The Mizukage's office was perched like a silent fortress above the mist-drenched cliffs of Kirigakure. The scent of wet stone and saltwater filled the air.
Kenpachi walked in with Nozarashi slung across his back, the floorboards groaning beneath his steps like even the wood knew what he was.
Gengetsu Hōzuki—calm, precise, his form sharp as his suit—stood at the window, his eyes on the waves beyond.
"You called?" Kenpachi asked, his voice already bored.
Gengetsu turned slowly, arms behind his back, his expression unreadable. "I did."
The silence hung for a moment.
Then: "I have a mission. One with high stakes, high risk, and very little room for error. Normally, it would be given to a senior Jonin."
Kenpachi's eye gleamed. "So why me?"
Gengetsu chuckled. "Because you don't make errors. You make corpses."
He stepped forward and placed a sealed scroll on the table. "There's a rebel splinter cell—former Mist operatives, led by a defector with experience in advanced chakra suppression and environmental genjutsu. They've taken over a fortified island outside our waters. The mission is assassination and reclamation."
Kenpachi didn't even blink. "When do I leave?"
Gengetsu raised a brow. "You should know—completing this will qualify you for Jonin promotion. At thirteen. That's… unorthodox."
Kenpachi cracked a small, crooked smile. "Isn't everything about me unorthodox?"
"…True."
He turned to leave—but paused at the door.
"…Gengetsu."
The Mizukage looked back.
Kenpachi's hand drifted to the hilt of Nozarashi, not to draw it—but almost like calming it.
"Do you know anything about blade spirits? Or chakra weapons that… change?"
Gengetsu tilted his head. That… caught his interest.
"There are rumors," he said slowly. "Some old swordsmiths believed that if a weapon was bathed in enough chakra and blood, it could… imprint. Develop resonance. Sometimes even sentience."
Kenpachi frowned. "That really a thing?"
"Possibly. Chakra metals—especially those from meteorite cores or deep-sea veins—are naturally responsive. The more battle, the more chakra, the more potential for something beyond steel. Legends speak of swords that whisper in dreams, or move before the wielder does."
Kenpachi's fingers twitched. "It's not whispering anymore. It's breathing."
Gengetsu stared at him for a long moment.
"…Then I suggest you listen. But not too closely. Some blades don't whisper guidance. They whisper hunger."
Kenpachi laughed as he walked out, the mist curling around his boots like it wanted to follow.
"I'm counting on it."