fun stuff down there too." His tone turned almost wistful as he recalled the endless void behind, a world where only those with sheer will could endure.

  Viktor nodded approvingly. "Good. Then it's time to continue." His voice dropped to a more commanding tone. "But remember—mastery begins with the basics. We will not move beyond them until you have proven your understanding."

  Zaraki's response was immediate—he unsheathed his bde with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound of metal sliding against the sheath ringing out through the cavernous space. His grin stretched into something almost feral. "Then let's get to it," he said, his reiatsu crackling in the air like barely contained lightning.

  Viktor's gaze hardened, and he adjusted his stance slightly, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of Ryuujin Jakka. He felt the familiar hum of his zanpakutō, now fully restored to its true form, as though it too anticipated the csh to come.

  With a faint smile, Viktor said calmly, "Then let's begin."

  And with that, Zaraki lunged forward, the air around him splitting with the sheer force of his raw strength, and the battle began anew.

  Yachiru watched from the sidelines, her small frame perched on a jutting rock, her legs swinging as she hummed softly to herself. Despite her carefree demeanor, her keen eyes remained locked onto the figures before her, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

  Viktor took a steady step forward. Without a word, he raised his zanpakutō, the polished surface reflecting a dull glow from the surrounding torches. His movements were precise, calcuted—an echo of the techniques he had drilled into Zaraki during their st encounter.

  Zaraki's grin widened as he adjusted his stance, his eyes practically sparkling with anticipation. The Captain of the Eleventh Division shifted his weight, his bde resting loosely in his grip. "Come on, Old Man," he taunted, rolling his shoulders. "Show me what you've got."

  Viktor wasted no time. His bde moved with the fluid grace of a master, striking out in a blur of controlled power. The same sweeping techniques he had taught Zaraki before—precise cuts, swift footwork, and ironcd defenses—flowed into the battle.

  Zaraki, unlike their previous session, was ready.

  His massive sword met Viktor's strikes with surprising finesse, deflecting and parrying with a precision honed through relentless practice. Each csh of their bdes rang through the vast emptiness, the sound reverberating off unseen walls. Where before he had relied solely on brute force, now Zaraki moved with a calcuted aggression, weaving in and out of Viktor's strikes, dodging with an awareness that hadn't been there before.

  Viktor's eyes narrowed in satisfaction as he watched the subtle changes in Zaraki's approach. The brash, headstrong swordsman was adapting. He was learning.

  A flicker of pride crossed Viktor's features before he pressed forward. With a slight shift of his weight, he increased his speed and precision, weaving in intricate feints and subtle shifts in momentum. His attacks grew sharper, more deceptive. It was no longer the straightforward, overwhelming force Zaraki had faced before—it was refined, elusive, and far more difficult to counter.

  Zaraki's grin stretched wider as he caught onto the change. "Heh... sneaky," he muttered, his instincts sharpening in response. His movements adjusted instinctively, his bde twisting to meet Viktor's feints with calcuted counters. His raw power, once a hindrance against refined skill, now served him well as he used it in controlled bursts, adapting to the growing complexity of the fight.

  But Viktor wasn't done yet.

  The pressure escated as he tapped deeper into his power, gradually pushing his output to 20%—a significant leap from their st encounter. The shift was immediate. The air grew hotter, heavier. Each swing carried a force that pressed down on Zaraki's senses, forcing him to push himself harder to match it.

  Zaraki felt the jump, his muscles straining against the invisible weight. The gap between 15% and 20% was monumental, the difference akin to fighting an entirely different opponent. His grip on his sword tightened, his grin unwavering. Instead of slowing down, he met Viktor's increased intensity head-on, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

  The ground beneath them cracked under the force of their strikes. Viktor's attacks, though still within the realm of control, carried a devastating precision that forced Zaraki to continuously adjust. He changed his movements mid-swing, shifting his footwork with greater care, his battle instincts fring to their peak.

