Kyoraku woke up today feeling fresh and energetic.
In high spirits, even.
And why not?
He had dreamt of his beautiful Zanpakuto.
She was performing for him on stage, an elegant and refined figure.
It was just a pity that he still hadn’t heard her voice.
And, being a good friend, Shunsui decided to share this important news with his roommate, me, right after waking up.
“Good morning, my friend.
Guess what I dreamt about today?” As I’ve said before, it’s rare to catch him this lively in the morning.
“And this time, the shadows didn’t even snatch me up.
Everything went off with dignity and grace.
I, on the other hand, was in rough shape.
Beaten up, exhausted…
and unable to fall back asleep.
So I just lay there meditating, trying to regain my strength.
I would have gladly opened my eyes, but first I had to pry apart my crusted lashes.
Had I actually shed tears in my sleep?
It wouldn’t surprise me, smashing through a Tower with my own body had been incredibly painful.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I didn’t think our celebration yesterday would take such a toll on you.
You look like you spent the whole night plowing a field…
playing the part of the plow.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I said, managing to sit up while rubbing my eyes.
The blanket, sliding off me as I moved, revealed the sword that had been hidden beneath it.
“What’s happened this time?”
“That can wait, you finally transformed your sword!” he exclaimed.
“I suppose the booze had nothing to do with it.
You were dreaming about your Zanpakuto!”
I glanced around with feigned surprise, my gaze landing on the sword in question.
Right…
I had decided to reveal it to the world and, after a fierce battle, had even heard its true name.
To my eye, it looked exactly the same as before, nothing had changed.
Still, I had to play the part, acting as if I were seeing it for the first time myself.
So, I put on a look of stunned amazement as I ran my fingers over the “transformed” Zanpakuto.
“Come on, Kaoru,” Kyoraku pressed.
“It’s your turn to share the news.
What’s it like?
I’m waiting for details.”
Drowsy and absent-minded, I made a fatal mistake.
I started making things up on the fly instead of just brushing it off with a couple of neutral remarks.
And as it turned out, Kyoraku was hunting for my weaknesses with the efficiency of a peregrine falcon.
I really shouldn’t have teased him about Katen.
You see, people have a curious trait: when recalling something, they tend to glance toward the upper-left corner.
It’s not exactly a scientifically proven fact about human physiology.
One shouldn’t expect eye movements to always perfectly mirror the workings of the mind, but the fact remains: I’ve often observed this in both myself and others.
So, here’s the point I’m getting at.
When a person is fabricating a story, their eyes reflexively dart to the upper right.
That is exactly what I did.
And judging by the way Shunsui’s face broke into a smirk, he was familiar with that theory too.
Well, he was a noble, after all.
The future clan head.
It’s no surprise he’d been taught to spot such things.
Oh, never mind.
Enough rationalizing my own mistakes by blaming someone else’s over-competence.
Hadn’t it already been confirmed in my world that this was just pseudoscientific nonsense?
Most likely, my tired face had simply betrayed too clearly that I was frantically trying to make something up.
I kicked myself for not thinking to say right then and there that the Zanpakuto spirit was male, or that the figure had been indistinct.
“So…
Did it happen that your Zanpakuto also turned out to be a woman too?” Kyoraku looked as pleased as a well-fed cat.
“Am I right?
So it turns out I’m not the only womanizer, Kaoru-kun.
We’re not so different after all.”
“Yes, my Zanpakuto spirit was female too,” I replied curtly, offering no further details.
It wasn’t exactly something worth hiding, I just wanted to keep Shunsui in the dark a little longer.
That way, I wouldn’t have to answer for the teasing remarks I’d made earlier.
“Is that all?
Details, I need details…” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows playfully.
“Well, how am I supposed to describe her?
I’m just a low-born country bumpkin, never learned the art of eloquent speech,” I lamented, shaking my head.
“If I recall correctly…
someone promised me an art set yesterday.
Perhaps I’ll be able to capture her likeness on paper once I finish the portrait of your Zanpakuto.
But for now, without the proper tools, I’m clumsy and tongue-tied.”
“Hmm, I see what you’re up to…” he narrowed his eyes.
“But surely you didn’t think I’d go back on my word?
The Kyoraku clan always keeps its promises.”
He sprang up briskly and headed off somewhere.
“I’ll be right back.
In the meantime, have some breakfast and clean yourself up.
You’re a sorry sight,” he snorted.
“And that’s coming from a perpetually unshaven, disheveled mess?” I grumbled after him.
He chuckled in response and walked away.
It looked like he was off to buy art supplies.
*Sigh*…
I think I’m digging myself into an even deeper hole.
