"I just want you all to understand one thing."
"What you couldn't obtain on the battlefield, you won't obtain at this table either."
"The Genryū's defeat came at the hands of Ichibē Hyōsube—and the Soul King's Palace."
"But..."
"What the hell are the Seireitei?"
His brutally honest words were like ice water dumped over the nobles' heads, finally bringing a sliver of clarity to their minds.
The elderly Kyōraku Takuya bowed his head, grief in his heart.
Kuchiki Ginrei wanted to keep arguing, but under Fujimiya's calm gaze, he suddenly felt as though it would only be a waste of time.
Ichibē Hyōsube, meanwhile, studied the sharp-tongued young man with interest. Though he recognized the subtle flattery in Fujimiya's words, the blunt truth at their core was undeniable.
The balance of power between the Seireitei and the Genryū—
No longer existed.
And that power wasn't just military. It extended to governance and execution.
At this point, Ichibē had to step in and set the terms—otherwise, the negotiations would go nowhere.
The monk spoke lazily.
"The Genryū's proposal will serve as the foundation. The Seireitei may propose modifications to up to twenty percent of its contents."
"I-Ichibē-sama?!"
"You can't be serious! This would destroy all precedent!"
"If we agree to this, what face will the Seireitei have left?!"
Outcries and pleas erupted from the nobles, who had ruled with unchecked arrogance for centuries. How could they possibly accept such one-sided terms?
But there was someone far more ruthless than them.
"Then die."
Ichibē didn't hesitate, his voice cold.
"If no agreement is reached within a week, this monk will leave."
If he had truly cared about their survival, he could have stopped the war long ago.
"..."
In an instant, the nobles fell silent.
You—
You're not on our side?!
Let's be honest.
The only reason the Seireitei's battered remnants still had any leverage was Ichibē's overwhelming strength.
If he left...
The thought forced them to abandon all delusions.
Reason returned.
They finally understood their place.
The negotiations, at last, returned to proper form.
Still, with Ichibē leaving the nobles at least a shred of dignity—that twenty percent—the debates that followed were fierce.
Once the foundational issues were settled, both sides argued clause by clause, fighting tooth and nail to maximize their interests. The discussions dragged on for days without rest.
Only when the final term was settled did the Seireitei delegation slink away from the table, defeated.
Just as Fujimiya had said from the beginning—
What they couldn't win on the battlefield, they couldn't win at the negotiating table.
In the end, the Seireitei's sole victory was preserving the hereditary status of the Five Great Noble Classes.
All other nobles were sacrificed, folded into the new "warrior class" alongside the Genryū.
That night, many disgraced elders chose to end their lives.
But no one cared.
...
"I see."
In a modest residence, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni sat at a low table, draped in his haori, listening as Chōjirō Sasakibe detailed the final day's results.
When the report concluded, he let out a long breath, a faint smile crossing his face.
"It seems everything went as Makoto planned."
"I underestimated Ichibē's magnanimity these past few days."
Yamamoto had assumed Ichibē would at least speak up for the Seireitei nobles.
But once Fujimiya presented his far more meticulous and effective proposal, the monk had abandoned the nobles without hesitation—these fallen elites who couldn't even uphold their own traditions.
At the same time, Yamamoto couldn't help but admire Fujimiya's courage and intellect.
To make such harsh demands in front of Ichibē, without knowing how he would react—that took real nerve.
Who would dare gamble on whether the monk would turn on them—
Or simply exterminate them all?
"Makoto is an exceptional young man," Sasakibe agreed.
He had watched the boy grow from mastering the basics of swordsmanship to standing where he was now.
Yamamoto added, "I granted him the same half-coat haori as yours. Don't take it to heart."
"He needed a suitable rank."
Sasakibe immediately knelt, his voice firm. "Captain-Commander, do not insult me."
"...My apologies."
The old man chuckled before turning his attention back to the finalized terms of the agreement. He exhaled slowly.
"Tomorrow is the day we sign the final accord."
"Yes."
Yamamoto gazed out the window, then waved a hand dismissively. "Leave me."
"Understood."
Like a shadow, Sasakibe vanished into the night.
Yamamoto remained seated, his brush hovering over the paper, a single drop of ink staining the page in a dark blot.
He wasn't one for diaries, though he occasionally painted.
In moments of strong emotion, he might even write a few words.
But some thoughts were not meant for others to see.
Yamamoto sat in silence, reflecting on the path that had led him here—founding the Genryū, teaching for centuries, nurturing talent, reclaiming the Rukongai...
In what felt like a blink, a thousand years had passed.
And after all the sacrifices and battles, this was the result.
After his fight with Ichibē Hyōsube, only he could feel it—
The "momentum" that had once filled his chest, the unstoppable force that drove him forward, was fading.
He was no longer the invincible Yamamoto Shigekuni.
Instead, after this defeat, he would spend the rest of his life serving as—
Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13.
Yamamoto's brush moved, the characters flowing like soaring phoenixes.
[A Guard Dog]
The old man stared at the words, feeling something was missing.
After a moment, he added two smaller characters beneath.
[The Lead Dog]
Yamamoto chuckled softly, his eyes downcast, his expression unreadable.
His ideals, his ambitions, his life—
All stopped here.
Recalling the moment Ichibē had spared him at the end of their battle, Yamamoto smiled mockingly and shook his head.
"Might as well..."
"Consider me already dead."
As he spoke, the words on the paper ignited, burning to ash.
Everyone believed the title of "Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13" was the greatest honor of Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni's life—the culmination of his achievements.
But no one knew.
From that day on, Yamamoto never again spoke the words "Make the nobles treat the commoners as human."
The day the peace accord was signed—
He considered it one of the greatest shames of his life.