  Viktor watched with keen interest as Zaraki adapted, his swings growing sharper, his defenses more intuitive. He was no longer just a berserker swinging wildly; he was learning the intricacies of combat—reading, responding, and evolving with each passing moment.

  "Good," Viktor muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the csh of steel.

  Zaraki chuckled, the exhiration evident in his voice. "You finally think I'm getting it, huh, Old Man?" His bde carved through the air with newfound confidence, meeting Viktor's strikes with equal measure.

  Viktor didn't reply; he only pressed harder, his strikes coming in unpredictable patterns, testing Zaraki's adaptability to its limit. The challenge was clear—could he keep up? Could he break through?

  Zaraki's grin remained, but there was a sharper edge to it now. He could feel the weight of Yamamoto's blows pressing down on him, but instead of being overwhelmed, he relished it. Step by step, inch by inch, he was closing the gap.

  Yachiru, from her perch, watched with an amused glint in her eyes, swinging her legs idly. "Ken-chan's finally starting to dance," she giggled to herself, watching the interpy between raw strength and calcuted mastery unfold before her.

  As the battle continued, Viktor could see it—the spark of true potential within Zaraki, fanned by challenge, by adversity. But there was still much to teach, much to refine.

  And he intended to do just that.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Viktor pressed forward, their bdes locking in a moment of raw force and sheer will. "Let's see if you can keep up," he said, his voice steady and resolute.

  Zaraki's eyes widened with exhiration, and with a loud ugh, he pushed back, the battle entering yet another level.

  With Yachiru

  From her perch atop a jagged outcrop of bone, Yachiru watched with an unusual stillness, her usually bright and mischievous expression shadowed by a rare intensity. Her legs swung idly, but her wide, perceptive eyes were locked onto the figures in front, taking in every strike, every movement, every shift in the air.

  Kenny was changing.

  She could feel it—more than see it—the millions of invisible shackles he had pced on himself over the years, tightening and coiling around his immense strength, now beginning to loosen. The old man's relentless attacks were like a smith's hammer, striking again and again, cracking the barriers Kenny had built within himself, forcing him to move, to think, to adapt in ways he never had before.

  Yachiru's gaze darkened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. 'It's happening too fast,' she thought, her small fingers tapping rhythmically against the rock. It wasn't like Kenny to take things slow, but he was never one to thinkmuch about his fights either. He fought because it was fun. Because it made his heart race and his blood sing. But this? This was different.

  Her usually carefree demeanor was undercut by a gnawing suspicion that had been growing ever since their first encounter with the 'old man.' She tilted her head slightly, her sharp instincts whispering thoughts she couldn't quite ignore.

  'Is he really the same Yamamoto-jii everyone talks about?'

  The thought lingered in her mind, making her narrow her eyes slightly as she observed Viktor's movements. There was something… off about him. He looked the same—well, younger now—but there was something in the way he fought, the way he spoke to Kenny, the way he pushed without breaking him, guiding him toward something beyond mere brute strength.

  He feltdifferent.

  But Yachiru shrugged, pushing the thought aside with an indifferent pout. 'Does it really matter?' Whether he was the same man or not, one thing was clear—he was the only one who could bring out Kenny's real self. And that, above all else, was what truly mattered to her.

  Her gaze flicked back to Kenny, watching as his massive sword met the old man's strikes with increasing precision. The once aimless, chaotic swings were now measured, his footwork sharper, more deliberate. He was learning—reallylearning. And she could tell that Kenny, despite his wild grin, was thinking.

  That was what unsettled her most.

  She folded her arms across her chest, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Kenny didn't like thinking. He didn't like being pushed like this. He enjoyed fights that ended in an explosion of raw power, not these drawn-out lessons in finesse. But here he was, grinning like a savage, taking blow after blow and enjoyingit.

  'This guy's dangerous,' she mused, her eyes narrowing slightly at Viktor. Not in the way most people were. Not like the opponents Kenny usually faced, who broke like twigs under his raw force. No, this man was dangerous because he wasn't breaking Kenny—he was shapinghim.

