After class.
Aizen, carrying his Zanpakutō, moved from one classroom to another throughout the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy, just as he had earlier before Shiba Isshin and the others. Without any announcement or formal request, he simply arrived and expressed his desire to demonstrate something.
Each time, the reaction was the same—initial confusion, followed by awe. Then, a quiet wave of reverence swept through the room.
Students and teachers alike sat up straight as if attending a sacred ceremony. Their gazes, filled with curiosity and admiration, locked onto him. No one questioned, no one resisted. One by one, they all accepted the full, undiluted exposure to Kyōka Suigetsu.
And like a master orchestrating a silent symphony, Aizen gave them everything—sight, sound, scent, sensation.
What they thought they saw, heard, smelled, felt, and even sensed through Reiatsu… all of it was false.
All of it, fabricated.
By sunset, the Shin'ō Academy appeared unchanged on the surface. But in truth, every soul—every teacher, every student—without exception, had fallen under the complete hypnosis of Kyōka Suigetsu.
None even knew it had happened.
"Congratulations to all instructors and students of Shin'ō Academy," Aizen whispered inwardly. "You've just joined the Kyōka Suigetsu collective."
All of this was observed in silence by Akira.
As he leaned against a hallway column outside, he watched the procession with a cool gaze.
Inwardly, he chuckled.
He couldn't help but congratulate the Academy for having unwittingly participated in history.
Yet beneath the dry amusement, his thoughts turned cold and sharp.
Last night's assassination attempt—ordered by high-ranking members of the Four Great Noble Houses—was the last straw. Whether it was collecting that debt, or executing the long-designed strategy he and Aizen had been planning, the time was near.
All they needed now was the catalyst: the perfect moment for early graduation.
"Aizen…" he murmured.
"He really meant what he said."
"Akira and Aizen… if only these two were born into the Shiba Clan," Isshin muttered to himself not far away, still lingering at the Academy.
Though his duties should have taken him elsewhere by now, the events of the day had riveted him in place.
He watched silently as Aizen completed yet another demonstration.
This student—once a face in his class—was now making good on everything he had claimed with cool, clinical precision.
He didn't speak out loud. He didn't interrupt.
But in his heart, there was awe.
And also, a heavy sense of loss.
At the same time…
Deep in the First Division barracks, within the austere captain's office, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni stood rigid and quiet, eyes closed as a report was relayed to him.
Kneeling before him was a member of the First Division's Covert Surveillance Unit—one of the elite who had been ordered to monitor Akira and Aizen since the day of their spiritual outburst during the entrance exam.
The report was concise, yet damning.
Aizen's Zanpakutō had successfully hypnotized every member of the Spiritual Arts Academy.
Even the instructors.
Yamamoto's ancient hands clenched slightly. His eyes opened slowly, heavy with thought.
That feeling… was it regret?
Yes.
He regretted the decision he had made the night before.
Akira and Aizen's incredible Reiatsu—strong enough to distort the barrier gates and terrify veteran seated officers.
The resemblance to the legendary "Kenpachi" archetype, to uncontrollable sword demons.
The hidden attacks arranged by noble families—fearing those boys, or trying to kill them before they could ascend.
All of these factors had caused Yamamoto to hesitate.
And in doing so, he had passed on the opportunity to take them under his wing.
Now, watching from a distance as the two brothers silently enacted their will, he wondered if he had made a critical error.
"Sasakibe," Yamamoto said suddenly.
"Do you think I made a mistake?"
His voice was low, grave.
Chōjirō Sasakibe, his loyal Vice-Captain, bowed his head respectfully before answering.
"Your concern, Captain-Commander, was that by personally admitting them into the First Division, you would hasten the birth of another Sword Demon—one who might one day stand against Soul Society, not beside it."
He paused, then added with conviction:
"However… I do not believe their rejection from the First Division dooms them to darkness. The strength they possess is frightening, yes—but it is not inherently evil. They are unrefined swords—but not yet twisted ones."
