The scent of sandalwood and ash permeated the First Division's main hall, a scent as old as the Seireitei itself. Heavy with time. Silent with judgment.
Captain-Commander Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, founder of the Gotei 13, sat alone at the center of his chamber, framed by coiling calligraphy and burning braziers. His gnarled hands rested atop the tsuka of Ryūjin Jakka — disguised in this moment as a simple, worn cane. To most, the cane was merely a prop. A sign of age.
To Ukitake Jūshirō, standing respectfully before him, it was a warning.
"I have reviewed all twelve reports," Yamamoto said, his voice a quiet thunder that rattled the paper walls. "From the patrol captains. From the instructors. Even the night watch at the Deep Archives."
Ukitake remained still, expression calm but eyes keen. "Then you know they've done nothing wrong."
"They've done nothing expected," Yamamoto corrected, eyes narrowing. "That is not the same."
A hush fell between them. The brazier flared. Even fire seemed to hold its breath.
Yamamoto rose slowly, every motion deliberate. The cane tapped once against the floor. "Lan Akira. A student who, after less than a year in the Academy, displays Bankai-level spiritual pressure. Speed surpassing seated officers. Systematic mastery of Hohō and Hakuda. Shikai manifestations in dual-elemental forms — Light and Darkness."
He turned, eyes shadowed beneath the great white brows.
"And Aizen Sōsuke. The younger of the two. Already wielding a Zanpakutō that manipulates perception itself. Complete Hypnosis — a Shikai-level ability with implications on par with forbidden Kidō."
Ukitake inclined his head slightly. "I understand your concern, but these are not threats, Genryūsai-dono. They are prodigies. Rare ones. But not—"
"Prodigies," Yamamoto interrupted, "do not rewrite the laws of spiritual combat simply by stepping onto a training field. They do not bypass centuries of learning with a flick of the hand. And they certainly do not access the Deep Archives without permission."
Ukitake's jaw tensed. "You suspect them of conspiracy?"
"I suspect them of being at the center of one," Yamamoto said.
He walked slowly to the side window, peering down at the Academy grounds far below.
"There are whispers," he continued. "Shadow reports. Unconfirmed sightings of cloaked figures near patrol zones. Fragment readings. Anomaly flares. And then there is the artifact."
Ukitake flinched almost imperceptibly.
"The one that bears the markings of the Tsunayashiro. The one found… where Lan and Aizen last fought an 'unidentified threat' which then conveniently self-erased." He turned, voice lowering. "And now students and instructors alike whisper of a presence in the archives. Of illusions. Of names from the nobility vanishing from older records."
Ukitake met his gaze fully. "You think they're unraveling something ancient."
"I know they are," Yamamoto said. "And they are not the only ones who know. The Four Great Houses are watching too. They've shifted their tactics. No more assassins. Now? Agents. Eyes. Influence. The kind you don't see until your blade is already in your brother's back."
For a long moment, only the fire spoke.
"I do not hate them, Jūshirō," Yamamoto finally said, voice tired. "But I cannot trust them. Not yet. Perhaps not ever."
"And yet you haven't ordered their detainment."
"I will not push them into rebellion," he said. "Not if I can shepherd them. If I cannot extinguish a fire, I must ensure it burns in my hearth — not against it."
He turned back, voice clear and resolute. "Prepare the summons."
Later That Day – First Division Office
The heavy doors groaned as they opened, revealing two silhouettes framed by sunlight.
Akira and Aizen entered in perfect sync, dressed in formal black and white, their Academy uniforms adorned only by their family crest. Their presence seemed to shift the atmosphere — not with arrogance, but with a gravity that bent the space around them.
Yamamoto regarded them silently. He had once seen an entire division kneel before Ryūjin Jakka's flame. These two? They stood unflinching. Unimpressed. Dangerous.
"You called for us, Commander," Aizen said with his soft, measured voice.
Akira said nothing, but his golden eyes flicked over the room. Calculating. Relaxed, but ready.
Yamamoto nodded. "I did. You have… drawn much attention."
"Is this about the patrol report?" Akira asked with an easy smile. "I thought we did well."
"You did," Yamamoto said. "Perhaps too well."
Neither brother flinched.
"Your power and initiative have revealed much — not only of threats within the Rukon District, but of yourselves. And that is why I have made a decision."
He stepped forward, cane tapping.
"You are to be removed from the standard Academy curriculum."
Akira raised a brow. Aizen's eyes narrowed faintly.
"You will instead enter a special program under my personal jurisdiction. You will rotate through divisions, training under active Captains — those I trust to test your limits and verify your loyalties."
He paused. Then added: "You may consider this… an honor."
Aizen bowed respectfully. "We are grateful for the opportunity, Captain-Commander."
Akira's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Sure. An honor."
They knew what this was.
A gilded cage.
"You will begin with the Second Division under Captain Suì-Fēng," Yamamoto continued. "She will test your speed and discretion. Following that, you will report to the Twelfth Division — Kurotsuchi has been… eager to analyze your talents. Then to the Tenth, under Shiba Isshin, for field command trials."
He stepped back, voice final. "Report to Second Division barracks at dawn."
The brothers bowed in unison.
"Dismissed."
As the doors closed behind them, Ukitake emerged from the shadowed alcove where he had listened, silent.
"You've made your choice, then."
"I've made the only one I can," Yamamoto replied. "If they are to be our shield, I must know they will not become our sword."
Ukitake's gaze lingered on the now-empty threshold. "Let's hope they choose the same."
Elsewhere – Hidden Compound of the Tsunayashiro Clan
The room was quiet. A single report lay unrolled before a masked noble.
"They have begun rotating under Captain authority," the agent whispered. "Yamamoto has drawn them in."
The noble nodded slowly. "Then we must change our strategy again. They are not to be eliminated. Not yet."
"Observed?"
"Tested."
Outside the First Division Barracks
The brothers walked together under the setting sun, shadows long across the courtyard.
"So," Akira said, hands behind his head, "we're on the leash now."
"Not a leash," Aizen replied. "A collar. Woven in silk. Dipped in trust."
Akira chuckled. "Think we'll bite through it?"
Aizen didn't smile. "Not yet."
Akira glanced sideways. "You think we can still win this?"
"We're not playing to win," Aizen murmured. "Not anymore. We're playing to understand the rules. Then we rewrite them."