Yoji Mirai stood at the corner of the street in Rurin'an, holding a perfectly composed smile on his face and waving until the warm, brown-haired figure turned the corner and disappeared completely from view.
Then he let out a long, slow breath.
"God, dealing with a future final boss is genuinely going to take years off my life..."
He rubbed his aching cheeks.
If he was being honest with himself, when he first crossed over, he'd tried the obvious route — lifting plotlines wholesale from the stories he remembered from his old life. Classic arcs, beloved twists, the whole package.
It had gone badly.
Even his perpetually half-asleep lieutenant, Hisagi Shuhei, had snapped to full consciousness for about thirty seconds after reading one of the drafts, and offered the review: "I have no idea what I just read, but I feel deeply affected."
After getting thoroughly beaten down by reality, Yoji had turned to the only material he actually had on hand.
In the spirit of better you than me, he'd used Aizen as his blueprint and hammered out The Pride and Loneliness of a Genius Boy.
He'd figured it was too literary and introspective to find a wide audience. Make a little side money, keep the tab open, call it a day. Instead it had blown up overnight, the response completely out of proportion to anything he'd expected.
Apparently the readers are all geniuses too. Only a genius could actually resonate with Aizen's inner world.
"Hic."
Yoji shook his slightly spinning head and started making his way along the riverbank toward the Ninth Division barracks, footsteps a little unsteady.
Rurin'an to the barracks wasn't far. Half an hour along the river with the moonlight on the water.
"Can't keep writing Aizen's story though. One more chapter in that direction and I'm going to get hauled in for questioning..."
He pressed two fingers to his temple and ran the numbers.
"Need to start something new fast. The moment next month's paycheck drops, it all goes straight to the tavern tab, and I'll be back to drinking air."
Two ideas surfaced pretty quickly.
The first: Killer of the Rukon District — based on the first Kenpachi, Yachiru Unohana herself.
The second: The Godfather of Death — the founding years of the Gotei 13, centered on Captain-Commander Yamamoto and the wars that built it.
Both legends. Both absolutely worth several months of good drinks.
He was deep in the outline for the Yamamoto story when he walked directly into something lean, firm, and completely immovable.
He stumbled back a step and looked up. His smile snapped into place on reflex.
"Captain Hirako! Sorry, sorry — I was working through a plot point in my head. Wasn't watching where I was going."
Captain Hirako Shinji of the Fifth Division stood there with that signature look of lazy amusement on his face, long blond hair catching the moonlight. He tilted his head, didn't look the least bit put out, and then stepped forward and threw an arm around Yoji's shoulders with a grip that was friendly in the way a vise is friendly.
"You little punk," Hirako said, drawing it out, his dead-fish eyes glittering with intent. "You went drinking and didn't call me. That how you treat your captain?"
He took a pointed sniff, caught the unmistakable richness of Reishi Reserve still clinging to Yoji's robe, and a vein immediately appeared on his forehead.
"Reishi Reserve. You've come up in the world. And you didn't think to share. After everything I did — you remember who put in a good word with Rokujou so your manuscript could actually run in the Bulletin? You remember that?"
Hirako grinned, showing a lot of teeth. The smile of a man who absolutely intended to collect on this.
Yoji's stomach dropped.
It was true. When he'd first submitted The Genius Boy to his own captain, Rokujou Kensei, that hard-nosed hotblooded captain had taken one look at the introspective literary tone and been entirely unimpressed. Hirako had happened to be passing through, glanced at a few pages, said "Hm, interesting enough, let him try" — and that had been enough to get it greenlit for serialization.
In a very real sense, Hirako was the reason his career existed.
"Captain Hirako, come on, you know I wouldn't dare—" Yoji started.
"My lieutenant Hisagi has been hunting me down like a woman possessed, trying to get me to continue that flopped Hell Girl series. I've been dodging her for weeks. I can't exactly sit in a tavern waving a bottle around! I had to sneak down to the riverside just to drink in peace!"
"That's got nothing to do with me." Hirako didn't even blink. He jabbed a finger into Yoji's chest. "You could find time to sit by the river with Aizen, but not with me? What, I'm not worth a cup?"
The last few words dropped in pitch, just slightly. Just enough.
Yoji mentally cursed this crafty old fox, kept the smile going.
"Captain, you've got it completely wrong! Aizen came to find me at the tavern. He even grabbed the bill before I could — I didn't plan any of this. What was I supposed to do, turn down a perfectly good benefac— I mean, a kindred spirit who walked right up to me?"
"Oh, he came to find you specifically..." Hirako let go of him, put his hands on his hips, and his tone shifted into something more considered.
"Tomorrow's the day the graduating Academy students choose their divisions. Are you the one going to recruit for the Ninth?"
Yoji laughed and scratched the back of his head.
"Captain, please. Even if Lieutenant Hisagi skips it, Captain Rokujou will be there himself. There's no version of events where a lowly fifth seat shows up to that and doesn't embarrass the whole division."