I strapped the sword to my waist—exactly where it belonged.
Words couldn’t express how much I’d missed its presence.
Kokū Banshō, checking the connection.
“We hear you, Master,” replied Golden—now Banshō.
“Loud and clear, Hero,” chimed in Cobalt—now Kokū.
Excellent.
I was just making sure yesterday’s adventure in my inner world hadn’t been a dream.
The name itself didn’t mean much to me yet, but it was the first, crucial step toward Shikai.
For now, I could only flaunt my potential to my superiors, proving that I was a promising prospect for future growth.
And now, time to wash up and get some breakfast.
…
I arrived at the cafeteria much later than usual, and most of the familiar faces had already left.
Of those remaining, only Chikane was there, listlessly poking at the contents of her bowl with her chopsticks.
To be honest, ever since she was discharged from the infirmary, she had been acting gloomy and out of sorts.
It was strange, really.
After all, she had performed well during the practical exercise.
She’d protected her team and demonstrated her exceptional talents.
As for getting slightly injured?
That was no big deal; nobody held it against her.
The only ones who arguably outperformed her were us and that redhead from the Suzunami clan, Seigen, who had single-handedly covered the retreat of several groups.
That came as no surprise, of course.
He was ranked among the top five students in the First Class.
“Hey, Shunpo genius,” I said, recalling the nickname that had stuck to her after our training sessions.
Say what you will, but she really had helped me master that technique.
“Good morning…” she mumbled.
“Menos-Slayer.”
“Oh, I hope that’s not an official nickname,” I said with a shrug, which amused her a little.
You’ve been looking as gloomy as a storm cloud for days now.”
“What does it matter to you?” she replied indifferently, continuing to lazily pick small bits out of her miso soup.
“Well, let’s be honest, who else is going to ask you?” I snorted, though I tried not to push it too far.
“I’m your only more-or-less regular conversation partner and training buddy, which in itself earns me the title of honorary friend.
And you can share a problem with a friend.
Come on, tell me.”
“It’s not a problem,” she shook her head.
“If I say it out loud, it’ll sound stupid… Really stupid.”
“I literally live with Shunsui,” I chuckled.
“I developed a tolerance for the most idiotic, unexpected, and inappropriate things a long time ago.”
She sighed and grimaced, forcing herself to speak.
“Scars,” the young woman said reluctantly.
“Hollow’ Reiatsu lingered in the wounds for too long, and now I have three ugly, jagged scars on my back.
And I won’t be able to afford the removal procedure in the Fourth Division for another couple of decades.
At best.”
I wanted to say something like “Is that all?”, but I didn’t.
For one thing, she was genuinely worried about it.
And for another, she’s a girl.
Naturally, she sees it differently.
“My mom said it’s best to get used to it early on.
There’s no such thing as a female Shinigami without scars, unless she’s never fought a battle in her life.
So, I know how stupid that sounds.
You don’t have to remind me,” she finished, sounding annoyed with herself.
“Hey, it’s not stupid.
I’ve got a katana scar running right across my back.
A little ‘gift’ from Zaraki,” I said, nodding understandingly.
“And whenever the others take off their uniform tops during training, I prefer to keep mine on.”
That’s true.
But that’s not the reason.
I simply didn’t have that habit in my past life, back when I couldn’t exactly boast about having muscles.
And it’s unlikely I’ll develop it in this one.
“…Ah,” she exhaled.
“But have you heard what the instructors say about my Kido skills?
A genius, a phenomenon.
If I learn the right Kaido, I promise to heal them for you for free.” I wasn’t lying.
With the Grimoire, nothing is impossible for me when it comes to learning magic.
Alas, no quest notification popped up to remind me of the promise.
But, of course, I’ll fulfill it anyway.
It’s no trouble for me, and helping a friend is worth it.
She really is a good girl.
Though…
I wouldn’t date her.
For one thing, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of Komamura’s future lieutenant being born.
And for another, I wouldn’t want a son named “Tetsuzaemon,” either.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
I may not have managed to help Chikane right here and now, but I did manage to dispel her gloomy thoughts a little.
What a good friend and person I am.
…
Kyoraku had actually done it…
A deal was a deal, so I set about drawing his Katen.
At first, things didn’t go smoothly.
The brush kept slipping, and the paper seemed to tear and bunch up hostilely under my strokes.
But once my hands grew accustomed to the new tools, it became easier.
It’s funny.
Which of the people I’d met in the past had given me this skill?
Kaji, perhaps?
Or one of the Shinigami who died after the breakthrough in the 40th District?
To be honest, all those slain wretches had long since blurred into a single, indistinguishable face in my memory.