"Indeed," Sasakibe continued, raising his gaze.
"One thought, and they become demons. Another thought… and they become our greatest captains."
"Your fear," he said, voice steady, "was that you might empower a monster.
But have you considered you also might have guided a savior?"
Yamamoto remained silent.
"…So what you're saying," he finally replied, "is that had I accepted them yesterday, I might have steered them more clearly—given them structure, and purpose."
"Even if they strayed for a time, they would have had reason to return."
A faint, bitter smile touched the old man's face.
"But I let the moment pass. And now, the door between us has closed."
He turned, hands clasped behind his back, eyes distant as if peering across centuries.
Akira and Aizen—they had seen him last night. Even if only briefly.
They would have known.
And once suspicion was planted… once trust was broken before it could ever be formed…
Not even a thousand years of wisdom could undo that.
What's more, based on the talent displayed by the Akira brothers, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni's mentorship might not be essential to their growth. These weren't ordinary students molded by standard instruction—they were anomalies, prodigies who had already surpassed most of their peers.
"Yes," Sasakibe replied thoughtfully.
"In my view, there's no need to be confined by the label of 'master and disciple.' That relationship is a title, a formal structure. But do you truly need that structure in order to offer proper guidance?"
He continued, eyes steady with conviction.
"Remember, Head Captain—you are the Commander of the Gotei 13, the founder and headmaster of the Shin'ō Academy. Even if Akira is not officially your disciple, he is still your student. More than that—he is a future captain under your command. Just like the captains of the First Generation, who followed your example, not your teachings."
Sasakibe had lived for over two thousand years. His long life, punctuated by missions in the Human World and exposure to philosophies outside of Seireitei, had tempered his loyalty with clarity. Though steadfast in his service to Yamamoto, his mind was not trapped by centuries of tradition.
"You're right," Yamamoto murmured. "Your words have cleared this old man's fog."
His eyes sharpened with a renewed sense of purpose.
"Well then, the brothers will graduate soon."
"And if, by then, they haven't selected a division they prefer," he added, turning back to Sasakibe, "you will personally invite them to the First Division in my name. Let them take over for Kuchiki Hibiki. After all, as the son-in-law of the Kuchiki clan, Hibiki will eventually move to the Sixth Division to succeed Byakuya."
"What do you think, Sasakibe?"
Hearing this, Yamamoto felt a rare spark of lightness. The burden of the previous day's misjudgment seemed to lift. He suddenly recalled Unohana Retsu—the most infamous criminal in Soul Society's history. A woman whose name once struck terror, but who, under his guidance, became the healing Captain of the Fourth Division and the original Kenpachi of Gotei 13.
She had never been his disciple either.
But he had steered her—no, wrested her—onto the right path. Not through hierarchy, but through leadership.
If he could do that with Yachiru Unohana, then surely, he could guide the Akira brothers.
Yes—once they graduated, he would bring them into the First Division.
Then, under his direct supervision, he would train them personally—refining their Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hōhō, and Kidō—instilling the laws of Soul Society into their very being.
As long as they remained under his watchful eye, he could curb any deviation before it grew into corruption. And if, one day, they began to stray, he would be the one to stop them.
"I agree," Sasakibe said with a solemn nod.
"It's the most prudent course."
But as Yamamoto Genryūsai's rigid thinking thawed into newfound determination, another captain elsewhere in the Gotei 13 was already paying attention to the Akira brothers—especially one of them.
"…Akira," murmured Hirako Shinji, in the Fifth Division's office, flipping through the files compiled by his subordinates.
"Yeah, he's solid."
"But that Aizen… somethin's off. Way off."
He stared at the document containing the details of Aizen's performance—his grades, Reiatsu control, and conduct—all flawless. Almost too flawless.
Shinji's brow furrowed deeper.
"There's a layer under that smile," he muttered. "Somethin' he's not showin' us."
He tapped the edge of the page, his eyes darkening.
"No one hides that well unless they've got somethin' worth hidin'."