Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arc Flower: Calla Lily

No, I don't remember dying, except for the fact that I definitely did. Die, that is. My memory for important events in my life always was iffy. First off, I'm fairly certain that remembering would break the rules of the universe. Second off, you're an ass for trying to make me remember. What if it was suicide, huh? Or some drawn-out illness, or starvation, or something like that? Would I want to revisit those memories? Of course not. Don't ask again.

But I'm pretty sure it wasn't suicide. I was the most optimistic pessimist I knew in life, certain that everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket but equally convinced that I could find a way to pluck that handbasket out of the inferno with only a couple singe marks to show for it. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't starvation. Food, when I'd remembered there was a world beyond my room, had been one of my joys in life. Cleaning up after myself when I'd finished, not so much.

As for breaking the rules of the universe, I don't trust those. If they were really all that ironclad, I wouldn't have ended up in the wrong world. I'd make a quip about your reaction being similar to mine when I figured it out, but I seem to recall some truly terrible lines from fanfiction that had somebody switching worlds and ending up here. Only usually 'here' was the living world of the Bleach universe, not Soul Society, and switching was some kind of magical accident that never got explained properly, not dying.

Yes, the Bleach universe. Apparently God decided to see what would happen when an anime nerd got thrown into her favorite series. I plan on having a word with Him if I ever make it through the pearly gates. He'd better have a good explanation for this.

And speaking of explanations, my first reaction when I realized where I was was closer to 'so that's how nobles have kids' than 'oh shit I'm not in the right universe.' Multiverse. Still not all that clear on how it works. I've determined that I'm not in my time, let alone my world, so there's the possibility that when I got reincarnated my soul slipped through the cracks and fell into the wrong era. If that's true, then a good part of my upbringing was a lie, but at least I'll have the comfort of knowing that familiar places and people will still exist. If my soul hopped worlds altogether, something that would probably fry my brain to understand is at work. But at least I won't have to worry about accidentally preventing myself from being born.

You might be wondering how I figured out what time I'm in. Until I was the Soul equivalent of four, I didn't have a clue. All I knew was that I didn't look like me, that whatever language was being spoken was a hell of a lot closer to Japanese than Hebrew or whatever angels spoke, and that the people calling themselves my parents were not in any way related to me. Turned out that the mysterious language was Japanese and my 'parents' actually were my parents, just not the ones I was used to. There was a small picture that my mother kept at her calligraphy table to prove it, a little painting of me in her arms with my father standing at her shoulder. Still haven't quite figured out why I don't look like my old self—maybe it's only Rukon-born souls who look like their past selves? Something else to research. In any event, Mom—Makoto—replaced it with another small portrait that year, right when I was starting to get enough experience of the world to figure out where I was.

Now there's a cute little picture of me kneeling by my mom's bedside, my father's hand on my shoulder. It's obvious from the way I'm staring fixedly at the painter that I'm trying hard not to look at my mom and the little bundle in her arms.

The picture frame bore all our names on it, inscribed into the blond wood in delicate, rose-colored kanji. First came Dad, of course, "Hirako Kenji." Then there was Mom, "Hirako Makoto." I came third, as the eldest child, girl or not, "Hirako Nariko." The last name was the reason little me was avoiding looking at my new sibling. "Hirako Shinji" was the last name written on that frame.

Hirako Shinji. I'm the elder sister of Hirako Shinji.

Before he was born, when I'd just seen my first Shinigami and realized what had happened to me, I'd been thinking that I could finally live a life I'd fantasized about for years. Becoming a Shinigami with the prestige, power, and adventures that entailed? Hell yeah I wanted that. In my old life I'd been a horrible combination of decisive and wishy-washy, quickly settling on the decision that would benefit the most number of people and probably leave me in the lurch. Here, where no one expected that of me—every Hirako I knew was outgoing, a prank-player, and terrible at being anything they weren't—I could finally do what I wanted. The clan was well-off enough that I probably wouldn't hurt the family too much if I screwed up, too.

Now? To hell with that. I was right back to my old self. Could I help with this, could I fix that, could I get to this person in time to make sure they don't backstab that person, on and on. Stupid altruism. At least the culture here rewarded honor, not that they'd ever know that I was saving the world. Even in my head 'saving the world' sounded funny. Trying to get a couple less people killed was a lot more accurate.

But as it stood right now, I was a full eighteen. I say or so because time gets a little wonky when you're not operating by the calendar you're used to and the lack of milestones you're used to. Regardless of my age, I was still waiting to be old enough to put my changes into place. Aging was slower here. Physically I was... well, I've run into the same problem that the fandom did with Rukia's age. Late adolescence was really the best way to describe my age. I've got the apparently hereditary Hirako teeth—so much for the braces of my last incarnation—and the same angular face as Shinji. Like him, most of my height was in my legs—hallelujah—but unlike him, I had ash-blond hair instead of sunny gold. if it wasn't for that, my height, and my hazel eyes, I could be mistaken for his twin instead of his older sister. I was losing the height advantage year by year, but I handled that well when I was where I belonged and I would handle it well now.

I hoped I would, anyway. It'd long been a running joke that I was the Hirako with the shortest fuse. Anywhere else I'd be considered patient; here I'm considered hard to handle because I don't plot my enemies' downfall and laugh when my plans come to fruition. The Hirako clan was creepy. No wonder they produced Shinji.

"Narin! Narin, hide me!" Speak of the devil. Shinji came pelting down the veranda, blond ponytail flying behind him and ink splattered all over his hands, sleeves, and face. I didn't even want to know how he got it on his face. Chicken-scratch handwriting or no, you don't see me with ink on my face.

I had about a second to consider whether I really wanted to aid my brother. On the one hand, he'd called me by that cutesy nickname he made up when he was the equivalent of three, and if I didn't let myself skimp on the tutoring sessions, he shouldn't get to either. On the other hand, Shinji. I needed him to be close to me for when everything came apart at the seams, and it was damn near impossible to argue with his enthusiasm. I wanted to preserve a little of that before he got completely jaded.

I settled for tossing my scroll aside and grabbing him by the collar, heaving him off the veranda and hurriedly stuffing him into the crawl space. Shinji had just enough sense to shut up and mute his spirit power, while I tried to focus on projecting my presence outwards. Now, I didn't know anything about making use of my reiryoku, being a girl child expected to marry some nice young man whose clan was under the Shihouin like mine and become a spymaster. I did, however, know a good deal about the phenomenon known as the Bavarian Fire Drill: act like you're authorized to do something and seven times out of eight people will go with it. I stuck out my chest, collected my scroll as if nothing had happened, and put a serene smile on my face for Shinji's tutor.

Ise Kenichi, as he came around the corner, looked as harried as ever. Smoke-tinted glasses were slipping down his nose, sooty black hair coming out of its plait. His green tea-colored kimono was the only thing that wasn't rumpled, though it was splashed with ink. His aunt Asami was my tutor, and even though she had so many of my questions to deal with, there was no question that Asami had the easier job.

"Good afternoon, Ise-san," I greeted him, smiling innocently. My features in this life weren't as easy to shape into such an expression, but I managed. "I didn't realize there was a branch of calligraphy that involved writing on yourself. Will Asami-sensei teach me that someday?"

"It's an afternoon, Nariko-dono, but I don't know about the good part," he said wearily, ignoring my joke. "Where is your younger brother?"

I shrugged. Outright lying I couldn't bring myself to do, especially not to a man just trying to do his job, but bending the truth was a little easier. "I'm not exactly sure of that myself," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck as though sheepish. It was technically true, given that he could've wiggled deeper into the crawl space and wasn't where I'd put him. "Did you check the kitchens?"

Kenichi heaved a sigh. "I've checked half the clan grounds by now."

"Then check the other half!" I chirped, smile honey-sweet. Oh, Shinji had better be very grateful for this. "He'll turn up somewhere comfy, that slacker."

It might've been my imagination, but I could've sworn I heard a muffled squeak of indignation from the floorboards.

"I hope so." Kenichi frowned, swiping ineffectually at the ink staining the back of his hand. Poor guy looked like he could use a drink, like most adults who had to deal with Shinji. "First he wouldn't stop trying to sleep through his lesson on court etiquette, now he's run off... I don't get paid enough for this." A second later his hand flew to his mouth, drew away with a few inky fingerprints left behind. "I'm sorry, Nariko-dono, I didn't mean anything by it."

I tried to make less trouble than my brother, more or less successfully, but I couldn't resist meddling. "It's fine, Ise-san. Shinji's a handful for me too. You know, I know where he likes to hide better than you. If you want, I could look for him and you could get cleaned up. I bet Masami would know how to get the ink out of your clothes," I said, referring to the pretty kitchen maid the whole estate knew Kenichi was crushing on.

He didn't even try to look hesitant. "You'd tell your parents I wasn't neglecting my duties?" Kenichi asked, worn features smoothing with relief. He was way too young to look so old. "I mean, it's not exactly right for me to be teaching Shinji-dono in such attire, but still."

Perfect. "Of course," I said with the brightest smile I could manage. If it was a slightly smug smile, well, I couldn't help that. Most smiles looked smug with Hirako features. "I'll tell them for you."

Kenichi fled at top speed. Shinji must have been even more of a handful than usual if he was that eager to get away.

"Alright, what did you do this time?" I snapped as soon as Kenichi was out of earshot. Shinji squirmed out from under the veranda, more than slightly dirty.

"Aww, Nari-nee, why'd ya have ta throw me like that? At least give me a little warnin'! Ya never do that in trainin'!" He whined. One thing that I had grown used to but still hated was the tendency for every one of my relatives to use thick Osaka-ben instead of Tokyo-ben. How the main dialects in Soul Society were identical to real-world Japanese dialects was yet another thing that puzzled me, but it's possible some souls brought it with them and Soul Society has never been big on change. I'd made a conscious choice to use Tokyo-ben the second I learned it.

"Like training could motivate me," I retorted. Unless I psyched myself up beforehand when Dad was training us in the clan Hakuda style, I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. It wasn't that I was scared—I had been at first, knowing who Shinji was going to become—but that I had only two modes, beat-the-shit-out-of-them and "I don't want to hurt anyone!" To get out of the latter, I had to throw my old life's morals out the window and remember that my opponent was equally skilled and probably wouldn't get the shit beat out of him. Or get surprised, but that wasn't likely in training. Shinji teased me for being a wimp a lot, but it wasn't exactly easy to adapt to a different standard of femininity. Here even the most refined women were expected to know how to wield a naginata and a tantou to deadly effect. "Stupid Shinji. I'm not going to just haul off when Dad's standing right there."

"Ooh, you're so tough, holding back and everything. Spare me your true skill, Nariko-sama," he mocked with a mighty roll of his narrow eyes that would've given me a headache. I whacked him upside the head for it, scowling.

"Ugh, I don't know why I bother sometimes. Why you get to be the heir when I'm the only responsible one here is beyond me," I scoffed, tugging at my collar for some relief from the heat. That had surprised me, too—turned out the reason canon-Shinji had been so protective and good at getting things done despite his silliness was training practically from birth for the responsibility of leading his clan. He was still an ass, though.

"Because I'm awesome and you're a stuffy know-it-all dame?" He said, dancing out of reach when I tried to jab him in the ribs. "Kidding, kidding! But I did hear Dad saying that he's gonna get ya an apprenticeship with one of the Shihouin ladies." At my brief look of horror—what if I replaced Sui-Feng? she'd be a cruel bitch, but not bodyguarding Yoruichi would get her exiled—he corrected himself hastily. "Not Yoruichi-sama, stupid, one of her cousins, Miyako. The one who heads the intel division, I think. Damn if ya ain't luckier than a cricket, Nari-nee. I gotta go off ta stupid Shin'ou and you get a cushy position under Seireitei's spymaster, with connections and gossip and everything."

I stopped fiddling with my clothes to stare at him. "Say that again."

"I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean that you're just gonna get ta laze around all day hearin' juicy gossip—you totally are, though," Shinji blurted. He tilted his head at me, birdlike, when I didn't hit him. "What, ya don't wanna take a swing at me?"

For the record, I don't knock the stupid out of Shinji that much. Just when he really needs it.

"No, the bit about where I'm going and where you're going," I said, folding my arms.

"I'm going to dumb Shin'ou and you're gonna work under a Shihouin princess?" Shinji said, blinking at me like I'd gone crazy. To be fair, I carried scrolls with me everywhere for the express purpose of learning everything that the manga hadn't explored. If anyone would enjoy being an apprentice spymaster, it was me. I just wanted Shin'ou way more.

"Thanks for telling me, moron!" I snapped at last, biting down hard on the curses filling my head. "When is this happening?"

Shinji shrugged, stuffing his hands into the opposite arm's sleeve. It was weird to not see him stuff his hands into his pockets. Awful circumstances or not, I was probably going to be relieved when Shinji got thrown out and had to switch to human clothes. "I dunno. Prob'ly when the next term at Shin'ou starts, just ta make things easier with packing."

I ran through a couple quick calculations in my head, trying to figure out how much time I had until then. Two weeks, maybe? The cursing in my head had stopped, but only because I didn't know which one was foulest. Some part of me had thought this time of games and sunshine would go on forever, just because I didn't know exactly how much time I had until canon rolled around. I might have enough time to work out a plan and put it into action—damn my habit of winging it in important situations—or I might get caught flat-footed. The trouble was that I couldn't be sure whether dates here matched up to living world dates. Calendars changed, and different cultures screwed things up even more. I had only events to judge my relative position in time by, and none of those had happened yet. "Shinji?" I said absently, twirling my scroll around my fingers. "Hide all my scrolls and books—no, just the fun ones. If you catch me sleeping in, or lazing around, sneak-attack me. I'm going to be busy."

Shinji's eyes were narrow. The fact that his mouth had stopped moving was enough to tell me that he wasn't working out mischief. Good tacticians like Shinji weren't trained—you needed a certain aptitude, the kind Shinji had in spades. So even at this age I knew that my brother was trying to work out what I knew that he didn't, what would motivate me to invite trouble for myself. Finally his smile flickered back into place. "Sure thing. Ya don't need ta tell me twice to prank ya, Narin."

My hand shot out before he could pull his hand away, grabbing his fingers and squeezing. "Shinji?" I said, even sweeter than I had been with Kenichi. "It's Nariko. Don't you forget it."

"O-ow! Stop it, Narin!" He yelped, trying to jerk away.

I left him massaging his fingers and wiping away tears. I didn't have time for stupid nicknames.

There were plans to make, lessons to learn, and people to persuade. 

"Dad, I need to talk to you about my education."

"Mmm?" Kenji said absently as he looked through a report on sake production. To my mixed amusement and chagrin, I had been educated on the fine points of sake as part of our family business since I was a small child. For instance, I knew that today was a hot day with no company expected, suitable for chilled nigori-zake. "What about it? The Shihouin who's gonna take you under her wing is one of Seireitei's movers and shakers, y'know."

I bit my lip and tried again. "Dad, I'm not sure about my apprenticeship."

He didn't even glance up. "I know it's a big step towards becoming an adult, Nariko, but ya can't just expect ta be a little girl forever."

I frowned sharply, scuffing my sandals on the floor. Unsurprisingly, paper rustled beneath my feet. Never let it be said that any Hirako is organized. "I don't think I'm comfortable with being apprenticed to Shihouin Miyako."

Now he spared a puzzled glance for me. "What's gotten into you, Nariko? It's gonna be a tough job, but ya can't possibly be thinkin' that I'm gonna make you do anythin' I didn't think you could handle. You'll know the secrets of all Seireitei!"

It was an incredibly tempting possibility. I would have access to what amounted to libraries' worth of knowledge, know what everybody wanted to hide, and be able to air their dirty laundry at will. Problem was that that wouldn't help me with Aizen. I couldn't plan an essay given a prompt, let alone come up with a plan to stop a man second only to Urahara from the few facts his Zanpakutou couldn't cover up.

Sorry, Dad. Screw filial piety, I've got a duty to the world too.

"Dad. I'm not scared of an apprenticeship. I want to go to Shin'ou with Shinji," I said, sticking out my chin and folding my arms tight across my chest. That gesture was my trump card, the one that said that only the Soul King himself could change my decision. Internally, I cringed. What if he said no? I didn't like defying authority. Following the rules, doing what I was told, those made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Going against the order of things did the exact opposite.

Kenji stared. Gulped as he saw the posture I'd taken, back so straight it was practically anathema to the ever-slouching Hirako. The quivering feeling inside me subsided as I watched the gears in his brain turn. Maybe I was better at this whole backbone thing than I thought.

"Nariko..." He began, then stopped and hesitated. If he was going to say that I had somehow been born without reiryoku, I was going to hurt someone. I hadn't been put in this situation for nothing, dammit! "I just ain't sure that Shin'ou's the right path for ya to walk. Shinji, he's strong. Stronger maybe than any other Shinigami this clan's ever seen. You're..."

Fire crept through my body with every word my father spoke. If I opened my mouth, I was sure, I would incinerate him. Son of a bitch. I'm not weak, not worthless, not pathetic just because Shinji's exceptional! I shoved back at the fire with cold fury. My sight had gone hot and blurry. Stupid tears! "I'm what?" I said, fighting the tremble in my words. From the second I'd been old enough to understand the people around me, I'd been bombarded with praise for the Shinigami. It wasn't that you were less-than if you weren't one, but you were expected to aspire to be one. And why wouldn't you? Even the lowliest Shinigami stood above a civilian, they had powers and education and a guaranteed place in Seireitei. I couldn't not be one! "I'm not as strong as Shinji, is that it?"

So well-intentioned it made my teeth clench, Kenji rose and approached me, clearly wanting to give me a comforting hug. I didn't want a hug. I wanted an Academy uniform! "Sweetheart, yer mom and I always thought you'd be better off away from all that. We didn't want ya ta feel... inadequate compared to your brother. An apprenticeship to Miyako-dono would really be th' best for ya." He opened his arms, stepped in for a hug.

I knocked his arms away before they could close around me. "I-I knew that," I hissed between my teeth. "I know Shinji is stronger than me, but you can't just say no because he's better. Not every Shinigami is a captain. Do you think they shouldn't have enlisted too?" I stopped and took a breath, throat tight and painful with rage. "And so what if he's got more reiryoku? I'm more responsible, harder-working, more disciplined than he is. Maybe it's Shinji who shouldn't be heading off to Shin'ou! Give him to Miyako-sama. I bet he'll do great knowing everybody's business; it's hardly different from here." I jabbed a thumb at my chest. "I am not inadequate!"

Dad's jaw dropped. He sputtered for a few seconds, a few shades paler than when I'd begun. Running joke that I had a short fuse or not, I didn't think he had ever seen me really, truly angry. Something twinged inside me. I'd be so relieved when I could stop using anger to get my way. "Nariko... ya really feel this way. And I don't got a prayer of changin' your mind?"

Every part of me wanted to say that he could change my mind, to agree and keep myself safe, except for the part that knew what was going to happen and couldn't stand by and let it happen. "Not a prayer, Dad. Even if I'm the most pathetic Shinigami Seireitei's ever seen, even if I'm only good at academics, I can still make a difference." And maybe learn some ways to declare my resolve that weren't completely cheesy. All the canon Shinigami seemed to have had that sort of thing mastered. "Shin'o still needs teachers, right?" My smile was so shaky that I let Dad give me a hug this time, sniffling and trying to surreptitiously wipe my nose on his kimono.

"The world can always use teachers," he agreed. We stood there in silence for a while, my head against his chest, until he broke the silence. "I'll talk to Makoto about it. But I don't think she'll disagree if'n you're really that set against goin' with Miyako-dono."

I hugged him as tightly as I could. Yes, yes, yes! "Thanks, Dad. I promise I'll make you proud."

When I left,  my heart had never felt so big, and I'd never felt so small.

Shinji had made good on his promise to keep me from being lazy so far. I almost wished that what I was doing now counted as being lazy. I didn't want to make plans. They required so much paper that I could barely carry it all and the writing made my hand cramp up.

But here I sat, carefully writing down every factor I could think of that needed to be taken into consideration for my plans to work.

First in my mind was how strong I needed to be and how fast. Kenji said I wasn't as strong as Shinji, but if I understood how Zanpakutou worked properly, that wouldn't have an impact on the speed of my progress in that area. Zanpakutou took shape as their wielder learned who they were and impressed that on an asauchi; I'd always been very sure of who I was and probably wouldn't have loads of trouble in that area. Bankai was another story—reiryoku levels determined whether you could even achieve it and even if I did it would take time to master. Time I might not have. And yeah, I could use Urahara and Ichigo's method, but I wasn't very keen on dying and I was pretty sure I didn't have the plot armor necessary for that.

No, I'd focus on getting Shikai as quickly as I could and mastering that. After that I'd see if my Zanpakutou spirit thought I should have Bankai. And damn if that wasn't weird, to think of a sentient being inhabiting an inner world inside my soul. Shouldn't Zanpakutou have more rights? I'd ask mine when I discovered it.

Hakuda and Houhou seemed like areas I could handle. Hakuda would be an interesting prospect, with lots of clan styles and the Academy style to draw on. It'd probably up my strength. Houhou was necessary, if not my forte. I'd always been a slow walker in life, better with short sprints than with long-distance running and even then not all that great. That was precisely why I'd need to learn it, of course.

Kidou... I wasn't sure about Kidou. From my research in the clan libraries, I knew the words, hand seals, and drawings were focuses, designed to help coordinate manipulation of one's own reiryoku. Rote memorization was something I excelled at, but the bit about using one's own reiryoku was the catch. Kenji'd implied that I wasn't all that strong, so I probably wouldn't be able to perform the high-level spells. Unless... if there was a way to store reiryoku, I could use that, but I'd save that project for later, like I'd have to save the many theories I had about just how Kidou worked. Apparently it paid off to have written fanfiction in my spare time; I'd put a good deal of time into considering the mechanics for my plots' sake.

Second was what to do about Aizen. Soul aging was so strange that I couldn't pinpoint his age relative to Shinji and me, meaning I didn't know if he'd be a classmate, an instructor, or already a Shinigami. If he was a classmate, I'd have to take the time to learn everything I could about him, maybe even try to befriend him, if his plots could be averted, but I wasn't banking on that. If he was an instructor, I'd work to be one of his best students, both in the subject area and in philosophy—Aizen had seemed awfully bent on that. Teachers had an influence on students, but that could go both ways if the student played it right. If he was already a Shinigami, I was completely out of luck. By then he'd be set in his ways, already planning to replace Seireitei's paving with Legos or some evil shit like that.

Third was what to do about the creation of the Visoreds. On the one hand, they'd lost everything when Aizen experimented on them—careers, homes, families, dignity, even the sanctity of their own minds. And Shinji was my brother. I couldn't let him be hurt like that.

But I had to. The Visoreds had to train Ichigo and had to help out at the Fake Karakura Town battle. Hachi had taken out the Espada nobody else had been able to kill, and I really didn't like our chances against Barragan without his boosted power. And Ichigo might not even be born if Urahara didn't know how to stop Soul Suicide from his work with the Visoreds. I didn't have to like my choice, but I would have to make it. Shinji and the others would be Hollowfied.

Wait. The letter I'd been in the middle of writing—I didn't want anyone being able to read it, so English instead of Japanese it was—turned into an unrecognizable blot as I stopped mid-stroke.

I could save one of them. None of the captains, since that would require power I didn't have, but there was a small chance for one of the lieutenants. I'd always gotten the impression that Hiyori was insecure about her position because she'd been relatively new to it, and because she didn't like change—her behavior with Urahara had shown that. Mashiro was a maybe, with her ditzy persona making it hard to tell how experienced she was. Lisa had seemed too much a part of the Eighth to have been new, although she was rather adaptable. I marked her down as a 'probably not.' I didn't know enough of the Kidou Corps to say that I could take Hachi's place, and didn't want to. Kindly manner or no, Tessai was scary, and my reiryoku reserves weren't that great.

Should I save Hiyori if I could? She and Shinji had clearly been friends, if hostile towards each other. It was hard to say whether that was the result of surviving trauma and being thrown into exile or not, though. They hadn't come across as very friendly in the Turn Back the Pendulum gaiden, that was for sure. But nearly losing her in the Fake Karakura Town battle had gotten Shinji the angriest I'd ever seen him. That had to count for something. On the other hand, I was his sister, had grown up with him as far as he knew. If I took Hiyori's place, I'd likely garner the same reactions from him.

It was bad of me to think, but I had the feeling I'd be more competent than Hiyori. Unlike her, I had some inclination for science and plenty of curiosity where I lacked exceptional talent. Even cooking I enjoyed, and I'd read somewhere that cleaning was an important part of military life. I'd learn to like it whether I wanted to or not. And there were the feelings of Hiyori to consider. She'd already lost Hikifune. Could she stand to lose Urahara and Shinji? Hiyori was tough as nails and strong for a 4' 4" blond pipsqueak, but she screamed 'trust issues.' On the other hand, having your soul invaded by a cannibalistic, murderous monster? I wouldn't trust myself after that, let alone the people technically responsible for my transformation. And judging from the way she'd behaved ever since her first appearance in the manga, Hiyori's trust issues hadn't faded—she'd hated humans and Shinigami, picked a fight with Hitsugaya for no good reason, and apparently lacked so much confidence in her allies that she'd gone right for Aizen.

Yeah, maybe it was better for everyone involved if I took Hiyori's place. I finished that scroll, then stopped, biting my lip. If I took Hiyori's place, there was a good chance I'd suffer her fate. To feel that sort of pain, to fight a warped version of myself, to be rejected and ripped away from the only home I had after already losing my whole world—could I do it? If even one of my theories about what they'd gone through were correct, being a Visored was no picnic, and despite my determination, despite all the virtues I'd named to my father, I wasn't nearly as strong as the Visoreds. Not mentally, not physically, not spiritually.

I tossed my scroll and brush away with a hiss of frustration, rose to pace. Still weak, still pathetic, still worthless! I berated myself, trying to get at the resolve I'd only ever known to manifest in me when I was angry. It failed, the warm strength of pleasure that had been coursing through me at finding ways to protect people growing a little colder. What did you think would happen when you were born in a world where the military is everything? When you knew war was coming? You chose Shin'ou to grow strong and protect everyone! You can't back out because you're too damn scared of pain and what people think of you!

But I could. All I had to do was tell Dad that I'd rethought my plans and I could get a nice, comfortable life for myself. Safe and engaging, so suited for me that my own father had chosen it. And I was scared of pain and rejection, no matter how much I pretended otherwise. People hating me, calling me a heartless demon and an abomination, confirming everything I knew I'd come to think about myself when Aizen had finished with me... I didn't know if I could withstand that. I didn't know if I could withstand the pain of having my soul torn in two.

"Nari-nee?" I whirled as Shinji's voice came from behind me. He stood in the door of the library, blinking first at my writing materials and then at me. "Are you okay? I felt your reiatsu..."

My heart twisted. I couldn't withstand Hollowfication, not by myself, not for myself. But with my brother, with the others? For them and for everyone else who would need me to fight? Yes. I could do that. I had to. "Am I ever okay?" I said lightly, trying to brush off my agitation. "Don't worry about it, Shin. Just some stupid teenage girl stuff."

He smirked. "Aww, Nari-nee's already got herself a beau? Hope ya've already told him that I won't be takin' kindly to anybody who messes with my sister. An' that you won't be takin' kindly to him tryin' either."

I rolled my eyes and held up a fist at him. "I swear, Shinji, you're just asking to get punched!" I snapped. "I don't have a boyfriend! Don't want one either!" Especially since I had more important things on my mind than getting laid, even if Shinji didn't.

Shinji, being Shinji, just raised an eyebrow. "You'd best wait until we get to Shin'ou for that," he said. "I understand they're more forgiving of that sort of thing there."

Huh? Not knowing how to respond to that, I just looked at him blankly for a second before it came to me in a flash of enlightenment. "Hey! Idiot, don't go jumping to conclusions like that!" Especially since past-me hadn't exactly figured sexuality out either. I really didn't need more internal conflict, not with the incredibly strange Hollow that was bound to produce. "I'm just saying that I'm being stupid and regretting going to Shin'ou a little!"

He frowned, abruptly turning serious and walking towards me. "Why?" Shinji asked. Bless him, he didn't mock my worries. The Hirako were as a rule comfortable with who they were, leading to a clan-wide philosophy of 'figure out your problems, solve the ones you can and recognize the ones you can't, then get on with your life.' It was even in the clan creed: 'See yourself in the flat of the blade, accepting the cruel edge and protective duty.' None that I'd met so far were much good with more deep-seated psychological problems, but at least they didn't make fun of you if you were genuinely troubled.

I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? 'Because I just signed both our death warrants?' 'Because I'm terrified out of my mind by cannibalistic demons, the kind we'll someday turn into?' "Just...thinking," I said finally. "What if I graduate, join a division, and get stuck in a dead-end job? I'll look back and wonder what could've been better if I'd done what Dad wanted originally. I don't want to regret this choice."