  A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she stretched her arms above her head zily. "Ne, Ken-chan," she called out suddenly, her voice sweet yet carrying over the cshing of steel. "You're starting to look like a real swordsman. It's very weird!" She stuck her tongue out pyfully.

  Zaraki ughed, never taking his eyes off Viktor. "Weird? You think so, Yachiru?" he called back, sidestepping a sweeping strike and countering with an overhead ssh. "Maybe I'm just finally getting it!"

  Yachiru grinned but didn't miss the way the old man's eyes flickered toward her briefly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. She stuck her tongue out at him too. "Big bad meanie," she muttered under her breath, blowing a raspberry in his direction. He was turning herKen-chan into something new, something stronger—and she wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

  She rolled over onto her stomach, resting her chin in her hands, her pink hair spilling around her face. "You better not lose, Ken-chan," she called out teasingly, though her tone carried an undertone of something deeper. "'Cause if you do, I'll have to step in, and then it won't be fun anymore!"

  Viktor let out a soft chuckle at that, his grip on Ryuujin Jakka tightening slightly. "Don't worry," he said, his voice carrying a quiet confidence. "YourKenpachi is far from losing."

  Zaraki's grin widened at that, his muscles tensing as he unched forward with renewed vigor. "Yeah, yeah, enough talking!" he roared, his sword crashing down with enough force to send a shockwave through the cavernous expanse of the Muken.

  Yachiru watched them with a satisfied smirk, her earlier suspicions pushed aside for now. Whatever this old man really was, it didn't matter. If he could push Kenny to greater heights, if he could make him stronger, then it was fine. Because, in the end, all she really cared about was meeting the realKenpachi—the one hiding beneath all those self-imposed chains.

  And if the old man could help make that happen, well… she could wait a little longer.

  With Viktor

  Viktor observed the csh with a calcuting eye, his movements fluid yet measured, each strike of Ryuujin Jakka precise and deliberate. The raw ferocity of Zaraki's strikes would have overwhelmed most opponents, but Viktor had long since adjusted to the erratic and savage nature of the man's fighting style. No wasted motion,he reminded himself as he maneuvered deftly, parrying a devastating downward swing that sent tremors through the cavernous depths of Muken.

  His mind worked on multiple fronts as he fought, assessing, adapting, and—most importantly—learning. This wasn't just about refining Zaraki; it was about refining himself.

  'Hands-on experience is irrepceable,' he mused, stepping back just enough to avoid a cleaving strike, countering with a calcuted sweep of his bde that forced Zaraki to pivot on his heel. Viktor knew that while he carried the honed instincts of Yamamoto, those instincts alone would not be enough. He couldn't afford to rely on memories—he needed to carve his own way forward, to master Ryuujin Jakka in the present, in his own right.

  And what better way than against the unpredictable chaos that was Kenpachi Zaraki?

  He stole a quick gnce at Yachiru, still lounging atop the outcropping, watching the spar with that ever-present grin of amusement. Despite her pyful demeanor, Viktor could sense the deep connection she shared with Zaraki, one that ran beyond mere companionship. It was an unspoken bond, something primal and profound. A force that banced Zaraki's madness, an anchor that tethered him to something beyond bloodlust. Viktor had suspected there was more to Yachiru than met the eye, and seeing how easily she accepted the changes unfolding before her only confirmed that she, too, held untapped depths.

  'She's watching me closely,' he thought, noting the gleam of suspicion behind her pink eyes. She was sharp, much sharper than most gave her credit for. 'She's wondering if I'm really who I say I am.'

  Viktor mentally shrugged. 'Let her wonder.' He wasn't here to prove his identity to anyone—he was here to shape Soul Society's future.

  Still, her perceptiveness meant he had to tread carefully. Zaraki, for all his strength, wasn't the most introspective soul, but Yachiru? She could read between the lines far better than she let on.

