First Division Captain's Office.
The heavy ebony doors walled off the outside bustle, and the high dome was carved with relief patterns symbolizing the history of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, flickering under the dim reishi lamps.
Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lay a panoramic view of the Seireitei, yet the light entering the room at this moment seemed somewhat pale and weak.
The Captain Commander's massive desk, polished from a single piece of rare stone imbued with spiritual power, was now buried under a mountain of files and reports, leaving only a small central area being pressed down hard by a large-knuckled hand marked by the passage of time.
Yamamoto-Genryūsai Shigekuni, Captain Commander of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads and the cornerstone of the Soul Society's thousand-year order, was currently sunk deep into his rosewood chair.
He wasn't tired, but rather seized by a rare sense of helplessness stemming from internal management.
Those sharp eyes that once made Hueco Mundo tremble and struck fear into the hearts of rebels were now locked onto the report spread across the desk—the annual financial budget report.
The gold-leaf lettering on the report's cover stung his eyes even in the dim light.
His signature long beard, usually groomed meticulously, now trembled slightly along with his furrowed brow, revealing the inner turmoil of its owner.
On his forehead, broad as a rock wall, several deep wrinkles squeezed together like never before, forming the character 'river' as if bearing the weight of the entire Seireitei.
A sigh, low and long, like it came from the depths of the earth, finally broke the dead silence of the room.
This sigh did not stem from old age, but from the helplessness and self-reflection under a heavy burden.
Yamamoto's thoughts traveled back five years to the point that changed the financial landscape of the Seireitei.
He still remembered that 'donation,' an amount so massive it was staggering.
This huge sum of money was like rain after a long drought, instantly filling the Seireitei's treasury, which had been stretched thin for years.
Holding such a vast sum, even a thousand-year-old powerhouse as steady as Yamamoto couldn't help but feel the lightness of 'living the good life.'
Faced with the reasonable (and even some not-so-reasonable) requests submitted by the captains of various divisions regarding improving member treatment, updating equipment, and repairing barracks, he displayed unprecedented generosity.
Base salaries were raised, combat allowances doubled, medical subsidies deepened, maintenance and upgrades for training ground Spiritual Arrays, significant increases in pensions for the fallen... one welfare policy after another was signed off like flowing water.
Looking at the positive data in the reports—high morale and improved training results due to better treatment—and seeing the long-lost, heartfelt smiles on the members' faces, even Yamamoto felt a flicker of gratification deep down.
In the first year, the generous benefits acted like a shot of adrenaline, with remarkable effects. Every division operated efficiently, the Shinigami were full of enthusiasm, productivity soared, and the forces maintaining order in the Rukongai seemed stronger.
In the second year, this generosity was seen as the norm. The bargaining at budget meetings became much milder, as captains focused more on how to allocate the growing shares.
By the third and fourth years... the welfare benefits had become an indispensable part of the Seireitei's operation, deeply embedded in the perception of every Shinigami. It was no longer an extra favor but a matter-of-course'salary.'
Accustomed to better maintenance materials for Zanpakuto, accustomed to more powerful reishi-replenishing potions, accustomed to more comfortable and safe barracks... the power of habit is strong, quietly changing everyone's expectations.
Then, the fifth year slipped by quietly.
The calendar turned to this year.
Yamamoto's gaze, like a physical blade, cut through the cold, glaring red numbers on the report.
The once-overflowing treasury was now empty.
The massive funds from Hiroki's donation, like grains of sand thrown into a bottomless pit, had been completely consumed by the continuous five-year flood of welfare.
Even worse, with the welfare base significantly raised, daily maintenance costs themselves had become a massive burden, long exceeding what the Seireitei's normal taxes and resource output could cover.
'Out of money...' These three words hit Yamamoto's heart like a thousand-pound hammer.
He closed his eyes, his fingertips pressing hard against his temples, trying to dispel the throbbing pain.
'If we don't issue it this year...' This thought circled in his mind, bringing a chill more intense than facing the strongest Hollow King.
Yamamoto knew very well how heavy the prestige he had accumulated over a thousand years was.
No one dared to question him, the'strongest Shinigami in the Soul Society,' to his face; no one dared to look directly into those eyes filled with fire and power.
Those Captain-level subordinates still maintained absolute respect and obedience before him.
But what about in private?
Yamamoto could almost imagine the scene: in the corners of the barracks, in the small taverns of the Rukongai, in the gaps between patrols... low-voiced complaints spreading quietly like a plague.
'Did the Captain Commander go back on his word?'
'What about the promised benefits? Were they misappropriated?'
'Did the noble lords embezzle our money again?'