“Ever thought about showing the world your talents?
I imagine plenty of people in our class would pay handsomely for a portrait,” Shunsui said, looming over my shoulder.
“No way!
Don’t you dare, or else…” I narrowed my eyes and held the brush up to his face in a threatening gesture.
“Just wait for your drawing and forget all about this.”
“Whoa, easy there,” he said, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.
“I don’t get that reaction.
But take my word for it, this’ll make you irresistible to the ladies.”
“It seems like most of your brain is always focused on just one thing,” I complained.
The portrait was nearly finished.
I mixed a few shades of turquoise, trying to find the right tone for her eye, the detail Kyōraku wanted to emphasize.
“Pick it out yourself and stop annoying me,” I said, sliding the makeshift palette toward him.
“This one,” he decided after much deliberation and chin-scratching.
“You know, I’ve never seen a style like this before…
Almost realistic, yet so idealized and expressive.”
It’s not my fault that all the images and references in my head come from anime art.
Or maybe it is my fault, who knows?
Besides, I have no idea what she actually looks like in the real world.
Once the paint dried, I carefully handed the canvas to Kyoraku.
He studied the drawing for a long time, then decided to hang it on his wall.
Oh well.
Let him do whatever he wants with it, he could even frame it.
Maybe it’ll distract him, and he’ll forget…
“Well, now it’s your Zanpakuto’s turn,” he grinned.
“You promised.”
Of course, he wasn’t entirely serious.
I could have called off this whole charade and refused at any moment.
But to be honest, I felt like playing around with my new drawing skills.
I’d likely forget all about them by tomorrow and never revisit the idea.
But for today?
Let’s have some fun.
“Alright, alright, I’ll keep my word too.
Go sit in the corner and don’t peek,” I said, shooing him away with a casual wave of my hand.
I simply couldn’t deny myself the pleasure of seeing the look on his face when he saw the final result.
Of course, I didn’t draw Golden’s actual face.
I’d endured quite a lot just to see it for the first time myself.
Instead, I rendered her mask and the bright green eyes visible through its slits in great detail, not forgetting her long golden hair.
I even added a black shirt collar and a red tie, an outfit that was completely unusual by our standards.
Actually, at first, I’d just wanted to draw my katana, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.
The work took quite a while.
Ukitake even joined us.
He’d been looking for us to discuss the prospects of an apprenticeship under Yamamoto again, and to brag that he’d finally managed to learn Shunpo, however clumsily.
That’s great, I’m genuinely happy for him.
No matter how much time and effort I’d put into it, the look on Kyoraku’s face made it all worthwhile.
At first, he didn’t grasp what he was looking at.
Then his eye twitched, and curiosity slowly gave way to dejection.
He shot me an aggrieved look.
“What?
She was wearing a mask,” I said, spreading my hands.
He didn’t reply, merely exhaling in disappointment.
Jushiro, however, didn’t understand what the fuss was about and studied the picture with interest.
she has such piercing eyes.
It’s almost unsettling,” he said, shuddering slightly.
That’s right.
I wanted to convey her combat persona—predatory, cold, even cruel.
Not the quiet, almost gentle essence I usually see in my inner world.
Not the Golden, but Banshō.
My trial before achieving Shikai.
Surprisingly, the voices from my inner world remained silent.
Both of the sword’s spiritual entities ignored the ridiculous scene unfolding right then, though they didn’t seem displeased.
Once the playful interlude was over, we returned to discussing the upcoming apprenticeship.
“I still can’t believe it,” Ukitake said, shaking his head.
“It’s too late for doubts, Jushiro-kun,” Kyoraku chuckled.
“After the lecture tomorrow, Old Man Yama will likely want to hear our answer.”
“An ‘answer,’ you say?” I snorted.
“More like a formal acceptance.
Who in their right mind would refuse the Captain-Commander?
Besides, we’ve already made up our minds.
There’s no point in rehashing the same thing for the third time.”
“That’s right,” Ukitake nodded.
“I can’t afford to let an opportunity like this slip away.
Even if it costs me my health.”
“I’m not exactly fond of studying,” Kyoraku said with a sly smile, “but this is an opportunity that comes to very few Shinigami.
Neither noble birth nor wealth can open the doors to the Genji School for you.
Only personal talent.
And since we’ve been chosen, it means we’re worthy.”
…
Monday.
The first lecture.
As expected, everyone was present.
Arriving late to a class taught by the head of the Academy was considered not merely disrespectful, but tantamount to career suicide for a future Shinigami.
Usually, the hall would buzz with laughter, gossip, and whispers before the instructor arrived, but today there was a deathly silence.
