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After Rukia's sentence was pronounced, the Captain of the Second Division, Suì-Fēng, personally led a squad of Onmitsukidō operatives to escort her from the First Division's prison. They transferred her to the Shūshōin—the Palace of Penitence—and confined her deep within its Fourth Level.
The Palace of Penitence stood at the very heart of Seireitei, elevated high on the southern rise beyond the Gotei 13 barracks. Constructed entirely of murderous stone, it was a towering white fortress where only felons of the gravest order were held. Within its depths, the deep prisons were numbered tier by tier, and Rukia had been placed in the fourth—high, forbidding cells accessible by a narrow stairway, with a rope bridge leading across to the Sōkyoku Hill where executions were carried out.
In the Thirteenth Division barracks, unease spread like fire.
"No way. The Sōkyoku? That's a punishment only reserved for the worst criminals in Soul Society."
"Even if Rukia violated the rules, does she truly deserve execution by Sōkyoku?"
The chatter of the division members betrayed disbelief and growing dread.
"Enough. Do not speak of this further—return to your duties," Jūshirō Ukitake's voice interrupted, gentle but firm, though weakened by a fit of coughing as he entered.
"Captain Ukitake." The squad members bowed, silenced, and quietly dispersed.
"Captain… is it true? Will Rukia really face the Sōkyoku?" asked Kotetsu Kiyone, petite and bright-eyed, her dark-blond hair tied neatly, white gloves at her hands trembling faintly. The younger sister of Vice-Captain Kotetsu Isane, she served as Third Seat of the Thirteenth Division.
"…Yes." Jūshirō's answer was soft, heavy.
Kiyone's shoulders sank, her voice breaking as she whispered, "How could it come to this…"
Another cough wracked Ukitake, leaving his complexion pale, drained of color.
"Captain, please rest. Leave the division's affairs to me and Kiyone," said Sentarō Kotsubaki respectfully. Broad-shouldered, with short black hair, a thin white headband, and a neatly trimmed goatee, Sentarō—also Third Seat of the Thirteenth—had long shared the burden of responsibility with Kiyone, since their captain's health seldom allowed him to oversee the division directly.
"I'll trouble you then, Sentarō, Kiyone," Jūshirō said, mustering a smile before turning toward his chambers. The two seated officers followed him silently, weighed down by unspoken grief.
Elsewhere, in the Sixth Division, Renji Abarai's expression twisted in shock as news reached him. "The Sōkyoku? Impossible… How could Rukia be sentenced to death?" His voice trembled, disbelief clawing at him. Without a second thought, he abandoned his patrol squad and ran toward the Sixth Division barracks.
By the time he arrived, he found his captain, Kuchiki Byakuya, alone. The white haori of the Sixth Division and the starched kenseikan that adorned his head and neck lay discarded nearby. In the courtyard's silence, Byakuya wielded a wooden practice sword, each swing precise, expression impassive. The sharp whistle of the blade cut through the air again and again as sweat rolled down his pale forehead, spattering onto the ground, yet his eyes betrayed nothing.
"Captain Kuchiki… Rukia, she…" Renji forced himself to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
Byakuya's indifferent gaze swept over him, and he said in an even tone, "I already know. This is the punishment Rukia must bear."
"But Captain, even if she broke the law, Sōkyoku is too much!" Renji shouted, his frustration boiling over.
"Abarai. This is the decree of Central 46," Byakuya answered coldly. "She violated Soul Society's laws. She must accept judgment. If you have nothing else, return to your duties."
Renji's fists trembled, his teeth gritted. He saw that Byakuya had thrown himself into relentless practice—perhaps to drown thought, perhaps to numb the impulse to act. But the unyielding mask on his captain's face crushed all hope of persuasion.
"…Understood, Captain Kuchiki." Renji lowered his head. His voice was hollow as he turned and walked away, his heart heavier than ever.
In the Seventh Division, Shiraha sat cross-legged upon a futon, his thoughts elsewhere.
"If I gain my Zanpakutō… what form will its power take?" he murmured with quiet anticipation. The ability of a Zanpakutō reflected its wielder's soul—shaped by their nature, spirit, and conviction. He longed to know what his would reveal.
As for Rukia's sentence, his emotions scarcely stirred. He knew Sōkyoku would never be carried out. Even if Kurosaki Ichigo failed to appear, Captains Kyōraku and Ukitake would intervene, and if all else failed, he himself would act.
At that moment, Kira Izuru and Hinamori Momo burst into the room, their faces pale with dread.
"Captain Shiraha, is it true? Rukia is to be executed by Sōkyoku?" Kira demanded.
"Yes. You should already know this," Shiraha answered lightly.
"Captain, there must be a way to save her. There has to be!" Hinamori's voice trembled, her eyes brimming with desperation. Throughout Soul Society's history, none sentenced to the Sōkyoku had survived. Follow current novels on novel⚑fire.net
"Not yet," Shiraha said calmly. "But I will find a way. For now, both of you return to your duties."
"...Yes, Captain." The two exchanged a discouraged glance before bowing and leaving in silence.
The room grew quiet again. Then Shiraha's voice broke it. "Captain Ichimaru. You can come out now."
The reason he had spoken so curtly to Kira and Momo was because he had sensed another presence, hidden nearby. His Observation Haki had already marked Ichimaru Gin lurking in the shadows.
"My, my. Captain Shiraha's perception is as sharp as they say," Gin drawled as he stepped out of the darkness, that perpetual smile on his face.
Though he had concealed his reiatsu to its thinnest thread, and wore no black cloak of suppression, Shiraha had still detected him with ease.
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