"Stupid," Shinji scoffed. "There's no way you'll regret it. We're gonna take Shin'ou on together, right? It'll all turn out fine if you've got me and I've got you. So you'll do fine. Maybe ya ain't the prodigy I am, but ya ain't unseated material either."

"Leave it to you to brag about yourself while you're encouraging me," I said, poking my tongue out at him. Maybe it was wrong of me, but I couldn't help wondering if keeping him humble now would keep him from being caught by surprise by Aizen. 

"Somebody has to make sure people don't think this clan is made of hide-in-a-corner crybabies," he retorted. For all the quickness of his tongue, Shinji wasn't quick enough to dodge when I darted forwards and kicked him in the shin.

"Just you wait, Shinji." I grinned, folding my arms and tilting my chin up as faux-arrogantly as I could manage. "I'll make you eat my dust."

If we both don't bite the dust...

I shut that thought out, flapping a hand at him. "Now get out of here. I want to study and you are not on the test."

True to the terms of our agreement, he left me alone. I recovered my brush and scroll, frowning as I looked over my writing. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't think of any factor I'd neglected. There definitely were some—my brain had a nasty habit of thinking it knew everything while knowing nothing—but I couldn't see any just now. Well, I had seven years to think about it before the shit really hit the fan.

Time to get on with actually studying.

Chapter Text

 It was perhaps the worst summer day of my life when Dad took us to the entrance exams. The humidity was so high I thought that the sweat trickling down my back might've been condensation, and even without that the heat made me feel like a baked potato, with my clothes as the skin. When a breeze occasionally stirred the air, sighs of bliss could be heard from even the most stoic nobles. Me, all I could focus on was that every time I inhaled I smelled salt.

Strangely, however, when we got to Shin'ou the Shinigami proctors weren't sweating at all. As I passed one, I swore I could feel a buzzing sensation around her, like a shell of reiatsu.

Note to self: learn how to cool off with Kidou, or whatever these people are using.

I thought I'd gotten a good idea of Shin'ou from the few episodes that had taken place there, but seeing it on my computer screen and actually being there were two wildly different experiences. The hall into which applicants piled alone was easily twice the size of my high school gym, looking rather like a college lecture hall. Its surrounding buildings were even bigger, multi-storied and surrounded—probably containing as well—by courtyards and practice areas. I couldn't see the dormitories from where we were, but they had to be there. A lot of the students around us looked like they didn't have any homes worth going back to, and those who did had trunks. Every piece of architecture I saw was more traditionally Japanese than my own clan's estate.

Considering who had founded Shin'ou, that wasn't surprising. Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni's brain, as one very memorable fanfic had put it, was so rusty that its gears probably couldn't turn in another direction anymore.

"Those of you who brought possessions, raise your hands. Proctors will come around and provide you with as many slips of paper as you require. Ink and brushes will also be provided. Write your legal name, district, and the hiragana for both on the tags," a rat-faced proctor announced. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a slight man.

"Sir?" A boy standing at the back of the crowd called. A thick drawl touched even that one word. Definitely high-district. As people turned to look at him, the boy flushed red. Shaggy black hair touched the shoulders of his ratty yukata, its original color long since faded. In calloused hands he carried a simple sack that bulged with what was probably everything he owned. "What if- what if we d-don't know how to, to write?"

I cringed internally. A painfully shy kid like that, no wonder he'd left his rough district for Shin'ou.

The rat-faced man's gaze was faintly disapproving. "Get one of your classmates to write them for you."

As proctors came around, I nudged Shinji in the side. "Shin, I'm going to go help that kid. Mark my stuff—real name, not one of your dumb nicknames." Before he could stop me, I turned and began to elbow my way through the applicants behind me. As I approached the boy, who apparently didn't have the nerve to ask anyone around him, some part of me wanted to turn back and worry about my own stuff. I needed to go over what I knew, right? I didn't have to help this kid. He'd find help somehow, wouldn't he? I shushed that part of me. There was no reason to be nervous about helping someone out.

"Um, you needed help with a tag?" I stammered when I reached him. The boy had taken a tag, a brush, and a wetted inkstone and was staring at it as if characters would magically appear on the paper.

He glanced up, mild terror crossing his features. "Um, yes? But I don't wanna make m'self a bother, really. I'm sure I'll remember how..." From the way the kid's upper teeth were chomping on his lower lip, I highly doubted that.

I frowned. There was nothing that irritated me more than people who blatantly didn't know something pretending like they did. My mental self was smirking. This sort of thing was my element, bluntness overpowering my shyness when faced with a new acquaintance. "No, you won't. Give me those." I snatched the writing implements and nodded towards the ground. "Sit down. It's way easier for me to write on the ground than on a wall."

He sat, if only out of confusion. I doubted that I could command a gerbil. I dropped down beside him, dipped the tip of the brush in the ink, and held it to the paper. "What's your name, short stuff?" Right up close to him I could see that I was at least three inches taller. Ha! Taller than someone, taller than someone, my thoughts sing-songed.

"Minoru," he said, dropping his head as if ashamed of the fact. "Yes, that's all of it."

"Minoru, gotcha. How d'ya want that written?" I deliberately dropped into Osaka-ben, trying to make him feel more comfortable. Familiar voices always helped me relax, after all.

"Written?" He said, round eyes making it clear that he'd never heard of alternate readings in his life. Right, make things basic.

"Dependin' on context—or just how they're used, some kanji only get certain pronunciations when they're names—kanji can be said different ways," I explained. "If ya choose certain pronunciations you can make puns with them, or slap 'em with readings from another language. There are two different ways to show sounds, depending on whether they're foreign or native. If'n ya want, I can write 'Minoru' just as 'mi-no-ru' in either of those systems. Or I can write whatever kanji ya want and assign 'Minoru' as the reading. Pick carefully," I warned. As a frequent victim of misreading, I was especially conscious of kanji-furigana relationships.

"What kanji usually go with my name?" Minoru asked, staring at the brush with a newfound respect.

"There are a couple that both read fer 'reality' or 'truth,'" I said. "My brother uses a similar kanji in his name. Um, let's see. Ya can sometimes write it as 'bountiful harvest,' but I'd recommend not. No offense, but I don't think ya want to encourage a reputation for bein' a country bumpkin. People here, half of 'em got their nebs so high in the sky ya could mistake 'em for the Soukyoku."

Minoru half-smiled. "I can't talk 'gainst that. How d'ya write yours?"

I grinned. "Hirako Nariko. Th' family name's written as 'flat child,' my personal name's 'hard-workin' child.' Ya could have it as 'humble child,' 'adjusted child,' 'high-climber child,' or my personal favorite, 'thunder child.'"

"Now what've ya done ta get Narin talkin' in Osaka-ben, brat?" My brother's drawl said. In unison Minoru and I looked up to see him standing there, ink on his fingers. "'Cause lemme tell ya, it's all I can do ta get her to use even a word that ain't Tokyo-ben, even if it's just us two."

"Minoru-san," I said before Shinji could insult him further, "meet my brother Shinji. His name's written as 'true child.'"

Minoru blinked rapidly. "You two are twins?"

In unison—not helping my case—we shook our heads. "Nah, Nari-nee's my older sister," Shinji answered. "Hurry up over here, you two. Don't wanna miss the exams, do ya?"

"Kanji?" I said immediately, glancing at Minoru.

"Truth," he replied after a second. "Whichever one's easier ta write. My district's Fugai, West 67th."

"Outside...the...earthwork," I murmured as I printed the kanji as neatly as I was able. There was something vaguely familiar about the word 'fugai,' but I couldn't remember what it was off the top of my head. "Thanks." I stood, handing him the tag. "If ya get the chance, Minoru-san, meet up with Shinji an' me after. We'll show ya the ropes."

"Th-thanks!" He called after us as Shinji and I returned to our own belongings.

"Why'd ya go an' do that, Nariko?" Shinji murmured. "Ya don't even know the kid and now ya want ta take on the obligation of teachin' him everythin' 'bout a world he ain't never seen before?"

"Stop laying it on so thick, moron," I murmured back. "People may not want to understand you, but they need to be able to."

"Answer me, Nariko," he muttered tersely.

"I wanted," I hissed, "to be nice. We grew up here, but he didn't. He'll get himself hurt if we don't teach him how to survive here. I don't care how long it takes or what fun of yours it messes up, we're doing this. We take on Shin'ou together, remember?"

He grumbled, but I knew Shinji wouldn't go back on his word. Tricky he might be, willing to bend the truth and outright lie, but Shinji kept his promises. "Fine. As soon as ya get tired of the Rukon pet, don't come cryin' ta me."

"Dick," I muttered just loud enough for him to hear me.

When everybody had attached tags to their belongings, the proctors came through the crowd again, stamping each person's hand with a number from 1 to 8. They made a point of avoiding giving siblings and same-district people the same number whenever possible. Depending on what number was printed on an applicant's hand, they would take a seat at a designated section.

I took my seat in section 4 numbly, legs moving on their own. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Did I study enough? What did I even study? What'll be on here? Please tell me this isn't the only part of the exam or I'll fail! I want to go to Miyako!

Two proctors for each section handed out the exam. A couple others went through the rows, quietly asking each person whether they could read. Those who couldn't were led away, but judging from how none of them looked as if their hopes and dreams had been crushed it was probably just an alternative exam they would be taking.

It was... surprisingly less intensive than I'd thought. Many of the questions were basic but important things, like naming the structure and function of the Central 46, the three methods of becoming a captain, describing how district numbers worked, and what the four Shinigami Arts were. My unique circumstances gave me the answers to some, but the years clouded others. Who really cared how many captains had to recommend you to achieve captaincy without a Bankai demonstration? Future captains did, I guess. A lot were logic questions, things like 'What do you do if someone swings their sword at you?' I wrote down that I would step away if able, or block with my own Zanpakutou if my reiryoku was strong enough. Those were to weed out the idiots who fancied themselves world-conquering heroes, or at least identify them. There were a few that I had to admire for the subtlety with which they questioned an applicant's morality. 'If you had an injured comrade and were under attack by Hollows, what would you do?' and 'How do you aim to change Soul Society?' I carefully put down 'carry them to safety' for the first and 'increase security in the Rukongai' for the second. No use outing myself as a relative radical this early on.

Some—my favorite because hey, I was a teenage girl—seemed more like personality quizzes than anything else. 'Do you prefer justice or the rules?', 'Describe your approach to problem-solving in a word,' and 'Are brains or brawn more important?' were all questions put to me. I didn't think too much about those—start thinking about who you were and you might never find out, after all.

When the sixty-minute time limit was up, we all were led out of the exam hall. I saw the back of Minoru's head through a gap in the crowd. Relief flooded me in a warm rush. They hadn't been expelled.

We were led into another building this time. The proctors divided us up into various hallways. Minoru and I were in the same hallway, but in the crush of people I couldn't get to him. Most of this portion of the test was waiting. I was lucky enough to be called early on.

A musclebound woman in a sleeveless shihakushou ushered me into a small room, closing both sliding doors behind me. I was uncomfortably reminded that I was completely alone, helpless and at this woman's mercy. Weakweakweakweak- Shut up, you stupid thoughts.

"Hirako Nariko?" She said, examining a scroll.

"Yes, Shinigami-san."

"These are just going to be some questions that we felt couldn't be answered properly on the written portion. If some of your answers on the written portion are called into question, I may call you back later to clarify," she said. "If you need to seek me out for any reason, I'm Mizushima Sayuri, a Shinigami of the Ninth."

"Yes, Mizushima-san."

"Any questions before we begin?" She asked.

You have no idea. "What are you doing to stay cool?" I asked, tilting my head. "I bumped into a proctor and there was this, this shell around her."

Mizushima blinked. "Ah, you noticed that? She must've had an ice affinity; the Academy usually arranges for outside guards who have an easier time cooling off. Unless your Zanpakutou is ice-type too, you'll have to use Kidou for that."

"But what are you doing?" I persisted. "It can't be efficient to maintain a full-body spell like that."

She shook her head. "It's not. Me, I prefer a fan. It's right- ah, shi-shoot. Shoot. I must've left it in the exam hall. Well, any questions about the exam?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Then let's begin. What are your ambitions following graduation?"

I barely had to consider my response. "I want to achieve a seated position in either the Third, Ninth, or Twelfth. And to do better than my brother, but that's not likely."

Mizushima smiled when I mentioned the Ninth. "If you really want to join a division where every captain since the beginning of time has been a complete and utter hardass, sure. If you want any sanity at all, look elsewhere." She glanced down at the scroll, brush flicking over the paper as she recorded my reply. "Next question: do you have any extraordinary skills?"

Now I did have to consider my reply. I had a sharp memory, but nothing exceptional. I was good at following routines, but that was normal. I could play two instruments that hadn't made their way here, read and write in a language no one spoke, and knew the future via a manga series aimed at teenage boys. "I can read very quickly and I remember written information well," I said at last.

"Good." She noted that. "Do you have training in manipulation of reiryoku, a Hakuda style other than the Academy style, onmitsu techniques, or any weapon?"

"No, Shifting Moon, cyphers and observation, basic tantoujutsu and some naginatajutsu," I answered. I'd much preferred the naginata to the tantou, the former having amazing range and the latter having too much potential for cutting one's own hand open.

The rest of the questioning went in much the same way. Unlike the written portion, which had been broader, questioning how well you'd do as a Shinigami, this part focused on your aptitude for various Academy courses. Beneath the low table we sat at, I had my fingers crossed that they wouldn't stick me in the Kidou Corps or Onmitsukidou tracks.

At the end, I expected her to send me on my merry way, to my dorm room or some other place like that. Instead, Mizushima produced a glassy sphere, bluish-white in color and about the size of my head. The sphere was vaguely familiar, though considering my circumstances a lot of things were vaguely familiar. She held it out to me. I had the idea that somebody else had done that a while back—forward? A person who had had coarse black hair, a foul temper, and a fondness for explosives-

Shiba Kuukaku. She'd used this thing to get Ichigo and company into Seireitei. Well great. I had to wonder if it was a Shiba invention or if she'd just ripped the Academy tech off and named it after herself. Because seriously, reishuukaku? Yeah, that was real subtle.

I took the globe gingerly, almost afraid that it would burn me. It didn't, but the sphere did have an odd feeling, not like glass as I'd expected, but more like the 'riverbank' stones of a Zen garden by my family's home, smooth, cool, and soothing. Unlike Kuukaku's globe, this one had the kanji for 'Shin'ou' written in black on it.

"You'll find it easier to do this exercise if you press as much skin as possible to its surface," Mizushima advised. "When you've got it as you want it, close your eyes and try to tune out everything but my voice."

I did as she said, trying to make my wrists touch the globe as well. Urahara had put a seal on Aizen to bind his wrists because Shinigami had vents for spirit pressure there, right? Something like that, anyway. I shut my eyes tightly. There's nothing around you, I told myself. No floor beneath, no roof above, no Mizushima. Just...a voice.

"Look inside yourself, to your heart, where your reiryoku comes from," the voice said. 

I'd tried to look inwards many times in my life Before, trying to meditate. I hadn't seen anything except what I imagined for purposes of calming myself down. Now, when I tried that again...

Beautiful, was my first thought. A ball of blue-green lightning crackled and fizzed in my core. It wasn't exactly lightning, though—currents like water moved within, in time to my heartbeat, while the light it exuded was like a fiery sun. No wonder I hadn't realized I had this power before. It was so natural, so much a part of me. How did Ichigo and the others resist the temptation to just stare at this power all day? Awed, I began to reach for it, when the voice stopped me.

"Reiryoku is stored within you," it said. "It is potential. Reiatsu is the power in use. Now separately, draw a circle in your mind. Make it as dark and heavy as possible. Funnel as much reiryoku as you can into the circle, until you feel faint."

I drew the circle, made it black and deep like a person's pupils. Then, eagerly, I reached for the lightning, not with some imaginary hand, or by picturing it moving, or anything like that. It was closer to breath control than anything else. An ex-trumpet player, I knew breath control better than I knew Bleach. It was almost easy. The lightning crackled through my veins, down my hands and into the globe. I guided more and more of it along, losing a little along the way but reaching a point eventually where I knew that releasing any more would make my head spin.

"O-open your e-eyes, Hirako-san," the voice croaked. Holding the images of the lightning and circle in my mind, I obediently opened my eyes to find that Mizushima was using the table to support herself, skin pale beneath her tan and visibly sweaty. The room looked weird, like I was seeing it underwater. I blinked to clear my eyes a few times before realizing that the tint the room had taken on was the same color as the lightning. Awesome.

Then something disturbed the strength I could feel pushing out from me. A calm yet insistent presence pushed out against mine, elegant and giving the oddest impression of slow-moving water. A dark olive light hummed into existence around Mizushima, taking on a shape that looked like some kind of heron, which flared its wings out.

"G-good," Mizushima gasped. "Now pull, hah, pull your power back." 

I dismissed the image of the circle, being more careful to draw back my power as if taking a deep breath. The world felt oddly lonely when I stopped. I'd had a vague idea of small spirit signatures outside in the corridor and a somewhat larger one in front of me, various 'impressions' radiating from each one. As my power pulled away, so did my sense of the world and my connection to it.

The heron around Mizushima dissipated. As she printed something on the scroll with a shaking hand, the Shinigami took deep breaths. "Class Three, hmm," she murmured.

"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking, then remembered that she was only an unseated officer, or else she would've specified her rank. It wouldn't take much to cause that sort of effect for her; even my reiryoku levels could do it.

"Just a, hah, a categorization," she explained. "It helps us with placement." Mizushima carefully sealed up the scroll, then rose, smiling at me. "All done, Hirako-san. You can go wait with your brother."

"Thank you very much, Mizushima-san," I told her, smiling back and fumbling with the sliding doors before I got them open.

When I stepped out into the corridor, the stares of my future classmates greeted me. A nervous smile flickered onto my face. Knew it, you screwed up, you screwed up, my thoughts taunted. Some day I'd really like to not think of the worst-case scenario first, really I would. The far more likely case was that they were curious about what exactly this portion of the same constituted. A couple weren't apparently, as they'd fallen asleep.

"Ukitake Junko!" Mizushima bellowed. I nearly jumped a foot in the air, scurrying out of the way and casting a glance around for Shinji. He was waiting down the hall, slouched against the wall.

"Bored?" I asked by way of greeting when I reached him.

"No shit," my brother replied, faking a wide yawn. "Your display a minute ago was a nice break, though."

"Huh?" I tilted my head at him.

"Jeez, you're the smartest numbskull I know, Nari-nee," he scoffed. "They don't use sekkiseki here, so of course ya can feel people's reiatsu from those rooms. Betcha ya made a good impression on somma the people hangin' 'round here." Shinji smirked.

"Moron!" I smacked him upside the head. "Don't go teasing me. Let's have an agreement that we're always honest with each other from now on, okay?"

"Sure," Shinji said. "I ain't takin' that back, though. Ya ain't common, Nari-nee."

I jabbed him in the ribs. "Snake in the grass," I snapped. "See if I don't tell you that you're barely above unseated when it's your turn."

He stuck out his tongue at me, but said nothing. We waited until he was called in silence.

Finally someone a couple rooms down was ushered out and the proctor called out, "Hirako Shinji!" My brother flashed a thumbs-up and grin—apparently a timeless gesture in the Bleachverse—and sauntered away.

I was tense the whole time, waiting for the explosion of spirit power I knew he'd produce. But somehow I still wasn't ready when it finally came.

I was just about to go look for a bathroom when the sun hit me full in the eyes. Not literally, but that was how it felt as my whole body froze. Golden spirit power slammed down on me, hot and bright and skin-baking like the summer day that waited outside. Sweat began to pour down my face immediately.

"Dark circle, dark circle, dark circle," I muttered to myself as I scrambled to remember what I'd done with Mizushima. I managed to push out my reiryoku again, exuding it in a field of shaky turquoise. Some of the people around me, shaking and gasping for breath, began to calm a little as I did that. It didn't feel the same this time, less effortless, like doing pushups after I'd already warmed-up.

The sun-energy cut off after a couple seconds. Shinji's proctor must've yelled for him to stop. I made a note to thank whoever the poor guy was.

Or not. The sliding doors slid open and Shinji poked his head out, supporting an unconscious proctor. "Oi! This guy passed out! Somebody make him wake up!"

Another proctor dashed over, holding his hand to the man's head to check for fever and then shaking his head. "It's the effect of your reiatsu," I heard him say distantly. "You must have some good potential." The words sounded casual, but it didn't take a genius to realize that Shinji was damn strong. I'd already known that, but knowing it and experiencing it were two entirely different things. "I'll just mark up the scroll for you then. We'll switch him out, don't worry."

"Wasn't worryin'," Shinji replied, but he made his way back to me nonetheless. From the way his narrow eyes flicked around, I could tell that he noticed the people who scrambled out of his way.

"So how was that, Nari-nee?" Shinji asked. His tone wasn't quite as loud as it would've been if he'd really just been asking. What Shinji really wanted to know were my thoughts on it.

"You're a lot stronger than I am," I answered equally quietly. "Not developed, but... I think if you work hard you could get a seated position."

Shinji grunted in agreement, eyes slits as the cogs of his mind processed this. "Then let's go take a walk around Shin'ou. I'm gettin' real antsy."

Parents weren't allowed on campus, except during certain visiting days. Students, similarly, weren't allowed off campus without written permission from at least three teachers or accompaniment by a Shinigami or teacher. Since technically Shinji and I weren't students yet, we could meet our parents off-campus.

"Shinji! Nariko!" Makoto shrilled as soon as she caught sight of us. "How was it? Did they give ya a checkup? I should've packed food! Nariko, didya keep your brother out of mischief like I done told ya? Shinji, didya keep an eye out for her?"

"Maa, love, I'm sure the proctors kept order," Kenji drawled. "Did the both of ya make us proud?"

"There wasn't a physical, Mom," I answered. "If there was we'd both have been disqualified, legendary Hirako physique and all. Not fair to others."

We all laughed at that. Very few people in the clan were curvy, muscular, or stout—as a rule, the Hirako ran towards being lean at best and scrawny at worst. In our early years Shinji and I had used that build to pass ourselves off as each other to our more distant relatives and visitors to the estate.

"It went fine, I guess." Shinji shrugged. "My proctor at the second part passed out, though."

"Shinji forgot how to hold back and overwhelmed the poor guy with his reiatsu," I added, not particularly eager to share my comparatively average results. They'd end up congratulating me but it was obvious Shinji would still be the shining star. Someday I'd get praise above him and I would earn it.

Mom squealed. "How amazing! I can't wait to tell your uncle Yuji; you know how much Yuuma-kun loves hearin' 'bout Shin'ou." Yuuma was our cousin, fourth in line for leadership of the clan. It had surprised me that Hirako leadership passed only along the line of descent—Dad was the current leader, succeeded by his brother Yuji if he died, but even then Mom would keep her position as head of the household. Shinji was the real heir in all but law, custom dictating that Yuji turn down the offer. I would come after Shinji, as a woman of the current main family. If both of us weren't suitable, Yuuma would inherit.

Oh, damn. I hadn't considered that with Shinji and I both...that without Shinji and I the inheritance would fall to Yuuma. He wouldn't be ready, not in the same way Shinji was. Note to self: train Yuuma. And rope Shinji into it too. 

"When do they usually finish grading?" I asked, arms folded loosely across my chest. "We could all get something to eat."

Kenji hummed, shifting from foot to foot. "Hmm, tomorrow morning? They were done near midnight some year way back, but that was a real small class. This year's incoming bunch is big, so I reckon by noon if ya allow for the usual debate."

"Debate?" Shinji asked, my own question right on the heels of his. "They debate?"

"Mhmm," Kenji said, beginning to lead us away from Shin'ou's gates. "Some of the questions are pretty black-and-white, but others are a whole rainbow. So officials argue about them, and about how many errors they can overlook in an applicant. Get denied and your stuff'll be out on the street. Get accepted and they'll hand ya a slip with room number and course list."

The district around Shin'ou was best described by one word: gorgeous. Red-stemmed maples and bronze-leaved cherry blossom trees shaded the walkways. The former would be beautiful come fall, the latter absolutely stunning when spring rolled around. Every house we passed crouched on wooden supports, curving tiled roofs glinting in the sun. Sidewalks were nonexistent on the narrow roads, so bumping shoulders seemed to be an accepted part of city life. I hid a scowl upon realizing that. We didn't live in the sticks by any means, but crowds had driven me half-mad throughout my life. Happy place, happy place, I consoled myself.

"Where're we goin'?" Shinji asked. "Don't ya wanna get somethin' ta nibble on? I know there's a pit in my stomach." My own stomach twisted at that, the same way it did whenever he said something that reminded me in the slightest of his future Hollowfication.

"To the ryokan Makoto and I got a room at," Dad answered. "It'd take too long for us to head back home, so it's best that we bunk here until we get the results."

The ryokan in question was a perfectly traditional place, switch-to-slippers-at-the-door and a garden around the baths inside. A maid showed us to our room with several bows and a request to ask for anything we needed.

Our room was surprisingly cozy, a low table with a few zabuton pillows surrounding it in the center. As we filed in, slippers rasping on the tatami mat floor, Kenji turned to Shinji and me.

"Get on your yukata and we can go wash up before grabbing a bite," he advised. "If no one's too hungry...?"

Shinji and I shook our heads, despite Shinji's complaining not too long ago. Onsen were not to be missed. Mom and Dad changed in a separate room, if you could call a space formed by translucent rice-paper screens a room, talking in low whispers that neither of us cared to eavesdrop on. Shinji and I took a room together.

"Why didn't ya mention how good your results were?" He said quietly as he helped me tie my obi. "There. Now you can get mine."

I obliged, tying a sloppy bow and adjusting it so that it flopped at his right hip. Shinji huffed, undoing the knot and tying a better bow himself. "Why? So they can try to make me feel good when it's clear that you've already done better? For a guy who's usually so good with promises, you aren't doing so well with the one we made, Shin. I'm nothing special, not like you."

I doubled over as a sudden pain bloomed in my stomach. Straightening, I realized that it didn't really hurt that bad. Shinji'd just poked me in the stomach. "What the heck, moron?" I demanded.

"Stop sayin' that, Nariko," he said, every line of his body reading as serious. "Not callin' me a moron," he added so I couldn't pretend to get stuck on that and change the subject. "I mean stop sayin' that ya ain't anythin' special. Everybody in our hall felt your reiatsu, felt your proctor havin' to protect herself from it. Even if ya could barely use a reitama, ya could probably run rings around half the Kuchiki and Shiba and Shihouin there when it comes to book learnin'."

"And what does book learning have to do with being a Shinigami?" I snapped. "We aren't high nobles, Shinji. You're a prodigy; I'm not, so I get normal reiryoku, just good enough to enter, but it's obvious I'm not going the places you're going. Stop trying to make me feel better. I'm not stupid. Sure, I'll get in, but once I'm out it'll be the First, Third, or Fourth for me. Paperwork, art, or the shit nobody else wants to do." If I'd been back in my own skin, I would've clapped my hands over my mouth. My mental mouth was pretty foul, but I didn't like the feeling of being dirty and crude that came with the loss of my filter. Get control, you idiot, I berated myself.

Shinji stepped forwards so fast that I didn't have time to take a matching step back. "Stop. Sayin'. That," he hissed, breath warm on my face. "That ain't the Nari-nee I know. My sister acknowledges when she's good at somethin'. She doesn't just shut up because some stupid test and a bunch of high nobles make her all nervous." His voice dropped low and harsh. "I dunno if it's somethin' Dad said to ya when ya asked about goin' to Shin'ou, or pressure, or just from realizin' that ya ain't at home anymore an' we're gonna have to contend with a bunch of prissy-ass princesses and princelings. Maybe ya ain't gonna be a captain, but there's no way in hell that you'll be anythin' below Fourth Seat."

"Shut your damn mouth," I hissed back. Didn't he get that anything that wasn't a captain was helpless? That I was no Ikkaku or Yumichika to hold Third or Fifth and still be able to contend with Espada? I'd hoped that I'd be stronger, out of desperate fear for the future. If I wasn't strong enough I couldn't replace Hiyori and she'd be hurt and Shinji'd be hurt and I'd be left behind unimportant and alone and I couldn't let that happen didn't he see? "Maybe you've got the most in this family, but you are not the authority on reiryoku here."

"And you are?" He replied.

"No. I just trust our father to tell me the truth about my own power!" I growled. "Let's go to the onsen." I tried to shove past him, but Shinji planted himself in my path.

"How the hell would he know?" Shinji snapped. "How would anyone know, when ya keep everythin' in close and skulk around like you're tryin' to not be a bother, doin' your own thing? Only reason I can sense ya clearly right now is 'cause you're pissed at me."

I stared at him for a long second, scouring his face for any sign that he was teasing, for even a hint of pity. There was none.

"S-Shinji," I stammered, rage draining from me. "If I ever find out that you just lied to me, I will cut out each of your ribs one by one. Then I'll cut off the tip of your nose, and your earlobes, and your lips and eyelids too. Then I'll peel off your skin bit by bit, coat you in salt, and draw and quarter you."