  Returning his focus to the spar, Viktor felt the tension in the air shift subtly. The oppressive spiritual pressure that surrounded them was more than just an environmental hazard—it was a reminder of what y deeper still. 'Another thirty minutes in,' he calcuted, 'and we'll reach him.'

  One of the beast imprisoned further in the depths of Muken.

  He hadn't expected Zaraki to have the endurance, much less the patience, to reach this far so soon. Yet here they were. Viktor smirked inwardly. "Brutes adapt faster than you give them credit for," the System's voice echoed in his thoughts, and Viktor couldn't help but agree.

  Zaraki was adapting.

  With each csh, each exchange, he was no longer fighting on sheer instinct alone. There was a rhythm now—a growing understanding of the fundamentals Viktor had drilled into him st time. The wild, reckless swings had become sharper, more deliberate. He was learning,and more importantly, he was enjoyingit.

  "You're catching on faster than I expected," Viktor remarked between strikes, his voice even but ced with approval.

  Zaraki grinned wider, his teeth fshing like a predator sensing blood. "Told ya," he bellowed, swinging his bde in a wide arc that Viktor effortlessly parried. "Basics or not, I ain't gonna lose to you, old man!"

  Viktor's eyes gleamed as he pushed forward, gradually increasing the pace. The jump from fifteen percent of his strength to twenty was no small feat—each increase in his power brought with it a monumental shift. And Zaraki was feeling it. He could see it in the way the man adjusted his stance, in the way his movements became more reactive instead of purely offensive.

  'This is good,' Viktor thought. 'He's adapting at a frightening pace.'

  But Zaraki's rapid progress wasn't just a testament to his strength—it was a challenge for Viktor himself. The Ryuujin Jakka he wielded, a weapon of pure destruction, required him to exercise unparalleled control. In a battle like this, he couldn't afford to slip into Yamamoto's old habits. He needed to own every swing, every burst of fme, every carefully measured step.

  This wasn't just Zaraki's lesson—it was his own.

  The weight of the ancient zanpakutō in his grip, the heat it radiated, the whispers of its power coursing through his veins—this was Viktor's crucible. He was testing himself as much as he was testing Kenpachi. Every encounter refined his control, his understanding, his mastery over a force that had existed for longer than most could fathom.

  A sudden shift in the air made Viktor's focus sharpen. They were close now. The deeper they traveled into the Muken, the heavier the spiritual pressure grew. Even now, the atmosphere around them was like walking through a sea of invisible hands pressing down, a weight that would crush lesser souls.

  Kenpachi, of course, thrived in it.

  "Oi, old man," Zaraki called out, noticing Viktor's momentary shift in attention. "Think we should head a bit deeper? Get things reallyinteresting?"

  Viktor's lips curled into a slight smile. 'You already brought us further than I expected, you reckless brute,' he thought, but instead, he simply nodded.

  "As long as you can keep up, Kenpachi."

  Zaraki ughed, shouldering his bde and taking off deeper into the abyss without hesitation. Yachiru let out an excited giggle, tightening her grip on his shoulder. "Here we goooo, Kenny!"

  Viktor exhaled slowly, following them with steady, deliberate steps. With every footfall, the darkness thickened, and the heavy silence of Muken swallowed them whole. In the distance, he could see the faint flicker of a torch—the only light in this suffocating void.

  'This is where it begins,' Viktor mused, gripping Ryuujin Jakka tightly. 'Let's see how far you can go, Kenpachi.'

  Tsunayashiro Cn Estate

  Seireitei

  The Tsunayashiro Cn Main Estate stood as a monolithic testament to wealth, power, and tradition, an architectural masterpiece that exuded an air of quiet dominance over the sprawling estate grounds. Nestled in one of the most prestigious sectors of Seireitei, its towering walls of polished abaster reflected the soft moonlight, casting an ethereal glow across the immacutely manicured gardens that stretched in every direction.

