Neither last night nor this morning did I manage to see my roommate.
The only sign of his existence was a brand-new futon, carelessly tossed onto his side of the room.
I found no personal belongings, so I didn’t bother speculating about who he might be.
Perhaps he was an aristocrat who had decided to stay in the more luxurious inn accommodations until classes began.
Doesn’t matter.
We would meet eventually.
By the way, yesterday, during dinner in the cafeteria, I tried to find out what was going on.
First, we wouldn’t be issued our Asauchi until after the official ceremony.
As I was told, this will happen during the first lesson of Jinzen – meditations with a sword.
Second, Class #1 students really are fed significantly better than the rest.
That is precisely why I am heading to the mess hall now, putting everything else aside.
Not that I had much else to do, anyway.
Top-quality ingredients, professional-grade cooking, and an abundance of meat dishes instantly propelled the Academy of Spiritual Arts to the very top of my personal list of favorite places in the Bleach universe.
Some might call that unfair to the other students, but I was perfectly happy with the disparity.
Since I happened to be among the lucky ones, why complain?
Hachi didn’t seem to mind, either.
Only a blind person could fail to spot a fellow food lover in him.
Not that the others were fed poorly, mind you.
Judging by the look of sheer bliss on the faces of those from the distant districts of Rukongai, they were every bit as satisfied with their meals as I was with mine.
That said, envy was sometimes glaringly obvious.
And of course, some of the noble people didn’t like that they were looking at them too closely, both at our plates and at our mouths.
So, he decided to show off his Reiatsu.
The weaker ones flinched and quickly looked away, but those unimpressed by the display merely cast annoyed glances at the hulking brute decked out in jewelry.
Thick gold chains around his neck, massive rings on his fingers…
That broad mug vaguely reminds me of someone…
I wouldn’t call him strong by Academy standards, he was nowhere near First Class material, yet no one dared to cross him.
Myself included.
For now, it was best to keep a low profile.
“Do you know who that is?” I asked Hachigen, who was sitting across from me at the long table.
“Mareshige Omaeda, the eldest heir of the Omaeda family,” the future lieutenant of the Kido Corps whispered in reply.
“They own the largest jewelry chain in the First Districts.
It’s best not to cross him, Kaoru-san.”
Right, I remember now.
A distant ancestor of Marechiyo Omaeda, the lieutenant of the Second Division.
It’s really not worth making an enemy of him over such a trifle.
The Omaeda family is under the patronage of the Shihouin clan.
Plus, they’re obscenely wealthy.
They might not kill you, but they could certainly cause plenty of trouble.
“Don’t worry, he hasn’t bothered me at all so far,” I shrugged.
“But I sincerely hope he isn’t my roommate.”
I just hope it isn’t him.
King of Souls, have mercy on me, a (sinless) sinner and an outsider in this cursed world.
As I offered prayers to the local deity, my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, wet, racking cough.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
And here is Juushirou Ukitake himself, once again trying to spit out his unfortunate lungs, frozen in a state of unknown illness since the age of three.
What he actually spat out, however, was a palmful of dark blood.
The sight drew the attention of many.
Some silently turned away; others snorted dismissively, as if to say, “Look at the weaklings they let into the First Class.” Yet others, possessing a keener sense of justice, glared angrily at the Oomaeda heir, clearly linking his sudden burst of Reiatsu to the worsening condition of the pale, frail youth.
Honestly, considering all the vivisection Mayuri performed on the unfortunate members of his squad, I can’t fathom why Jushiro wasn’t simply given a lung transplant after all that time.
Seriously, one of the most brilliant scientists in this universe as captain of the 12th squad and the best healer as captain of the 4th.
Couldn’t they do anything about it?
Then again…
if the Soul King’s Right Arm is involved, things are never that simple.
You shouldn’t fancy yourself the smartest person in the room, Kaoru, far from it.
But look at how fate works.
The Soul King may not have granted my request for a decent roommate, but he did open up a brand-new window of opportunity.
And since I don’t see a charismatic ladies’ man by Ukitake’s side, chances are they haven’t even met yet.
Come to think of it, they became friends after a sparring match during training with Yamamoto, if memory serves.
And that happened only after Yamamoto had chosen both of them as his personal disciples.
Well…
I see the goal – I see no obstacles?
My thoughts took no more than a couple of seconds.
In that time, Jushiro barely managed to wipe his hand with the broad white handkerchief he was obliged to carry.
Leaving my empty plate on the table, I nodded a farewell to Hachi and headed toward Jushiro’s table, making sure to mentally deactivate both titles along the way.
I didn’t need them interfering with the persona of a nice guy who simply wanted to help.
Sitting down on the bench beside him with a casual, familiar air, I asked:
“Hey, are you all right?
Should I walk you to the infirmary?” I asked sincerely, though I did have my own ulterior motives.
As far as I recalled, even after becoming a captain, he spent most of his time in a hospital bed.
“No, thank you,” Jushiro said with a faint smile, placing a hand on his chest and taking a couple of cautious breaths.
“I’m fine.”
Those words would have sounded far more convincing had he not immediately been seized by another fit of prolonged coughing, staining his handkerchief with fresh blood.
“It doesn’t look like everything is fine.
You’re literally coughing up blood.” Genuine concern crept into my voice.