Shinji smirked, and breathing that I hadn't even realized had become difficult became easier. Accidentally employing his reiryoku? I wondered. And then I did the same thing...huh. Powers here are even more personality-based than I thought. "Gee, that doesn't sound real pleasant. I'll try to keep ya convinced of my honesty, then," he drawled.

"Shinji? Nariko?" Mom said from beyond the sliding door. She sounded a little breathless. "Ya finished pickin' whatever bone's between ya two?"

We flushed in unison. I slid open the door, smiling sheepishly. "Did you catch all of that?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Too busy tryin' to stop my ears from ringin' with all the reiatsu movin' 'round in there," she said dryly. "Don't worry, ya kept it down enough that the trace sekkiseki didn't get overloaded." Mom tapped a wall, which now that I looked at it did have a few white flecks embedded in the wood. Probably to keep the whole ryokan from feeling it when couples stayed the night.

The onsen was heaven when we finally made it in. Ignoring the bit where you had to strip with complete strangers around and shower before getting in, the hot water soothed away stress and muscle pains perfectly. I found myself nearly falling asleep, but Mom shook me awake before I could accidentally drown. That would have been a rather embarrassing way to meet my end before even getting my plans underway.

Finally, when we were all clean, Mom and Dad produced kimono for us to wear out for a bite. Shinji's was a burnt orange that I rather envied, a scene of swordsmen dueling at sunset adorning it. I noted absently that standards for men's clothing seemed to be less subdued than in real-life Japan—maybe because Shinigami were so common and wore dark clothing as a uniform? Mine was a salmon-colored number, a saffron-yellow design of wisteria catching the light nicely. We both wore sandy-brown half-width obi, although mine was tied in the butterfly knot and his was in a clam's mouth knot. Mom wore a dusty pink kimono with a simple design of cranes, while Dad wore a muted gold kimono. Even though none of our kimono were especially formal, I couldn't help but see that they all had at least one of our clan colors: pink, gold, and brown.

Wonder if it was Mom or Dad who wanted to advertise which clan we were from? I thought wryly as we stepped out onto the street, heading for the nearest food market. As evening drew closer, the scent of cooking food grew stronger and stronger on the breeze. Mmmm. Even Aizen couldn't make me hate food.

We settled on dining kawayuka-style, eating on a platform built over a small river. Obanzai ryori was the chosen meal tonight, a series of small, simple dishes. The woman owning the restaurant, clearly well into her cups judging from the blush on her face, waved away our money when we attempted to pay.

"It'sh on the house! Don't be stupid, heh! Think of it as encour-encour- reashon for you to vishit later!" She giggled. "I'll even throw in a bottle of sake!"

So it was that Shinji and I had our first taste of alcohol. It was nothing special, just a local sake that had been heated so we couldn't taste how bad it was. Shinji and I drank a small bowl each. The owner didn't notice when we left with the sake bottle, dumping it into the bushes when we were out of sight. Nobody needed to have that brew inflicted on them.

When we finally settled back into the ryokan, maids had put out our futons out while we were gone. After much lazing-around—who knew one could procrastinate going to bed?—we all slipped into yukata to sleep in.

Sleep was delicious.

Chapter Text

Morning hit me like a sledgehammer. Mom practically rolled Shinji and me off our futons, nagging us into getting dressed at light speed. Blearily I stumbled through my morning routine, having to tie today's kimono's obi twice before I could remember that no, tying my shoes wasn't the same method. It took effort to get my geta on the right feet, and Mom had to help me comb my hair when I tried to do it with the teeth pointing the wrong way.

Looked like the body was the plaything of the soul. I'd been a night owl in my last incarnation and had somehow missed my clan's tendency to greet the day with a grin.

"Hey, Shinji," I muttered as we were ushered through the streets to Shin'ou, "you think we can hear our Zanpakutou this early? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that every part of me's saying to go back to sleep."

"It ain't early, stupid," he answered. "It's almost eleven. By the time we finish breakfast it'll be time."

Breakfast was refreshingly plain, a large bowl of rice porridge and a slightly smaller bowl of miso soup with some dried mackerel. The fishy taste got my brain to start working a little better, as did the walking. By the time we got to Shin'ou, I was capable of forming sentences that did not convey my desire to kill the sun.

The courtyard we were all ushered into was packed to the gills with people. Some people had had a much rougher night than us, judging from their rumpled looks. Others clearly had never bothered to go to sleep, as they reeked of sake. Family was allowed on campus today, so I got to listen to my parents' excited whispering as we joined the crowd.

"Advanced classes for Shinji, d'ya reckon?" My mom whispered. "And standard for Nariko?"

"Mm," my dad replied, too busy staring at the platform where teachers were gathering to really listen. A bald, bronze-skinned man walked up to the podium. The instant he raised up a scroll, a hush descended over the crowd.

"Abe, Sakurako. Abe, Ichigo. Abe, Kuukaku..."

I barely heard the rest of the names. Instead I tried to 'listen' to the rest of the crowd, to feel their reiatsu as it increased and decreased with joy and dismay depending on whose name was called or wasn't.

"Fugai, Minoru." When I heard Minoru's name, I couldn't help the startled, happy whoop I let out. He'd made it! I nearly hugged Shinji before realizing that I was the only one cheering. I dropped my eyes to the ground, heat flooding my face. 

"Hayashi, Junko. Hayashi, Masayuki." Now we were reaching the H-names. I clenched my jaw, crossed all my fingers and toes, and sent up a few prayers to a God I wasn't exactly sure existed in this world. Please let me have made it! "Hidaka, Tatsuo. Hidaka, Saburo. Hidaka, Kohaku. Hirako, Nariko. Hirako, Shinji."

I didn't hear anything at all after that. Not my parents hugging me and laughing and praising every kami they knew. Not the applause from the crowd, and certainly not the other names read off.

I made it. All I could hear was my own heartbeat and those words. I made it. I just signed my own death warrant and gave myself the best life at the same time. I made it madeitmademadeitmadeit! Shinji's reiatsu washed over me, a plume of sunlight before he dialed it back. Slowly, tentatively, I let my hold on my reiryoku slip a little. Today was my day. No holding back. The crackling, wind-rain-waves-storm feeling of my reiryoku moving through my veins filled me. A smile so huge it hurt seized my features and I couldn't make it go away even if I wanted to. I was worth something. I wasn't weak, or pathetic, or anything like that.

When all the names had finally been read out, we hurried over to the placement list. Mom and Dad made use of Hirako obstinacy to elbow their way through, dragging Shinji and me along behind them. I held my breath, hoping beyond hope.

Beneath the list of 'Advanced' students for the 'Gotei Track' board, both Shinji's and my names were listed.

I should've been happy. And I was, somewhere deep within. But the first emotion that rode me was anger. I whirled to look my mom right in the eye and snapped, "There. See there, according to that list I am just as good as Shinji. Better." I pointed to my score, listed by my name. It was a full thirty points higher than Shinji's. "So don't talk about Shinji, Shinji, Shinji all the time. I did well too."

I stomped off, heading for the proctors handing out room assignments and course lists. I'd look over the courses later. For now I just wanted to get rid of the rage headache pounding in my head and maybe take the chance to be loud for a bit, celebrating with whoever I roomed with.

I was to live in the East Sode Boshi dorms, second floor and eighth room down on the left. I pushed my way through the gaggle of girls and found myself at a plain door, black-lacquered with the stylized kanji for eight on it in red. My home for the next seven years, I guessed.

I slid open the door expecting to find my belongings dumped by my futon. Instead, I was startled to find a tall ash-haired girl arranging my belongings into a neat pile. Hers were already unpacked, judging from the empty trunk and couple empty bags lying by the other bed. She turned when the door slid open, lips twitching into a small smile.

"Oh! I thought you'd get here just a little bit later than this, sorry," she said by way of greeting, straightening. "I'm Fujikage Shinju. Nice to meet you?" She said it like she didn't know whether I was a very nice person to meet or not.

"Hirako Nariko," I introduced myself. Well, of all the people to get as a roommate, it was nice to have a Fujikage. They were a Kuchiki-aligned minor noble family in Hokutan who stayed out of most politics, preferring to run a few farms and a couple textile businesses. "Did you organize my stuff?"

"I didn't have much else to do," she admitted, brushing her sheet of grey hair away from her face. "Um, if you want I could help you unpack. Unless you want to cool off a little bit and then do it; I could use the time to change into my uniform." Shinju pointed at the red-and-white Academy uniform lying on her futon. Another one had been draped over the end of my futon.

"Cool off?" I began to unlatch my trunks and hang my clothes in the wardrobe provided to us. Some of Shinju's clothing already hung there. "It's not as hot as yesterday, you know."

"Huh?" I could feel Shinju's innocent blink. "I just thought, you know, since you seem kinda upset..."

Oh. No wonder she wasn't sure about me. "Don't worry about it. I blew up at my mom earlier."

"Oh! Oh, good. Well not good, but I thought you might've wanted a different roommate." Shinju held up a red shitagi. "I wonder where they get this fabric. It doesn't feel like anything I've handled."

I started unpacking, unloading the few kimonos, kanzashi, and obi I'd brought. Makoto had tried to make me take more, but I really didn't want to lug around more crap than I needed. There wasn't much of a chance that I'd be wearing the ones I'd brought anyway. Academy uniforms were similar to Shinigami uniforms in that they were acceptable at most events, if uncreative. "Color's kinda familiar. I think that might be a Hirako dye."

"Really? I forgot that your clan works with dyes too," she said, carefully undressing so as not to ruin her outfit. "Did you hear about a mistake with the Lady Kira's juunihitoe? The hitoe was too blue, so we had to switch it for a greener version at the last minute."

We talked like that for a while as I set out my personal belongings and changed into my uniform, discussing our favorite shades and debating the merits of various patterns.

"...but the Raw Silk Wisteria just seems somewhat unrefined. I mean, it's not if you ask most people, but I don't like that the silk is so incomplete-looking, you know?" Shinju said as we left our room at last. 

I hummed, thinking for a second about how to not offend her. "I gotta say that I like the uniqueness," I admitted, tying my hair back into a loose ponytail with a ribbon. "But I wish the red-orange that one uses for the hitoe was used for the karaginu more often. It's so fiery. I used to have a yukata that color, but I grew out of it."

"Too bright for me," Shinju said as we stepped out into the afternoon air. "But to each their own. What division do you think you'll want when we graduate?"

A startled laugh burst out of me. Think? I knew exactly which one I wanted to join and which one I had to. I'd known for years. "Maa, I'm not going to think about that now. We haven't even had our first class. You know what you want already?"

"Hmm." Shinju tilted her head back, letting the sunlight spill over her face. Despite being tall and calm from what I'd seen of her, Shinju had a surprisingly impish face, with high cheekbones, a short chin, and a broad forehead. Her height and features seemed almost at odds, but considering the small size of the Fujikage clan it wouldn't surprise me if one parent had been from outside the clan—a low-rank Shihouin, maybe. It was hard to say without knowing any other members of her family. "The Third would suit me really well, I think, since I already know how to work with colors. But my brother Kohaku's the Eleventh Seat of the Tenth and he brings back all these stories about the people there. They're really hard-working and thoughtful, you know, so I want to go there."

 "Heyyy, firsties!" A voice called out. Shinju and I turned to see someone whose face made my heart stop.

Slender and pale-skinned, Kuna Mashiro hadn't yet filled out in the way I knew she would. Her hair, so cartoonishly green that it should've been illegal, was long enough to be held back bandana-style by the deep pink scarf I vaguely remembered from Turn Back the Pendulum. 

I couldn't have pointed to what made this Mashiro starkly different from the one I remembered. The physical differences barely gave me pause; she was still immediately recognizable as Mashiro. But there was a certain innocence to her features, instead of...what was it I had seen in her Before? It was a certain drive to win, to be better than the person next to her, but more than that, a need to survive and challenge. Bloodlust, almost.

I shivered despite the warm weather. I hoped with all my heart that it was simply a reflex born out of a century being attacked by onmitsu and battling her inner Hollow. But if it wasn't, if it was survival instincts amplified by the Hollow, I was going to have a very unpleasant time trying to keep my personality mine.

"Hey! Come with meee, you dumb newbies!" Mashiro shrilled, bounding over to us. "There's going to be an orientation assembly-thing! With all the teachers there and everything! And I'm supposed to grab any firsties I see and bring them, so come on! Don't you know that you can't refuse an awesome upperclassman like me?!" She skipped off just as soon as she'd finished talking, clearly expecting us to follow. I rubbed my ears. No wonder Kensei had trouble dealing with her.

I glanced over at Shinju, whose mouth formed an 'O' of surprise. If I hadn't known what she would be like already, I would've had my jaw on the ground too. The Mashiro Experience, as I decided to dub it, was interesting. Not fascinating interesting, the interesting that people everywhere to mean weird. We followed wordlessly.

Mashiro led us to a hall much like the one we'd taken our exams in, rows of seats and desks fanning out from a central stage. A lot of other first-years were there, chattering away.

"Okay, so this is it!" Mashiro announced, flinging her arms out to encompass the whole hall and nearly hitting an unfortunate first-year in the face. "I'm going to leave now 'cause this is super-boring and I'm a fourth-year with better things to do. So you two be good and remember my name, okay? I'm Kuna Mashiro, the best Hakuda user in my entire year! Believe it!" She flounced off as soon as she had finished again.

"Is it really so hard to have a conversation for a second longer than you have to?" I said dubiously, staring after her. "I mean, she could've waited for us to say thanks."

"I think Kuna-senpai probably just assumes that everyone's grateful to her," Shinju replied with a wry twist of her mouth. "Let's find a seat, okay?"

I scanned the area around us, looking for Shinji, and found that he'd already found a spot in a completely-full row. I stuck my tongue out at the back of his head and kept looking. Maybe...?

Sure enough, Minoru stood by the doors, looking as if he couldn't decide whether to take a seat or not.

"Fujikage-san," I asked her, "do you want to sit with that kid?" I canted my head towards Minoru. "I kinda met him before the exam and said I'd show him the ropes."

"Sure, I guess," she replied with a slight lift of the shoulders. We threaded our way through the crowd until Minoru was in earshot.

"Hey, Fugai-san!" I called as we neared him.

Minoru whirled so fast that he nearly fell over. "Huh? Wha- oh, it's you. Narin-san?" He hazarded, blinking at me like a lost puppy.

"Nariko," I corrected. "Shinji's the only one who gets to call me Narin, and even that I whack him one for it."

"Oh, o-okay," Minoru said. "I reckoned that I wouldn't catch a look at ya after the exam, y'know."

"Who's this?" Shinju inserted herself into the conversation effortlessly. "Do you know each other?" Only a slight wrinkling of her features revealed that Shinju wasn't completely okay with associating with a high-district kid.

"Minoru-san—or Fugai-san, whichever you want—meet Fujikage Shinju," I introduced them. "Fujikage-san's my roommate. Fujikage-san, I met him before the exam and gave him a couple tips on life here."

Poor Minoru couldn't even look Shinju in the eye. Scuffing his feet, he said, "N-nice to meet you, Fujikage-san?" He sent me a look that said he didn't know whether his honorific was right.

Shinju took it well enough, though. "Fujikage-san's right. I'm a second daughter and not even main family, so there's no reason for anything like -sama." She laughed. "Imagine that, me getting a Fujikage-sama. My family's not all that powerful, Fugai-san, don't worry. And even if we were, every student's supposed to be equal at Shin'ou."

"Supposed ta be," Minoru scoffed, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going so wide I thought his eyeballs would roll out. "I-I mean, I-ah-"

"It's like Fujikage-san said, don't worry about it," I assured him. "Everybody knows how things really work. Just use -san for our classmates and if they get mad, play up the puppy eyes and tell them an upperclassman told you how to address them."

He half-smiled, hand dropping back to his side. "I'll do that. And Minoru-san works just fine. I think the Academy bigwigs just gave me my district as a placeholder family name anyway."

Shinju nodded wisely. "That's custom. You can go change it if you find a better one, I think. Hirako-san, there are a few seats open over there." She nodded at a handful of seats over towards the wall.

We took three of those seats, squeezing past the people who wouldn't deign to slide over. I sat between Minoru and Shinju, swinging my legs back and forth.

"So, um, Fujikage-san, how do you write your name?" Minoru asked. "The kanji for 'truth' in your given name, but then what?"

"Actually, my name means 'pearl,'" she told him. "My family name's written as 'wisteria' and 'shadow.'" Shinju smiled wistfully. "There're these beautiful wisteria vines all over back home, so I guess that's where it came from."

"But doesn't your brother's name mean 'truth?'" Minoru asked, glancing at me. "Shinji-san?"

"Yes," I explained patiently. "But that's because there're two kanji in his name, and the one for truth reads as 'shin.' It's not the only meaning for that sound."

"Oh," he muttered, staring at his hakama. "That... huh. Nariko-san, is there a chance ya could-"

Minoru didn't get to finish as the bald man from before strode onto the stage and boomed, "Quiet down!"

It was as though he'd cast a Kidou over the whole room. Complete silence.

"I am Ounabara Gengorou, head teacher of the accelerated class for the prospective Gotei students and headmaster of the Shin'ou Academy," he said, voice carrying to the back of the room as clearly as if I was right in front of him. I wondered idly if there was a class on how to do that voice. "From the moment your enlistment was announced, you belonged to me, to this school. I do not expect that you all ascend to great rank in your chosen services. I do not even expect that you all survive your time at the Academy." He paused for effect, sweeping his gaze across the students. "But I do expect that you all devote your souls to the ancient and honorable duty that we train you for. I expect that you forge within yourselves the resolve and strength to defend the Court of Pure Souls with your lives." I winced. Two sentences and he'd hit us with more moral and social pressure than I could've put into an essay. I sneaked a glance at Minoru and Shinju. Both wore exactly the sort of rise-to-the-challenge, star-struck expressions Ounabara had probably been going for.

"The path of a Shinigami is not easy. Every one of you could've chosen civilian lives, free from danger and pain. And the great majority of people do make that choice. There is no shame in a civilian path. They are as essential as the earth we walk on." Ounabara's voice rose. "But you few, you are fire! And the life of a Shinigami is a life of honor, a calling that brings glory and power with its danger and pain. Your service to the Central 46 and to all Soul Society is what keeps Hueco Mundo's beasts at bay and the Living World in its rhythms." I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. 'Chosen few' mentality, check. 'Special snowflake,' check. 'Rewards that outweigh costs,' check. 'Demonizing the other side while glorifying ours,' check, even though Hollows really were more demonic than Hell's Togabito. And a nice dollop of 'all-important responsibility' on top of it all. Persuasion that would've toppled me if I was anyone but me, if I really was just a regular noble kid, starry-eyed and ready to be a hero. As it was, I wanted to believe him more than anything I'd ever wanted in both my lives. No wonder Shinigami were so blindly loyal. They were told from enrollment that duty and responsibility were everything. If they didn't serve the Central 46, they were worthless. And then Shinigami retired and had kids, or led their clans, or brought back stories for impressionable nieces and nephews and those beliefs sank into the core of the culture.

"I have invested my life into training the next protectors of Soul Society." Ounabara's voice had gone quiet, but its intensity wasn't lessened. "I have invested my life into each and every person who wears the uniform right now, into every person who serves Soul Society for the past two and a half centuries. And looking out at every face here, I see the potential for greatness in every one of you, whether a Kuchiki prince or a Zaraki urchin.  Do not fail me, this Academy, Soul Society by not striving to reach the peak of that potential. Do not fail yourselves."

I didn't hear any more of his speech. The nausea produced by his words returned in force. I bolted from the hall, missing the bushes outside and heaving up last night's dinner and today's breakfast-lunch all over the path. When my sides stopped heaving, I wobbled to my feet, wiping the back of my mouth with my hand. Cautiously, I inched over towards the side of the hall and slid down, back against it.

When I could think straight, the dizziness fading, I knew I had to add another part to my plan: keep Shinji from being brainwashed. And Minoru and Shinju, while I was at it. The last part of Ounabara's speech was guaranteed to appeal to both. Shinju would like the idea of becoming great despite her place in her clan; Minoru would love the idea that his background didn't matter. But Shinji came first. I'd heard what felt like centuries ago that after losing everything, a person could never replace it all. There would always be pieces missing. If I could do anything to keep a few pieces in place, I had to.

I sat there for a while, focused on just breathing. I didn't bother going back in even when I felt well enough to. The grass was soft, the sun warm. If I shut out what was happening in the building at my back, I could trick myself into relaxing.

"Hey, firstie bitch. What got you so rattled?" A nasal voice said. I glared up at the person standing above me and nearly started laughing.

Yamada Seinosuke looked very little like his brother, sharing hair color and a  fair skin tone and nothing else. No, that wasn't quite right—his blue eyes were the same color as Hanatarou's, but they were narrow and sharp instead of wide and innocent. His face was the same way, long with cheekbones sharp enough to match a Zanpakutou and a smirk that he probably thought looked cool.

Knowing that he'd eventually get replaced by Isane, an adorable and strangely effective mouse of a woman, made it hard to take him seriously.

"Maybe it's your ugly face, upperclassman," I told him. Oh dear Lord, did I just use 'your face' as an insult? I gotta update my repertoire. "Screw off."

His jaw dropped, like I'd expected it to, face turning some very interesting colors. What I didn't expect was his hand shooting out and grabbing my kosode, hauling me up.

"What'd you say, you punk-ass bitch?" He hissed. Seinosuke's spit speckled my face. "You wanna get punished your first day of school? Damn, firsties get more and more uppity each year." He practically threw me to the ground. "Show some respect and I might let you get away with it, bitch."

I registered the pain building in my head dully as I picked myself up. First time I can forgive. Second time I start to get pissed. Third time and he's dead. I drew myself up to my full height of 165 centimeters, cold fire coursing through my frame, and snarled, "How about you show some respect, Yamada. You're the one who wanted to pick a fight with a first-year." Shut up shut up you're going to get in trouble- "Say you're sorry and your bruises will only last a week." Shit.

Later I'd thank God for blessing Seinosuke with such amazing arrogance. He sputtered curses for long enough that I could drop into a crescent stance, then attacked with a swipe-punch mix that Shin'ou really should've trained him out of by now. I swatted his arm away and sank deeper into my stance as he launched a kick at my head. I grabbed his leg with one hand, jabbing him in the ribs with a full-moon fist. The follow-up backfist to the face I tried was met by Seinosuke's forearm, arms finally up to block. Double shit! I switched tactics on a dime, driving another full-moon fist into his kidney. Seinosuke's hook punch swung around so fast his sleeve brushed my head as I ducked beneath. Fuckfuckfuck thank God he overcommits- I slammed a crescent palm into his exposed back. Another full-moon to the ribs and he swore loudly. My heart almost stopped when I saw his face go white with adrenaline. I had to end this nownownow. He staggered away from the full-moon punch I threw at his head, spitting curses, and again when I tried for the back of his head.

My dad had told Shinji and me several times during training that the smartest thing to do when faced with an opponent of unknown skill was run. That made me really fucking stupid, even more stupid to get confident.

So I was completely unprepared for the wild swing Seinosuke took at me. His forearm smashed into the side of my head. Stars burst across my vision as I staggered away, muscle memory the only thing keeping my hands up to block. Shit he's gonna strike! My brain shrieked.

Crack.

Seinosuke had made the mistake of forgetting his environment. As he lunged in to take advantage of Shifting Moon Style's weak point, his leading foot came down the wrong way on the vomit-covered path. He slid, overcorrected with windmilling arms, and toppled backwards. I cringed as his head slammed against the stone.

As luck would have it, the assembly let out right about then. A student pushed through the doors, foot coming down on Seinosuke's hand with a crunch. The poor kid shouted in surprise, jerking back. At least Seinosuke only twitched; the fall had, luckily for me, knocked him out.

A teacher came running, shoving through the mass of students and finding Seinosuke lying prone on the ground. When his eyes landed on me, I flinched as if Seinosuke'd hit me again. I'm going to be in such deep shit. 

Ten minutes later, I was sitting seiza in Ounabara's office besides Seinosuke as a fifth-year healed the worst of his injuries. Not all, though—Ounabara apparently wanted Seinosuke to hurt as a reminder of the rule against fighting. Me the fifth-year left untouched, beyond a few questions to see if I had a concussion.

"Fighting on the first day of school," he boomed, shaking his head. The air was thick with his spirit pressure, solid and rough like a boulder. It would've worked better if I hadn't felt Shinji's spirit pressure earlier and knew there was no comparison. "I would've expected it from a high-district. I would've expected it of one of those thuggish young men who aspire to the Eleventh, or even a young man spoiled by his family's wealth into believing that the rules would ignore him. But not from a young Hirako lady with designs on the Third!"

"You read my application, sir?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. What the hell? Why?

"We may call in outside help for grading, but the teachers here review applications as well. By blind chance I ended up with yours," he said with another head shake. "I never imagined-!"

"Let's get the full story," the teacher who'd found us suggested gently. A gaunt-bodied but baby-faced man, he brushed shaggy purple hair out of his face. "Perhaps Yamada-kun simply slipped and fell?"

The bruises on my face would beg to differ.

"She attacked me!" Seinosuke yelped. "I made to help her up and she cursed at me and attacked me out of the blue!" He outlined a tale in which I'd insulted him and his family for pitying me when I'd been sick and then attacked him when he raised his hands to show that he didn't want any trouble.

"...but of course she doesn't need to be expelled," he concluded. "It's only her first day and all, and nobody's quite themselves when they're sick."

I bit my lip hard, waiting until Ounabara's stern stare turned to me for my side.

"No, I don't need to be expelled," I said as sweetly as I could manage, "because that's not what happened at all. I was sick before he found me, but when he appeared I was just waiting for the assembly to be over." i'd learned long ago to present the facts as clearly as possible and in a good deal of detail. People who whined tended to get overlooked. "Yamada-san swore at me as he asked why I was sitting there. I made the mistake of insulting him back because I was irritated and feeling sick. However Yamada-san took it too far by grabbing me by my shirt and lifting me off the ground. He implied that I was stuck-up and cursed at me twice more, then told me that if I apologized respectfully he wouldn't report me. Since he wasn't acting in a way that deserved respect, I told him to respect me as he was the aggressor and asked him to apologize. Admittedly, I did tell him that if he apologized he would have bruises only for a week, which was a mistake." My fists clenched by my sides. "He attacked me after that. I attempted to block but then didn't know what to do because my clan style focuses on offense and defense at the same time. I then fought back. Yamada-san got in a lucky hit on me, but he was knocked out by the ground, not me." I tried to arrange my expression into one of chagrin. "He slipped on my, um, vomit, sir. So sensei was right about that."

"Oshiro-sensei," the man in question put in with a kind smile. I thought I might be able to like him, even after this incident.

Ounabara glared at both of us. "Yamada, Is this the case? I remind you both that lying again will result in doubled punishment."

"No!" Seinosuke burst out instinctively before red stained his face. "I-I mean yes, sir."

Ounabara grunted, clasping his hands in front of him. "Then I may make my verdict. Hirako, you are to receive double Hakuda classes for the next month and to assist whichever Hakuda teachers require help for the next two months. Hopefully you will learn enough beyond Shifting Moon to handle situations in a less aggressive manner. Yamada, for lying to me you will clean up all the Kidou ranges indefinitely. For insulting a student before provocation and attacking her, you will take classes with the Kidou Corps prospectives on meditation for the next four months that you may learn some self-control."

"But sir, I have Paperwork at that time!" Seinosuke protested.

Ounabara frowned mightily. "Your Administrative Abilities teacher will be informed of your occupation. She will have a classmate give you the coursework and notes so that you may make it up on your own time." I pursed my lips together to avoid laughing. Administrative Abilities? Really? "You are hereby dismissed."

Seinosuke and I stood, bowing low with Oshiro-sensei. As a group we backed out of the room. Oshiro-sensei ducked into another office with an admonition to the both of us to 'be good.' Seinosuke and I were left standing in the hallway.

"Horse-teeth punk," he muttered, clipping me with his shoulder as he set off first.

I didn't have a response to that, so I headed in the opposite direction without a word.

As it turned out, I didn't know where the heck I was going. I managed to find a dining hall only by following the sound of students chattering. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that fighting made me hungry.

I caught up with Shinji by sheer luck. Sliding into the crowd, I bumped him with my shoulder. "Hi, dork. I miss anything?"

He flashed a smile. "'Sides a lecture about not fightin'? Not a thing. What's your punishment now, troublemaker?"

I elbowed him in the ribs. "I'm not a troublemaker! But I have to take double Hakuda for a month and help out the Hakuda teachers for two months. You should've seen Yamada. He tried lying to Ounabara-sensei and now he gets to clean Kidou ranges until they tell him to stop and take meditation classes."

Shinji snickered as we entered the dining hall. "For serious? Dang, maybe you were holdin' back in training."

I smirked at him. "I never say anything I don't mean, Shin. Do you want to sit with your roommate?"

"Who, Aizen? Nah, he's no fun. Gave me this scared-deer look the second I got to the room and didn't say anything but his name. I tried to talk to him, I swear. But he's kinda weird, y'know? I think he even scurried off before the assembly," Shinji said.