  The outer courtyard was a dispy of grandeur and discipline, with perfectly sculpted bonsai trees standing as sentinels along winding stone pathways that led to the towering main hall. Ornate nterns lined the walkways, their golden light flickering in the gentle breeze, illuminating delicate floral arrangements and pristine koi ponds where the fish swam in mesmerizing patterns beneath the crystalline waters. The scent of cherry blossoms, though faint, lingered in the air, adding an almost surreal serenity to the opulence that surrounded the estate.

  Guards cd in eborate ceremonial armor stood at attention along the perimeter, their faces obscured beneath polished helms adorned with the Tsunayashiro crest—a stylized phoenix rising from fmes, a symbol of the cn's supposed rebirth and eternal authority. Their hands rested lightly on the hilts of their swords, but their gazes remained sharp, scanning the surroundings with unwavering vigince. Though the meeting tonight was secret, it was clear that security was paramount; no unauthorized eyes were welcome.

  Inside the grand hall, the sheer extravagance of the Tsunayashiro legacy was id bare. Towering pilrs, carved from the finest jade, lined the perimeter of the hall, each one etched with intricate depictions of the cn's long and illustrious history. The high vaulted ceiling, adorned with delicate silk tapestries embroidered with golden thread, depicted legendary battles and victories of the noble families of Soul Society. The floor was polished to such perfection that it reflected the assembled nobles like a mirror, amplifying the presence of the gathered elite.

  At the heart of the hall sat a long, polished ebony table, its surface gleaming beneath the soft glow of overhead chandeliers that bathed the room in warm, golden light. Seated around it were the most influential and, perhaps, most corrupt figures in all of Soul Society—the elders of the Four Great Noble Houses, excluding the disgraced Shiba cn, and an assembly of wealthy aristocrats, bureaucrats, and opportunists who thrived in the shadows of governance.

  Kuchiki Retsuhide, a distinguished yet severe-looking man with sharp aristocratic features, sat with an air of restrained authority. His posture was impeccable, and his piercing gaze swept across the room with a detached disdain for those who dared sully the purity of noble lineage by their very presence. The Kuchiki family, known for their unyielding adherence to tradition and propriety, clearly found little pleasure in such cndestine gatherings, and Retsuhide's demeanor reflected that sentiment with every measured breath.

  Shihōin Hikarime, a regal woman draped in rich silk robes of midnight blue, held herself with a rexed but poised bearing. Her golden eyes moved about the room with keen interest, and unlike her counterparts, she exuded curiosity rather than contempt. She seemed more invested in the long-term implications of this meeting than in any immediate scramble for power, her thoughtful expression hinting at the strategic mind behind her calm fa?ade.

  Kasumioji Tadanobu, a stern and sharp-eyed man with a wiry frame, radiated an aura of quiet lethality. Each motion he made was precise, and his expression remained unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. He said nothing, merely observed and measured, biding his time. Although the Kasumioji cn had often colborated with the stealth force in the long past, they seldom engaged openly in political maneuverings. Tadanobu's mere presence spoke volumes about the weight his cn still carried.

  Lastly, at the head of the table sat Tsunayashiro Shinjiro, the host of the evening and the very embodiment of noble arrogance. Draped in opulent robes of crimson and gold, he tapped his fingers against the polished surface in a calcuted rhythm. His narrow eyes glinted with predatory cunning, revealing little beyond his mounting displeasure. The Tsunayashiro cn had long been entwined with Soul Society's governing bodies, and with the recent dissolution of the Central 46, their grip on power was slipping—a fact that Shinjiro clearly resented as he surveyed those gathered before him.

  Surrounding these esteemed figures were a collection of lesser nobles and influential bureaucrats—opportunists and sycophants who had flourished under the old system of bureaucratic corruption and stagnation. They were adorned in yers of silk and gold, their expressions a mix of frustration, uncertainty, and veiled ambition. Some exchanged hushed whispers, their voices like the rustling of leaves in a storm, while others sipped delicately at cups of expensive sake, their eyes flickering toward the Tsunayashiro elder for guidance.

