As the door to the office creaked open, Mohit stepped inside with practiced calm. The scent of ink, smoke, and faint perfume lingered in the room. The air was warm—and heavier than most Squad offices.
There, lounging behind the desk, was Captain Ayame Tokinaga.
Her kimono was half-loose, casually draped over her shoulders, revealing her collarbone and the bold tattoo strip trailing from her right shoulder down her arm. One leg was propped brazenly on the table, the other crossed beneath it. Her golden eyes flicked toward Mohit, amused and appraising.
"Well, well," she said, voice rich and teasing. "So you're the blind fucker Shunsui gifted me as a symbol of trust. Gotta say—you're hot for a guy who can't see."
Mohit remained still, composed, the cloth tied around his eyes untouched. "With all due respect, Captain… being blind doesn't make me weak. And if you're measuring strength by looks, I'd say your judgment might be… flawed.
Ayame smirked, intrigued. "Cocky. I like that. But don't forget, brat—this is my squad now. You might've been hand-delivered by a man I respect, but that doesn't mean I won't break you if I have to."
"I was transferred to your command," Mohit said evenly, "but my loyalty still belongs to Captain Shunsui. I'll carry out my duties here—but don't expect me to wag my tail like a good little dog."
There was a pause—sharp and electric.Then, without warning, Ayame's arm flicked.A silver throwing knife sliced through the air like lightning.
But before it reached its mark, two fingers snapped up, catching the blade in perfect stillness just inches from Mohit's throat.
Ayame's eyes gleamed with interest."Well," she said, rising from her chair, folding her arms beneath her chest, "guess Shunsui wasn't exaggerating. You've got skills."
Mohit lowered the blade slowly, held it out to her. "And you've got a temper."
Ayame walked toward him, heels clicking softly on the wooden floor. She took the knife from his hand, their fingers barely brushing.You'll do fine here," she said with a half-smile, voice dropping to something low and sly. "Just don't die too fast, blind boy."
Mohit turned slightly, already sensing her grin behind him.
"Not planning on it, Captain."
Hey Mohit, you're assisting me tonight, alright? Follow me," said Captain Ayame, waving him over with her usual confidence, her voice casual but commanding. Mohit simply nodded, his expression unreadable beneath the black cloth tied around his eyes. His senses, however, were wide awake.
As the days passed and the date for the bill's reintroduction approached, the tension within the Seireitei began to shift—thicker, colder. Whispers moved faster than paperwork. Some squads grew restless, others watched in silence.
Then came the night. moonless sky loomed above Squad 3's barracks, veiled in unnatural stillness.
Within one of the private training halls, Mohit was alone—training in the dark like always, his breath calm, the echo of his wooden sandals tapping softly against stone. That's when he felt it—several foreign spiritual pressures slithering across the base. They were faint, masked, but not enough to deceive him.
Without hesitation, Mohit's voice dropped into a whisper:"
Honor, Arachne Blade in his hand shimmered, shifting shape as tiny holes bloomed along its surface. From each one, sleek black spiders poured out—eighty-five in total, spreading like ink across parchment.He spoke softly again, issuing a command.In response, spiders scurried along ceilings, slid under floorboards, and darted behind walls—weaving near-invisible silk, thread by thread, throughout the entire base.Then he sent eight of them toward Captain Ayame's quarters, instructing them to weave razor-threaded traps in the shadows of her room, just in case.With another breath, Mohit linked his vision to all ninety-three spiders. At once, the world flooded into his mind—ninety-three eyes watching everything.From above, he saw the assassins move like shadows—swift, disciplined, and deadly. They were nobles, no doubt, well-trained. Their silent blades gleamed in the dark.But none of them noticed the silk.Mohit waited. Then spoke."Now."The silk reacted instantly—threads hardening like steel and then snapping taut. It was over in a flash of scarlet and screaming.
Blood sprayed across walls as assassins were sliced apart mid-step, their limbs torn cleanly by the web's sudden violence. Others were caught and crushed, their bodies suspended like grotesque ornaments across the barracks.
Agonized howls shattered the silence.
Squad 3 members stormed out of their rooms—only to freeze at the sight.
Blood was everywhere.
The white stone walls were painted in splatters of red. Bits of torn flesh hung from threads that shimmered in the moonlight. The scent of death was suffocating.
And in the middle of it all stood Mohit, calm, sword in hand, spiders silently crawling back to him.
In her quarters, Captain Ayame had sensed everything—the pressure spikes, the way her traps activated… and how none of the assassins made it through.
She leaned back with a smirk, brushing a lock of hair from her face
"…So that's what you're capable of," she whispered.
"Not bad, blind fucker. Not bad at all."
Screams—agonized, raw, and brief—ripped through the still night like blades. One by one, doors flung open across the Squad 3 barracks as seated officers and unseated members spilled into the halls, drawn by the sound.
But what greeted them was not a battlefield.It was a slaughterhouse.Blood painted the white stone walls in violent strokes. Severed limbs dangled grotesquely from strands of glistening, silken thread, some twitching slightly before going still. Eyes widened. Breaths hitched.Shinji Hirako, now 4th seat, stood frozen in his tracks as his gaze swept the scene. His voice, low and shaking, barely escaped his throat:"…What in the world happened here…"Then his eyes rose—to the rooftop.There, shrouded in moonlight and shadows, stood Mohit.He didn't move. Not a word. Just stood there, his form eerily still, his blindfolded face turned downward, observing the aftermath in silence.Shinji exhaled. Slowly. As realization settled in his chest like cold iron, he whispered:"…He saw everything."Just beside him, a young, newly recruited squad member, no older than twenty, stared at the mangled remains. Her knees buckled.A moment later, she fell to the ground, trembling violently.And then, with a choked sob, she puked, her hands covering her mouth too late to stop it. The horror had overwhelmed her.No one moved to scold her.No one could move at all Because every single person standing there understood a single, terrifying truth:This was not the work of a group.This was one man's trap.And it had worked flawlessly.