Aizen.

Aizen Sousuke was here.

Aizen fucking Sousuke was here.

And he was a student.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Arc Flower: Gladiolus

I woke early after a night of tossing and turning. Shinju, for all her virtues, snored. I got dressed in the mechanical way of one who wasn't awake enough to be sleepy.

Normally, I'd just go back to sleep. With Shinju—who from the sound of her breathing probably had hay fever, a comforting idea since she'd be quieter come fall—in the room, however, there was no chance of that. I might as well get something done, right? Or at least find a better place to sleep. I slipped out of the room and made for a training field I'd seen on the way here.

Movement tended to wake me up, if only because I had to be awake to not fall flat on my face. Or stumble through a screen, in one memorable instance. When I found the training field in question, I had to pause for a second to figure out where a good place to stand would be. It had rained overnight, so the formerly level grass was now pocked with puddles and mud. Something told me that it was bad form to show up wearing a dirty uniform.

I untied my waraji and tugged off my socks, laying both on the path. There really wasn't any way to avoid getting those wet, after all. I poked the edge of the training field with my toe, testing the ground. It didn't squish too much, so I minced out towards a vaguely dry patch.

There was really only one kind of training I could practice by myself on a muddy training field: forms. Shifting Moon had quite a few, taught depending on how much a practitioner knew of the style overall. I had four to practice, creatively titled Shrine Maiden's Crescent, Half Moon Mirror, Cloud Across the Moon, and Cleaving Crescent Sickle. It was way too early to go through anything complicated, so I set up for Shrine Maiden's Crescent. It was an easy form, the first I'd learned, with more emphasis on ceremony than chaining techniques. Of course, it was still part of a Hakuda style, so most of the techniques demonstrated in it were entirely applicable to combat.

As I ran through the 'hailing the ten moons' technique, I could appreciate—or fail to appreciate—Shin'ou in the morning. I couldn't call it morning quite yet, since the sun's livid pink had barely poked over the horizon. A soft breeze whisked through the trees planted around campus, bringing the mineral scents of stone and dirt with it. I got to the hailing of the new moon and paused—the new moon represented the void, so it was usually represented by touching one's forehead to the ground. Having mud on my forehead didn't appeal, so I bowed from the waist instead.

A flicker of movement caught my attention as I straightened for the next section. I squinted at it—a person or just tree leaves? A person, I decided as I caught sight of messy brown hair nearly hidden by a dull olive cloak. Aizen? I wondered. Maybe not Aizen, but if it was I had to know. I squelched back across the field and began to pad towards maybe-Aizen.

Sure enough, when I got close enough to pick out facial features his head snapped around. I went perfectly still, squinting ahead. Just because there was no way he could've heard me approach didn't mean I should be sloppy. Oval smoke-tinted glasses perched on the end of his nose instead of the familiar rectangular frames, and the roundness of childhood hadn't quite left Aizen's face, but it was unmistakably him. Already got the innocent act up, huh? I thought at him.

I waited for a few seconds, but Aizen didn't turn around. Instead, even weirder, I thought I saw his nostrils flare, head tilting back slightly like some kind of big cat scenting its prey. What the hell? Almost as soon as his head tilted back, however, it snapped back down. I knew I wasn't imagining it when Aizen's eyes flicked around, hand flying up to cover his nose and mouth. Double what the hell? If he took revenge on Shinji for bullying him, I can kinda see why.

"Wh-who's there?" He called out, voice thin and reedy instead of the rich baritone it would eventually become. I snickered, then clapped a hand over my own mouth. Well, there was no helping it now. I stepped out onto the path, approaching him with my hands up, palms out. Best to do what I could to avoid the wrath of a future mass murderer, even over something so minor.

"I'm Hirako Nariko," I called back, pitching my voice low to not wake anyone. "Sorry, I didn't think anybody else was up."

Aizen went white, stepping back as if scared of me. After a second, though, his frame relaxed. "S-sorry. Are you my roommate's sister?"

"That's me," I agreed. "I couldn't sleep, so I was doing a form. Did Shinji snore too much or something?"

He shook his head, scuffing his toes on the path. "N-no. I just- couldn't sleep." His gaze flicked away, body swaying as if he wanted to get away from me. Is this really the same guy who stabbed Hinamori? He was definitely lying, though. My instincts told me so, and my impressions of people had never been wrong.

"Me neither," I said, then smacked myself in the forehead reflexively. Stupid, you already said that! "Um, I know it's only been a day and all, but he hasn't been mean, has he?" I asked. "Shinji can be kinda prickly with people he's just met. I'm trying to train him out of it, but Hirako men are kinda stubborn." I forced my lips into a smile, rubbing the nape of my neck.

Aizen shook his head. Wow, he was weirdly quiet for a guy who'd loved to monologue. "No. I just- too many changes in one day." His eyes flickered away again. Yeah, there was something going on with him without question.

I bit my lip, feeling a little quiver inside at having to extend myself. "Well, um, you can tell me if he is, okay? I'll knock some sense into him. I guess you must've heard I don't like bullies, and I really don't like my brother getting away with murder, so I'll really have it out with him."

I was rewarded with the first smile I'd ever seen from him—the first non-evil smile, anyway. Wait, that wasn't right, since I'd seen Aizen-as-captain smile very nicely, but that was a lie like this one probably was. It fell away as his face twitched. Aizen went pale again, backing up. "S-sure Nari-Nariko-san. I need to go," Aizen stammered. Before I could so much as say goodbye, he turned and flash-stepped away with a faint buzzing sound. Flash-stepped? I stared after him. It didn't matter how strong you were, you needed training to flash-step. Training Aizen didn't have.

Well, I wouldn't solve that puzzle today. I turned and went back to finish my form. I didn't really believe in all the psuedo-Shinto rituals of Soul Society, but I still tried to respect them. Not finishing Shrine Maiden's Crescent was supposed to anger kami, so I decided it made sense to finish it. Leaving it uncompleted would bug me the whole day, which helped.

The half-dried mud on my feet made for decent protection from the cold grass and water. I shut out the bugs that no doubt wriggled through the dirt by focusing on what was up with Aizen. He was definitely twitchy and reclusive. I wouldn't go so far as to say paranoid, but he jumped at every shadow. Why he'd be scared of me was baffling. Why he'd skip the assembly and avoid the roommate he'd just met was even weirder. It was like Aizen was scared of people.

My eyes narrowed as I mimicked the fanning of incense with flicking crescent palms. Or maybe he's already plotting, I mused. Who blinks twice at a first-year getting lost around campus? It's a good chance to size up the competition, maybe get at some information that Seireitei libraries don't have. 

No. I wasn't going to think that way. It hadn't done Shinji any good, after all. I was going to be friendly to Aizen with a healthy dose of wariness. Most beginning friendships were like that anyway.

I finished with a bow to my imaginary audience and went back to pick up my footwear. The sun was half over the horizon and I didn't want Shinju seeing my plans.

When I got back to the room, the mud had dried enough that I wouldn't make tracks all the way down the hall. I sat lotus-style on the floor, scraping at my dirty feet with my fingernails. One of the many strange things about Soul Society was their technology. They didn't have plumbing, but inventing things like the near-invincible nail lacquer that protected my nails wasn't beyond them. From the varieties that I'd seen in markets, the ones Makoto wouldn't let me get, I was guessing that that had come about as a method of delivering poison. One scratch and you'd be writhing on the floor. Which said some pretty disturbing things about Soul Society, really. I brushed off the grass on my feet and then got out my writing materials.

I'd brought very specific brushes and paper for my time here. Almost all had bamboo stalks and were made with rabbit hair, with those being divided into large, medium, and small and further into soft, medium, and hard textures. I'd discovered a love for calligraphy in my time here, so I'd gathered a collection of brushes. I'd been limited to one per category, save for the crown jewel of my collection: a silver-stemmed brush with hair from my first haircut as a child. It was supposed to bring good luck whenever I used it. Whether that was true or not, I didn't know, but the brush was irreplaceable and beautiful. I left it in its case with a twinge of regret; small brushes like that were used only for the smallest pieces and seals. Instead I picked an all-purpose brush and began to put down my notes.

Get close to Aizen. Figure out what's up with his powers. And keep Shinji away from him if possible.

It was a short note, but one I'd need. If the classes here were as hard as my father had led me to believe, I'd need to keep my classwork in my head and my plans on paper or I'd forget both.

I'd just gotten my materials stored away again when I heard a tremendous yawn from Shinju. Shit, I thought. Then, Is it bad that I'm swearing so early in the morning? Oh well. I'd never claimed to be a lady. Even if technically I was one.

"You're already up?" She murmured, face puffy with sleep.

"I've been up for a while," I replied, yawning myself. "Quick question: do you have hay fever?"

Shinju stood, padding across the room for a comb to untangle her hair with. "Yes, why?"

"No reason," I said automatically, going to fetch my own comb. One untangling of a rat's nest later, I put it up into a bun and turned to face my roommate. "Think this'll stay?"

She peered at it critically. "Looks like it. Got everything else together?"

I glanced around, grabbing my travel case, a sheaf of papers, and my scroll for notes. There would be times when I saw something that would factor into my plans. "I am now."

"Not without your course list," Shinju pointed out, plucking mine off the top of my trunk and handing it to me. "Honestly, am I going to be the responsible one here?"

Considering that I wasn't the one whose hair was wildly impractical for combat and that I probably had a good deal more research and theories about our studies, I doubted that. "That remains to be seen," I said. It was a way of saying something without saying anything that Asami-sensei had taught me long ago. Helped with keeping the peace while not committing, a very useful business ethic.

Shinju shook her head as we left the room and joined the masses in the corridors. "Are you really a Hirako? Shinji-san's so different, you know," she said.

I gave her my widest sarcastic smile. "Nope. Secretly I'm an impostor from another world, here on a mission to avert a future war." One of the benefits of my smile: absolutely no one believed me when I wore it. Even if the truth wasn't quite as powerful when nobody listened to it, my conscience felt a little lighter for it.

"You must be one, to joke so early in the morning," Shinji grumbled. Looked like she wasn't a morning person either.

Breakfast was plain and simple, not much different from breakfast at home. Made sense, if you thought about how many people had to be fed. They couldn't waste money on spices and complicated dishes here.

Minoru found Shinju and me pretty quickly; that kid had eyes like a hawk's when it came to picking out people he knew. I wondered as I shoveled a spoonful of rice into my mouth whether it was a reflex born from his childhood or just something Minoru was good at. Shinji plunked himself down by Shinju a few minutes after we'd sat down.

"You're late to the party," I teased. "What, we weren't important enough that you felt like hurrying?"

He poked his tongue out at me, taking a massive bite of his rice. "If I start hurrying now, there'll be a precedent," he insisted. "And if there's a precedent, people will expect me to hurry, and then I'll be runnin' everywhere doin' everything and die of overwork."

"Your roommates aren't here, Minoru-san, Shinji-san." Shinju broke up our conversation before it could lead to bickering. "Not hungry?"

Minoru shook his head. He'd inhaled his food even faster than Shinji and looked like he could go for more. "I didn't get no roommate," he muttered. I had to strain to hear his voice. "Somethin' happened and he had ta head back home."

"Lucky dog," Shinji declared with a wave of his chopsticks. I glared at him. We'd been raised better than that, I'd like to think. "Mine's too shy to say a word and a creep on top of it all. Fashion sense is hella lackin', too. He showed up in this cloak, mucha his skin covered as he could without bein' Kidou Corps. Didja know, he left the room when he thought I was gettin' my beauty sleep and came back all dirty-like at dawn? What 'e was doin' all night's beyond me."

"At least your beauty sleep worked," Shinju said. I blinked at her. Was that- did I just see-? "I mean, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Not a bit, lovely." Shinji grinned. "Didn't catch yer name. Nari-nee, introduce us!"

I obliged him with a roll of the eyes. "Fujikage-san, this is my idiot little brother Shinji. Shinji, meet my roommate Fujikage Shinju-san."

Any lecherous comments my brother might've made were interrupted as I felt someone come up behind me.

"Good morning, Hirako-san." Aizen's voice sounded a little less wavery than it had this morning, without even a stutter. "May I eat with you?"

Shinji flapped a hand at him. "Don't go asking me that. I got no authority, neither does anybody else at this table. You can sit wherever you want."

I scooted over, nodding at the bench beside me. "You can sit by me if you want, Aizen-san," I interjected. "And don't listen to Shinji. I've got authority over him; our mom said so."

His expression tightened slightly at the mention of our mother, but Aizen nodded and sat down where I'd motioned to. "You're Hirako Nariko-san?" He asked, as though we hadn't met under strange circumstances that morning. "And... Fujikage-san and Minoru-san?"

Both nodded. "Your hearing's great," Shinju commented, "to have heard us just now."

Aizen flushed, gaze dropping to his miso soup. "I must've heard someone mention them earlier," he murmured. "It's too noisy in here."

We sat in silence for a while after that, waiting for dismissal. Aizen wolfed down his food almost as fast as Minoru, to my surprise. I didn't know exactly what I'd been expecting—maybe that Aizen would eat puppies or something?

I had started to wonder if we were supposed to just leave when we'd finished when a familiar voice boomed out over the hall. 

"Students!" Ounabara declared. "As the school year commences and we receive new students, I expect you all to make their integration into this school as effortless as possible. Should you find a lost first-year, please direct them to the proper class.  Having them take detours through Kidou ranges is highly frowned-upon, may I remind you." Laughter bubbled up from the gathered students. "All first-years should procure their course lists, which were handed to them yesterday. Please find a teacher who may direct you to the nearest administrative office if you have lost that list. Dismissed!" He clapped his hands, sending students scattering.

"What do you have first, Hirako-san?" Shinju asked. "I think my first class is... Rukongai Studies 1? Aww, that sounds boring."

I tsk'ed at her. "Far from it. More interesting than Seireitei, where the latest news is about Ginrei-sama's newest bonsai. And I've got... Soul Government 1? Joy." I actually was pretty happy about that. Contrary to popular belief, governments couldn't function for as long as Soul Society's had if they were cartoonishly evil. Getting a look into why, say, the Central 46 was so ridiculously uptight about rules would be very enlightening.

We walked together to the building our classes took place in, which seemed to involve Social Studies-esque material, then parted ways.

The classroom I walked into was the lecture hall on a smaller scale, rings of low desks for students to kneel at with the teacher's slightly larger desk facing them. A blackboard hung behind the teacher's desk, a simple command written in thick chalk on its surface: "STAY STANDING." Terrific. A hardass teacher.

As my classmates filtered in without any sign of our teacher, I began to revise my opinion of this guy. Maybe he was eccentric. Or deader than the rest of us. I was hoping for dead. Eccentric was hard to deal with—and yes, I was aware how strange that was coming from me. My whole family was eccentric.

The teacher strode in five minutes after everyone was there—I knew, I'd counted both desks and people. He went directly to the board, snatched a piece of chalk, and wrote kanji there that gave me pause. Military, net, love, river? Why is that so- 

I paled as I saw the furigana scrawled hastily above. Aikawa Rabu. Aikawa Love. Oh, c'mon God, could I escape just a few of the Visoreds? Please? I'm not supposed to be a protagonist!

Sure enough, the man who turned around bore Love's broad features and dark skin. No sunglasses or afro yet, thankfully. Love sported a buzz-cut and, incongruously, a small brass hoop in one ear. Yeah, I'd say he was definitely eccentric.

"Alright, for those of you who want to complain about seating arrangements, my name's on the board," he told us. "Aikawa-sensei to you, though."

"Aikawa-sensei?" A mint-haired girl said, tilting her head at the board. "Why can't we sit down?"

"'Cause I have to assign seats," he explained, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a crinkled piece of paper. "Helps with remembering names, and y'all need to get to know each other. Sitting next to strangers at Shin'ou'll give you some lifelong friends." I suppressed a snort. Love was Love, ridiculous fan of manga, track suits, and sunglasses, even if he hadn't discovered any of those yet. I kinda had to feel bad for him, though, given the way my classmates were grumbling. Disconnected as the divisions were from one another, it came as no shock that those who believed in teamwork as Love did were few and far between.

As we waited for him to finish deciphering the paper's contents, an idea made me snicker. Had Rose and Love met by sitting next to each other in one class or another? It would explain how two wildly different people had come to be friends.

"Something funny, Hirako?" Love said, fixing me with a level brown gaze. "Government amuse you?"

"No sir," I replied, blushing.

"Good. Okay, Abe Natsumi sits in the back row, third seat from the left. Then... Moon Eun-kyung? Yeah, you go in the front row, dead middle." Love went on assigning seats in this way, no obvious rhyme or reason to where anyone sat or the order in which he announced the seating. Ooh, this class would be fun.

Once we'd all gotten settled and introduced ourselves at Love's instruction, he wiped away his name from the board. "So, who can tell me the different governments of Soul Society? Hirako, you seem to like politics. Tell the class."

I grinned. If Love wanted to know about the government of Soul Society, boy was he in for a treat. "Technically Soul Society's ruled by the Soul King, but the Central 46 has all the power. They're a bunch of wise men and judges. Their authority over Soul Society is absolute. Beneath them are the Kidou Corps, the Onmitsukidou, and the Gotei 13. The Gotei 13 has thirteen divisions, some having specific purposes and others being more general. Divisions are led by the captains and lieutenants, who are roughly equivalent to the Grand and Vice Kidou Chiefs of the Kidou Corps respectively. The Kidou Corps handles senkaimon, Soukyoku executions, and the creation and regulation of new Kidou, I think. Something like that. The Onmitsukidou handles everything stealthy. Assassinations, executions, spying, messages, the Maggots' Nest, that kind of thing." Thank you, Bleach wiki, and thank you, many hours spent avoiding work. You taught me well. "And there are district and town governments within the Rukongai, with the clans ruling Seireitei and the low Rukon," I added. A person might've wondered why I showed off my knowledge. With people like Aizen around, it probably wasn't good to show my hand this early on. Fact was, that wouldn't work if I wanted to take the 12th's lieutenancy. I had to show off, make sure people knew I knew what I was talking about and came sniffing around.

Plus, it was just a class on Soul Society's government. Knowing about it didn't reveal much except that I was a bookworm and a brown-noser. And why shouldn't I show off something I was pretty damn good at?

Love's mouth opened, closed. Opened again as he blinked rapidly at me. "Uh. Yes, that. I guess I know who the class bookworm is now." The class laughed. I grinned back at them, entirely unashamed of my status. Love consulted a paper lying on his desk, probably a lesson plan. "Well, now that half our lesson's been spoiled, who wants to tell us about the Onmitsukidou in more detail? Liu?"

A Chinese boy who, judging from the fact that his nails were lacquered and filed to points, was on the Onmitsukidou track, inclined his head. "All covert operations are handled by the Onmitsukidou. While the Gotei 13 is obvious and handles all public military action, onmitsu act in secrecy and handle all delicate matters. Uprisings are handled by the Onmitsukidou, as are influential undesirables. The Onmitsukidou works beneath the Shihouin clan and is tied to the Second Division."

"They're called knives for a reason!" A spiky-haired girl from the back of the room called. "A stab in the dark with a little poison and you've got yourself a business deal all of a sudden!"

Whump.

If Love's reiatsu had had a sound effect, it would've been 'whump.' There was no flow, no crackle, just a drop into existence. If Shinji's had been a sunny day, Love's was an oven, contained fire and the press of searing air on my skin. A circle, I thought. Heavy, dark, deep, cold. Reiryoku in, reiatsu out. This time my blue-green light was joined by other displays of color. I caught tan grit and intent—a path?—from the boy to my right, amber dull feathers and a sharp mind—a crow—from a girl in the front row, even rosy paleness and roundness—a pearl?—from whoever sat behind me. But most kids—including the girl who'd spoken—stiffened or slumped beneath the press of the future captain's power.

After a deliberate moment, Love's reiatsu withdrew back beneath his skin. Was that what passed for discipline in Soul Society? "'The Kidou Corps maintains the order of the twilight. The Gotei 13 maintain the order of the day. And the Onmitsukidou maintain the order of the night,'" he quoted. "It's a poem written by the Captain-Commander himself. You can't have time without all of 'em, that's how I take it to mean. So don't go disrespecting your peers and your elders for the careers they've chosen. They're all needed if you wanna keep the peace. Apologize, Sinawatra."

The girl flushed, ducking her head. I could've sworn there were tears in her eyes, and no wonder. Reiatsu displays like that hurt if you couldn't shove back. "S-Sorry, Liu-khun."

"Not a problem," Liu said mildly. The set of his jaw said otherwise.

Love peered at a girl in the front row, who seemed to have given up sitting upright entirely. He waved a hand in front of her face. Meeting no response, he sighed. "Time for a lesson on how to project your reiatsu. Does anyone listen to the entrance exams anymore?"

Love rose, grabbed the chalk again, and began to draw. I cringed as he drew a circle, then a heart besides it. The circle was more of a wobbly square, while the heart looked more like a circle with a dimple at the top. How could someone suck so bad at art? Rukia was better, for heaven's sake. He half-turned back to the class and tapped the heart. "Your reiryoku is generated in here. So to channel it into reiatsu all you have to do is do what you did with those crystal balls. Draw a circle separately from your reiryoku, then funnel it into the circle and out your body. Hands usually works best, but I met a guy who said that his feet work better, so whatever. Literally, that's all. I can't guarantee that it won't hurt to resist your teachers' reiatsu, but you won't pass out like- uh, I think this one's Moon. Hirako, Fujiwara, Ukitake, Himura, you've got the right idea."

The rest of the class passed as uneventfully as a lesson from a dead man could.

Reiryoku Manipulation, Soul History 1, and Rukongai Studies 1 were unremarkable, I concluded as I headed for a dining hall. Reiryoku Manipulation was the best, a prerequisite for Kidou and Hohou 1 next term, but only because I liked playing with my powers. Otherwise, I could've napped and missed nothing. 

Hakuda 2 had been substantially more challenging. Everyone had enough control that I wasn't worried about losing a tooth, but they were mostly older students. My inner quivering first-year had come out in full force. And to top it all off, my teacher Himura had started off the class with a lecture clearly aimed at me about not fighting outside of Hakuda class. I had a feeling that it would be my least favorite class this year.

I ate lunch, a bowl of salty ramen with pork, by myself. Wherever my circle of acquaintances—it was a little early to call them friends—had gone, it wasn't to this hall. I took the opportunity to get a good look at my classmates.

A surprising number were from the Rukongai, though most were from lower districts. The high-districts were really the minority, the rest of the students being fairly evenly split between nobles and low-districts. And it was weird to see that not everyone was Japanese. Most definitely were, but I'd seen Korean, Chinese, and Thai kids around. There was a pair of kids in Rukongai Studies that might be Vietnamese, but it had been so long that I could be wrong.

As for their spiritual abilities, few had anything remarkable. I caught the antiseptic-and-tile sensation of Seinosuke nearby, but there was only subdued irritation as he passed me. Phew. It was nice to see that he wasn't so petty that he'd keep trying to pick fights, at least not immediately after losing.

I blew my bangs away from my face with an irritated sigh. I'd been meaning to talk to Shinji about Aizen since this morning, but even when I did see him in the halls he was always talking to someone else. My brother, popular? Woe is me, I thought, popping a piece of pork into my mouth. I'll never be able to deflate his ego now. Especially since all his companions had seemed to be pretty girls.

I was forced to abandon the remains of my food as the gong for the next class rang, sending students scurrying off everywhere. I snatched my course list up from the table, scanning it frantically. Sixth class, sixth class... Hell yes. Introduction to Zanpakutou.

I had to practically sprint to make it on time. Some brilliant person had decided to put it on the opposite side of the campus from my Hakuda class. Note to self: take this schedule up with someone. Anyone.

I arrived to see Oshiro standing outside the classroom, beaming at and greeting every student who came by. Quite a few replied with a bright smile back. As I approached, he turned his smile on me.

"Hirako-chan! Are you feeling better now?" Oshiro asked, leaning in to get a good look at the bruises that had blossomed on the side of my face.

I grinned back. "Good afternoon, Oshiro-sensei. I'm feeling pretty good. Himura-sensei made someone take a look at my face, so it looks worse than it is."

"Himura-san?" He blinked, pushing his hair out of brown eyes. "Oh, I suppose I should've expected that you'd be in second-level Hakuda considering how you got those." Oshiro's eyes twinkled. I'd never thought that anyone's eyes could actually twinkle—brighten, maybe, or crinkle, but never twinkle. A new respect for the man filled me. "Well, head on in. Pick any seat you want."

I did as he'd said, finding a seat at the edge of one of the middle rows, easy to get to. There were windows in this room, but I had no designs on getting the universe's attention. I'd had enough of that, thanks, and I didn't need to be on the border between main character and side character. Only characters who were one or the other got plot armor in my humble experience. Lacking the angst and strangely specific appearance to be one of those, I'd settle for side character.

Oshiro came in a few minutes later, smiling at the class. His constant cheer was starting to wear just a little thin, but he hadn't said anything cheesy yet, so I let it slide. As a class we rose and bowed. Oshiro took his place at the front of the room, then turned to write his name on the board. I was starting to sense a pattern.

"For those who haven't met me yet, I'm Oshiro Nobuyuki. I teach Zanpakutou classes to all the years, so there's a chance that you'll have me next year too." He tucked a lock of hair behind his ears; it flopped stubbornly forwards again. "Does anyone have any questions before we start?"

"Yeah, where're our Zanpakutou?" The scrawny kid sitting in front of me called. I couldn't tell their gender—young and bony enough to go either way. I decided to call the kid a he for now. With lank, unwashed hair the color of peaches and a hairline scar down his neck, I guessed that he was from a middling district of the Rukon.

"Excellent question, Hayate-kun," Oshiro said. "You won't be getting asauchi today."

"What're those?" Hayate persisted. His voice, a little high and raspy, cleared absolutely nothing up. "I thought this was a Zanpakutou class."

Oshiro's face lit up. He looked like Shinji when Shinji'd found a person to prank and was devising ingenious ways to wreak havoc, just less devious. "Exactly why you can't have Zanpakutou just yet. We need to learn the basic terms and concepts behind Zanpakutou first." Theories. My mental mouth watered, anticipating the delicious problems to confront and explore.

Hayate grumbled something about 'old farts,' but he shut up. Everyone did. We all wanted to get our Zanpakutou as fast as possible.

"Now, to answer Hayate-kun's question, we have to go into what a Zanpakutou is. Hirako-kun, do you know?" Oshiro asked. I opened my mouth to give an answer, but a familiar voice came from behind me.

"They're like swords, right? Only they got powers and appearances that are different dependin' on whose they are. And, like, these funky worlds inside that Shinigami can go into if they want," my brother answered.

"A true prodigy," I muttered, just loud enough for him to hear me.

"Shut up, Narin," Shinji said without missing a beat.

"Hirako-kun! Hirako-chan! Save your squabbles for outside the classroom," Oshiro scolded. "In any event, Hirako-kun has the general idea. But not all Zanpakutou are swords. Banh-kun, do you know why that is?" He asked a tan-skinned boy.

If I'd been interested in Soul Government, I was fascinated by Introduction to Zanpakutou. I soaked up the knowledge offered like a sponge. It was heaven. I was being offered a path to godlike power as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. So many secrets, so many ideas to play with and discover. Oshiro told us nothing that day that I didn't already know, but the potential that lay in every concept he touched on had my brain spinning. I left grinning stupidly.

"I don't like the look on your face," Shinji said, coming up besides me as I searched my course list for the last class of the day. "You're about to make somethin' go boom, I just know it."

I stuck my tongue out at him. Despite all the allegations to the contrary, I didn't actually care all that much for explosions. Too much collateral damage. Action movies had had my past self cringing. "Am not. But isn't all this crazy?" I nodded at the hallway, full of students who would someday become trained killers with magic powers that Goku would've considered overpowered. "We're going to have swords with the power of our souls someday, Shin. Better hope yours is something cool."

He shouldered me, snorting. "Of course it is. After all, it'll come from my soul."

I shouldered him back. "Look who thinks he's so great. I bet your Zanpakutou spirit's a slug."

"Zanpakutou spirit? You know about those?" Shinji tilted his head at me. 

Shit. Was I not supposed to? "I do read, unlike certain morons." I smiled cheekily at him. "Why do you know?"

He shrugged. "Dad, who else? He was tellin' me 'bout great-uncle Youichi and how he got the third seat of the Fifth 'cause his Zanpakutou was, like, this super-strong flaming spear."

"Just third seat?" I asked.

"Right as he was about to get promoted, he up an' died. Zanpakutou spirit was some kind of intense phoenix-thing and Dad thought it just burned him out," Shinji explained. "I'm surprised ya don't know about it, Miss I'd-Make-A-Better-Heir." He narrowly missed smashing into a bearlike upperclassman as he dodged my elbow to the ribs. "I'm just sayin', we wouldn't be main family if uncle Haru hadn't been such a womanizer that the clan elders made him step down. Helped that Dad was more competent to boot."

