Chapter Text
Hasebe counted the rooms again, restarting his path from the eastern wing.
One, two...
Four days ago, the citadel received a new missive. Hasebe recalled how the Saniwa had closed their eyes and smiled. Smiled in the way that made his heart soar, the pride of serving his current master reflected in the smile he'd shown in return.
"How curious," the Saniwa finally said. "I pray to the gods that their emissary finds our citadel satisfactory."
Hasebe watched them dismiss the hologram with a wave of their sleeved hand. How admirable his master was, always greeting unexpected situations with the grace of a true leader. Of course, there was no need for the Saniwa to trouble themselves with prayer or incense burning to ensure the success of the citadel investigation—for Hasebe's current form of flesh and blood was already a divine manifestation of the single god smiling before him.
There was no question that Hasebe would carry out his god's will without fail.
Forty-nine, fifty...
Hasebe blew through the interior set of rooms, the wind left in his wake making the shoji rattle faintly. With a clipboard and pen in hand, he marked off every room that he found satisfactory: clean tatami, futons properly stowed, candy strewn about—
"Clean that up at once!" He snapped, leveling a glare at the culprits.
Houchou and Hotarumaru looked up at Hasebe from the floor, cheeks puffed. "Hasebe, you said this room was fine twenty minutes ago," whined Houchou, still in the process of unfurling another wrapper. "This candy's going to melt if we don't eat it soon!"
Hasebe jabbed his pen at the pair with an accusatory glare. "Kuronosuke is due to be here any moment! I won't have you two be the reason we fail the inspection!"
Houchou and Hotarumaru exchanged confused glances. Hasebe looked up as Ichigo walked over from the other side of the room, placing a gentle hand on each of their heads. "Come on, you two can eat this candy later. We don't want the Master to look bad in front of the inspector, right?"
"Okay..." They mumbled in unison and swept their precious sweets away into a bag. Satisfied, Hasebe scratched another check mark onto his board and briskly set off for the next set of rooms.
"I don't get it," Hotarumaru said, looking down the hall. "I didn't think it was that serious."
"You don't know?" Houchou whispered, leaning closer. "I heard Hasebe’s actually not the f—”
“That’s enough, Houchou.”
Cowed by Ichigo’s stern look, Houchou quieted. Ichigo sighed, his mind inadvertently picturing the locked warehouse at the edge of the citadel grounds.
The Saniwa can’t keep this a secret forever.
Seventy-two, seventy-three...
Hasebe lowered his head to the floor. "I have humbly arrived as you requested, Master."
For a long while, there was only silence.
His breathing quickened. Had he done something wrong? Hasebe had committed himself fully to ensuring the citadel’s inspection would be a success. Was it that damned Houchou and his candy? Nihongo spilling his sake all over the floor when he wasn’t looking, just to spite him? Hasebe wracked his brain for a potential answer, not once daring to look up before his master acknowledged him.
A quiet hum reached his ears. Finally, Hasebe lifted his head to look at the Saniwa, their expression shrouded behind their sleeve.
"The time government's evaluation of our citadel is less than satisfactory," they said, never once looking away from the hologram in front of them.
Hasebe gasped quietly as his blood ran cold. "Master. The fault is all mine," he said quickly, pressing his forehead to the cool tatami.
"It seems that mere prayer will not suffice." Hasebe heard a rustle of silk as the saniwa raised their hand.
Eighty-seven.
The hairs on Hasebe’s neck stood on end as he heard the door slide open. He leapt onto his feet, his face contorted in disbelief and anger as he confronted the Saniwa. “No! I was supposed to be the last one, the one who could satisfy your every wish! Where have I erred, Master?" His voice shook. "Please, tell me! I beg of you!”
No response. Not even a pitiful look in his direction.
From behind him, an uchigatana gleamed as it emerged from its rayskin sheath, its newly arrived owner slashing into the darkness without a second thought.
He stole out in the middle of the night, a sealed box tucked under his arm. The contents rattled as he stopped in front of a warehouse, unlatching the lock with an iron-wrought key and opening the door. The box was placed on a shelf covered in dust. He took out a pen, writing a number onto the lid before sealing the warehouse closed once more.
Eighty-eight.