After talking about the Eleventh Division’s daily chaos and complaining about Captain Zaraki’s incomprehensible idea of “training,” the conversation fell into a brief silence.
Then, somehow, it circled back to that name.
Holding his cup, Yanagawa looked down at the clear liquid swaying within it and asked casually, his voice steady, carrying no obvious intent to pry.
“Speaking of which, Renji… when Rukia decided to accept the Kuchiki family’s arrangement, you were there with her, weren’t you?”
Renji’s hand paused just as he was about to drink.
Then, with a gulp, he downed more than half the cup before wiping his mouth and giving a vague, muffled “Yeah.” His eyes remained fixed on the grain of the wooden table.
“At the time,” Yanagawa continued, shifting his gaze from his cup to his friend’s profile, his tone still calm and matter-of-fact, “did you ever think of doing something?
Or looking back now, do you ever feel that perhaps… you should have done something to stop her from entering that world?”
Thud.
Renji set his cup back onto the table a little too heavily.
He jerked his head up, his crimson brows tightly furrowed.
The usual boldness and straightforward energy on his face had vanished.
In their place was irritation from having an old wound suddenly touched—and beneath that, a far deeper, almost overflowing tangle of emotions.
“Stop her?
With what?!” His voice rose without him realizing it, but he did not care.
Or rather, he had no room to care.
“That was the Kuchiki family!
The head of the Four Great Noble Houses!
Captain Kuchiki himself came forward.
What they offered her—safety, status, a life where she wouldn’t have to worry about starving or being attacked by Hollows, was something a guy like me, who crawled out of the mud of the Rukongai, couldn’t even dream of giving her!”
“What right did I have to stop her?
What qualifications did I have?!”
His words burst out like a volley, filled with emotion, whether aimed at Yanagawa’s question or at the powerless, frustrated version of himself from back then, even Renji likely did not know.
But after the outburst, that force quickly collapsed.
He lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously digging into the rough patterns on the side of his cup.
The noise of the tavern seemed to fade away from their little corner, leaving only the heavy silence around their table.
“Regret, huh…” Renji’s voice dropped, rough and hoarse, repeating the sharper word in Yanagawa’s question.
He tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to form his usual careless scoff, but failed.
His expression twisted into an indescribably bitter smile.
“Saying I never thought about it would be a damn lie.”
He stared into his cup, as though he could see the past reflected there.
He drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, thick with the scent of alcohol.
“I regret it… I regret why I was so weak back then.”
“At Shin’ō Academy, my grades weren’t as good as yours.
I had no talent for Kidō.
All I had was brute strength.
After graduation, I fought like hell to get stronger and joined the Eleventh Division.
I thought being able to fight would be enough.
But some things… can’t be solved just by cutting them down.”
“I even…” His voice sank lower, almost like he was talking to himself.
“I even regret whether, back in the Rukongai, I shouldn’t have dragged her around everywhere, causing trouble.
Maybe if I’d been more reliable, if I’d gotten stronger sooner, I could’ve given her… a stable place where she didn’t have to rely on someone else’s charity.”
But even as he said it, there was no conviction in his voice.
They both understood the cruelty of the Rukongai better than anyone.
So-called “stability” was an extravagant and fragile illusion in that land where the weak were devoured by the strong.
“But…” Renji suddenly took another swig of liquor.
This time, he drank too fast and choked, coughing twice.
The corners of his eyes reddened, though whether from the alcohol or something else was hard to tell.
“But what would that have changed?
What could I have said?
Was I supposed to cling to her leg and cry, ‘Don’t go’?
That would’ve made me the real bastard!”
Yanagawa listened quietly.
He did not interrupt.
He did not judge.
He merely sat there as a listener, watching his friend pour out emotions that had been suppressed for years, loosened by alcohol and by one direct question.
He understood Renji’s pain.
It did not come from a lack of care.
On the contrary, it came precisely from caring too deeply, from the terrible rift between wanting to protect someone and lacking the strength to offer them a better choice.
And from the loneliness of watching someone important walk down a path certain to create distance between them, while being powerless to walk beside her.
In the end, Renji seemed to run out of strength.
His shoulders sagged slightly, and his voice grew weary.
“So what use is regret?
It was the path she chose.
And at the time, it was the best path I could see for her.”
“All I can do now is keep getting stronger.
Strong enough that, if she ever needs help, I’ll at least have the power to do something… instead of only standing there and watching like I did back then.”
Yanagawa picked up his own cup, barely touched, and gently pushed it in front of Renji.
“You weren’t wrong, Renji,” Yanagawa finally said.
His voice was calm, yet carried a strange persuasiveness.
“And Rukia wasn’t wrong either.
In that moment, both of you made the most desperate choice you could, based on what you knew and what you were capable of.”
“Yeah… maybe.” Renji lowered his voice and drained the cup.
This time, his swallow was much steadier.
“Thanks, Yanagawa.
Talking to you sometimes really does clear my head.”
He tried to pull out another smile.
It was still a little forced.
Yanagawa smiled faintly and did not continue the heavy topic.
He knew some knots needed time, and needed the person themselves to untangle them.
All he could do was offer a listening ear and a little calm analysis from the perspective of an outsider.
“Boss, another flask!” Renji shouted toward the counter, his voice recovering some of its usual energy.
Even so, the complicated shadow deep in his eyes had not completely faded.
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