I vaguely remembered Haru, technically my first cousin once removed. Tall even for a Hirako and more solid than most of us, I'd taken note of him as a young child because his eyes were wider than the typical narrow eyes of my clan. So that was why succession had gone a little screwy, huh? He'd have to have been pretty irresponsible for the Hirako to not want him as leader.

"Then there's hope for me yet," I teased. "Listen, I've gotta go to Zanjutsu, but I just wanted to tell you to be nice to Aizen. He's... different, but everybody's weird here."

"He's creepy, that's what he is," Shinji huffed. "I've only seen him eat meat, you know that?"

"Protein, maybe? You should try some," I snapped. Paranoia had clearly kicked in young. "I'm not having this discussion right now, Shinji. Go to class."

Zanjutsu, to my surprise, wasn't as exciting as I'd expected. Mostly we just learned how to handle our shinai and bokken, along with stances. That was fine with me—I needed time to think. Not about Aizen, not about Zanpakutou, just... time to think. About my old life, mostly. I tried to put it out of my mind most days, but talking about souls had gotten me thinking again. What kind of spirit would represent my soul? I'd often entertained the idea that my Zanpakutou spirit would take on the appearance of my old self, but today that struck me as morbid. Maybe Tousen could take up a dead woman's Zanpakutou, but seeing a person that was for all intents and purposes dead in my soul was just too creepy. I hoped it would be humanoid. Easier to understand that way.

When I left Zanjutsu, I had to sprint back across campus for my second Hakuda class of the day. Double Hakuda, I learned, sucked. Not only did Himura put me through the same exhausting regimen that I'd gone through in the morning, he took delight in drilling my blocks until my arms felt like lead pipes. At least none of the other Hakuda teachers wanted help with anything that day. I don't think I could've managed anything more strenuous than calligraphy.

When I finally collapsed into my bed, ignoring Shinju's heavy breathing, I fell into merciful unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

We didn't get asauchi the next class, or the class after that. Shockingly, first-year students who don't even know how to wield dead blades aren't trusted to wield literally live ones.

At least, that's why I had to tell myself to escape the growing irritation at not having a kick-ass soul weapon. You know, my past self had somehow thought that I'd think of Zanpakutou as being just another part of Shinigami combat. I mean, Kidou were magic spells, Hohou was basically super-speed, and Hakuda was all about beating your opponent into the ground with strength Bruce Lee would envy. Having a sword that was more or less a one-trick pony should've been comparatively minor.

And yet... it wasn't. Maybe it was because Zanpakutou held so much symbolic weight. Even an unseated Shinigami who carried the ugliest asauchi ever was revered. They'd done it, survived Hollows and struggled through Shin'ou and found a place where they belonged. It was like getting your first car, getting accepted into college, and turning eighteen all in one, a symbol of adulthood like no other.Maybe it was because of what Zanpakutou were: weapons formed from your soul. Shikai meant you knew who you were. You could release your Zanpakutou and say, 'This is my soul. This is who I am' and you would be right.

Adults said often enough that we were all just teenagers struggling to find our places in the world and establish an identity for ourselves. Usually I scoffed at that—I was plenty confident in who I was, knew a few kids my age who were the same. But I still wondered. Was I the same person who'd once called another world home? Was I even the same person who'd made a plan to save my new world? Did I even have a soul that could create a Zanpakutou spirit? I had to know. I had to know who I really was, with no room for guessing.

So, of course, I turned to the library. 'Class bookworm' wasn't a title I'd picked up only in this life, after all. I'd been that kid with the pile of books on her desk for quite a few years in my old life. Libraries, in my experience, were generally good places to relax, learn just about anything, and hang out.

The only problem was that my peers didn't agree. Shinji and Shinju both complained for a week straight about their inability to find me when they needed me. Not really my problem, but I ended up telling them that when in doubt, they should check the library. Since they hadn't sought me out yet, I was beginning to think that they'd just given up looking at all.

"Nariko-san?"

I spun around to find Minoru standing there, shuffling his feet. "Oh, hi. Did Shinji or Shinju-san send you to find me?" I tried to smile gently at him. Honestly, I tried. Judging from the way Minoru flinched, I didn't think I'd succeeded. Stupid teeth.

"N-no," he stammered. "I just- I wanted to ask somethin'."

So that was it. I really needed to work on that boy's confidence if he couldn't just come out with it. "Hmm? Fire away."

He squirmed, poor thing. "Y-you know how you was- were tellin' me about kanji a while ago? I figured you know heaps about writin' and that stuff." Minoru gulped, hands clasped tight in front of him. "C-could you maybe learn me a few things?"

I blushed, fiddling with my hakama. He wanted me to teach him? Words were my forte, but technically Japanese wasn't even my first language. Minoru couldn't know that, though. "You don't want to go to a teacher to learn to read?" At the way his face crumpled, I said hastily, "It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I've never tried to teach anyone before. You'd probably be better off with someone who knows those things."

Minoru smiled shakily. "Um, I'm not real keen on teachers. They've prob'ly got better things ta do. And, well, you've been real nice ta me. I figured I should ask you first, and get it done early before we had ta learn even more stuff."

I gaped at him. "You've been going just- just by memory?" Even I took notes.

Minoru flushed plum purple. "I'm- I'm tryin' my best!" He declared, fists clenched at his sides. Sore spot, I couldn't help noting for later. "I'm not goin' ta flunk out early on!"

I shook my head, holding my hands up, palms out. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing, Minoru-san. Really, I'm impressed. I'll teach you." Shit. This puts a bit of a wrench in my plans. Even if those plans mostly consisted of research projects at the moment. Still, I'd said it and I'd follow through. "Go find a place you feel comfortable studying at and I'll find some materials to study with." I gave him a big smile. It would give me a little time to think about what I'd just undertaken.

He hesitated. "My dorm room? Is that okay?"

I shook my head. "Rules. I can't be in a boys' dorm and you can't be in a girls' dorm." Didn't mean it didn't happen—especially among the upper years—but double Hakuda was grueling enough. I didn't need more punishment.

Minoru frowned. "Then... there's a courtyard near my dorm. Not many people go there. Would- would you mind if we used it?"

"Sure," I replied. "What building are you in?"

"Mitsu Boshi, on the east side," he answered.

"Oh good, not too far. Well, head there and I'll grab some stuff here."

He left, a spring in his step. I blinked after him, then sighed, giving my research materials a longing look. I'd been hoping to learn a little more about the nature of Zanpakutou, but it looked like I'd be a tutor.

Well, I can't go my whole time until the exile without any friends, I reasoned, scooping up the library scrolls and stashing them in an alcove few visited. Hopefully nobody would need those until I was done with them. And I did tell Shinji I'd help Minoru through life here.

My mind made up, I set off.

The courtyard Minoru'd chosen was unremarkable, surrounded by a few wizened junipers and moss-covered dogwoods. At least, I thought they were dogwoods—Makoto and I had always tended plants together in my childhood, so I knew the names of a lot, but trees weren't my forte. Unless it was fall or spring, or they were frequently used for bonsai, trees tended to read as the same brown bark and green leaves to me.

"Minoru-san! I brought plenty of paper!" I called to him as soon as I was in earshot.

He jerked before his usual shy smile appeared. "Thanks, Nariko-san. I was gettin' ta thinkin' you'd run off without intendin' ta learn me a thing."

I bit my lip, sitting down besides him. "Hey, I'm a cold delinquent, but I'm a cold delinquent who does what she says she'll do."

Minoru yelped, waving his hands in front of him like I was about to hit him. "I-I didn't say you were a cold delinquent! I didn't!"

I grinned at him, unrolling some paper and weighing it down with a couple rocks. It wasn't a windy day, but better safe than sorry. "Nah, I wouldn't expect you to say that sort of stuff. Himura-sensei does, and I've been getting some looks in the halls, that's all." I bumped shoulders with him. "C'mon, lighten up. It was a joke."

He flushed, scooting away a little. "D-don't tease me like that, Nariko-san." Minoru's eyes flicked to my face, then back away. "Maybe you can afford to be makin' jokes, but that's not so fer me. A guy like me starts pokin' fun at noble girls and he'll get dumped on the street."

"I'm no noble." The words came out of my mouth immediately. I flushed, scrunching my hakama in my hands. It was a stupid statement, one I couldn't explain. You'd think after all my years living here I wouldn't slip like that, but honesty'd always been my nature. "I mean, not really. The Hirako aren't very noble, maybe you've noticed." I rubbed the nape of my neck, trying for a bashful smile. Minoru's frown said he wasn't convinced.  I plowed on. "We're a bunch of pranksters that just wear fancy clothes to look noble sometimes."

"You're lendin' me a hand now. Seems pretty noble of ya," Minoru pointed out.

I flapped a hand at him, undoing the latches of my brush case with the other. "I'm the black sheep. Or is it the white sheep? I've never understood that." I stared at the sky, touching a finger to my lips. It made me look silly and harmless, exactly as I intended. Minoru was the sort who didn't let his guard down easily, I could tell by now. But I couldn't let mine down and really befriend him unless he loosened up a bit, so it was better if I didn't act so sharp. "Anyway, let's get started. I'll teach you kana to begin with—hiragana first, since that's more common."

It went better than I'd expect. Minoru had very steady hands, long-fingered and delicate. Probably the only fault I could find in him that wasn't from inexperience was his tendency to grip the brush like it was about to leap out of his hand. But since I was aiming to teach him to read and write, not become an expert calligrapher, that could stay uncorrected.

I called an end to our session once I saw my hand starting to shake. It was a fault of mine that my hands tended to cramp up when I held them in one position for too long. Once they started, I'd have to stop whatever I was doing and return to it later. I couldn't teach Minoru like that. Besides, study sessions that went on for too long ended up overwhelming students. Minoru had a lot to learn, but he couldn't rush through it.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Practice when you've got the time, okay?" I smiled at him, closed-lipped. Couldn't have Minoru thinking I was insincere, right?

Minoru nodded so hard that I thought his head would fall off. "O-of course! I can definitely handle all this!"

He was so eager that I just had to start laughing. "I believe you," I said between giggles. "You seem like a guy who'll try his hardest at everything, Minoru-kun."

He stared at me for a long second. "Minoru...Minoru-kun?" He said after a second, like I'd just told him he was really some Kuchiki prince hidden away at birth.

I flinched, turning pink. "Of course! Minoru-kun! A teacher should be casual with her student, don't you think?" I stuck my nose up in the air, like it hadn't been a slip of the tongue.

Minoru half-smiled. "I guess... If you really want to call me that, I can't stop you. And 'Minoru-san' was too fancy for the likes of me anyway."

"Not like I'd stop if you said no," I said with a grin so he knew I was joking. I had a feeling that Minoru really shouldn't be pushed about social things like that. "I'm not just cold, I'm stubborn, you know. See you around, Minoru-kun!"

I practically dashed away—rude, I know, but I couldn't have talked with him any longer. The world spun around me, nervous as I was from being so outgoing. Had I offended him and he was just too worried about my noble status to show it? Had I made a fool of myself by using such a casual honorific after knowing him for only a couple weeks?

Stupid, I chided myself. It's no use worrying about that sort of thing. What's done is done and you can make up for it later if you have to. Don't go doubting Minoru's honesty.

I returned to the library after that. My homework was all done—nothing strenuous yet, the teachers were easing us into life at Shin'ou. With that in mind, I'd started in on my own projects pretty quickly.

It was... slower going than I was used to. Back home our library was much smaller, or at least the part I was allowed to enter was smaller. A con of living with a clan of spymasters: a lot of information in the clan library was taken from espionage. Kids weren't allowed to access any of that, so I'd been pretty much confined to novels, poetry, and the most basic information about spiritual power. Here, where there were next to no rules about what students could read, I was swamped with way more knowledge than I'd ever had in my life. Wading through it all was a chore.

Still, there was plenty of information on Zanpakutou. Even for weapons that were wildly varied, people throughout Soul Society's history had tried to catalog common features. The categories of abilities were obvious—there were only two, after all, melee and Kidou. Some people said elemental Zanpakutou were a sub-category in the Kidou-type class. I didn't read much of what those people wrote—they tended to rave about the power of fire-type Zanpakutou way too much for my liking. Sorry, Yamamoto and Hinamori, but scorched flesh and charred corpses didn't appeal to me at all.

I rolled up another scroll with a sigh. Had this one come from the shelf I was looking at, or the next one over? Well, whatever. I couldn't find an open space in front of me, so it had to be the next shelf. I rounded the corner and met with something almost as solid as the wood shelf. I squeaked, stumbling back.

Aizen's surprised face greeted me as I looked up. Of course, I complained internally. Can't I get a break from my classmates? I put on a smile anyway. "Hi, Aizen-kun. Ah, I mean Aizen-san. Sorry, I've been using the wrong honorifics all day." I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing away.

"Oh, Hirako-san. I didn't think anyone else was back here." Aizen shuffled his feet, Minoru-like. I was starting to get sick of all the shrinking violets around here. "It doesn't matter what you call me, really."

"Yes, it does." For the second time that day, words popped out of my mouth without my thinking them. "I won't call you something rude. And you're not the kind of guy who reaches that point easily, are you?" It was a rhetorical question. Adult Aizen had called Shinji 'Captain Hirako' long after Shinji's exile. It was blatantly obvious that Aizen let go of formalities only when pushed to his absolute limit. I was pretty similar to him in that respect. Honorifics and rank stood out to me like neon signs, helping me navigate this rigid-yet-chaotic society. I almost couldn't wait for the Living World, where I wouldn't have to memorize eight million rules for polite interaction.

Aizen didn't pick up on the rhetorical part of my question, shaking his head. "I prefer not to rush so quickly into things. I think you understand that, though. Apart from that conflict with Yamada-senpai, you don't seem as impulsive as your brother."

I couldn't help the started laugh that burst out of me. Maybe it was because knowing who Aizen would become had me constantly nervous, but his kindness was surprising. It's an act, I reminded myself. "I'm only stupid like that when I don't have time to think," I assured him with a sheepish smile. "Shinji, on the other hand... what'd he do now?" I released my best dramatic sigh.

"Nothing," Aizen said immediately. My eyes narrowed. Hard to say whether that was true or not. He shifted his grip on his scroll. "Just something I've seen. I can't imagine him being in the library, either."

I grimaced. "Yeah. We didn't have any brawn to inherit, but I think Shinji got the street smarts and I got the book smarts. So I figured I should play to my strengths, right?" I held up my scroll, labeled with a red band to denote its subject. "Do you have much interest in Zanpakutou, Aizen-san?"

Aizen's eyes fixed on the scroll in my hand, laser-like. "Yes, quite a bit. I was wondering where all the scrolls on Zanpakutou had gone. Would I be right in saying that you took them?" A small smile played over his features.

"Not all of them!" I protested, unable to hide my own guilty smile. I glanced at the white band on his scroll. "And you're reading about... Hollows? And history," I added, spotting a second, green-banded scroll tucked into his obi. The kanji on the scroll's cap marked it as from Soul Society's earliest history.

Aizen's smile dimmed. "Yes. Even more than Zanpakutou, Hollows are a... personal interest of mine."

Pieces clicked together. Aizen's awkwardness and tension around people, his look when I mentioned Makoto, his study of Hollows... I was so stupid. "I'm sorry," I said after a second of being mortified. My whole face was hot. "I didn't... what was she like?"

Aizen's stare dropped to his waraji. "An ordinary woman. She worked hard to support herself... but we weren't all that close. I heard about her passing from others." His face tightened with pain.

I hastily changed the subject. Shouldn't have asked, stupid! "Do... do you want to study Zanpakutou a little with me? My roommate—Fujikage-san, you remember—doesn't have much interest in the library, like Shinji. It'd be nice to have someone else who appreciates knowledge."

Aizen bit down on his lip so hard that I was amazed when he didn't draw blood. For a long minute he didn't answer, eyes darting back and forth as though he was debating with two people I couldn't see. I had to wonder what had transformed this awkward, uncertain boy into the suave, arrogant Aizen I remembered. Maybe it was gaining Kyouka Suigetsu—several sources spoke of Shinigami who became more self-confident after Shikai, though for most it was before.

"I-I'll study with you," he said finally. "We could compare notes or something."

A broad smile broke out on my face. It wasn't much, but it was a step towards friendship and maybe averting his betrayal. "That's great!" Then, so I didn't seem too eager, I added, "Um, I'll show you where I stashed the Zanpakutou scrolls. I've been taking a lot of notes on them."

I led him to my makeshift workspace in the back of the library. Most of the short-legged tables back there were dusty with disuse—this part of the library wasn't quite as well-lit, and most information students needed was closer to the front of the library anyway. The only reason I had set up camp there was because some of my work was in English. I rolled up that scroll hastily and banded it up. I gestured to my public notes on Zanpakutou and the scrolls strewn haphazardly across the table.

"See, it's all pretty organized. I've got a section on famous Zanpakutou, melee vs. Kidou-type Zanpakutou, release incantations, even why Zanpakutou take so long to manifest. There's not much on that last one, but it's still interesting. Says a lot about how Zanpakutou spirits work, at least." I stopped. I was no Shinji, unable (or unwilling) to read the air, but sometimes I fell back into old habits and barreled on despite the situation. I was boring Aizen, clearly. "Sorry, sorry, I'm rambling again. Have a seat."

Together we knelt at the table. Aizen's eyes got wider and wider as they looked at the sheer volume of notes I'd taken. It was a futile attempt at understanding Zanpakutou better; I'd thought that maybe if I wrote down what I knew I'd have a miraculous breakthrough. To be fair, that had happened before, just not in this life.

"Tell me if anything's hard to read," I said as the silence stretched on. "My handwriting's bad. Unless I'm practicing calligraphy, then, well... I'll shut up."

"It's fine," Aizen said absently, not looking up at me. "I can understand it." He did glance up then, eyes clear behind the smoky lenses. "You seem really convinced of some of this. Do you have a relative in the Gotei 13 who's taught you about Zanpakutou? Is that how you're so sure?"

I frowned, leaning forwards to get a better look at the section he was on. "No, no one in my immediate family. I just..." I scrambled for words that would explain how I knew so much about Zanpakutou. The truth wouldn't cut it. "It makes sense," I said lamely. "Some of it clicks. The stuff that doesn't click, I check with other writers. There's a star by the stuff that checks out if I disagree with it." I tapped a star besides a particular string of kanji. "Right here, I'm not sure about elemental Zanpakutou being restricted to one element. Some ice-types can control ice and water, even if it's mainly ice. But a lot of sources say that's true, so I want to see some in action and make sure."

Aizen hummed, eyes flicking over that line. "Hmm, that sounds right. But usually the water is quickly turned to ice. Is it really control?"

Interesting. A different opinion? Minoru'd been content to go along with what I said—though admittedly he didn't know much to contradict me. "Well, some of them have to summon water, from clouds or ponds or such. I think that's control enough."

Aizen shrugged, lacing his fingers together. "I guess. But if only ice-types can do it, and only some ice-types, then it's generally true that Zanpakutou can only use one element. Or else fire-types and ice-types would really be the same, wouldn't they? They both affect heat. And why not have a Zanpakutou with all the elemental powers?"

"Because of what they are." The answer was so obvious that I couldn't believe I had to say it. "Zanpakutou come from your soul. All your flaws, all your virtues, every part of the way you think influences a Zanpakutou." I hesitated, looking for something I could use to back my words up. I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and said, "To go with fire- and ice-type Zanpakutou, they're too different. Fire is... I guess it's kinda outgoing. Cooking food, warming people, burning wood, there's no way it can avoid affecting the world. Heat radiates outward. And then ice is more passive and introverted. People sculpt snow, use ice to cool off, break ice so it doesn't break other stuff. It's doesn't act on people as much as people act on it." Even though I knew science here wasn't advanced enough that he'd understand completely, I added, "Cold pulls in heat."

"But that doesn't explain why someone can't have both," Aizen reminded me. True, I hadn't gotten around to that yet.

"You need a certain kind of soul to get a fire-type sword, and another kind to get an ice-type," I told him. "Your soul... I think it has to be distinctive enough to get such an extreme power in the first place. Someone who didn't think too much like a fire-user or an ice-user would get neither, not both." I hesitated again. If I told Aizen part of why someone couldn't be omnipotent, would he use it against me later? "I hate fire," I admitted after a few seconds. "Just seeing hot pans makes me nervous. And I don't really like being out in the cold either. So my Zanpakutou could never be ice- or fire-type. People are like that, you know? They have preferences. Someone who kills every plant they try to grow couldn't have a plant-type, and..." I trailed off. "You get it, right? I know I talk too much."

"'You can't be everything.' That's what you're trying to say," Aizen said. "A tiger can't be a mouse. A Hollow can't be a Shinigami." His expression hardened briefly at the mention of Hollows. You won't get far here if you can't get over that, I thought. A hot knife of shame stabbed through me. Mean. You can't expect him to get over personal troubles like that quickly.

I pasted on a bright smile to hide my thoughts. "Exactly! Opposing natures and all. Sometimes, sometimes they can coexist." Like the Visoreds. "But it's not always... right." Like the Arrancar. "Usually-"

"I have to go." Aizen stood, almost knocking the table over in his haste. I hadn't noticed that he was sick, but all of a sudden he was pale and sweating. Aizen shoved his tinted glasses further up his nose. "Thanks for all this, Hirako-san. You meant well." He flash-stepped off, accompanied by that weird buzz. No, maybe there was no buzz. I couldn't hear much over the rustle of disturbed paper.

I sighed, rocking back on my heels. Just when I'd been getting somewhere, Aizen went all weird on me again. Why were all the men in my life so weird?

Because you are? A voice in my head snarked.

Shut up, self, I snarked back. Well, that wasn't promising for when I got my Zanpakutou. I didn't know if I could handle a Zanpakutou that was constantly sarcastic with me.

Hypocrite, the voice snarked one last time.

Yeah, I probably was. But I'd deal with that when my Zanpakutou turned up.

If it turned up.

"Move!"

I moved.

The speaker wasn't Seinosuke, or an impatient upperclassman, or even my brother. Even better: my Hakuda teacher, Himura Kyou. And unlike my fellow students, I couldn't blow my top at him, no matter how angry I was.

At the moment I wasn't angry, just frustrated. I couldn't manage a good spinning back kick to save my life.

"Move!"

I moved.

"Hirako, don't you think you should be doing push-ups right about now?" Himura towered above me, muscle-corded arms folded in front of him.

Probably, if you're saying something about it, I told him in my head. Aloud, I said, "My mistake, Himura-sensei?"

"You'd be doing push-ups right now if you realized it!" He barked. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching. Rule number one in Himura's dojo: don't show fear. Rule number two... you guessed it: do push-ups when you've made a mistake. "Kick right in the solar plexus, girl! We aren't aiming to kneecap the opponent!"

I bowed from the waist. "Yessir."

Five push-ups later, I was back in position to do another spinning back kick. Five push-ups might not seem like much punishment, but here they added up real fast.

Today was one of those days where I couldn't catch a break. I needed to have a nice long chat with Oshiro about my Zanpakutou theories. Hell, I just needed to chat with anyone who had a Zanpakutou.

Instead, Oshiro had been sick. We'd been left to work on a paper about a famous Zanpakutou of our choice. Stupidly, I'd chosen Ryuujin Jakka. The choice in and of itself wasn't stupid—okay, yes it was. There was no way to defend it. Ryuujin Jakka had a huge history and vague abilities—unless you counted 'produce a shit-ton of fire' as a specific ability. I'd undertaken a mammoth project. My library haven would have to wait.

"Hirako! Kick straight! None of that curving nonsense from your clan style!"

"Yessir." More pushups. Damn you, muscle memory. If I'd been the sort to gamble, I would've bet that my classmates were getting sick of hearing Himura disciplining me.

When we were finally let out, I could feel the bruises beginning to form. Note to self: learn healing Kidou. it was a fairly petty reason to learn, but it would probably pay off eventually. If Hachi, with all the darkness that had to be coiling through his power, could heal, I could heal. No, that was a dumb comparison. Hachi was a Kidou master. I... was probably never going to be. Note to self: stop comparing yourself to canon characters.

"Hey, Hirako-chan! Hirako-chan!" I turned to see Shinju and Shinji bounding towards me. I wasn't quite sure when I'd graduated to 'Hirako-chan,' but I'd take it.

"Finally, I get to see you out of the library," Shinju exclaimed, smiling brightly.

"That's not true," I retorted with a frown. "You see me at lunch and in our room."

"That's true," Shinji broke in, tapping his chin with one long finger. "So think of how I must feel! Yer brother, only seein' ya every so often at lunch. So cruel, Nari-nee. Your Zanpakutou's going to be some awful poison dagger."

"And I bet yours is going to be something awful and stinky, something that turns everything upside-down," I said, kicking at his shins. Shinji hopped out of reach. "You're certainly good enough at turning the conversation around, right back to you."

"Hirako-chan! That was mean." Shinju frowned at me. "Not a good day?" Bless Shinju, she usually tried to give me the benefit of the doubt. Too bad I wasn't in the mood for it today.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's Hakuda, mixed with a little Zanpakutou, and a dash of Aizen," Shinji said wisely. I scowled at him.

"Stop blaming Aizen-san for everything, Shinji," I grumbled. "He gets Zanpakutou better than you."

Shinju blinked at me as we took our seats for lunch. "Well, there's no accounting for taste..." She murmured.

"It's not like that!" I snapped, smoothing out my hakama. "Since apparently he and I are the only ones who are trying to learn more than what Shin'ou spoon-feeds us, we were studying together the other day. That's. All."

"Jeez, somebody's in a right foul mood," Shinji grumbled. "But it is Hakuda?"

I took a deep breath, released it as a shuddering sigh. "Yeah. I can't get my spinning back kick down and Himura-sensei was on my case about it," I admitted. "Sorry for snapping. I keep spinning and thinking I'm gonna do a hook kick, but it's a back kick and... ugh. Be glad you don't have him."

Shinji's smirk softened. "Yeah, I lucked out with Takenaka. But hey, most at our Hakuda level get Takenaka or Higa. Maybe Himura's the sort that's just real picky 'bout who he takes as a student? Then you'll learn some special technique and get aheada me, ha."

I poked my tongue out at him. "Very funny. Nah, I think he's just a jerk. There's always one."

Shinju glanced between us, sighing. "Wow, second-level Hakuda? You two must have some talent if you're a year above the rest of us."

"Not talent," I said before Shinji could get puffed up, shaking my head. "We're under the Shihouin, and our clan starts training early to boot. That's all."

Shinji pouted. "Aww, Nari-nee, why'dja have ta spoil it? I'm happy to get praised by a pretty girl." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "But she's right, Fujikage-chan." Fujikage-chan? When had that happened?  "Our da started teachin' us the second we could walk."

She smiled, brushing her hair out of her face. "Well, that makes me feel a bit better. I think my skills will run more towards Hohou...or Zanjutsu...or Kidou. Anything that's not Hakuda," Shinju confessed. "Punching and kicking things doesn't suit me."

Does anything suit you? The second the thought went through my head, I felt bad for thinking it. But at the same time, it was a little true. Though a good part of all the zankensoki required little more than hard work and practice, the higher-level techniques required large reiryoku reserves. While training at Shin'ou, our reiryoku reserves would improve, especially with Shikai, but as adult Aizen had said, souls could only contain so much potential without Hollowfication. I'd felt out Shinju's power as subtly as I could and it was noticeably lower even than mine—though if you listened to Shinji's flattery, which I didn't, my power was decently high anyway. To top it all off, Shinju hadn't read Bleach and wasn't the sort of person who could learn to be brutal or crafty. When trouble really came...

No, I was thinking too much about raw power, I decided as we rose to go get our food. Shinju would make a fine low-seated officer and could probably climb at least a few seats higher by virtue of her diligence and calm demeanor. When we took Administrative Abilities in seventh year, Shinju would probably excel. The military always valued people who could keep order. Or hey, maybe she could do well in the Fourth.

Aizen showed up late, as usual, though for once he had someone—Minoru, I saw as they came closer—with him. They must've bumped into each other—I couldn't imagine that either one would seek out someone they barely knew. In that respect, Minoru was slightly friendlier than Aizen, but as I'd seen in the library Aizen had zero qualms about straight-up leaving when he wasn't comfortable with someone.

"I've been practicin' like ya said ta," Minoru said by way of greeting when they had their food, face alight. I blinked before remembering what he was referring to.

"Good!" I told him, smile spreading over my face. "It's all about practice, same as the zankensoki." Uneasiness squirmed in me with the words. Was it giving him false hope to say that? Stupid, I told myself. It's just one comment. Don't go believing in the butterfly effect.

"Zankensoki?" Minoru tilted his head at me, a piece of tofu halfway to his mouth.

"The four Shinigami arts," Aizen said, earning stares from the rest of us. He shifted in his seat, but continued. "It's easier to say than to list off Hakuda, Kidou, Hohou, and Zanjutsu. 'Zan' is for Zanjutsu, 'Ken' is for Hakuda, 'So' is for Hohou, and 'Ki' is for Kidou."