  A low murmur filled the hall as they discussed the recent events—the upheaval in Soul Society, the sudden transformation of the once-aged Sōtaichō, and his sweeping reforms that threatened to dismantle the very power structures they had built their fortunes upon. Words like "reform," "militarization," and "Rukongai draft" echoed through the air like a dark omen.

  The Tsunayashiro elder, Shinjiro, raised a hand, his fingers curling slightly, commanding attention with an effortless authority born from generations of unquestioned dominance. Silence fell like a heavy shroud over the grand chamber, and he allowed it to stretch for a moment, savoring the weight of anticipation before he spoke.

  His voice, smooth and commanding, carried the weight of centuries of nobility and an indignant fury barely contained beneath a veneer of aristocratic poise. "My esteemed compatriots,"he began, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered nobles with the precision of a bde poised to strike. "We stand at a precipice, not merely of power, but of identity. Our ancestors were not mere rulers, nor simple advisors—they were the architects of Soul Society itself. They built this world, shaped it, molded it into the bastion of order and bance it has remained for many millennia. And now, now we are cast aside, relegated to shadows, as if we were nothing more than relics of a bygone era."

  His voice deepened, resonating with a passion that sent shivers down the spines of those gathered. "Is this what we have been reduced to? Sitting in secrecy within the halls that were once our rightful pce? While that dog, Yamamoto, seizes what should have never been his to hold?"His lips curled in disdain, his features darkening with barely contained rage. "For centuries, he stood as our enforcer, our weapon—a blunt instrument wielded in the name of true power, in the name of order. He obeyed without question, bent the knee without hesitation. And now?"His hand smmed onto the table, the impact reverberating through the chamber like a thundercp.

  "Now, because one of his own has turned against him, because Aizen Sōsuke—a mere mutt—bit the hand that fed him, he dares to rise against us! He dares to cim authority, to dictate policy, to stand above the very foundation of Soul Society? He would have you believe that the death of the Central 46 justifies his actions. That our wise and mighty Council, who governed with the wisdom of generations, were nothing more than colteral damage in his war."

  He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, menacing growl. "But we know the truth. The massacre of the Central 46 was not a tragedy; it was an affront, an abomination. A sin greater than any in our long and storied history. What greater crime exists than the destruction of the very heart of governance? It is a crime graver than the Original Sin itself—more unforgivable, more damning."

  The nobles shifted uneasily in their seats, their expressions ranging from solemn understanding to barely concealed anger. Retsuhide's cold, impassive face betrayed nothing, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of concern hidden beneath his stoic demeanor. Hikarime, her golden eyes glinting with sharp calcution, studied Shinjiro carefully, gauging the weight of his words and the unspoken tensions rippling through the chamber. Though she maintained a composed exterior, her thoughts whirled as the conversation shifted toward each cn's obligation to provide its head for active duty.

  With Yoruichi still aligned with Urahara and effectively beyond the cn's reach, the demand to send their leader posed a delicate challenge. The Shihōin cn, ever adept in maneuvering through bureaucratic complexities, had concocted what they considered an 'intelligent' solution—ciming that while Yūshirō had assumed operational leadership in Yoruichi's absence, she remained their officialCn Head in name and status.

  It was a clever technicality, one that allowed them to maintain their internal hierarchy without surrendering too much control to the Gotei 13. The cn believed this maneuver would sidestep the issue entirely, preserving their autonomy while pcating the Sōtaichō's demand. Yet Hikarime knew better. This is not a man easily swayed by semantics.

  As expected, Yamamoto barely let the cim settle before delivering his response.

  "Then hand over your cn head's zanpakutō. If Shihōin Yoruichi remains your official head, then her bde shall serve in her stead. The Shihōin cn will not be exempt from their duty. Gotei 13 will see to it that Yoruichi is properly integrated."

