"Momo! Momo!"
Hitsugaya Tōshirō's voice echoed in her ears.
But it felt distant—like it was coming from the surface while she drowned beneath the waves.
Why… why did Shiro-chan sound so terrified?
Just now…
What happened?
Her memories were scattered fragments, broken shards swimming through her mind with no order or meaning.
Seconds passed—or maybe years. Time blurred. But slowly, under the weight of something called reason, Momo rose from the depths. Back to land. Back to reality.
Her mind felt like a frozen machine, shut down by shock.
Subconscious denial pushed back against what her senses screamed to her.
But the body still functioned.
Eyes saw.
Ears heard the shouting.
Nose smelled the blood.
All her senses, loyal and unforgiving, kept transmitting the unbearable truth.
Captain of the 5th Division.
Captain Seiya. Seiya Arima.
The man she had been searching for so desperately—
Was dead.
Murdered. Right there, strung up on the high wall before her.
Death.
A word so distant, so unreal.
And now… crushingly present.
Her whole body trembled.
But—
This can't go on.
She had to stand. She had to move.
She couldn't let his body hang like that, exposed, defiled.
She couldn't let everything he taught her—all his efforts—be in vain.
He'd said it: Even in despair or pain, the 5th Division must stand tall.
We are the team others can trust.
These thoughts flashed wildly through her mind as she stared blankly ahead and slapped away Hitsugaya's supportive hands.
She gasped for breath, trying to stabilize her spiraling emotions.
Get a grip. Walk up. Pull the blade out. Bring the body down.
At least let him rest with dignity—
Then everything shattered.
A wrenching cramp in her stomach forced her down.
"Urgh…"
Tears. Snot. Stomach acid. Half-digested food. Everything spilled across her face in humiliating mess.
Think rationally.
Stay calm.
Be the guiding light others can follow.
That was what she had to do.
But—
She couldn't!
Clutching her chest like she was trying to crush her heart, she sobbed violently.
Here. It hurts here. And here!
Captain Seiya, I can't do it. I can't be calm like you taught me to be…
Tears streamed endlessly. Her soul felt torn from her body.
Why?
Why Seiya?
Why did someone so kind, so gentle, have to suffer such a brutal fate?!
"Ah… ahhh…"
She wanted to scream.
But her voice came out a feeble whisper.
Face down in the dirt, Momo's body trembled like a dying animal.
Even Hitsugaya—calm, collected—was shaken.
He rushed forward and pulled her into his arms.
"Momo?!"
Her dull eyes blinked slowly. On her filthy face, her lips barely moved like a fish gasping for air.
"Shiro… save…"
"I will! Don't talk! The medics will be here soon!"
"No… that's not it…"
Her hands gripped his robe, and tears ran down in rivers.
"Save… Captain Seiya…"
That broken, choking plea—drenched in desperation—cut straight into Hitsugaya's heart.
She had no one else to turn to. She knew it was meaningless, impossible even… but she begged anyway.
Like someone drowning, clinging to one last illusion.
Hitsugaya couldn't answer logically. He could only whisper back:
"…I will. I'll save him."
Emotions… are contagious.
Joy, anger, grief, sorrow—these feelings pass from person to person with words and gestures.
Hitsugaya's eyes turned hot.
For Seiya, struck down so cruelly.
For Momo, broken beyond recognition.
Why did this happen?
Who could do this?
He clenched his fists. Reiryoku surged around him, lashing the air with bitter wind. Bone-chilling pressure crushed the crowd into silence.
"Don't just stand there! Spread the word! Inform the other captains—have them gather at once!"
"Anyone who can help, do it now! Call the 4th Division—they're top priority!"
"Get this news to Head Captain Yamamoto immediately. The rest can wait!"
Only someone like Hitsugaya—captain-class in every sense—could take charge like this in chaos.
He prioritized clarity.
Gathering captains meant sharing intel.