"They should put in a 'Kon' for the Zanpakutou," I commented. "You know, because Zanpakutou are 'soul-cutting swords,'" I added for Minoru's benefit. The way the kanji for soul was read was different enough that it wasn't likely that he'd pick up on it. "They're important enough that we've got classes on them, so why not?"

Shinji rolled his eyes. "So you're still stuck on that? She wouldn't leave me be about it back home," he told our tablemates. "'Shinji, how d'ya get an asauchi?' 'Shinji, Shinji, Shinji.' It was right annoyin', 'specially since I didn't know either."

I kicked him under the bench. Over his yelps I said, "They're why Shinigami are so powerful. That's pretty major. Just a little bit. So you should pay more respect."

"T'what?" Shinji replied, scowling as he reached down to rub his shin. "I don't even got one jus' yet."

"So?" I said, spearing a chunk of tofu. It was bad manners, but I was too irritated to care. Shinji had to learn not to be flippant all the time somehow. "None of us have met Captain-Commander Yamamoto, but nobody's stupid enough to disrespect him."

"I have to agree with both of you a little," Shinju spoke up. She swallowed a mouthful of rice. "I mean, the Captain-Commander's a physical person. We all have a cousin's friend's brother who's met him. Zanpakutou... they're swords. They're weapons with our powers, aren't they? It's not the same. But really, there's no point in being rude either way."

"I agree with Nariko-san," Minoru said, staring at his hands. "They're our badges of office, right? So we gotta give them the respect they deserve." He was right, just for the wrong reasons. I could see the soul-deep desire for prestige in his eyes, probably the source of his reasoning. He'd get shaken out of it when we went over Zanpakutou spirits in Introduction to Zanpakutou.

"I agree with Nariko-san also," Aizen said. "Zanpakutou are the most important part of being a Shinigami." There was something funny in Aizen's eyes too, harder to read because of his tinted lenses. Similar to Minoru, there was a hunger in his eyes. For what, I didn't know.

Yes, you do, the part of my brain reserved for Before reminded me. He wants to be God.

And right now he's a teenage boy whose mother died and probably has nothing to go back to, the part of my brain that dealt with the here and now snapped back.

Shinji opened his mouth. Before he could say something that would set off the future-psycho at our table, I kicked him so hard my toes ached. As Shinji rubbed both his legs, I glanced over to see Shinju grinning. We high-fived. Maybe she can take my place as Shinji-minder, I thought wryly.

 The rest of the week went like that—Hakuda stressing me out, Oshiro out sick, and alternately tutoring Minoru and studying with Aizen. I should've found tutoring Minoru more rewarding—good deeds made you feel good, I'd learned—but I liked my study sessions better. Aizen was prone to leaving randomly, true, but he offered thoughts that never would've occurred to me. It was refreshing to have someone who challenged my thinking without being rude about it. I doubted Aizen even knew how to be rude to anyone, though. He keep everyone at a distance too much to know what it felt like to get mad at someone.

Too bad for him that I'd break down his guard, one way or another.

I staggered into Introduction to Zanpakutou one day to find Oshiro finally there, looking like death warmed over. He was not smiling. The complete silence of the classroom, broken only by the warning bells going off in my head, signaled that it would be a very bad idea to ask how he was feeling. I took my usual seat in front of Shinji gingerly.

"Class." Only traces of Oshiro's usual cheer remained in his voice, hoarse and cracked. I winced. He'd been—still was—really sick. Hopefully nothing serious. "Today we'll be going to the Mizuchi courtyard. As soon as you have completed your activity there, you will go to the Hou-ou courtyard by the Waki Boshi dormitory. I will arrive shortly after you, I expect." He rose and we rose with him, filing out in complete silence. No one knew what was going on. No one cared. When a teacher told you to do something, you did it. No questions.

Except, of course, for the silent one I asked Shinji, catching his gaze as we stood. What's going on?

A tiny shake of his head. I don't know.

If Shinji didn't know, I wasn't going to find out. Certainly not on the walk to Mizuchi.

I ended up somewhere at the back of the pack of students. It was a combination of my own laziness and common sense. Oshiro was acting weird. We were going to a place I hadn't been before. If Soul Society had bred Aizen, I was going to maintain a little bit of wariness with any other kind, mild-mannered person who started acting weirdly. The fact that I didn't feel much incentive to walk quickly helped.

The instant I set foot in the courtyard, my sense of reiatsu began to scream. Whatever was in that courtyard was Very Old, Very Strong, and Very Dangerous. And yes, it—or rather, they, since there was a slight pulse that suggested life—deserved every one of those capitals. I hunched my shoulders and started to breathe through my mouth, trying both to minimize the places that raw, metallic power—like iron ore—pressed on me and get more air in my lungs. I sneaked a glance at Oshiro and saw him gazing steadily at whoever was waiting for us. His back was straight, hands fisted in his hakama, but there was no fear on his face. I tentatively extended my reiatsu towards him and felt in his power—subtle, flowing, and mesmerizing, ink dropped in water—envy, but no ill intent. I stepped out of the pack to see this mysterious person.

To my dismay, I had no clue who this guy was. And I should've, I really should've. He was dark-skinned, even more so than Love, with the thickest, curliest black hair I'd ever seen down to his shoulders. I had to wonder how long it was when he took a shower. Although he wore a shihakushou, meaning he couldn't be a teacher, Curly-Hair had customized it with puffy, elbow-length lime wrist warmers, matching socks, and gold-rimmed glasses that were so dark-tinted I doubted he could see. My eyes narrowed when they reached his waist. No Zanpakutou?

What kind of guy was crazy strong, outrageously dressed, and wouldn't carry a-

Oh.

Oh.

I was going to have to do a lot more studying if I wanted to be the lieutenant of the Twelfth. With the kind of stupidity I'd just shown, even if no one had seen it, I'd be unseated. Moron. Especially if I was being stupid in the area I was supposed to be so good at.

See, the guy I was looking at, the guy who'd started laughing his ass off the second he'd seen our bunch, he was Nimaiya Ouetsu. Otherwise known as Toushin, 'God of the Sword.' He invented Zanpakutou. If I'd been in a cartoon, my cheeks would've been bulging with all the questions I wanted to ask. Weirdly, it was obvious that only Oshiro knew who he was looking at. Wakahisa Momohiko—aka the heir apparent to the Third Great Noble House—looked little more than bored. Then again, the Royal Guard didn't make house calls.

"Children. Form a line, please," Oshiro said. There was something similar to but more than curiosity in his scraped-raw voice. Desire, that was it. Not for Ouetsu, I was fairly certain, but for his knowledge. Made sense, given Oshiro's profession. Ouetsu was basically the ultimate Introduction to Zanpakutou teacher.

"Form a line? Hah! Man, it's killin' me how formal ya are, Oshiro," Nimaiya laughed—no, guffawed. His whole frame, sprawled in front of a large white tent, shook with laughter. "Eh, well. Better that y'all give your asauchi the respect they're due. They're basically you, after all."

Asauchi? My reiatsu joined the other students' in flaring with surprise and excitement. We were finally getting our Zanpakutou!

Well, whoever was at the front of the line was, anyway. Nimaiya led them—I caught a flash of peach-colored hair that might've been Hayate—into the tent. I had again miscalculated and wound up smack in the middle. Con of being a soul from another universe: I hadn't inherited the Hirako willingness to step on a few toes to get where I wanted to go.

As I waited, my mind buzzed with ideas. Could I ask Nimaiya any questions while I was in that tent? Should I confess my real origins? Would he even give me a Zanpakutou if I did? Would it change anything about my asauchi? Did he just hand over a blade, just like that? My whole future, casual as if it were just an inkstone?

I forced myself to be calm, concentrating on keeping my breathing deep and rhythmic until my heartbeat slowed. This is a solemn, important occasion, I reminded myself. Show respect.

Unfortunately, my brain didn't get the message. Soon enough, I was noticing the musky, sweet scent of the lilac trees around the courtyard, the heat baking my skin until I was sure it was as golden as Shinji's hair, anything that wasn't the situation I was in. I sighed, but let my mind wander. I'd be a ball of energy and stress if I dwelled on the Zanpakutou master right in front of me. Wait, right in front of me? I blinked rapidly, realizing that I was looking into dark-tinted glasses.

"Hey, girlie, it's kinda your turn. Man, they don't make cadets like they used to anymore," he chuckled. "C'mon."

"Yes, Nimaiya-sama," I said, fighting to keep my voice and face humble.

Turning back to his tent's entrance, Ouetsu froze. Oops. Looked like his identity was not public knowledge. After a second, though, he tapped the black cord tying the tent flaps together. The mind-bendingly complex knot it formed fell apart and he ducked inside. I hurriedly followed suit, the flaps tying back together after me.

The tent was refreshingly cool, despite the stillness of the air inside. It was also far bigger on the inside than it appeared. Racks of mounted swords surrounded me. A desk, just like the ones we used in school, sat at the center. Compared to the huge tent and the show-stealing Nimaiya, it was almost depressingly average. But then, Nimaiya was technically a smith, even if he was a smith who deserved his 'God of Swords' title. His palace probably wasn't ornate compared to, say, that many-armed Royal Guard lady.

Nimaiya turned to face me. "Well, girlie, how is it ya know my name? 'Cause I've got a friend and usually he's the only one who's that good at guessing."

I pressed my lips together, squirming uneasiness inside me. How could I explain what I thought was obvious? "You're strong. Captain-class. And you deal with asauchi. Zanpakutou are a special interest of mine." I shrugged, as though it was a casual statement. "I do my research. 'God of the Sword,' Royal Guard member Nimaiya Ouetsu. That's you, right?"

The edge of his reiatsu tightened. "Man, I just can't believe what you're saying, girlie. I'm pretty sure I'm not in any of the books you're allowed access to."

It was my turn to freeze before a idea that was probably better than the 'I read about it' angle popped into my head. "You don't spend much time in Soul Society, do you? I'm a Hirako. It's our business to know stuff people want hidden."

He snorted. "Can't argue with that. The last one of you I knew had his nose in everybody's business too. Alright, then. C'mere and we can get down to business. I don't bite. Much."

I walked towards him without hesitation, sinking a pinch of reiryoku into my mental circle to shield myself from the press of his reiatsu. There was nothing actively threatening about Nimaiya's power. It was strong, intimidating, and impersonal, like a mountain. Which explained a little of why no one had remarked on his reiatsu. It was just there.

The second I was within reach, his hand was on my chest. White-hot heat flooded me, but my heartbeat returned after a few seconds when I realized that he wasn't actually doing anything. His hand was just pressed there, firm and steady, like he was trying to feel my heartbeat. We stood there for a few minutes before he withdrew, reiatsu soft-edged in the way I'd come to associate with confusion from observing my classmates. Soon enough it smoothed, though.

"I was wondering who'd have that one," he murmured.

"What's wrong with my asauchi?" I asked, heart in my throat.

He grinned. "Don't get your hakama all knotted. There's nothing wrong with it. I wonder that 'bout every one of my blades. Kinda like when you're brewing sake, and you wonder if your guests are gonna get the full experience out of it, taste all the notes, or just get drunk and spend the night throwing up. Up to them, not you, though."

I nodded, breathing shallow. He couldn't have chosen a better analogy for my clan. "Oh. Okay."

"'Oh. Okay,'" he mimicked in a squeaky tone, casting his glance around. "That all you've got to say about the blade for your soul, girlie? If you're really a Zanpakutou nerd, you should know the potential in that asauchi!"

I flushed, but got no opportunity to say anything more. Nimaiya set off through the racks of swords and I followed dutifully.

The swords around me were pretty, but... there wasn't much to them. It was like looking at a picture of fire: nice-looking, but missing the heat, the smoke, the crackle of burning wood, everything that set fire apart from a particularly large light bulb. Everything that made a Zanpakutou a Zanpakutou wasn't there. I extended my reiatsu as subtly as I could and recoiled. Normally reiatsu was a little like light, or maybe wind—it bounced off and moved around the target without intent behind it, giving you a sense for the target, as I'd learned through bored-stiff experiments in Reiryoku Manipulation.

Asauchi, though, defied me. They were blank, reflecting only traces of my power and giving me no sense of their inner workings. I shuddered, a wave of nausea flooding me. How could something with the potential to contain an entire world be so flat?

"A curious little birdie, aren't you, girlie? Peck-peck-pecking away at the asauchi," Nimaiya said.

I flushed, pulling my reiatsu back under my skin again. "Sorry. They- they're alive, but they're not... I wanted to know."

He took a right turn, almost clipping a rack. "Don't be so apologetic, girlie! There's ambition in you, no matter how much you try and hide it. You'll get a hella weak Zanpakutou if you're all mixed-up like that. But still, don't be examining other asauchi. Gotta make sure they take to the people they're meant for, y'know?"

"Yes, Nimaiya-sama," I said, nodding even though he couldn't see it.

He snorted, but said nothing, coming to a halt in front of a particularly crowded rack. "Can you guess, girlie? Which one's yours?"

"No," I said honestly. Every blade looked identical, black hilt-wrappings and round metal guards in black sheathes. My stomach churned ominously. Well, this explains why Shinigami don't just force their reiryoku on an asauchi. If I touch these things again, I'll be sick, no question.

"Straight-forward and coy. Better iron yourself out, girlie, or at least reconcile them both," Nimaiya said. He selected one sword and turned, resting it in his massive, rough-skinned blacksmith's hands. "Well, what're you waiting for, girlie? You know what this is, don'tcha?"

I gulped. I couldn't possibly screw up taking a sword, but something in me was terrified that I'd handle it wrong. Or drop it. Or- Shut up, self. Just take it. With shaking hands, I reached out and scooped up the asauchi, resting it on my palms like he had. The nausea eased as the best feeling in the world settled in me.

Take the thing you love doing the most and combine it with the greatest achievement you've ever had and settling into your bed after a day of hard work. Then mix in a dash of coming home after being away for a week. Finish with getting a hug from whoever you love most. There. You've got the idea of what I felt, holding that asauchi. No room for fear for the future. I had my asauchi. I could do this.

My manners came back in a rush. I bowed as deeply as I could without falling over. "Thank you, Nimaiya-sama."

He stared down at me for a long second, then smiled broadly. "Wield it well, girlie."

My answering grin was huge. "I will, Toushin."

He flapped his hand at me and led me back to his desk, where long scrolls waited. Nimaiya dipped his brush in his ink and glanced up. "Your name, girlie?"

If he hadn't been so friendly and so powerful, I would've told him to stop calling me that. As it was, I couldn't muster enough bravery and irritation to do it. "Hirako Nariko," I answered. "Written as 'flat child' and 'hard-working child.'"

He chuckled, brush adding my name to an entry in his list. I squinted, but couldn't make out the kanji written there. "You didn't luck out, did ya, girlie? Okay, then. Let's get you back to the real world."

I poked my tongue out at him, then pulled it back, hoping he hadn't seen. It was true, according to the Hirako naming custom I hadn't done so well, I mused as he walked me through the racks of asauchi. See, our clan thought we were the funniest people on the planet, so kids didn't just get meaningful names, we got ironic names. My father Kenji? He was born to sit in his study and manage clan revenue, not hold a sword. Shinji's a born liar. Thankfully for her, my mom was born in the Matsumura clan. Wouldn't it suck to have your parents hope that you'd turn out fickle and treacherous? Me, apparently my parents had thought I'd be a lazy child. I got the suckiest name of all.

Nimaiya stopped right in front of the tent flaps. "Girlie? We won't be seeing each other again, so I'll give you a piece of advice: your teachers now, and your superiors if you make it into the Gotei 13, they're gonna want a hard-hitting weapon outta you and they'll try and make you the sort of person who forms one. Don't let them succeed. I didn't invent Zanpakutou so a bunch of bureaucrats could create cookie-cutter soldiers with them. Be the kind of person whose soul shakes things up, yeah?"

Nimaiya didn't wait around for my reply, stepping out of the tent. I blinked as the heat and sunlight returned, then nearly jumped a foot as he bellowed, "Next victim!" As my feet carried me away in a daze, I heard him laughing again. "Just kidding, but man, that was some look on your face," he said, voice fading as I got further away.

I left the courtyard and headed for Hou-ou. We still had class time, so we had to be doing something, and I was not doing schoolwork in my free time. Unfortunately, when I reached what I thought was the Hou-ou courtyard, not a single person was there. Oops. Sighing, I went back the way I'd come to ask Oshiro where it was.

When I rounded the corner, I saw Oshiro and Nimaiya standing in front of the tent. No other students remained. I frowned, taking a step forwards before their voices reached me. I stepped back, letting a low-hanging lilac branch obscure me. It was rude to eavesdrop, but I just needed to ask where I was supposed to go when there was a break in conversation.

"...would be beneficial if their teacher was in there with them," Oshiro was saying, voice tense. Bullshit, was my immediate thought. These kids were too ignorant to know who they were looking at. And whether they'd woken in the deep Rukongai or they'd been born to a Kuchiki lady with Unohana on call, it was pretty likely that they were all used to meeting new people and never seeing them again. Then again, I hadn't heard the beginning of the sentence, so maybe I was misunderstanding?

"Man, if they're grown enough to pass the entrance exam, they're grown enough to stand walking in there with a stranger to find their asauchi," Nimaiya replied. A facade of jovialness hung around him, but even from a distance I could read the tightness in his shoulders. This was a conversation they'd had before.

Oshiro tried a different tack. "I teach them about Zanpakutou, Nimaiya-dono. Shouldn't I be allowed to see each year's batch?"

Nimaiya's reiatsu shifted, ore to molten metal. "How did you get your position, man? Even that little piano-teeth girl, Koko, or whatever her name was, she got that Zanpakutou are living beings, not mass-produced hunks of metal." Was it possible to beam with pride and flush with embarrassment at the same time? If so, I did. He couldn't even get my name right, but he remembered me all the same. "Sorry, man, but I forge kids' futures. You've already got the task of shaping how they think about their souls. Don't go trying to pry into their souls."

"I'm not prying-" Oshiro began.

"It's a milestone to be reached privately, Oshiro. Sorry, but that's final. The only people I trust to be among the asauchi are myself and the people I'm giving them to," Nimaiya said firmly. "Now, don't you have a class to teach?" Dismissal rang through his voice, but Oshiro stood there for a second longer before bowing low and saying something I couldn't make out to Nimaiya. Nimaiya just laughed, turning and walking back to his tent.

What was that all about? I wondered. I was all for teachers trying to instruct their students better, but Nimaiya had clearly had a dim view of whatever Oshiro was asking for. I got the whole privacy thing, but it was Oshiro who was asking, not Ounabara. I couldn't see him being too threatening. Then again, Nimaiya did know all there was to know about Zanpakutou. Maybe it was key to asauchi functioning properly? But then, I'd gotten little more than chastisement when I'd examined other asauchi. Ugh, this was all too-

"Hirako-chan?" Oshiro said, eyebrows lifted in mixed worry and surprise.

-confusing. Note to self: stop getting lost in thought. "Oshiro-sensei! I didn't mean to barge in. I kinda got lost and wound up in the wrong courtyard, so I figured I'd retrace my steps and ask you where Hou-ou was." I rubbed the nape of my neck, heat staining my cheeks as I recounted the tale. It was more embarrassing when I said it out loud.

His expression shuttered briefly, but then his smile was back. "Oh, my mistake. I thought everyone knew where it was. Let's you and I walk there together, then."

Turned out I'd gone to the wrong side of campus entirely as Oshiro took a turn I'd missed. Left, left, left, right... I noted for future reference.

"So, Hirako-chan, Ikeda-san seemed to think well of you," he said after a few minutes of walking.

Ikeda? Who was- Nimaiya. Ikeda must've been the name teachers used to refer to him if curious students asked. "Well, I don't know," I said awkwardly. Nimaiya'd thought I knew a little about Zanpakutou, that was for sure, but he'd probably been trying to insult Oshiro with that comment. Realizing that Oshiro expected me to say more, I added, "He gave me some advice, but that was really it."

"Oh?" Oshiro's tone was casual, so casual I wouldn't have noticed that it wasn't genuine if I hadn't already been weirded out.

"He told me to try and stand out because people would try to make me like everyone else," I paraphrased. "He kinda got mad at me for looking at other people's asauchi, too. He wanted to make sure they 'took to' whoever they were meant for. I don't know what that means, but that's what he said."

Oshiro's reiatsu was more spreading ink than water. "I see," he said softly, brown eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. "Well, Ikeda-san's a very knowledgeable man, but he has little respect for the order of things and he doesn't like to share that knowledge. I wouldn't take what he said too much to heart."

Which part? I wanted to ask him, but bit my lip. Oshiro didn't think I was telling the truth, not completely. To be expected given my clan, but still. "I won't, Oshiro-sensei."

We arrived in a courtyard that was rather smaller than the one I'd initially gone to, an impression reinforced by the sprawling maple in the center. My classmates were already there, peering at each other's asauchi and chatting. I couldn't imagine there was much to chat about, given that they were all the same right now.

"Class!" Oshiro called, a hitch in his throat. He coughed, then tried again. "Class!"

He got their attention the second time. Untying a small pouch from his obi, Oshiro held it up for us to see. "Part of wielding a Zanpakutou means wearing it properly. This contains some hanging cords, for those who don't already have them." A few kids, Momohiko included, exchanged glances. They already wore their blades at their sides, cords tied into knots the Boy Scouts would envy. A cluster of students quickly formed, looking to get a certain color. Through blind luck, I got first pick—all Oshiro had to do to offer me one was turn, so it was convenient for him too. I selected a pale green cord and went to sit by Shinji, who somehow already had one.

"Before you ask, Dad gave it to me," he said, tapping the sunflower-yellow cord that secured his sword. "It was the one that uncle Youichi used when he was at Shin'ou. Want help with yours?"

I nodded. "Walk me through it?" I said hopefully. I wouldn't learn for the future if he did it for me, but the only knot I knew was the famous shoe-tying one.

He laughed. "Sure. Alright, first through this knob right here on the sheath, then through here, then..."

Soon enough I had a nice, tight knot securing my asauchi to my obi. "Hey, Shinji," I said lightly, "did the guy who gave you your asauchi say anything to you?"

Shinji shrugged. "Sure did." My heart sank. I'd hoped, just a little, that I'd been special. "Told me ta wield it well, asked my name. Why, did he perv on you?" The disappointment lifted. See there, Shinji, it pays to study.

"What?" I said, jaw dropping. "No way, you idiot! We just- talked. I'll tell you the rest later."

His eyes flicked over to me. "Who's the problem?"

Instead of answering aloud, I gave Oshiro a pointed look.

Shinji, of course, missed the whole point of my subtlety. "What, Oshiro? Nah, no way."

"That's Oshiro-sensei to you," I corrected automatically, then frowned. "But yes way. He's nice, yeah, but something happened between him and that guy, Ikeda. He has good intentions, but it'd be rude to discuss here."

Shinji's eyes met mine and didn't look away. Finally, I broke the stare. "I said I'd tell you the rest later, Shin," I told him, pursing my lips and tasting salt. "Be patient like a good little boy."

He took the bait. "Hey! I ain't a little boy! I'm only four years younger than ya, y'know!"

I arched a brow at him. "Hmm? Girls mature faster, though. You're still in that awkward phase, if you ask me."

"No one did," Shinji grumbled, scooting away from me. He opened his mouth to say something else when Oshiro, standing beneath the maple, spoke again.

"Class, form eight rows of three in front of me," Oshiro said, voice distinctly froggy. He cleared his throat and continued. "I don't want you distracted by your classmates."

After a bit of argument, everyone wanting to be next to their friends but having different ideas on who their friends were, we settled into rows. I ended up between two girls, both with impractically long pigtails and intent on holding a whispered conversation. Not even my best glare for keeping Shinji in line worked. Oshiro's glance over at them did the trick, though.

"I expect that you've gone over the proper way to draw a sword in your Zanjutsu classes," Oshiro said. "Draw your asauchi now and lay it across your laps."

I fumbled with mine for a second before it slid out of its sheath. To my slight disappointment, it didn't make that sharp-sounding noise I'd come to associate with drawn swords. Oh well. Maybe I could persuade my Zanpakutou spirit to do that.

"Hajimezen is the precursor to jinzen, which you all will perform when your Zanpakutou spirits settle," he said, brushing hair out of his eyes. "For now, hajimezen will help you to impress your will on your asauchi. Close your eyes, rest your hands on your asauchi blades, and focus only on the sound of my voice. Steady breathing is essential." I shut my eyes and tried to take slow, deep breaths.

Far from removing distraction, I found myself able to focus on physical discomfort instead. The heat and humidity, I was sure, would turn me into a Nariko dumpling by the end of the day, boiled in my own skin. Actually, I could go for some pork dumplings right now, maybe with- Focus, Nariko. Listen to your teacher.

"Call reiryoku to your hands," Oshiro instructed. Piece of cake. Reiryoku already flowed thickly in my arms, courtesy of the reiatsu vents in my wrists. All I had to do was encourage it to move a little farther. Cracking an eye open, I noted with satisfaction the mostly-steady turquoise sheen of power on my skin. And, no surprise, the pigtail-girls had managed only flickering violet and tea-green light on their respective hands. Oshiro circled around to correct the girl on my left's technique, bending down to whisper instructions in her ear. For just a second too long to be accidental, his fingers brushed her asauchi. A frown creased ponytail-girl's forehead, but her purple light steadied. I closed my eyes again so he wouldn't scold me.

"Now, think about the answers to these questions as honestly as you possibly can. Tell your Zanpakutou what you want from it," he said, punctuating his sentence with a sniffle. I carefully avoided breathing in case he sneezed near me. "First, what do you hope to get from joining the Gotei or Onmitsukidou?"

Startled, I released the breath I'd been holding. That... I hadn't expected that question. What did I hope to get from a Shinigami career? Prestige? Shinji'd outshine me there. Money? My clan was decently wealthy already. Praise? Sure, I'd like that, but it'd be icing on the cake. Justice? As much as I hated to admit it, no. I steadied the power around my hands as it flickered, shame disrupting control. I'd definitely do my part to be a good soldier and affect what little change I could, but I wasn't brave or suicidal enough to be a radical here. I discarded security and peace easily. In a society like this one, safety was a joke and while fighting went against a lifetime of 'to avoid a fight is to win it' the life of a Shinigami was a life of war.

Ambition, greed, pride, morality, comfort, all out. My duty to watch Shinji's back and guide the timeline to canon didn't count. What did I want from my career here and now?

Closure.

I wanted... closure? Beneath my fingers, I thought I felt the touch of my reiatsu on the asauchi smooth, like it had accepted the answer. But closure... was that the word for what I really wanted? I wanted to know why Seireitei was as screwed-up as it was, certainly. I wanted to know why Aizen had tried to become God. I wanted explanations. I wanted everything to fit. Closure was for people whose lives had been torn apart. People who were missing something. I was—as I always had been—a privileged, loved child from a well-off family that cared for me, as much as they had odd ways of showing it. I wasn't missing anything. I just wanted to do it so I knew I could.

But if closure was the word for my need for answers, for my need to respond to the greatest call society could give me, then I wanted closure.

Oshiro's voice broke through my thoughts. "If you can't answer that question now, I'll be posing it to you many more times, I assure you." A hint of a chuckle edged his words. "Second question: why do you want to join the division you have your sights set on?"

Much easier. The Ninth appealed because they handled security and the Seireitei Bulletin. I prided myself on my eye for writing both good and bad, if not my own skill at it. The security bit was my own personal interest—rule-breakers rubbed me the wrong way, even if my own brother was one. The Twelfth was a means to an end, with the promise of information about how souls worked to sweeten the deal.

I closed that mental topic and let myself simply relax. I might as well use my chances for relaxation before things got complicated. A breeze ruffled hair and leaves. Someone sneezed, mouse-like. I grinned, hiding it quickly as the scratch of Oshiro's footsteps came closer. They stopped, loud as if they were right by my ear. I opened an eye and nearly jumped to my feet. Oshiro was right there.

"Hirako-chan," he murmured, bending down, "your Zanpakutou will only manifest more slowly if you do not focus." Reaching out, he laid his hand on my blade. "You must want-"

I jerked away. "I'm sorry, Oshiro-sensei," I replied, low and harsh, "but I want you to not touch my asauchi. I mean, ah, could you please give me a little space?" I softened my voice slightly. "My studies suggest-"

"Then we must talk privately, you and I, about your studies," Oshiro said. A little warmth left his voice. "I don't think they're leading you in the correct direction." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw heads start to turn. "As a teacher, I can't let my brightest student's progress be slowed."

I should've replied with some brilliant comeback. The Hirako clan wasn't nicknamed the 'Golden Fox' clan for nothing. We were supposed to have the ability of a kitsune to talk our way out of situations.

Instead, my deference to authority took over. "As a student, I'll obey my teacher," I heard myself say. "Sorry, Oshiro-sensei."

The warmth returned. "We can talk later, Hirako-chan. Try to focus on the lesson, please."