'How are we supposed to live? Training consumes so much!'... These whispers would be like the sharpest poison needles, slowly eroding the foundation of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads—trust and morale.
When the Shinigami feel their efforts aren't being properly rewarded, or even that promised security has fallen through, can the dam of loyalty remain as solid as ever? Can the efficiency and determination in executing orders be maintained at their peak?
He thought of the light shining in the eyes of the young members when they received their generous allowances, the confidence on their faces when using the newly replaced equipment... Stripping away this'security' that had already integrated into their daily lives could have consequences far deeper and harder to manage than a powerful Hollow Incursion.
'Sigh...' Another deep sigh, full of complex emotions.
'I really shouldn't have handled these matters personally.'
This self-reflection pointed to the heart of the problem.
As Captain Commander, his duties should have focused on the Soul Society's overall security strategy, balancing major factions, and deterring potential massive threats.
But faced with Hiroki's donation—too massive and with a somewhat sensitive background—and the subsequent calls for welfare reform, he chose to personally intervene and make the final decisions to ensure the money was used properly and that benefits truly reached the grassroots level.
It was precisely this hands-on approach that tied the root of these 'good days' firmly to his prestige.
Now that the 'good days' were hard to sustain, the fire of expectation he had personally lit must also be personally endured as it burned him while being extinguished.
This immense psychological pressure, intertwined with the specific financial crisis, was what made the strongest Shinigami of a thousand years feel such a 'headache.'
Boom!
It wasn't a physical sound, but an impact on the level of pure spiritual pressure!
Like two small celestial bodies containing destructive power colliding violently in a distant star system, erupting in a violent fluctuation sufficient to shake the very foundations of reishi!
Two vast, peerless spiritual pressures with distinct characteristics—yet both reaching the Captain-level—tore through the Seireitei's calm surface without warning, like blood-colored flares suddenly rising in the night!
'Hmm?!' Yamamoto's body tensed in a thousandth of a second, the fatigue that had deeply furrowed his brow instantly replaced by a sharp, blade-like alertness.
His eyes, which seemed able to pierce through illusions, snapped open, a flash of golden-red flame flickering in the depths of his pupils.
His tall frame, without the aid of any Shunpo techniques, stood straight as a pine relying solely on the strength of his waist and legs, instantly switching from a thinker to a combat stance.
His sharp gaze pierced through the heavy walls, accurately pinpointing the source of the spiritual pressure explosion, his voice low and powerful, carrying an unquestionable confirmation: 'This is...? The direction of the Seireitei Academy?'
The Seireitei Academy, the cradle of the Shinigami reserves and the foundation of the Seireitei's future! A Captain-level confrontation erupting there would have unimaginable consequences!
Countless thoughts collided fiercely in his brain, which was comparable to a supercomputer:
'What's going on? An enemy invasion?' The possibility made Yamamoto's heart tighten.
But immediately after, his familiarity with one of the spiritual pressures ruled out the worst-case scenario: 'One is Unohana Retsu's?'
As the Fourth Division Captain and the first kenpachi, she should be in the academy area right now... Then, 'Who is the other one?' Yamamoto quickly filtered through the spiritual pressure characteristics of all current captains in his memory.
...No, that's not right! Although this spiritual pressure was staggeringly intense, reaching Captain-level, its nature carried a hint of an unfamiliar, indescribable... wildness and abandon? It didn't belong to any of the current captains he knew!
Who was it? A traitor? A newly emerged powerful enemy? Or... 'There should be more than one captain there, right?' Yamamoto quickly thought; currently, in the Shino Academy, not only was Captain Unohana there, but many captains had gone there today for recruitment.
If there truly were an external invasion, it was impossible for her to be the only one fighting with full strength while the others stood by.
'Then it shouldn't be an enemy, right?' This deduction allowed his tense nerves to relax slightly.
No wide-range alarm and no other captains erupting their spiritual pressure in support meant the situation was likely within internal controllable limits?
Could it be... an internal spar? But this intensity... is too exaggerated! Why would Unohana Retsu use such power? And who is her opponent?
Suddenly!
A completely different, purer, and more violent energy fluctuation tore through the sky without warning!
Yamamoto looked up sharply, his gaze piercing through the window of the captain's office to look directly at the sky.
He saw a blinding golden stream of light, like an apocalyptic spear from ancient legends, tearing through the air from the direction of the Shihōin Clan Estate at an incredible speed and momentum!
It sliced across the heavens, leaving a trail like a scar seared into the soul, instantly drawing the attention of every being in the Seireitei capable of sensing it.
It streaked across the sky like an intercontinental ballistic missile.
What is this now?! A even deeper sense of confusion and vigilance rose in Yamamoto's heart.