Soul Society ran on strength. Against the presence of actual captains and lieutenants, what did a fifth seat have to offer a promising graduate?
Hirako tilted his chin up slightly. The moonlight caught half his face, and his expression settled into something that looked almost like it was seeing around corners.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Could be that if you showed up... Aizen Sosuke would choose the Ninth."
He pulled out his little finger and idly dug at his ear, voice completely offhand.
"Don't let the top marks in Kidō fool you. That kid might be a considerably more dangerous piece on the board than your Aokawa ever was."
The words landed like cold water.
Yoji kept his face still, but his mind was suddenly very alert.
At this point in time, the number of people in all of Soul Society who could look at Aizen Sosuke and sense what was actually underneath — Hirako Shinji might genuinely be the only one. And the man was doing it through instinct alone, without a script.
Yoji had only known because he'd had the plot handed to him.
He pushed the unease down and kept his voice light.
"What about you, Captain Hirako? Anyone from the graduating class catch your eye?"
Hirako blew imaginary dust off his pinky finger, dead-fish eyes sliding back into place.
"Yeah, actually. I've had my eye on that Aizen kid. Planning to bring him into the Fifth."
Then he pivoted and fixed Yoji with a look.
"Anyway. Don't change the subject. The Genius Boy — what method does Aokawa actually use to break through his limit? And don't tell me you're genuinely stuck."
Every alarm in Yoji's head went off simultaneously.
Hollowfication was completely off the table. Even a hint in that direction, even wrapped in fiction, was untouchable. Hirako might be standing here acting like an old drinking buddy, but the moment anything pointing toward that concept slipped out — when the real event came around, this apparently easygoing captain would be the first one to personally throw him into the deepest cell in the Nest of Maggots.
"Ha, Captain, hand on my heart, I genuinely don't know what to do with it!" Yoji spread his hands, picture of sincerity. "Do you have any suggestions? Because I've actually decided — I'm putting this one on hiatus for now and starting something fresh. Clear my head. Maybe the inspiration comes back on its own."
He held the smile and met Hirako's eyes directly.
"Aokawa's story ends here. For now."
Silence stretched between them.
Long enough that Yoji could feel his cheek muscles starting to cramp and his smile beginning to twitch at the corners.
Hirako's gaze stayed on him for what felt like a very considered amount of time. Then he turned away, tossing a lazy wave back over his shoulder as he walked off.
"Fine. If Aokawa ever gets a new direction — tell me first."
His figure blurred into the shadows of the street and was gone, quiet as water.
Only then did Yoji's shoulders come down from around his ears. He became aware that his back was completely soaked.
He exhaled slowly and kept walking toward the barracks.
Aizen leaves, and Hirako just 'happens' to appear two minutes later. Right.
Hirako had clearly been watching Aizen for a while. Long enough that even a casual riverside drink between a fifth seat and a new graduate hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Putting it on hiatus was absolutely the right call," Yoji muttered to himself, still shaken.
"One more chapter and I'd be on Hirako's personal watchlist."
All he'd wanted was to make enough money to drink well and live comfortably. How had he ended up here, playing mind games with people who had centuries of practice at it?
Exhausting.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"I've been wronged! I'm innocent! I'm being wronged!"
The sound of heavy fists on iron and a voice wailing its grievances cut through Yoji's brooding as he rounded the next corner.
He brightened almost immediately. This he knew how to deal with.
He quickened his pace to the source of the noise — the side gate of the Ninth Division's holding facility.
The two guards on duty snapped to attention the moment they saw him.
"Fifth Seat Yoji!"
"How many today?" Yoji asked, settling into his professional voice.
"Ten, sir! Ten shinigami detained for disciplinary violations!"
"Only ten?" He raised an eyebrow. "Eleventh Division didn't start any fights today?"
The Ninth's holding facility served as the first point of contact for shinigami and residents caught breaking Seireitei regulations — initial detainment, preliminary questioning. The truly serious cases, the ones that went to trial, were transferred to the actual Nest of Maggots. This place was more like a precinct holding cell with unusual clientele.
"No sir! Just a handful picked up for running out on their tabs."
Yoji's eyebrow twitched.
He had, less than an hour ago, been one missed payment away from a very similar situation.
"Right. Good work." He cleared his throat firmly. "Make sure everyone's rotating shifts properly. No one gets lazy."
He added a few more words of instruction and then passed through the gate into the Ninth Division's main courtyard.
He'd barely taken two steps in before he stopped.
Standing in the center of the courtyard, back to him, was a man of considerable height and build. Silver hair cropped close to the head. Shoulders broad enough to block out a noticeable portion of the night sky. The posture of someone who had never once in his life felt the need to take up less space.
Captain Rokujou Kensei of the Ninth Division.
Yoji immediately straightened up and closed the distance at a brisk walk.
"Captain. It's late — is something the matter?"
Rokujou turned slowly. In the moonlight, his sharp eyes were particularly clear.
"Yeah," he said, short and even, his voice carrying the low weight it always had. "Waiting for you. Got something to talk about. Won't take long."