I shut my eyes tight, listening to his footsteps retreat. With each one my anger, at him and myself, ebbed. I pulled back my reiryoku from my hands. If hajimezen really worked, I didn't want my Zanpakutou getting the wrong idea. I needed a strong blade. Not whatever would come from the person who'd clammed up when she should've defended herself.

I fled with Shinji by my side the second class let out. Today wasn't the day for me to talk to Oshiro. Tomorrow wasn't the day for me to talk to Oshiro. I needed time to think of what to say. Shinji would help, but I'd talk to him tomorrow. Right now I needed Shinju.

I arrived back at our room to find her already there, kneeling at her desk by a stack of completed sheets.

"Hard at work, huh?" I said, sliding the door shut behind me.

"Mhm. Ise-sensei assigned us to pick us an aspect of Hakuda and write about it. I just don't know what to write. It's so vague, you know" she confessed. "How do you do something you've been told to do when you haven't been told anything about it?"

I frowned. "Hard to say. What exactly did he say?"

"She," Shinju corrected. "Ise Kazue-sensei. She told us that 'Hakuda, done correctly, is an art that uses all of one's body and mind to defeat an opponent. Stiff fingers in a ridge-hand strike make it more effective, but the arm swings through, and the mind pinpoints the correct target. Many aspects are unified in Hakuda. Write about one.''

"Wow. You have a good memory for things other people say," I told her, kneeling at my own desk to begin my work. "Ever thought about the Onmitsukidou?" It wasn't completely a joke. I remembered written information well, and most people used techniques to keep track of information, but in the field an onmitsu couldn't stop to take notes. Clear memory of spoken words could be a valuable skill.

Shinju laughed. "Thanks, but I'm not even under the Shihouin. If I didn't have reiryoku, I'd be fine working with cloth my whole life. All I'd be good for in that service is darning prison uniforms."

I giggled, imagining Shinju handing a robe to Kurotsuchi. Knowing her, Shinju would personalize every uniform. Maybe little bugs on Kurotsuchi's. He was rotten enough to deserve those. "Back to your essay," I said, growing serious. "I think she meant for you to write about how a part of the body can be used in Hakuda. Or something like breathing. Good breathing'll be helpful if we're in a fight and have to be running around a lot, I bet." I scrunched up my face, thinking of an example to give her. "'The palm is essential for less lethal styles,'" I invented. "'A-" I glanced over. "What do you call these?" I demonstrated a crescent-palm.

"Palm-heel," Shinju reminded me.

"Right. 'A palm-heel strike to the nose will break the nose and cause a nose-bleed, potentially humiliating the opponent. If done well, it could burst the blood vessels around the eyes, causing black eyes and impairing vision.'"

Shinju blinked. After a second, she beamed at me. "Thanks! Though I couldn't imagine doing something like that, you know. Fighting someone is one thing, humiliating them is another."

I stared at her. We were training to become killers, for heaven's sake. "That's not really how a fight works. If you're at the point where you're fighting someone, anything's fair game."

She stared back, satisfaction fading. "That's just cruel! I don't want someone doing that to me, so I'm not going to do it to them. There are other ways to win."

Oh, poor, naive Shinju. "There are two," I replied, swirling my brush around my inkstone to get some ink made. "First one is to not fight at all—talk it out. Second one is to crush them."

Shinju stopped writing, red tinting her cheeks. "Are you crazy? We can't go around killing everyone who picks a fight, you know. At least we could knock them out."

"Not realistic," I said, heat touching my own cheeks, though my voice remained cool. "Most ways to knock someone out have a high rate of killing them anyway. And I'm not saying to kill everyone who picks a fight. Just beat them however much they'd beat you. Someone means to give you a black eye, give him a black eye. Someone means to kill someone you're protecting, you kill him."

Her jaw dropped. "You are crazy! How can you talk about killing someone so easily?"

Was it a lifetime of learning about the horrors of war that let me be so detached? Or just my own level head? "Because it's just talk," I said, eyes dropping to my paper. "I'll regret- I hope I'll regret when I have to kill. But, Shinju-san? I know I will. And when it comes down to someone who won't regret it killing me or me killing them? I won't have the time to ask myself what the right thing to do is."

Silence hung in our room for a while, disturbed only by the swish of our brushes.

"Hirako-chan? How long have you known you wanted to be a Shinigami?" She asked.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't know," I answered. "Forever, really." Was it safe to tell her that I didn't agree with the Gotei? No, not yet. Not so soon. "I want to serve. Always have. And in my family I had to take some kind of military path. It was this or spymaster." I tried for a smile. "Shinji got forced into it, 'cause he's strong, but me? I'm more responsible than I should be. I guess... I didn't want to be able to write off the people I killed as 'not my fault.'" At my side, my asauchi hummed. I glanced down at it, but nope. Still an ordinary sword. Probably my imagination. "What about you?"

"Since my brother told me I could be one," she admitted. "He was always saying how awesome Shinigami were. When I realized I had the power to, it was a dream come true, you know?"

"Yeah."

More silence, but more comfortable silence this time. I finished a paragraph about the formation of the first Gotei 13. It was weird, how our teachers expected us not to show our opinions in the essays we wrote. The original captains of the Gotei 13 would've been tried as war criminals if they'd done what they'd done in the Living World. Here, their actions served Soul Society and that was supposed to be enough for us to call them good. Of course, it was probably a thousand times safer in that case to not pass judgment. Yamamoto and Unohana were still alive, after all.

Huh. I wondered if the Fourth was full of people who would've been normal soldiers anywhere else and were the closest thing Soul Society had to conscientious objectors here. It would explain part of why no one did anything about how the Eleventh treated the Fourth. Actually, a lot of why no one punished the Eleventh. Beyond their Kenpachi captains, Eleventh Division members were probably, attitude-wise, models of what the Central 46 wanted their brainwashing to produce.

"So, what're you writing about?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, I picked breathing. It's important to have good breathing, you know," Shinju said, taking the change in subject with a grateful smile.

We chattered on like that for a while, conversation touching on many topics, none of them serious, as we worked. Nerves I hadn't known were frayed were soothed.

Unconsciousness hit me like a sledgehammer, if the most merciful one I'd ever seen.

Chapter Text

"Hirako! Let's talk."

I'd evaded Oshiro so far. Himura, on the other hand, was a bit harder. Only three and a half days until I didn't have to attend double Hakuda, but if they were anything like the twenty-seven and a half days before them, I'd be watching the clock the whole time.

Metaphorically, of course. Soul Society hadn't discovered the clock yet. Soon, I hoped, because without schedules, without starting and ending times and all that I was left itching for order-

Focus.

I trudged over to Himura as my classmates made their escape. It took only a frown from the man to make something within me shrivel. Probably the beginnings of my Zanpakutou spirit. He had that kind of face.

Don't believe me? Fine. I'll paint you a picture of him, then.

Himura Kyou was an inch taller than me, at best. The fact that his posture was better than a Kuchiki's made him looks taller, though. That and his presence. Not just his reiatsu, hot and metallic, like the sun reflected in a knife, but the way he carried himself. He seemed always ready to defend against—or attack—anything he hadn't triple-checked for safety. Consequently, we got a lecture every day about proper sparring conduct.

Maybe he didn't have it out for me, but it was still annoying. Anyway.

Himura had these wide, pale blue eyes that would've looked innocent if they weren't constantly checking his surroundings for weaknesses. Not just his students' technique, his surroundings. He called it readiness. I would've agreed with him if we weren't in school and surrounded by Shinigami. Part of his idea of readiness was keeping his hair too short to grab—a buzz-cut, like Love's, but receding and light  brown. No unnecessary accessories customized his uniform. The only things that kept the man from looking like an out-of-place Army general were the faded black tattoos covering his body. All, according to Himura himself, were cataloged by the Second Division in the event that he died. Something about making his body easier to identify.

I had to confess, staring down at his perfectly regulation waraji, that they were actually kind of cool.

"Hirako, you aren't in trouble," he said, every syllable clipped like the drill sergeant he was.

It was a testament to the way Himura enforced the rules that my head only twitched up, instead of looking him in the eye. Respect, the only thing we agreed on, was paramount in this classroom. "Himura-sensei?"

"I want you to be honest with me, Hirako. What're you like in a fight?" He asked. "No, wait. Look at me when you say it."

I dragged my eyes up to meet his. Once they'd settled on Himura's eyes, or somewhere just above them, it was easy to keep them there. Inertia at work: objects in motion stay in motion, objects at rest stay at rest. Objects that are too uneasy to disobey orders obey orders, at any rate. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"What do I mean? I mean, what're you like when push comes to shove. Why you fight. Why you fight the way you do. How you'd fight against a strong opponent versus a weak one. Speak up, Hirako," he commanded.

I wrapped my fingers tight around one wrist. What did he want from me? I decided to take his questions at face value. "I watch people, sensei," I said at last. "People who look like I might have to fight them. I'd rather ignore them, but I fight to win when I can't avoid it." I hesitated, trying to put my usual strategy into words. "Against any enemy, I'd fight fast and hard. No point in going easy." Which segued nicely into why and how I fought. "I fight because I have to. And that's why I fight the way I fight too, sensei." Okay, I'd answered his questions. Can I go now? I tried to send that message through his held gaze.

Himura 'hmm'ed. "I thought so. You fit your clan better than I've heard, Hirako."

Curiosity won out over concern for my impending lateness. "I still don't know what you mean, Himura-sensei."

"I mean your clan likes doing things the smart way. No more work than you have to do. It's not a bad way to fight." He leaned in. I froze, caught between leaning back and standing still like I was supposed to. "But you know what, Hirako? It's not a good way either. Sometimes you gotta take the fight to them. Sometimes there won't be time for you to watch and learn. And sometimes pressing your opponent is just gonna put their back against a wall. Ever fought a trapped animal, Hirako? Desperate and scared's the worst combination. Trying to deflect it, or overwhelm it, well, you might as well be trying to stop a flood with your hands. It'll go through you, not around."

I blinked rapidly, opened my mouth to say something, and shut it again. The words would've refused to come anyway.

Himura sighed, a rumbling sound, and pulled back. "Hirako, what point am I trying to make to you?"

I gulped, took a few seconds to think through my response. "That I have to act instead of react?"

He shook his head. "Textbook, Hirako. True, but textbook. No. You have to get a handle on your fear."

My fear? I blinked rapidly at him. I wasn't scared, just smart. "I don't get it."

"Of course not," Himura muttered. "You're scared, Hirako. You don't fight fast and careful because you have to if you want to win. You fight that way because you're too scared not to. You fall back on your clan style time and again because you're too scared to remember what I teach you. Or at least, you fall back on the main points of your clan style. Attack, attack, attack." He shook his head again. "It works now, 'cause your classmates are boneheaded second-years, but someday it won't work. So I've asked Ounabara-san to extend your punishment."

"What?"  I gaped at him, outraged. "You can't- I mean-"

"Your defense is shoddy and your grappling only slightly better, Hirako," Himura said. I could've sworn a hint of a smug smile touched his lips. "I can and I will, until I've drummed the fear out of you. Or taught you to control it, at least." He was definitely smirking now. "Cheer up. You won't have to help out the other Hakuda teachers anymore. And I'm moving your time. Instead of being with my second Hakuda 2 class, we'll meet... oh, after dinner. You'll learn how to eat properly for our sessions that way."

Oh, Shinji, I hope you were right about me learning something special from him. "Just you and me, Himura-sensei?" I asked, praying that it was some kind of group remedial Hakuda lesson.

He rolled his neck, vertebrae popping. "Depends on which one of my third-years I can get to help out. But mostly just us, yeah. We'll start two days from now. Gives me a chance to draw up some lesson plans. Got it?"

My heart sank. I didn't need more Hakuda lessons. I'd done my time and my classmates could attest that I was doing fine in Hakuda. "Yes, Himura-sensei," I grumbled after a couple seconds. "Can I go now?"

"You can go when I say you can go!" He barked. Himura let me stew a few more seconds before his smirk widened. "You can go."

 "...and that's why I was late," I explained to Minoru. "He's always on about respect, but he doesn't respect other people's time!"

Minoru's forehead creased. It was easy to see that he was trying to think of ways to pacify me. "I'm sure he means well fer ya..." He said after a while. "Ah, this kana, is it right?"

I peered down at the symbol he'd written. Despite his late start, Minoru had proven to be a quick study—we were almost finished with learning hiragana. He'd get better with them through practice. "There should be an extra line here." I wrote it on my own paper. "You remember what it sounds like?"

"'Yo,'" he answered. "The guy who sits next ta me in Rukongai Studies is named Youji, that's how I remember."

I nodded, writing another kana on my paper. "It's helpful to have a mnemonic device—something that helps you remember a word, or a kana. What's this one?"

He rolled his eyes, a private victory for me. Every bit I could get him to loosen up helped—not just me, though it helped with teaching, but him too. Minoru had decent reiryoku, above Shinju's, but our Reiryoku Manipulation teacher chastised him at least once a class  for being so timid about using it that by the time a technique was ready he'd wasted half the power. The more confidence he had, the better for his career. "That's 'ru.' C'mon, Nariko-san. I can recognize part of my name."

I grinned. "Hey, the r-kana were the hardest for me. How about this one?" I traced another one.

He squinted. "That's... Looks like 'se,' but the little marks mean something."

"'Ze,'" I reminded him. "Okay, your assignment for next time is to study hakuten and youon." To be fair, it was tricky to remember how kana changed their sounds, but 'ji' was a pretty common name ending for guys. I figured he'd get that one quickly at least.

He blew his bangs out of his face, putting away his brush. I cringed, glancing at his case. It contained space for a little extra paper and an inkstone, which meant it had probably cost him more than he could afford. On the other hand, the case's paint had begun to peel and its latches were questionable. I ran through my finances in my head. If I remembered correctly, I had more than enough money to get him a decent case. That one wouldn't last him too long, though I didn't doubt that he knew how to improvise repairs.

"You know, Minoru-kun, you're progressing really fast," I commented as casually as I could. "I'd say you deserve a reward."

He froze, staring at me like a rabbit faced with a hawk. "N-Nariko-san! I couldn't- it wouldn't be fair-"

"What wouldn't be fair? You really are doing great," I told him. Part of me was surprised—who didn't like gifts? Another part, though, wasn't—I usually didn't like gifts, unequal as they felt. Exchanges were far easier to stomach, especially if I thought the gift-giver was pitying me. On second thought, it might've been better to suggest that. "A new case would be practical. Better to buy one once than several because they keep breaking."

"But it's yer money," he insisted, jaw set. "I can keep my case together without ya goin' ta all that trouble. 'Sides, it ain't like ya get anythin' outta this. Just me." Minoru flushed, eyes flicking to his waraji. "I should be doin' somethin' ta thank-"

"It's not about what I do or don't get out of this," I interrupted him. Guilt, happily, hadn't found its way to my heart yet. Instead, bullheaded determination prevailed. I would get Minoru some kind of reward for his hard work. "I can tell you, I wouldn't be teaching you if I didn't want to. And I don't lie. You work harder than that spoiled Wakahisa. If he gets people fawning over him for doing half of what you do, you deserve a brush case at least."

"But-" Minoru began, then stopped. Resistance is futile! A little voice in the back of my mind gloated. Another voice added, more reasonably, He probably isn't comfortable with it. At least try and smooth things over. We need this one to like us.

"Minoru," I tried again, more gently, "if you really don't want one, I won't force one on you. It's not that I think you can't make it here without someone helping you along. I just want to give you something, friend to friend." Friend to friend? Where had that come from? But it was true, or would be sooner or later. "If it makes you feel better, I guess that's what I get out of this. Before we came here, Shinji was my only friend," I confessed. For someone who'd been used to making friends with her classmates, growing up on an estate that was distant from everything and everyone had been confusing and lonely. "It's nice... to have another friend."

Minoru stared at me for a long moment, eyes sharp and suspicious. His reiatsu played over mine and I let it without trying to pull back. I hadn't tried, but since people could obviously lie in Soul Society, I bet I could've twisted my reiatsu to seem honest had I not meant every word. It wasn't a wholly uncomfortable feeling. His reiatsu put me in mind of an owl—watchful, quiet, and the oddest mixture of feather-softness and talon-sharpness. "If- if I ever find out that you're pityin' me, or that you're just tryin' ta buy me like a pet, I'll- I'll make ya wish we never met," he warned. "I don't care if ya are a noble, I'll make you sorry."

That was oddly comforting, to know that he was ready to stand up for himself if he really had to. No doubt the Fugai district had taught him what was worth fighting for and what should be conceded to fight another day. "And if I do that, I hope you will make me sorry. I'd rather get punished when I screw up." I met his stare with my own. Whatever he saw there must've been convincing enough, because Minoru nodded.

"But really, ya don't have to get me anythin'," he said. "I can get by with this." He held up his brush case.

I poked my tongue out at him. "Stubborn. Fine. When's your birthday?"

Minoru huffed. "Ya know I don't got one," he said.

I huffed back. "And you know what I mean. What day did you wake up in Soul Society?"

To my surprise, he shrugged. "My gang never said what day they found me." Minoru shifted, shaggy hair falling away from his neck. As he did, I caught sight of blue-green ink. I hid my surprise behind a curious look. Maybe Minoru was older than I'd thought, if he already had a tattoo. Or maybe old cultural norms hadn't quite faded. "I remember it was right when winter came around, though."

I hummed, trying to think of an appropriate date. I gave up on being creative and suggested, "How about November 7th? That's the day winter starts, right? So it fits."

Minoru blinked. "Does it really matter?" He asked.

I grinned. "Of course it matters. You can't refuse a gift on your birthday, after all."

He groaned. "Nariko-san..."

"None of that," I told him in my best 'strict mother' voice. "You'll take your birthday gifts and you will like them. I hope so, anyway. I'm not so good at picking presents."

Minoru pulled a face at me. "You're the stubbornest person I know, you know that?" Shinji was more obstinate, actually, but I didn't expect him to know that, given that Shinji hadn't found anything he wanted at Shin'ou yet.

"I know," I said, beaming at him. "Unlucky for you, isn't it?"

Minoru half-smiled. "You can say that again."

"Unlucky for you, isn't it?"

I stood face-to-face with Yamada Seinosuke. So close they might as well have been in my face too, a couple friends of his stood on either side of him. None of them looked like bullies, if you ignored the swagger in their strides and the scared-rabbit stares other students gave them. The guy on Seinosuke's right had an open face and a gold ring on his finger, for heaven's sake. He should've been giving directions to lost first-years, not helping his friend rough one up.

That was how they'd lured me in, by the way. Gold-Ring had approached me, asking if I needed help getting to my next class, and subtly herded me to a secluded courtyard. There seemed to be an awful lot of those at Shin'ou. From there, Seinosuke and his other friend, a boy my height with droopy brown eyes like a dog's and lean, rough reiatsu like an alley cat's, had appeared.

"Well? Don't got a mouth on you this time, do you, horse-teeth?" Seinosuke jeered.

I kept my horse teeth hidden behind closed lips, silently watching them. In my experience, just acting weird or creepy could get people to back off. Unfortunately, my experience was from a lifetime ago, with kids who still thought drawing dicks on things was funny. It might not hold true here.

Staying silent also gave me the chance to think of how to get out of this situation instead of thinking up a comeback. Of the three, Gold-Ring had the strongest reiatsu by far, but his was the least-refined. Seinosuke held that honor, while Dog-Eyes looked to be the sort who fell in with bullies because he couldn't find any other group to run with. I'd have to watch him—if he decided he had to prove himself to Gold-Ring and Seinosuke, who knew what he'd do? I kept my eyes up, watching their bodies. Gold-Ring looked to have the most raw strength, which wasn't to be underestimated. Dog-Eyes's reiatsu scraped against mine. He probably served as a look-out when they roughed kids up in an abandoned classroom or some cliche shit like that. Pathetic, but it meant he was probably the most adept at looking for signs of danger. So what did Seinosuke have that made him stand out from the other two?

Searching for every advantage they could get, my eyes lit on Seinosuke's waist. His Zanpakutou. And it really was a Zanpakutou, not an asauchi. Instead of the usual black, his wakizashi had a white hilt-wrapping, with the sheath being toxic green. His sword guard, I appreciated distantly, resembled a lotus blossom. Beyond the beauty, though, it gave me insight into the nature of his sword's abilities: plant-based, or maybe poison-based.

My Zanjutsu was decent for my year, but not enough to defeat three older opponents, even if Seinosuke didn't have Shikai. And Gold-Ring, I saw, though I couldn't make out its design. I didn't know any Kidou. Since I didn't know any Houhou either, fleeing wasn't an option unless I could make sure none of them could follow. Hakuda was once again my only option. I just had to hope that I'd learned enough to make up for the low odds that I'd get lucky and Seinosuke would fall this time too.

"Hey! Horse-teeth, you gonna say something when you're done checking out my junk?"

Seinosuke's friends laughed. Gold-Ring had a surprisingly rich laugh, a deep baritone, while Dog-Eyes's was much higher and forced.

Me, I didn't think it was so funny. I flushed brilliant red. The heat scorching my insides might've been my impending death by embarrassment. Or it might've been anger. You know, the kind that had gotten the better of me last time Seinosuke and I met. I wasn't doing so well on the whole 'avoiding fights' front.

"If I was looking there, it was only because I hadn't heard that Yamada-senpai had any relatives," I said, giving him my most blatantly fake-innocent look. "You'd be his twin sister, then?" Aaaand there went my chance at avoiding a fight. I should just sew my mouth shut already. I tensed, ready to dodge.

"Poison her blood!" A new voice, dry and raspy, shouted. My head snapped around, looking for the new voice, and met with Seinosuke's slap. I gasped, twisting with the strike. Seinosuke stepped around me and kicked me in the back of the knee. I fell to my knees, processing my new position in time for his knee to collide with my nose.

"B-bastard," I choked out, scrambling back. Seinouke was clearly no amateur at hurting unsuspecting people. But who had his accomplice been? I glared around the courtyard through tears, licked my lips and tasted blood and salt. No one but him, Gold-Ring, and Dog-Eyes. While the voice hadn't been feminine, theirs weren't high enough to match. 

Terrific. On top of a bloody nose and being outnumbered, I got the disadvantage of going crazy.

"Hey, Yamada, think that brush case'd sell for much?" Gold-Ring said. He ran a hand lazily through his hair. Something about the way it stood up after he'd finished made names spring to the tip of my tongue. Who did he- Shiba. And here I'd had the impression that the Shiba clan was a group of nice guys. Well, there was always an-

"I'll hold her down if you wanna sell it, Isshin-sama," Dog-Eyes said.

-exception. Holy fuck, Isshin? Ichigo's dad? My blood went cold. Oh, I wanted answers now.

Isshin shrugged. "Nah, seems kinda unfair. I'd rather ask nicely. Hey, Blondie-chan, I don't suppose you'd just give that little trinket to me? See, I've got a couple debts racked up, and my Clan Head'd kill me if she knew. This whole arrangement's temporary, y'know."

I growled in the back of my throat. My grandfather'd given me that case. "Not my problem if you're an irresponsible moron, Isshin." I put as much emphasis on his name as I could. Later I might be able to claim that I hadn't known his full name, but right now I meant all the rudeness the dropped honorific implied. He was supposed to be a good guy, dammit! He'd better get nicer in however long we had until canon.

Isshin's eyes narrowed into slits. His reiatsu writhed, a superheated blade at my throat. Even if Seinosuke had the most refined reiatsu, Isshin definitely won the prize for 'best-honed.' I drew the deepest breath I could and shoved back with my reiatsu.

"Let Seinosuke do whatever he wants with that upstart bitch," a bass voice, edged with crackling fire, rumbled. This time I very consciously didn't glance around. I'd like to be a nutjob with as few injuries as possible, thanks. I cringed anyway, scrambling to my feet. Time to end this. And by end this, I meant run the hell away, flash-step be damned. If Aizen could do it, I sure as hell was going to try.

"Wh-why're you doing this?" I croaked. "I'm sorry, alright? Let it go." For a last-ditch attempt at peace, I could've tried to be more convincing. I didn't, since I wasn't trying to placate them. I needed an opening and if I could play on Seinosuke's arrogance I might be able to get one. Isshin, pissed-off and therefore focused on me, would be harder. But I didn't have time to give a shit about Isshin.

Bring the fight to them.

Seinosuke scowled, leaning forwards. "So that's where all the fat that should've gone to your tits went: your head. You think that even if you forget and go on all la-di-da with your friends, everyone else forgets? Hell, you even got off lighter, snake-in-the-grass. Where the hell's the justice in-"

I rocketed forward, screaming at the top of my lungs, and slammed a crescent-palm into Seinosuke's solar plexus. Something crunched and he crumpled with a scream. I turned to flee and smashed into Isshin, who wrapped me in a front bear hug. I kicked frantically, succeeding only in smashing my heel into Seinosuke's head.

"Easy, little lady," Isshin grunted. This was not how I wanted my first time pressed up to a guy's chest to be. He reeked of smoke and night air. I opened my mouth to scream again. "Nanase, get her mouth!"

A grimy hand clamped over my mouth. "Do what Isshin-sama says," Dog-Eyes's nasal voice echoed from behind me. "Just cooperate."

Isshin shifted his grip, hands moving lower to get my brush case—I hoped. Either way, I took advantage of the loosened grip and licked Nanase's hand. Despite his disgusting behavior, he recoiled instinctively and I struck, snapping my head back into his nose. He staggered back, swearing. Isshin hadn't trapped my arms, so I jabbed full-moon fists beneath his ribs. He doubled over, letting me stomp on his feet and back up, bringing my elbow back into Nanase's stomach.

There! I bolted, opening created. If I'd done my job right, Isshin'd have some broken toes and Nanase'd be too winded to chase me for a few seconds. If I hadn't, Isshin wouldn't be able to run at full speed for a bit and anyone Nanase ran past would take notice of his bloody nose, if they didn't outright stop and question him.

I grabbed hold of my reiryoku, shunting it clumsily to my legs. Even if it wasn't flash-step, it couldn't hurt to reinforce the muscles there.

Note to self, I thought as my legs burned, take up running. This is pathetic. Granted, it was way better than anything I could've managed Before, but still. My steps were already slowing, heavy and jarring.

Alley-cat reiatsu surged behind me and I mouthed curses, too breathless to actually say them. Son of a bitch. Shit. Fuck. Dammit. Why didn't I know any others? Had to remedy that.

Halle-fucking-lujah. A mass of reiatsu signatures off to my right. I nearly fell down the steps of a training field as I turned—had to remedy my agility too—and headed for what I hoped was a class. Behind me, waraji pounded down the steps. Nanase cursed as he slid through a patch of mud.

I neared the class—upper-year Zanjutsu—and felt the surprised flicker of Nanase's power. An impulse struck me. Could I-

I was sure as hell going to try. No one got away with roughing up a first-year. No one got away with hurting me. The fact that I could handle myself was beside the point. My head was throbbing and my vision was water-blurry again and I was only a first year this wasn't fair.

I spun on my heel and charged Nanase. For a few crucial seconds he stopped dead, because who the hell ran towards the person chasing them? I bore down on him, shouting wordlessly, and by the time he had his hands up it was too late. I bowled him over, toppling to the grass on top of him. I sat on his chest, raised a full-moon fist. Stopped, because whatever he read on my face was enough to turn Nanase paper-white.

"Pleasedon'thurtme," he stammered. "IwasjusttherecauseIowed-"

"Tell it to Ounabara," I bit out, panting. I rolled off of him, hauling him up by his collar before he could flee.

Grey fatigue began to sink in as I stalked over to the class. It chased enough fury from my brain that I didn't go straight through the sparring students like I'd originally planned. No sense surviving Seinosuke only to take a bokken to the head.

The Zanjutsu teacher supervising, a granite block of a woman, merely raised an eyebrow as I dragged Nanase over. "Who did what where?" She asked dryly.

"Him," I said without preamble, "Shiba Isshin, Yamada Seinosuke. Ambushed me, wanted to take my stuff. Courtyard on the way to my Reiryoku Manipulation class."

She sighed, a whuffling sort of sigh like a horse or dog. Unflattering, but accurate. "Oh, for fu- for heaven's sake. Muguruma! You're in charge!"

A guy, running tantou kata apart from the group, strode over and my eyes went so wide I thought they'd fall out of my head. Kensei, definitely in his last year if he was allowed to work independently, spared little more than an irritated glance for me. Or maybe that was his resting expression, since he gave the teacher the same look.

As the teacher led us away, I threw a look over my shoulder at Kensei. He stood there, arms folded, not barking orders like I thought he would. Overall, he wasn't what I'd expected. The forward-flopping bangs hadn't made their appearance yet and neither had his belligerence—though admittedly he hadn't been in a position to do that without punishment. Kensei's hair was actually on the long side, in a short ponytail.

Less disappointingly, I thought as we neared the administrative building, he looked lighter. Freer. Not stretched-taut all the time, not shouldering the responsibilities of a captain or the mixed blessing of an inner Hollow. Like an actual person, a teenager trying to make his way in the world like the rest of us. Like me. I wondered if he'd met Mashiro yet.

