Continued from: Truth From Answers
Juushiro, arms full of books and paper, a bottle of ink precariously on top, pushed a side door open with his elbow. He sighed, grateful that it was unlocked and pushed past on the way to his rooms. A wave of dust rose from the pile as he set them down on the window table. The captain retrieved the slip of paper he had received from the archive keepers from within one volume and set it on top, the better not to misplace it when he needed to return the books.
He would prefer not to receive another lecture on forgetting said paperwork later. He had enough on his mind.
Juushiro rubbed his right shoulder. It would also be easier if the most pertinent books he needed for his search were allowed to be removed from the archives, yet he understood the reason for the rule. They were too old, too fragile. Most hadn't even been put into the electronic system.
Juushiro frowned. The delicate nature of those books begged the question each time he pondered it. Aizen had spent many a night in the archives as a lieutenant. Had he made his way that deep into its collection? If he had, why didn't he destroy them afterwards?
What was his ultimate goal?
Juushiro put a hand to his forehead. That line of thought yielded little answers, only more painful headaches.
He needed a cup of tea to sort himself out. He couldn't concentrate like this, and - the message left on his breakfast table formed in his mind - if he was correct, he had little time to not be focused.
He let his hand rest on the top volume of his stack, Bankais and their Evolution with their Masters, for a moment longer before leaving the room, halted once more by dry coughs.
Continued in: Peace Broken