Even those who couldn’t normally sit still looked subdued.
Evidently, not everyone had yet recovered from the events in the World of the Living.
He stood before us without saying a word.
Barely a minute passed before all voices fell silent and every student’s attention was fixed solely on him.
Scrawled on the board in large characters were the words: “Quincy.
Natural enemies of souls.”
Was today’s lecture topic inspired by recent events, or had it been part of the syllabus from the start?
I leaned toward the former, though I wouldn’t have insisted on it.
Finally, our lecturer spoke.
“Today, you will learn about those who once brought war to this land,” the general said, sweeping his gaze, heavy as rock, across the hall.
“About those whom we, the Shinigami, must fear no less than the Hollows.
The Quincy.”
He unfurled just two diagrams.
One showed the figure of a Shinigami wielding power drawn from their own soul, the other depicted the silhouette of a human gathering spiritual particles from the air.
“The first thing you must know,” Yamamoto said, turning toward us, “is that the Quincy are not souls.
They are living human beings.
Their powers rely on absorbing spiritual particles from the surrounding environment.
Quincy do not purify the souls of Hollows as Shinigami do.
They destroy them.”
It seemed many failed to grasp the true meaning of the words “soul destruction.” In theory, the concept sounded formidable, but how did it differ from a Hollow devouring a soul?
“You heard correctly,” he stated firmly, his tone heavy, as if bearing down on us.
“It is total annihilation.
The soul will not pass on to the Soul Society.
It will not be reborn in the World of the Living.
The Quincy will erase it entirely from the natural cycle of reincarnation.
That is the nature of our enemy.”
He swept his heavy gaze across the audience.
Slowly, as if weighing every word, he continued to brief us.
“Like the Hollows, they cannot be labeled as absolute evil.
However, there is one thing you must realize.
Coexistence with them is impossible.
It is not the individuals themselves, but their very nature that threatens the balance.
The Quincy will never cease destroying Hollows, and there is a reason for this.
The spiritual energy of a Hollow acts as a deadly poison to their human bodies and souls.
That is precisely why, should the Quincy ever return, you must be prepared to kill them without hesitation.”
A silence hung in the hall, heavy enough to be physically felt.
Not a single cadet dared to stir or whisper a word to their neighbor.
“Those who are not prepared to kill…
will themselves be utterly destroyed,” he said, then fell silent.
Then, lowering the intensity slightly, he moved on to the facts.
He spoke of spiritual bows formed through special artifacts—Quincy crosses.
Of a movement technique capable of rivaling Shunpo.
Of the body-enhancing Blut, which pushed their offensive and defensive capabilities far beyond human limits.
Of the white cloaks.
However, it did not escape my notice that he omitted any mention of the baits.
Evidently, they had decided to withhold that information to avoid sowing panic.
Yamamoto Genryusai spoke from the perspective of someone who had killed them personally.
Someone who had witnessed their bodies burning and their souls vanishing.
Yet, he left out the most important part: who Yhwach was, and where he came from.
That was a completely different story, a story known only to a select few.
After the lecture, there was neither the usual hubbub nor friendly banter.
Everyone filed out slowly and silently, each of us turning over what we had just heard in our minds.
Only a few remained in the hall.
Specifically, the three of us.
We approached the Director, who had also stayed behind longer than usual.
“Are you ready to give your answer?” he asked calmly.
The Captain-Commander’s eyes fixed on us, as if seeing right through us.
In all likelihood, that was exactly what was happening.
Even the “new” sword hanging at my belt did not escape his notice.
Yet there was no cause for panic, so I suppressed the rising anxiety within me.
“Yes, Yamamoto-sotaicho,” we said, bowing our heads.
“Very well.
An officer from the First Division will be waiting for you at the Academy gates,” he informed us.
“Um…” I tried to hint that my schedule was a bit more packed than my comrades’.
Of course, he already knew.
“After all your classes have finished,” he clarified, specifically for my benefit, as if he had anticipated this.
“You will be escorted to the First Division.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” I said, bowing.
We left the lecture hall.
I let out a breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
Damn it, why do I even have to deal with a being of that caliber as if he were just an ordinary instructor?
It felt like some cruel joke at my expense.
“We’ll wait for you,” Kyoraku said with a chuckle, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Literacy is crucial for a Shinigami, after all.
We’re going to have to write an endless stream of reports in our line of work, my friend.”
It felt like he was teasing me, but it was the truth.
The higher an officer’s rank, the more paperwork gets dumped on them.
Unless, of course, they wisely offload most of those duties onto their subordinates, as is usually the case.
I will answer your questions and try to correct any errors in fic if you point them out to me.