The 4th Division was needed to professionally analyze the scene.
Tampering with evidence was unacceptable.
And above all…
Yamamoto needed to know. Seiya once trained directly under him—everyone knew that.
With his orders in place, the once-panicked crowd moved with purpose.
But as light pierced the morning sky, no warmth came with it.
Only cold.
And sorrow.
—
Byakuya Kuchiki's face was pale as stone as he stormed through the corridors.
His expression was colder than ever, so intense it made even the air tremble.
The Sixth Division officers following him dared not speak, barely even breathed.
When they finally reached the door ahead, he stopped.
He hesitated.
He knew what lay beyond.
But only for a moment.
With a deep breath, he composed himself—just a man, for now—and pushed the door open.
The room was full of familiar faces:
Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō, solemn in their robes.
Sui-Feng, just back from the front lines, silent.
Aizen Sōsuke and Gin Ichimaru, near the inner room, watching quietly.
Everyone turned as Byakuya entered, their expressions mixed but heavy.
He didn't meet their eyes.
He started to walk forward.
Kyōraku stepped in his path, hat removed, face somber.
"Captain Kuchiki… I think it's better if you don't go in."
Ukitake stepped beside him, coughing.
"Captain Unohana is still tending to him. A few more minutes, for dignity's sake…"
Byakuya didn't respond right away.
He stood still. Then closed his eyes.
He clenched his teeth.
He had made his decision.
"The man in there was my guide. And this is not the time for sentiment."
"Please… let me see him."
"If not… I will never rest."
For a man of few words, this was more than a declaration. In noble etiquette, to speak so plainly was a firm, unshakable statement.
Kyōraku exchanged a glance with Ukitake, then silently stepped aside.
"Please… Captain Kuchiki."
Byakuya strode past them to the inner chamber.
There, on a simple platform—
Lay the body of Seiya.
Gone was the usual warmth, the mischievous smile.
His eyes were closed. His face pale.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Just like Grandfather.
So… that's how the dead looked.
A sharp pang throbbed in Byakuya's chest.
He couldn't cry. He never had.
But inside, something collapsed.
His fists tightened.
He couldn't forgive the one who did this—just as he had never forgiven his past self.
He would find the killer.
Even if it cost him his life, his honor—everything.
The door creaked behind him.
Captain Unohana stepped out, her haori gone, now dressed in medical robes, mask pulled down.
The others gathered around her.
Nobody knew what to ask.
Finally, Sui-Feng broke the silence.
"…Can you confirm he's truly gone?"
A professional's instinct, maybe. Or maybe just hope.
Unohana removed her gloves, voice low.
"I've seen more corpses than I can count in a thousand years."
"I examined him again and again."
Pulse, heartbeat, pupils—everything.
If there had been even a sliver of hope, she would've clung to it.
But there was none.
"From a purely biological standpoint—yes. Captain Seiya is dead."
No one screamed. But the weight of it crushed the room.
Kyōraku leaned on the wall, face grim.
Ukitake covered his eyes.
Aizen and Gin stood silent, unreadable.
Sui-Feng whispered, "…Dead."
She stepped forward and peered through the glass at the body.
Dead…
What a light word.
He left everything behind, made others carry the weight.
Cowardly.
She wanted to hate him for it.
But looking at his face—she couldn't.
Yoruichi's voice echoed in her mind:
"Life is fragile as glass, fleeting as mist. Treasure it."
If only he had heard that too.
Suddenly, Byakuya spoke:
"Do we know who did this?"
Unohana met his gaze.
"I'm more confused than anyone."
"I found no signs of struggle. No wounds. No marks."
"Other than the fatal stab to the chest—nothing."
She paused.
"Which means…"
Her voice became steel.
"…Captain Seiya Arima died without a fight."
"I don't believe the Ryoka could do something like this."
"Which is why…"
She looked around the room, cold and clear.
"…I believe this was a betrayal. From within the Gotei 13."
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates