The storm did not strike with thunder.
It began in murmurs.
A whisper in the mess hall. A sidelong glance on the training field. A conversation halted when either brother passed by. It spread, invisible but corrosive, like rot beneath fine lacquer.
"Did you hear? They're not really from District 80. Hidden nobles, maybe."
"Someone said Akira bypassed incantations using forbidden arts—ancient stuff even the Central 46 sealed."
"And Aizen? They say his Zanpakutō can warp your memories. How do you know he's not controlling us right now?"
None of it could be proven.
But that was the point.
Seireitei – Third Division Barracks
Lieutenant Izuru Kira passed a squadroom where two unseated Shinigami were whispering.
"They're dangerous. Too perfect. Too fast."
He paused, frowning. "Focus on your assignments. Gossip isn't part of the code."
But the seed was planted. And it was blooming fast.
Seventh Division – Afternoon Training
Akira deflected a practice strike with casual ease, sending his opponent sliding backward across the dirt.
"Sorry," he offered with a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head. "Still getting the hang of scaling down."
No one laughed.
No cheers followed.
Only silence and subtle steps away from his shadow.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Social Affinity decreased. Noted increase in negative sentiment across Squad 7 personnel. Consider using: Skill - SOCIAL ENGINEERING (Lv. 2) or INTIMIDATION (Lv. 4).]
Akira blinked at the message.
"Great," he muttered. "Now I'm being socially nerfed."
He tried smiling. Didn't help. He tried ignoring it. Made it worse.
Aizen, however, moved like a phantom between conversations.
Kyōka Suigetsu – A Tool of Correction
One by one, the louder whisperers stopped whispering. Not from fear—but from confusion.
Their memories blurred. Their "evidence" unraveled.
A Captain who began to suspect Akira's rapid growth found an odd letter in his quarters—one that seemed to prove a noble had falsified parts of the Academy record. A subtle illusion, planted by Aizen, shaped reality around doubt.
At the mess hall, a rumor-monger found himself stuttering mid-accusation, suddenly unsure if he'd even met Akira at all.
Aizen watched it unfold with surgical precision.
"I'm not here to win favor," he murmured to himself, voice as quiet as a sigh. "Only to ensure the truth remains buried… until it suits us."
Akira's Room – That Evening
Akira flopped onto his futon, arms behind his head, staring at the wooden ceiling.
"They're not going to stop, are they?"
Zhuoyin pulsed faintly in its sheath beside him.
"They fear what they do not control."
[SYSTEM MODULE UNLOCKED: Passive Observation Mode. Processing social sentiment. Projected hostility threshold reached.]
The system offered him a new skill: "Charisma Overclock – Temporarily boosts charm and perceived authority."
He rejected it immediately.
"I'm not gonna fake a personality stat," he grumbled.
Aizen entered the room, cloak still damp from an evening patrol.
"They're trying to provoke us," he said calmly. "Force a mistake."
Akira rolled his eyes. "Want me to give them one?"
Aizen's eyes sharpened—not in warning, but calculation.
"No. But we'll give them something else."
Yamamoto's Quarters
The old firebrand of Soul Society stared at a scroll filled with overlapping reports.
One from Suì-Fēng: 'Morale shifts surrounding the Aizen brothers are affecting team cohesion.'
One from Mayuri: 'Anomalous social vectors converging. External agents suspected.'
And another from an anonymous source, unsigned, alleging Akira used a forbidden Kidō during his last drill.
He placed the scroll down beside his tea and said nothing.
Ukitake stood nearby. "You don't believe these rumors, do you?"
"I believe power attracts chains," Yamamoto said at last. "Whether to restrain it… or to drag it down."
"But they haven't done anything wrong."
"Perhaps," Yamamoto said. "But sometimes, justice is not the absence of crime. It is the preservation of order."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
A Stage Set
The next day, it happened.
A joint training session. Three divisions. Controlled sparring. All watched by Captains and Lieutenants alike.
Akira moved with restraint. Aizen parried with elegance.
Then—chaos.
A massive surge of spiritual pressure burst from a nearby combat ring. A Lieutenant was hurled across the field, barely conscious.
Smoke cleared.
And in the epicenter stood Akira—seemingly at the center of the blast.
Gasps. Whispers. Someone shouted, "He lost control!"
[SYSTEM ERROR: Interference Detected. External Kidō signature present. Energy pattern inconsistent with user output.]
Akira's eyes narrowed.
Aizen's hand subtly gestured. "Not you. A misdirection spell. Twelfth Division signature. Tiered layering—meant to mimic your spiritual pressure."
They'd been framed.
And judging from the glares—most people had taken the bait.
Elsewhere – A Noble Estate
Tsunayashiro Tokinada sipped tea in silence.
A servant stepped forward. "The incident proceeded as projected."
He smiled faintly. "Good. Let Central 46 stew in the evidence. Soon, the old man won't have a choice."
He looked at the rising sun beyond the estate walls.
"They'll be branded monsters before they even realize what prison they're walking into."