  Shinjiro straightened, his eyes abze with righteous fervor and voice booming with rage that broke Hikarime's musings. "Yamamoto has taken this disaster and turned it into an opportunity—for himself. Make no mistake, my friends; he does not seek justice. He seeks control. Absolute, unquestionable control."His gaze swept the room once more, challenging, demanding. "He has stripped us of our authority, dismantled our influence, and now presumes to dictate the future of Soul Society without us. Without the nobility. Without the legacy of our ancestors."

  Shinjiro continued his speech, his tone dripped with disdain at the new developments within the Soul Society. His withered hands tightened into fists, the flickering ntern light casting deep shadows across his stern features. His sharp, calcuting eyes swept the room as he voiced his concerns, the air thick with the unspoken fear that lurked beneath the surface of every noble present.

  "This so-called 'Judicial Council' is nothing but an insult,"Shinjiro sneered, his voice heavy with contempt. "An affront to our traditions, to our authority. By appointing captains to oversee governance, Yamamoto has trampled over centuries of precedent, wielding his newfound vigor like a blunt instrument. And let us not forget—he has already begun meddling in our past rulings. The hollowfication incident, a matter long since settled by our judgment, has been overturned in mere hours. What stops him from tearing through every other decree we so carefully constructed?"

  His words sent ripples of unease through the assembled nobles, their expressions darkening. The mere thought of having their past decisions scrutinized, questioned, or even reversed, made their stomachs churn with apprehension. Quiet murmurs of agreement coursed through the chamber, punctuated by the occasional rustling of silk robes and the shifting of anxious gazes.

  Then, as if on cue, the soft, deliberate sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the grand chamber. Slow. Measured. Each step fell with a weight that sent an icy shiver down their spines.

  A collective hush fell over the nobles as their eyes darted toward the chamber's grand entrance. The heavy wooden doors creaked ominously, and dread settled over the room like a suffocating bnket. Fear cwed its way into their hearts—could it be him? Had Yamamoto come to finish what Aizen had started? To eradicate the st remnants of noble influence in one fell swoop?

  The tension reached its breaking point as the doors finally swung open, revealing not the imposing figure of the Sōtaichō, but someone perhaps even more dangerous in his own way.

  Tsunayashiro Tokinada.

  The current overseerof the Tsunayashiro Cn strode into the chamber with the effortless grace of a predator surveying its domain. His tall, lean frame was cd in the finest silken robes, embroidered in intricate silver patterns that highlighted his family's ancient crest. His sharp, almost impossibly handsome features were set in a smirk that never quite reached his dark, calcuting eyes—eyes that seemed to pierce through every soul present with a quiet, unnerving amusement. His perfectly groomed green hair was slicked back, a few stray strands falling strategically over his forehead, adding to his air of calcuted charm.

  Beside him, an enigmatic figure walked in perfect sync, a vision of ethereal beauty. Aura, his ever-present companion, followed with a quiet grace that commanded attention without demanding it. Her long, flowing bck hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that bore an almost otherworldly allure. Her piercing green eyes, cold yet alluring, scanned the room with a detached curiosity, as if she were merely observing insects under gss. Draped in an elegant crimson and bck kimono that clung to her lithe figure, she exuded an aura of quiet confidence—yet there was something unnerving about her presence, something not quite... right.

  If the nobles present had the ability to sense reiatsu beyond the most rudimentary levels, they would have known that the woman walking beside Tokinada was no mere soul. She was a Fullbringer—an anomaly within the walls of Seireitei. But such knowledge was a privilege held by only a select few in the room, and those who did know dared not speak of it aloud. They understood the danger of challenging Tokinada, a man infamous for his ruthless rise to power, one who had bathed in the blood of his kin to cim his position as cn overseer.

  The elder nobles, those wise enough to remain cautious, straightened their backs and lowered their gazes ever so slightly in subtle acknowledgment of the predator in their midst. Others, younger and more brazen, tried to maintain their dignity, though their discomfort was apparent in their stiff postures and darting eyes.

