"Preposterous! Ridiculous!"
"We would rather die than accept such outrageous demands!"
Kuchiki Ginrei sat at the table, his already unpleasant expression turning from livid to outright green as he scanned the meticulously listed demands laid out before him. His voice was a roar of refusal.
"The bloodline of the Seireitei has not yet been extinguished!"
"These terms are nothing but an insult to us!"
The young head of the Kuchiki Clan wasn't the only one seething with anger.
Even Tsunayashiro Kōshin and the elderly Kyōraku Takuya, seated on either side of Ginrei, could barely contain their fury as they read through the demands—each one a dagger aimed straight at the heart of the Seireitei nobility.
Just look at what was written!
Abolish noble titles, establish a new warrior class with quotas based on family units, and implement periodic evaluations—failure to meet standards would result in disqualification from succession.
Abolish the Central 46 and replace it with a tripartite system—the Gotei 13, the Central Cabinet, and the Judicial Court—each with checks and balances. The Captain-Commander would hold both supervisory and veto powers, effectively placing the Gotei half a step above the other two branches.
Lift the ban on entry to the outermost districts of the Seireitei, revoke all noble privileges, abolish internal noble disciplinary laws, and standardize all punishments under the Judicial Court. Any exceptions would require a joint petition from all three branches...
One demand after another.
Stripping the nobles of every last shred of dignity and privilege they once held.
Economy, judiciary, punishment, household retinues, private armies—all explicitly regulated by law.
Any changes would require approval at the annual tripartite conference.
Kyōraku Takuya's eyes swept over the pages of tightly interwoven clauses, searching for a loophole.
But the more he read, the more his heart sank.
The nobles of the Seireitei had assumed the Genryū were nothing but a band of lawless rebels, utterly incapable of governance—clueless about how to rule the Seireitei.
For the past month, they had spent most of their time scheming how to exploit the system and its flaws to regain power.
The nobles of the Seireitei had always been ruthless in their infighting—but that didn't mean they were stupid.
On the contrary, it was precisely because they were so cunning—and used all that cunning against each other—that they had ended up in this situation.
But now, all those assumptions had been shattered.
"No."
Kyōraku Takuya set down the document, his voice stiff. "We will never agree to this."
Across the table, Fujimiya Makoto remained calm, his expression serene as he regarded the defeated nobles.
"Then what do you propose?"
Kyōraku slammed their counterproposal onto the table. Compared to Fujimiya's thick stack of documents, theirs was pathetically thin—vague, riddled with holes, and utterly unconvincing.
But the nobles had no choice but to press on.
"This is our negotiation proposal."
Fujimiya reached for it, but Sasakibe was faster, lifting the document and placing it before him.
He flipped through a few pages and nearly laughed aloud.
The very first clause demanded "the surrender of the four primary instigators of the Seireitei Massacre—the instructors—to the Central 46 for trial, to uphold Soul Society's laws."
Written in bold, sweeping strokes—pure fantasy.
Fujimiya looked at the stone-faced Kuchiki Ginrei and the others, his tone gentle.
"The great lords of the Seireitei, with their millennia of heritage... were defeated by the Genryū in just ten years of bloodshed."
"It seems there was a reason for that."
"You dare insult us?!" One of the hot-tempered elders shot to his feet, looking ready to fight.
"How have I insulted you?" Fujimiya countered.
The Kuchiki elder froze, unable to respond.
Even Fujimiya's zanpakutō—usually more of a nuisance—couldn't resist chiming in.
[Dumbass.]
[Because you told the truth.]
A wave of laughter erupted from the Genryū side, filling the hall with a lively atmosphere.
Only the Seireitei representatives remained stiff-faced, their expressions dark.
When the laughter died down, Fujimiya's expression turned cold and sharp, his gaze sweeping over the nobles like a blade. His voice was flat.
"Let me make one thing clear."
"Had Ichibē Hyōsube not descended from the Soul King's Palace to halt this war, every single one of you would already be dead by our blades."
"I'm sure you all remember Genryūsai-sama's orders."
"'Leave none alive.'"
The nobles' faces twisted further. Kuchiki Ginrei instinctively glanced at the monk, but Ichibē remained seated, his eyes closed, utterly indifferent.
Ginrei had no choice but to bluster.
"Do you think the Five Great Noble Clans have no one left? If not for the need to maintain stability across the realms, leaving us unable to deploy our full forces—"
"Oh?" Fujimiya cut in. "Were your numbers greater at the start of the war?"
"..."
The other side fell silent.
The truth was, the outcome of the battlefield had long been decided.
Without a single transcendent-level fighter among them, the Seireitei stood no chance against Yamamoto Genryūsai—let alone Unohana Yachiru.
Any argument on this point would only make them look like fools.
Fujimiya's gaze was steady as he delivered his final warning.