He feels the first reverberation of power, and it surprises him.

He shouldn't be able to feel it. Not after all the strings he had pulled to secure the lowest level of the prison - no one else but him and those two should know of what is transpiring this afternoon.

Two minutes later, Shinji's reiatsu appears in front of his office, and Jyuushirou's signature is not far behind.

One minute later, the door to his office slams open with an angry crash. Nanao, oh lovely unknowing Nanao is staring aghast at the two captains that have all but invaded the First Division.

"What. Have. You. Done," Jyuushiro's tone is low, accusative, and colder than he ever remembers it being. He can see the Captain of the Thirteenth Division shaking in what is most definitely not illness, but pure, white hot rage as the two of them loom over his desk.

Shinji's mouth closes with a snap, no doubt about to yell something, but really, there is nothing scarier than a truly enraged Jyuushiro - except her, maybe.

His own stare hardens slightly, whether he is being defensive towards them or himself he doesn't know.

His voice is positively chilling to his own ears, a cold-hearted reflection of a cold-hearted man, he supposes.

"Nothing that wasn't going to happen."

Jyuushiro's reiatsu flares. It hasn't flared in anger since the last time someone died when they were back in the Academy. He knows that Jyuushiro is still not over that incident - his kind-hearted friend never quite forgave that instructor for that mistake.

He knows Jyuushiro might just never forgive him for this one.

Except that this is not a mistake.

Shinji cuts in, "The fuck this was going to happen. You made it happen. It wouldn't have happened otherwise." Just as Jyuushiro is a shelter for fledglings, a protector of baby birds and those that cannot stand up for themselves, Shinji was, and maybe still is, a defender of justice and what is fundamentally right.

But Shinji is like him. He can see the light of understanding in Shinji's eyes, can see that Shinji has realized the core grain of logic, that Shinji is squashing and quashing and burying it and pretending and wanting it to not be correct.

He holds Shinji's gaze. The Captain of the Fifth Division growls and looks away. It sounds like disgust to everyone who doesn't know him, but Shunsui knows that he's won that one.

Jyuushiro is so calm in anger that it almost frightens him. But if there was ever a reason why he is still alive, why he is who he is, and why he is now the Captain Commander of the Gotei Thirteen, it is because Kyouraku Shunsui is incredibly adept at separating work from play, logic from emotions - not that he does not have them at all, but that he knows when they have to be pushed aside.

"Shunsui," Jyuushiro knows exactly which buttons to push - it comes with centuries of friendship - and he pulls no punches. This man plays people like the accordion. As kind and understanding as he can be, it is also a skill that grants him deep, intuitive insight into the psyche, and though he rarely uses it, when he does, it is usually to great, disastrous effect.

"No," He cuts Jyuushiro off before he can get to what hurts, "This had to be done."

It is as much of a concession as Shunsui will give, and although the light of understanding does not, for one moment, flicker over Jyuushiro's face, and he knows that Jyuushiro does not accept the reasoning, he also knows that Jyuushiro understands that this is the end. He will not budge one inch from this stand, and they will have to disagree.

He knows that Jyuushiro sees it. Sees it, but ignores it, pretends it doesn't exist, refuses to believe that this could be true.

But he knows.

This had to be done to save this world.

This had to be done to save them all.

This had to be done to save him.

This had to be done to save her.

They go to wait outside the doors.

Isane and Yachiru are already there, two figures sitting in quiet, uncomfortable, unwilling solidarity. Nanao stands a non-insignificant distance behind the three of them, unwilling to be a part of the tension bubbling just under the surface. She might not have known what this was all about when the other two had barged into his office, but he is sure that she knows now.

Isane looks crushed, and Yachiru's quiet stare is so hard and unnervingly calm that he almost feels the urge to break eye contact. She turns away first, though, a clear dismissal that promises worlds of pain.

He feels it.

Feels it as that impossibly massive reiatsu rises and rises and approaches them. Behind him, he can feel Nanao making preparations, cleaning, disinfecting an area, supercharging it with spirit particles, to maintain stasis and begin treatment. He knows that is will be useless. Neither of the two will pull their punches - killers kill, not wound.

Isane joins her though, and he watches Jyuushiro watch Yachiru and ignore him. He watches the battle rage on inside Jyuushiro, watches it play over his face and watches the disgusted, unwilling understanding settle down in a mantle of resignation.

Shinji, on the other hand, is watching him, and when the Captain of the Fifth Division notices that he has been found out, he glares at Shunsui, though the glare softens after a few moments.

It almost startles him to realize that the understanding and the empathy hurts more than Jyuushiro's anger.

In that one moment, it strikes him, what he has done - not that he hadn't realized the implications, not that he hadn't thought about them, not that he hadn't spent hours and days wrestling with himself over this.

He feels the distinct urge to either throw up or cry or hurt himself, and he doesn't know which to do, so he just stands there and lets it wash over him.

Or he would let it wash over him, but no.

He cannot do this. He has no right to do this. He no longer has any right to wallow in self-pity - he discarded that the moment he allowed this to happen.

He needs to see this through. It is his duty to see this through.

The doors practically vaporize, his eyes meet those of the true second Kenpachi, and he knows.

It is done.

Jyuushiro may never forgive him.

He may never forgive himself.