  Tokinada's smirk widened as he leisurely walked to the center of the chamber, his presence filling the space with an unsettling mixture of charm and menace. With a casual elegance, he spread his arms wide in mock welcome.

  "Such a serious gathering," he mused, his voice silky smooth but carrying an undeniable edge. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything... important."

  Shinjiro's eyes narrowed, but he masked his displeasure behind a thin smile. "Tokinada," he greeted stiffly, his tone wary but measured. "We were just discussing... recent developments."

  Tokinada chuckled, the sound low and velvety, yet it sent an involuntary shiver down several spines. "Ah, the good Sōtaichō and his bold ambitions," he said, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. "He's certainly become rather... proactive, hasn't he? It's almost admirable, really. Almost." His gaze swept the room, his smirk never wavering. "But I do wonder, are we all here to mourn our lost influence, or perhaps... to take it back?"

  A weighty silence filled the room as Tokinada's words hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. The nobles knew his reputation, his cunning, and his unpredictability. He was not a man to be trifled with, nor was he one to be trusted. Yet, in the face of Yamamoto's reforms and the shifting tides of power, many wondered if an alliance with him might be their only path to survival.

  Shinjiro's voice cut through the silence, cautious but firm. "We must be careful, Tokinada. Yamamoto's eyes are everywhere, and his patience is not limitless."

  Tokinada's smirk widened into something far more sinister, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, Shinjiro," he drawled, "you wound me. I am always careful. After all, this world belongs to those willing to seize it... not to those who watch it slip through their fingers."

  The nobles exchanged uneasy gnces, some nodding in agreement, others frowning in concern. The room pulsed with unspoken tension, the weight of their decisions pressing heavily upon them.

  Aura remained silent beside Tokinada, her gaze lingering on the gathered nobles with a quiet, unreadable expression. Her presence alone was enough to unsettle even the most confident of them, a silent reminder that Tokinada's power extended beyond the conventional limits of Soul Society.

  As the chamber settled into a tense stillness, Tokinada's smile never faltered. He had come not merely to listen, but to weave himself into the fabric of their schemes, to pull strings that only he could see.

  And so, the silent war for the future of Soul Society began anew, with shadows and whispers as its most potent weapons.

  And Cut!

  That'sit for this chapter folks.

  AN:

  Wasn't it an interesting Chapter? It has so many things and obviously I'm not talking about Viktor Vs Zaraki's fight. Oh the pn I have for it in amazing just to think lol. I'm very excited to write Ch 11 & 12, when you will see that fight. It is going to be memorable for me as one of my masterpiece for sure.

  Hope Zaraki's improvement has satisfied you and we also got Yachiru's pov. Damn she is very perceptive. Do you think as a spirit, she can see the changes in a Zanpakuto?

  Obviously we saw the ever kind Nobles great schemes. I'm sure being born in one will be very entertaining to watch all their squabbles. Until you get bored by their stuck up nature lol. I have a few questions for you:

  1) Who is the Savage referred in the chapter title?

  2) Should I make Yachiru take adult form when Zaraki awakens his Shikai? From the official lore, she is his Bankai Spirit taking form an child, but her actual form is of an adult woman. In canon, she didn't change after Zaraki awakened his Shikai, but this is not Canon ;).

  I actually like the kid Yachiru she can be as raw and unfiltered as she wants to and stay on Zaraki's shoulder, the best seat in Sereitei. So let me know your thoughts.

  As always, let me know in your reviews and do share your feedback and suggestions!

  I'm very delighted to share that you can now read 12 early chapters(60k words) on my patron. My user name is same BckInfinity1289 on patron website.

  Note: They are early access only, they will be eventually released here as well.

  Also, if you want discuss about the story or the ideas, you can join my discord server. I go by Henry there, give me a ping to say hi.

  link: discord. gg / SPsSwAcq4b

  Hope to see you there!

  Thank you for reading.

  Good Day!

  Bck Infinity 1289,

  Ja Ne.