Up close, the sight was far more alarming than it had been from a distance.
Any stranger would have assumed Jushiro had suffered serious internal injuries.
And as someone who had inflicted them on numerous occasions, I could confirm this.
He wiped his mouth again, sighed heavily, and shook his head.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been like this since childhood,” he said with a chuckle, though the smile looked forced.
“There are upsides, too.
It’s not fatal, and I’m not getting any worse.”
“Are you sure about that?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Because you’ve gone paler…
even whiter than before.”
“Ah…” He awkwardly scratched the back of his head.
“Even though my condition isn’t progressing, the significant blood loss is still causing mild anemia.
There’s no need to worry, I’m used to it.”
Suppressing the urge to lightly smack him on the back of the head, I managed to convince the lad to visit the infirmary.
After hauling Jushiro halfway across the building with him draped over my shoulder, I knocked firmly on the appropriate door.
A tall, slender man opened the door for us.
Even thinner than the frail Jushiro.
Yet, that stooped figure gave no impression of weakness, not for a single moment.
His long gray hair was carelessly tied back, leaving a few stray strands to fall across an elongated, predatory face.
His eyes were the most striking feature…
gray and vacant, as if frozen in eternity.
The eyes of a seasoned killer.
I suppressed the urge to flinch with a massive effort of will, yet I still froze under his gaze, as if struck by the cursed eyes of Medusa Gorgon.
He radiated not a shred of murderous intent…
and yet, instinctively, I sensed that my throat would be slit into a gaping grin the moment I took a single wrong step.
Who the hell is this?
What on earth is a monster like that doing at an Academy filled with arrogant young heirs?
“Shijima-san, sorry to bother you,” Ukitake said, bowing his head while still draped over my shoulder.
“You again, Jushiro-kun?” he asked in an impassive tone, then turned to me.
“Lay him down on the settee.”
The man named Shijima stepped away from the passageway and headed toward a massive cabinet filled with shelves.
I didn’t bother looking to see what he was doing; I simply nodded and guided the white-haired man to the designated spot.
I’m sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself,” the sickly-looking man suddenly remembered.
“My name is Ukitake Jūshirō.
I am very grateful for your help…?”
He paused, waiting for my reply.
“My name is Kaoru.
Nice to meet you,” I said, nodding at him.
“Likewise, Kaoru-san.
Thank you again for walking me here,” he said with a nod, then immediately started coughing again.
“Alright, alright.
Just don’t say another word until you’ve been examined,” I said with a wry grin.
“You’re literally losing blood every time you open your mouth.”
“That sounds about right,” came the doctor’s indifferent voice.
“Classes haven’t even started yet, and this is already my fourth time with you, Jushiro-kun.
I expected a flood of victims among the hot-tempered youth, but so far, you’re my only patient.”
“Sorry…” Ukitake muttered awkwardly, scratching his cheek.
“Don’t mention it.
After all, it’s my job,” the healer said with a shrug.
He came closer to Jushiro, and I, taking advantage of the moment, tried to slip away to the exit from the room.
This guy really bothered me.
I don’t know what type of person I’m dealing with now, but I feel in my gut that I need to be extremely careful with him.
“Stop,” Shijima’s voice rang out behind me.
I froze, then turned toward him slowly, making no sudden movements.
“Wait here for a couple of minutes.
Then take him to the dormitory.
That’s not a problem, is it?” He smiled politely with thin, colorless lips.
I nodded.
There was no problem with that—on the contrary, it actually worked to my advantage in terms of getting closer to the future captain of the 13th Division.
Judging by the apologetic look on Ukitake’s face, he felt even more awkward than I did.
“Drink this first,” the doctor said, handing Jushiro a strange flask.
He accepted it without a word and drained it in one gulp.
“Now, let’s get down to business.”
Shijima placed his palm on the patient’s chest and began weaving a specialized form of Demonic Magic.
After several green flashes of kaido, some of which lasted longer, Ukitake returned to his healthiest form.
As healthy as is possible in his special position as Mimihagi’s possessed contractor.
“Rest until lunch, and you’ll be back to normal.
You’re dismissed,” the healer said, nodding toward the exit.
I slung Jushiro’s arm over my shoulder again and hauled him back to the dorm, all while he kept apologizing for the trouble.
It turned out our rooms were only three doors apart.
After dumping him onto his futon like a sack of potatoes, I headed to my own room.
Fortunately, there was still no one there.
Damn it!
Hero’s Diary, Information Note, please respond!
Who exactly is this Shijima man?!
Lamenting the lack of a nightstand to barricade the door for my own peace of mind, I turned to my power.
Information Note: Chigiri Shijima — First Captain of the Gotei 13’s 4th Division.
According to Yhwach, Chigiri, like the entire original roster of the Gotei 13, was notorious as a ruthless and cold-blooded killer.
Is that it?!
That’s the extent of the information on a captain from the original lineup and a veteran of the war against Yhwach?
Tite Kubo, you really skimped on the details.
Yet, strangely enough, I felt a bit more at ease.
A former captain, especially at the Academy, which is under Yamamoto’s close supervision, is not the worst-case scenario.
It’s actually a good one.
It would have been far worse if some random maniac, someone whose very gaze made my blood run cold, had been lurking among the staff.
Phew…
let’s breathe a sigh of relief.