"It seems I was right. Your flame‑type Zanpakutō is the same as Genryusai‑sama's Ryūjin Jakka. No wonder you're so powerful, hahahaha!"
Shihouin Chihiro suddenly burst into laughter, loud enough to scatter the birds in the courtyard.
"All right, there's no need for us to keep fighting." After a moment, he finally calmed down and, under everyone's astonished gazes, announced that Arata had passed.
Shihouin Chihiro wasn't being careless. On one hand, he truly acknowledged Arata's strength. With a flame‑type Zanpakutō and such strong spiritual pressure, Arata would certainly become a powerful man in the future.
On the other hand, if he continued fighting like this, he would have to release his own Zanpakutō.
His Zanpakutō was somewhat different from others and not suitable for use in front of allies. This was only a one‑time sparring session, there was no need to go all out.
"Thank you, Captain Shihouin, for showing mercy." Arata sheathed Meigetsu and bowed respectfully.
He knew very well he would have been injured had the other side not held back at the critical moment.
Shihouin Chihiro waved a hand, a trace of admiration flashing in his golden eyes. "Don't be modest, your strength really is impressive."
He turned to Yamamoto Genryusai. "Captain, I think this guy can stay."
Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on Arata for a moment before sweeping across the captains.
"Since Captain Shihouin acknowledges Mister Arata's strength, what do you all think about assigning him to a squad?"
Saito Fuuma immediately jumped forward, her purple twin‑tails bouncing energetically. "Old man, I was the first to discover this kid, so naturally he belongs to our Sixth Division!"
"I don't think so. Just because you noticed him first doesn't mean he's the most suitable." Unohana Retsu elegantly lifted her long hair, a meaningful smile on her lips.
"Arata‑kun's achievements in Kaidō are extremely deep. He would be able to shine the most if he joined the Eleventh Division."
"Nonsense!" Saito Fuuma stomped furiously. "Stop pretending, violent woman! Everyone knows you people in the Eleventh Division spend all day looking for someone to cut. What kind of 'answer' is that?"
Unohana Retsu calmly replied, "Precisely because of that, our Eleventh Division is even more in need of a medical talent like Arata‑jun."
"Hey, have you forgotten about our Fourth Division?" Shijima Chigiri interjected at just the right time, reminding everyone of his existence.
"Shut up, quack doctor!" Saito Fuuma and Unohana Retsu interrupted him simultaneously, causing Shijima Chigiri to shrink back in fear, pulling his neck in like a turtle.
The other captains joined the competition, and the meeting room suddenly turned into chaos. Captains who usually killed without blinking were now fiercely arguing over a single squad position.
"Silence!"
Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni shouted lightly, and the terrifying spiritual pressure flooding the meeting room silenced everyone instantly.
His sharp eyes swept over them all and finally landed on Yakumo Kadori.
"Captain Yakumo, what do you think?"
Yakumo Kadori, who had been quietly observing until then, flinched slightly, then pushed her glasses up, a spark of surprise flashing behind the lenses.
"Eh? Lord Genryusai, I…"
"The Eighth Squad currently has the highest number of casualties, and you yourself were gravely injured in the previous battle. You need someone like Arata to assist you."
"But, but—"
Yamamoto cut off her hesitation and directly delivered his verdict: "It is decided. Arata will be assigned to the Eighth Squad."
As expected from the 'old man' in his prime—decisive in killing and swift in action, completely different from the seemingly gentle, grey‑haired elder of a thousand years later.
Saito Fuuma tried to protest, but Yamamoto silenced her with a single sharp look.
"Dismissed!"
At Yamamoto's order, the captains were forced to disperse reluctantly.
Before leaving, Unohana Retsu cast Arata a meaningful glance and silently mouthed: "Visit the Eleventh Division when you have time," which made Saito Fuuma jump with rage all over again.
——
Eighth Division Barracks.
Arata followed Yakumo Kadori down the corridor, members of the squad giving them curious looks as they passed.
It was rare for a strange man, who appeared out of nowhere, to be escorted personally by the captain.
"This is your room." Kadori slid open the Japanese‑style door. The room was clean and bright, and the window overlooked the blooming cherry trees in the courtyard.
"Next door is the captain's room, where I live. Conditions in the Eighth Division are humble, I hope you won't mind."
Arata quickly shook his head. "It's already wonderful, thank you for your care, Captain Yakumo."
Yakumo Kadori smiled softly, then suddenly covered her ribs and coughed twice; her face instantly turned pale.
"Captain Yakumo!" Arata quickly supported her trembling body. "Your injury…"
"It's fine, it's just an old wound. I'll be better once I rest a little." Yakumo forced a smile, but the cold sweat on her forehead betrayed the pain.
Arata frowned.
Earlier he had only roughly treated her wound on the battlefield, but now it was clear the situation was far more serious than he had thought.
"Please allow me to check again." Without hesitation, Arata guided her into the adjacent captain's room, then sat at the edge of the bed; bright green light glowed from his palms. "We were in a hurry before, it's possible some residual spiritual particles weren't fully cleansed."
Yakumo wanted to refuse, but a sudden sharp pain in her ribs made her bite her lower lip and nod.
Sweat slid down her white neck into the neckline of her kimono, pooling lightly at her collarbones.
Arata knelt on one knee and gently pressed the bandaged area on her chest through the shihakushō.
Through the thin layer of fabric he could clearly feel the rise and fall of her breasts with each quickened breath.
Though he was doing serious work, Arata couldn't help silently admiring her broad‑mindedness and brave willingness to trust him.
"The disruption in your spiritual pressure is more severe than I thought…" Arata's voice was slightly tense. "Captain Yakumo, how did this injury happen?"
Yakumo Kadori turned her face aside, her eyes gleaming behind the lenses. "In an earlier skirmish, several Sternritter Quincy surrounded me…"
"One of them had a special poison in their attack, and Captain Shijima said his Kaidō was useless against it."
Arata's pupils contracted slightly.
No wonder ordinary Kaidō didn't work. Those black thorns were likely mixed with a special Quincy toxin.
"If I want to treat your wound, I need to completely remove the toxins." He took a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously brushing the edge of her shihakushō. "But I can't operate precisely through the clothing… Could you, please…"
Before he finished, the tips of Yakumo's ears were already red as blood.
Of course she understood what Arata meant. For treating internal injuries, direct skin contact was necessary.
The air in the room suddenly grew heavier.
Outside, the rustling of cherry blossom petals torn by the wind was clearly audible, and the distant shouts of squad members training filtered through the curtains like muffled echoes, as if separated by a layer of cloudy glass.
"I…" Yakumo Kadori tightly gripped the bedding with her fingertips.
As a captain, she should refuse such an excessive request, but as an injured patient, she knew better than anyone that the toxin inside her was continuously corroding her internal organs.
If she collapsed, it would be a devastating blow to the Eighth Division's defense and the entire war between the Soul Society and the Empire of Light.
Arata saw her hesitation and suddenly stood up, taking two steps back. "Forgive my rudeness. What if I call Captain Shijima—"
"Wait!" Yakumo Kadori suddenly grabbed his wrist.
From that movement, blood seeped again through the bandages on her chest, but she didn't seem to feel the pain. "Captain Shijima can't… Arata‑kun, I trust you."
The last four words were as light as a feather falling to the ground, yet they made Arata's heart tremble.
He nodded silently and knelt before her again, his movements as gentle as if he were holding the most fragile porcelain.