"I'm coming in, sir!" Granite announced as we stopped in front of one of the ubiquitous screen doors. She slid it open and for the second time in a month, I was back in Ounabara's office. We followed her in.

Ounabara's tan face drooped a little when he saw us. "Hirako..." He growled. A few seconds passed as he gave us the long, exasperated look of a veteran teacher. "Let go of him," he ordered. I blinked, feeling my hand release Nanase's collar like it wasn't mine. I'd forgotten to let go, apparently. "And sit down."

We knelt, folding into seiza. The teacher who'd brought us here stood at attention.

"What, by the Soukyoku, happened this time?" He asked, some of the hostility draining from his voice. "Ishimori-sensei, this can't have happened in your class."

"It didn't," she said bluntly. "The girl here dragged over this kid, both of 'em bruised and bloody when they arrived. Hey—Hirako, was it?—tell him what you told me."

"Shiba Isshin offered me help getting to my next class," I said after a few seconds. "I went along with it because I- I didn't know what else to do," I admitted. Subconsciously, I was sure, I'd recognized Isshin as someone good, someone I knew would be important someday. More consciously, I liked having people pay attention to me, without my having to work up the courage to talk to them first. It hadn't occurred to me that attention wasn't always a good thing. "I thought we were taking a shortcut when we took a different turn than I normally do to get to that class. But he nudged me into this one courtyard and then Yamada Seinosuke and this guy Nanase turned up."

"Nanase Hibiki," Nanase muttered.

"Something to say?" Ounabara asked, tone just shy of his usual boom.

"I-I was only there because I owe Yamada-san," he stammered. As I'd thought, without his friends Nanase was almost harmless, eager to find a way to save his own skin. "He stopped some guys who were asking me to do stuff for them and I told him I owed him a favor. So this was his favor."

Ounabara huffed, apparently not thinking much of anyone who'd perform such a favor, even for their rescuer. I had to side with Ounabara on that one, though I wondered how long it had been since Seinosuke'd saved Nanase. They'd seemed decently close, especially since Nanase hadn't seemed to have many qualms about roughing me up. I was beginning to think that the only reason Seinosuke hadn't joined the Eleventh was his authority problem. Shin'ou had probably shunted him into the Fourth so he didn't turn out completely uncontrollable. "Hirako, continue."

I tried to sort what had happened. "Yamada-senpai taunted me for a while," I said as Ounabara began to look impatient with my thinking. "Then I said something stupid and he slapped me-"

"You called him a girl," Nanase provided helpfully, sounding as though he was on the verge of laughing. He wilted only slightly beneath Ounabara and Ishimori's glares.

I gave him my best death glare. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ishimori doing the same, arms folded tight across her chest. Ounabara's disapproving frown deepened. Did he have any other expression?

"You aren't under the Shihouin, boy." A couple seconds passed before I realized that Ounabara'd asked a question. Maybe his lack of emotion was actually a problem with his resting face.

"No, sir," Nanase mumbled, smile fading as he ducked his head. "I-I'm from the third ward in Takahashi." I ran through my knowledge of Rukongai districts. Plenty of gaps remained, though I'd tried to soak up as much knowledge as was available, but I was fairly certain that Takahashi was the sixteenth district of North Rukongai, known for its namesake high-up bridge above the churning Nanase River. Death times death—sixteenth was relatively well-off, but with a number like that, no wonder people'd picked on him. Nobles put high value on symbolism and superstition.

Ounabara grunted. "Then I'll advise you to learn city manners. The title of Shinigami falls to any who know their duty, not just men."

"And you'll get beaten to a bloody paste if you piss off a female superior," Ishimori added. "Or a Shihouin. Or Captain Shibounmei and Lieutenant Hikifune. Or Commander-in-Chief Shizuya-sama, but it's better not to get on a Shihouin empress's bad side anyway. And especially Captain Unohana."

Everyone in the room shuddered. That... yeah. I could've cited a lot of reasons why Shinigami were pretty egalitarian—anyone could die for Soul Society, the influence of the Shihouin, etc., etc.—but it really boiled down to institutionalized fear of Unohana.

"Hirako. Continue. No further interruptions," Ounabara ordered after a moment.

"Yamada-senpai slapped me, then kneed me in the face." I paused. Should I tell them about the voice I'd heard? On the one hand, if Yamada had had other conspirators, then they deserved to get punished. On the other hand, I hadn't actually seen anyone and the Maggots' Nest didn't seem like a good place to wind up in before I'd even made it out of Shin'ou. I elected to stay quiet about that. "I fought back and-" I stopped again. Who had I hit where? "I think I got Yamada-senpai in the solar plexus and in the head—second time by accident, though. Issh- Shiba-sama grabbed me so I wouldn't run away and I stepped on his toes really hard so he'd let go when he changed grip. I think he wanted to sell my brush case." My fingers drifted up to brush said object, lingering on its painted surface. Granddad had had it decorated with the legend of Madame White Snake. Whether he'd been encouraging me to take after Madame White Snake or had just liked the picture I wasn't sure, but I hadn't let it out of my sight since receiving it.

"And why would a Shiba have any need to profit from taking your brushes?" Ounabara asked. It was a fair question, given that the Shiba clan hadn't lost their prestige yet.

"He said he had a few debts that he didn't want his Clan Head to know about," I answered.

Nanase shifted position. "He owed Yamada-san money," he said. "A lot if people owe him something or other. Bets on exam results, blackmail, tutoring, that sort of thing. "

"Sounds like when I was at school," Ishimori mused, "only it was always Liu Yun doing that."

Ounabara ignored her. "I gave the instruction for no further interruptions," he said.

I took that as my cue to continue. "I snapped my head back into Nanase's nose." I bit back the apology on my lips. I was not sorry, dammit! I did what I had to do! "And elbowed him in the stomach for good measure. Then I ran away." I flinched as Ishimori and Ounabara gave me disapproving stares. I frowned back. What was I supposed to do, let myself get beaten into a pulp? "And," I said before Nanase could interrupt again, "I tackled him right before we reached Ishimori-sensei's class."

Ounabara hmphed. "Now why would you do that, Hirako?" He put slight emphasis on 'you,' like he would've believed anyone but Hirako Nariko to be capable of tackling someone.

I barely restrained myself from hmmphing back. As it was, I took a second to think. Not about why, but how to phrase it. "Because I was really, really angry, sir," I said at last, giving up on acting like I'd taken the higher ground. "I don't like getting hurt. And my case was a gift from my grandfather."

Ounabara grunted, clasping his hands. "Your continued training with Himura will serve you well, then." For a second, Nanase looked simultaneously stunned and overjoyed, like he thought Ounabara had inexplicably decided in favor of his gang. "As for you, Nanase. Am I to understand that you joined Yamada Seinosuke in attacking a first-year noble girl?"

Nanase's face crumpled as he went paler than the rice paper screens around us. "Y-yessir."

"And Hirako, what part did he have in the attack?" Ounabara turned his ink-dark eyes on me.

I swallowed. With the anger fading, I didn't know whether I really wanted to condemn Nanase. He was kinda... pitiful. His heart wasn't even in roughing me up and I suspected that I didn't want to know what Seinosuke had rescued him from. But he'd made his choice. Feeling as though you owed someone was no excuse to do something you weren't okay with. Maybe this incident would get that through his head. "He threatened me, kept me from screaming for help, and chased me to prevent me from escaping," I said carefully.

Ounabara huffed again. I was starting to get really sick of the whole 'take a beating or you're weak' mentality around here. I mean, given the Eleventh's mentality it wasn't too surprising, but still. It came as no surprise when he said, "Nanase, meal duty for the next month. Ishimori-sensei, notify the rest of the Zanjutsu staff that if any shinai require maintenance that they should ask Nanase Hibiki for assistance and expect to receive it."

"Sir," Ishimori said dutifully, backing out of the office to carry out the order.

I couldn't help the question that slipped from my lips. "What about Yamada-senpai and Shiba-sama?" I had to force Isshin's honorific. He didn't deserve it with his conduct.

"Shiba-sama will be spoken to," Ounabara said after a moment. I bit my lip. Nothing in his tone said any action would be taken. Damn his rank. Well, he'd straightened out without me around, so that was slightly reassuring. "Yamada will receive caning and have his Zanpakutou broken."

My jaw dropped. "Sir! You- please don't do that to him!"

He glared down at me. "And what makes you think you have any sway over the administration? I fear no Hirako. And I see no reason why his conduct should not be punished as such. He isn't yet a Shinigami. The rules of conduct do not apply to his blade. Rather, he'll learn new respect for it and the duty it represents. The healing will remind him of how a Shinigami should act."

I gritted my teeth. Regardless of how he'd acted, I couldn't let Seinosuke's Zanpakutou be broken. Maybe Seinosuke deserved it, but his Zanpakutou spirit didn't and neither of them deserved to be cut off from each other, even temporarily. And his reiatsu... maybe it was just my imagination, but he felt like the kudzu that had always choked gardens back home, a stranglehold on anywhere that could support him, simply looking to climb higher than his classmates. Seinosuke was desperate and nasty, but he was also insecure and subject to at least a little ridicule from his peers because of me. "Sir? He acted against me." I put on my best fancy noble attitude. "Therefore, with all due respect, I think I deserve to have a say in his punishment. Caning, yes. But he shouldn't be cut off from his sword's spirit." I fingered my asauchi's hilt. "It hurts Zanpakutou and Shinigami to be broken. Yamada-senpai... I don't think he deserves the punishment a Shinigami would get from a court martial. Let him apologize to me. After that, I could say whether he deserves further punishment."

Ounabara sneered. "The pain is precisely why he deserves to have his Zanpakutou broken, Hirako." He paused, stony expression shifting to something more unreadable. "But you have a point. He does not deserve treatment as a full Shinigami. That is far too dignified. In that vein, I will permit your impudence this once. He may apologize to you. Then you will recount the incident to me and I will decide his punishment. Nanase, Hirako, you're dismissed."

"Sir," we said in unison, like the debatably good little students we were, and backed out of the room.

The gong for the next period sounded as we made our way out of the building. I blinked, trying to figure out where I was in relation to everything. The problem with knowing where I was going based on turns was that I didn't have any clue how to get anywhere from a different starting point.

"Sorry."

I whipped around to find Nanase staring at the ground. "Huh?" I asked.

He flushed. "I- Beating you up wasn't my idea. But I still figured- Sorry, okay?" Nanase's eyes flicked up to me, pleading as the eyes of the red, curly-tailed puppies that'd been born shortly before Shinji and I left for Shin'ou. Shame I didn't really like dogs.

He's trying to cover his own skin in case you try to get revenge. You know you could, 'Nariko-daoshi,' the cynical part of me snapped, and oh, I wanted to listen to it. Embers of anger still smoldered in my chest, ready to be fanned back into fire.

He is brave enough to apologize, though, the idealistic part replied, and I wanted to listen to it too. I liked to think I was at least a little nice.

Just take him at face value, a third mental voice advised. He'll like you better if you seem approachable and forgiving. Could help in the future. And really, can you bring yourself to be cruel to a boy as pathetic as this?

When had I gotten so many voices in my head? Still, the third voice was right. Nanase's reiatsu rubbed on mine, a stray cat begging for scraps, and I couldn't bring myself to be needlessly snobby. Turn the other cheek, another voice whispered, but it was a memory, not a thought.

I smiled at him, the last vestiges of anger draining away. "Hey, I lived, and I've still got this." I patted my brush case. Internally, I frowned. 'Approachable and forgiving' weren't synonymous with 'vaguely passive and ineffectual,' which my words sounded like even to me. "Nanase-san? Piece of advice—find better friends. Or I can't guarantee that we won't be on opposite sides again." I let my cheery tone and smile fade.

The pleading-dog look dropped away. "Ah, that's a tall order," he muttered, words stretching just a hair into a long-buried Northern dialect. "Gangs are just about set in stone past first year, an'- and I'm third. Kinda lacking in the noble parents' friends' kids department, not like you." A bitter half-smile touched his lips.

I restrained the urge to roll my eyes. He had a point about cliques settling very quickly in first year—Soul Society ran on organizing everything and everyone into groups, whether clans or districts, so it only made sense that students would sort themselves into groups too. It was an extraordinarily helpful system for dealing with the celestial bureaucracy, allowing for networks of favors and alliances to get paperwork expedited, even cross-division. Unfortunately, as with Nanase, it tended to screw over anyone who wasn't aware of its existence in the first place, mostly the Rukongai-born

He did not, however, have much of an excuse when it came to noble parents. My social circle was composed of my brother, our roommates, and the kid I was tutoring in Japanese. I supposed one could stretch it by saying I only knew Shinji because of my parents, but seeing as they were the same... not really.

"Then come hang out with mine." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, but the second the sentence finished I wanted to stuff them back in. Minoru was one thing, being someone I actually liked, but not only did I barely know Nanase, I didn't much like him. Oh well, I consoled myself. Maybe he'll say no.

Nanase's eyes went wide, then narrowed again as he reassumed the defensive facade that seemed to serve him as a shield against his classmates. "Sure! If it's not too much trouble, that is," he added almost as an afterthought.

Dammit. What'd I been thinking, making an offer like that to a kid who I'd seen from the beginning wanted to fit in? Well, at least he'd be graduating in four years. My manners took over for my reluctant mind. "We usually eat in the Suishou dining hall," I heard my voice say. "It's near the south side of campus."

Nanase's eyes flicked over in that direction. He nodded. "Then I'll see you there!" He bounded off to his next class, heedless of his broken nose.

I recovered control of my body, nodding belatedly. What was done was done. He couldn't possibly be that bad, anyway, and with Aizen, Minoru, and Shinju on occasion, there were too many shrinking violets in my group anyway.

I very carefully didn't tell Shinji I'd been in another fight when we next saw each other. He could laugh off an isolated incident, a fight I'd won, but Shinji would destroy Seinosuke, Nanase, and Isshin if I told him, rules and teachers be damned. A Hirako he might be, but Shinji was just as much a teenage boy, with all the hormones and aggression that involved. No wonder the other clans thought of Shihouin-serving clans as loose cannons. Smoke and mirrors, up until you pissed us off, then a hurricane touched down and when the dust cleared a broken body was all to show for it.

Yeah, people generally decided it was in their best interests to at least fake nice with us. Keeping that in mind, I decided it was in Nanase's best interest that I didn't tell Shinji that he'd been stupid enough not to play nice.

"Heard hide nor hair of your Zanpakutou spirit, Nari-nee?" Shinji drawled, plucking at grass intent on worming its way between the paving stones. "I woulda thought it'd warm right up t'a sword nerd like you."

I stuck my tongue out at him. We sat in the Mizuchi courtyard, which had replaced our usual classroom as we began to focus more and more on hajimezen and less and less on the theory of a Zanapakutou. It wasn't like they'd taught us much beyond the basics, but still. I liked wrangling theory. "Oh, shut up. It doesn't work like that, idiot."

Shinji raised an eyebrow. "More brilliant insights, sister-mine? Do tell." A casual observer wouldn't have noticed the genuine curiosity in Shinji's voice; as it was I barely noticed that he wasn't asking out of boredom. Someone's impatient, I thought, hiding a smile. Teachers bugging you about your potential yet, Shinji?

I shrugged. "Specifics?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "Well, if Zanpakutou spirits don't work like that, how do they work?"

To that I had to shrug. Canon Bleach provided me with no information on that subject, nor did the library. And for all their talk about Zanpakutou, scholars tended to focus more on the end result rather than their formation. "Magic?" I joked, laughing at the bad joke. "No, but seriously, Shin, I'm not completely sure. I just know that they don't come with spirits that 'warm up' to their wielder." I bumped him with my shoulder, nearly knocked over by his retaliatory bump. "I guess that's why we begin with hajimezen, no pun intended. Can't meet a spirit before you've made it."

Shinji cocked his head. "Eh? Now you're just teasin'. We're in our first years and makin' sword spirits? Yeah, right. Nobody's even takin' it seriously. Nobody but my idiot sister, anyway."

I ripped up a tuft of grass and tossed it at him. Grass being grass, though, it made it about an inch before drifting to the ground. We stared at it for a second before bursting out laughing.

"Ha! Ya couldn't even manage somethin' simple as that? Bet ya can't even whistle!" Shinji gasped.

I glared at him, rubbing my aching sides. "Hey! It's not my fault I paid attention to my lessons, instead of skipping them to learn how to whistle!"

"It's completely yer fault!" Shinji said, still chuckling. "Now stop laughin' an' answer my question!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Pot, kettle. Anyway, I already did. The spirits form from getting our reiryoku imbued into them. Like when we're putting our hands on them and focusing." I held up one hand, briefly calling aqua light to it. "Takes longer or shorter times depending on the person. But eventually the asauchi learn who we are and form spirits." I leaned in, glancing around to make sure Oshiro wasn't paying attention to us. I wasn't sure he knew where the infirmary was—he'd been out sick a few more times since our discussion in the courtyard. "You know how sensei says we're supposed to be mastering our Zanpakutou? Telling them what we want? He's wrong. It's not some kind of pet and master relationship. Or slave and master; that's probably better 'cause they're sentient. It's a partnership."

Shinji studied me, grin shrinking slightly as he grew serious. "A partnership, when I'm the one holdin' the sword?"

I huffed. "A partnership, 'cause you don't get a sword unless the Zanpakutou agrees."

"It's not proper for you to be questioning teachers like that," Wakahisa Momohiko interrupted. Even if the reeking wintergreen oil that slicked his hair back into an uber-traditional topknot and his reiatsu, intrusive and cool like the stench of mint, hadn't given him away, I would've known him by the drawn-out, sanctimonious way he talked. Rumor had it that more than a few Wakahisa sat behind the screens of the Central 46. A common saying in Soul Society was that eternal life begot eternal life, referring to the meaning of their name, though it meant that a Wakahisa could be trusted to deliver a fair judgment, which in Soul Society meant that the order of life was preserved. Out of the few Wakahisa I knew, Momohiko was the only one who jumped right to judging people, so I supposed the saying was mostly true.

"Screw off, Wakahisa," Shinji said, giving precisely zero fucks about our classmate's rank. No, that wasn't completely true—Shinji clearly gave at least one fuck, since he'd substituted 'screw.' "There's nothin' criminal goin' on over here."

Momohiko sniffed, looking over us as if he expected that we'd be hiding drugs in our shitagi. "Better to avert future crimes and quash insurrection's beginnings."

"Do ya even hear yerself?" Shinji demanded, twisting around to glare up at Momohiko. "Ya sound like somethin' outta some Noh play. We're just talkin' school. Shoo, Wakahisa."

 Wakahisa glared back, but Oshiro was beginning to herd us into lines. "You can't get away with defiant thoughts just because of your clan, Hirako. Innocent now, but they'll fester and grow into a radical infection later. See that your sister learns that." He stalked away to take his place at the head of a line.

I shuddered as I took my place. Momohiko had stopped just short of saying the most dangerous word in Soul Society: treason. If this hadn't been an argument between children, the implication of treason from one of the Great Noble Clans would've made my life very unpleasant, if not gotten me disappeared in the night. With that in mind, I followed every one of Oshiro's instructions that day. A good, dutiful, perfectly noble girl, nothing for Wakahisa to remember. I didn't see him leave from class, so I had to hope that he hadn't given me a dirty look before going on his way. Conflict gave me headaches.

"Nariko-san." Shit. My least favorite person in the world at the moment. I turned to face Oshiro, plastering a smile on my face. The honorific change couldn't mean anything good.

"Hi, Oshiro-sensei," I said. "Can I help you?"

"I thought we might have that talk I mentioned," he said, pleasant smile affixed. "Unless you're eager to go to Zanjutsu 1?"

I buried my unease at the fact that he knew which class I had next and shook my head. "Not terribly," I lied. Truth was, I'd rather flee, but I couldn't put off facing Oshiro forever. I should just get it over with.

"Well-" He broke off, coughing. Oshiro fumbled for a second with a pouch tied to his obi before pulling out a paper handkerchief. I would've called it a tissue, but that was an idea I associated with soft things stored in boxes. The square he pulled out was rather stiffer and off-white. Oshiro coughed into it, then stuffed the handkerchief into a separate pouch. For a second I thought I saw a spot of red on the handkerchief, but a second later Oshiro was tying the disposal pouch shut again and it vanished from view. "Nariko-san, let's take a seat. I've felt unwell lately and I'd rather not fall and take you down with me." He sat, patting the stone beside him. I hesitantly lowered myself to the ground, folding my legs beside me.

"So what is it you wanted?" If there was an edge to my voice, I didn't care. Oshiro could say all he wanted about the right way to study, but I knew what I knew. Oshiro could tell me what to do, and I'd do it for a while, but I couldn't make myself ignore the truth forever.

"To begin with, I thought I'd ask about your experience when you received your asauchi. There's a certain way it's supposed to go and I'd like to know if anything that could impede your progress happened. I've noticed a difference between your meditation and those of the other students," Oshiro said.

I shuffled my feet, blushing. It was private, like Nimaiya had said, but there was no good reason not to tell him. "I walked into the tent, then he got mad at me. Um, Ikeda-san did. And-"

"Why?" Oshiro interrupted. The hungry expression from that day had returned.

"Because I knew his name. His real name. He was Nimaiya Ouetsu-sama." It was easy, now that I'd said that, to let the wallflower act go. "And he wanted to know how I knew it, and didn't believe me when I told him how."

Oshiro had gone very pale. "Nariko-san," he said, turning to look at me like he'd never seen me before in his life, "how on earth did you know the name of a Shinigami of- of his rank?"

I swallowed hard, looking down at my hands, folded in my lap. I lifted one surreptitiously, let it fall. My body at least had inherited the Hirako love of irony—my hands shook sometimes even when I was calm, but were completely still when I was stressed. "I...um," I said eloquently, trying to find an explanation. Oshiro being a teacher, he would probably know that the Shin'ou library contained nothing on Nimaiya and I highly doubted that he'd believe that I knew just because of my clan. "He was strong," I said lamely. "Captain-class strong, but not wearing a haori. So he couldn't have been a regular captain. I... you know I like to study. I studied history back home. And..." Shit. I did not, in fact, have the slightest clue about the records of past captains. I didn't even know whether Nimaiya had been a captain, since Yamamoto had founded the Gotei 13 and had a Zanpakutou. "Nimaiya-sama was mentioned in one of my books about early history as the inventor of Zanpakutou, so I guessed it was him. I was right."

"And the God of the Swords noticed you," Oshiro said, apparently stuck on that point. Had it really been necessary to provide an explanation at all? "He noticed you, and said... tell me exactly what he said, as far as you can remember it."

"I already did," I mumbled, chin out mulishly. "He wanted me not to conform. And he didn't want me looking at the asauchi with my reiatsu because he thought they wouldn't take to the right people."

"You're sure he said that," Oshiro said, pupils almost consuming his irises and inky reiatsu moving over mine like octopus tentacles, fluid yet sticky. "Sure that you were examining the blades with your reiatsu, that Nimaiya-dono thought doing so would quicken them?"

I resisted the urge to snark at him and didn't quite succeed. "Uh, yeah. I know what I did and what I heard."

 Oshiro didn't seem to notice the exasperation in my voice, staring off into the horizon. "Scores of students through this school, through my classes, and no others who could speak and listen..." He shook his head, a few purple strands drifting to the ground and some of his usual vibrance returning. "Nariko-san! I'm sure you don't talk to your other teachers like that," Oshiro scolded belatedly.

I squeaked. Note to self: You do not have Shinji's talent for getting out of trouble. "Er, sorry, sensei. Did you actually want to talk to me about my study habits?"

He nodded, slipping his hands into his sleeves. "You learn mostly from books, correct?" At my nod, he continued, "Book learning is all well and good, Nariko-san, but it's far different from practical learning. I worry that it's encouraging ideas in you that won't pan out." A wry smile touched Oshiro's lips. "You wouldn't have realized this, but you have the highest grades in my class—even with that sub-par essay on Ryuujin Jakka."

My face burned. "Sorry about that. It was a stupid choice."

Oshiro's smile widened. "At least you realize it. My point, Nariko-san, is that so far I've primarily graded you on theory. The actual matter of your Zanpakutou is a very different thing. And the fact that your brother listens to you... he has a lot of potential." And you'll ruin it, was left unspoken.

I gritted my teeth. "What about his potential? If you're going to say he's stronger than me, I know. Everyone says it." If he was going to dance around what he wanted me to say, I'd have to play the book-smart-but-people-dumb teenager—not a hard act—with a dash of inferiority complex.

Oshiro fell for it, voice softening. "That's true, but it's not what I meant. Nariko-san, you have more influence over your brother than you know. But to put it politely, your ideas are... unorthodox. Zanpakutou spirits are to be subjugated, turned to the will of the Shinigami, or they grow unruly and work against their wielders." His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

Twisting, tearing metal drowned out whatever Oshiro said next. My hands flew up to cover my ears on instinct, but the sound went on and on, screaming past the protection of my hands. I cringed, casting my eyes around for the idiot who'd decided to turn the Academy into a forge. Cut it out! I shrieked in my head.

Then silence. Beautiful, a-thousand-times-blessed silence. Except for Oshiro repeating my name, calloused hand around my wrist.

"-iko-san?" He asked as my hearing came back, releasing me. "Are you feeling alright?"

I nodded, hands falling back into my lap and pieces falling into place. I swallowed before I spoke, a lump in my throat. Terrific. Auditory hallucinations. Which made the voices from before decidedly not a fluke and me at least a little crazy. "Migraine," I half-lied. A lie because in this life I didn't get migraines, true because a headache had begun to pound in my temples. "Not a bad one."

Oshiro nodded sympathetically. "Then I'll finish up my advice to you and let you go to the infirmary." So he did know where it was, which begged the question of why he didn't stop by. Then again, I'd never seen anyone sick in the infirmary, just injured... "I understand that your clan's policies of child rearing are... permissive, that one of its tenets is independence. And I understand also that one of your clan's chief industries is information. In light of those facts, I decided to allow your independent studies, but the point where I can safely do that is past. You must turn to discipline if you want-"

I'd heard enough. "Why? If I don't do it the way you do and my Zanpakutou turns out wrong, then it's my fault. My blood'll be on my own head. No loss to you. It's my soul," I said, jaw tight.

Oshiro's frown was sharp enough to cut diamonds. "And you're my student!" He exclaimed. "I can't consciously allow you to fall short of your potential! Nariko-san, I understand that you're young. You think you know what's best for yourself and go down that path heedless of tradition, of what generations upon generations of Shinigami have proven to be the better way." He sighed, tension not quite draining from his form. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm banning you from the library. The librarians know your face by now; they can keep you out. Nariko-san, I overheard Wakahisa-sama's words to you earlier. You'd do well to take them to heart. Rebellious thoughts becomes rebellious actions when they're allowed to persist. I... I won't allow the mind of my best student to be shut away because I didn't cut out the roots of anarchy in her heart. We need Shinigami like you, Nariko-san. We need as much strength as we can gather. And if you hone yours as I instruct, you could be a true force for the good of Soul Society." His expression darkened. "Perhaps... perhaps you could come to me for private instruction if you're so eager to advance."

I knew I shouldn't fall for the flattery, for the doing-whats-best-for-you line, but the stubborn anger in me crumbled anyway. I'd judged what was best for Hiyori and Shinji and the rest. Oshiro was just doing the same, even if he really was wrong. But the library... I needed the library. Needed somewhere to get away from the bustle of students, from quiet killing auras around kids younger than Shinji that didn't bother anyone else, from the work I had to do, from my friends when I didn't have the energy to be a good friend to them. "Okay," I said, voice strangled by a tight throat. "I-I'm going to go to Zanjutsu now. Thanks for the advice, sensei."

My Zanjutsu teacher nearly gave me a demerit for missing half the lesson, but a few of my Zanpakutou classmates, including Momohiko, were in my Zanjutsu class and they vouched for Oshiro having called me aside after class. Momohiko, I noted, looked as though he thought I'd taken my sweet time getting to my next class. Jerk.

Zanjutsu went as it usually did. Despite our asauchi, we stuck strictly to bokken and shinai, which left their fair share of welts on me, also as usual. See, when I said my Zanjutsu skills were decent for my year, that was true, but decent was subpar in this class. Nobody was good enough for Zanjutsu 2, but most had gotten some form of sword training before coming here, which was more than I had. Shinji might've been taught some kendo—he'd certainly spent more time being tutored than me—but given our clan's focus on Hakuda I doubted it had been enough to bump him up to Zanjutsu 2.

I licked away sweat as we returned our shinai to the rack along the wall. Kakari-geiko, I felt sure, wasn't meant to build our stamina or encourage our attacking mindset like they claimed. That was just a front so they could tire us out too much to retaliate for the endless drills. It hadn't helped that I'd been paired with Momohiko, who'd seemed hellbent on battering my shinai as hard as humanly possible. I flexed my hands, feeling the soreness of rubbed-raw skin there.

"Your defense isn't worth speaking of, Hirako," Momohiko said, coming up beside me and putting his own shinai away.

"So they keep telling me," I replied, half-turning to face him. "Do you want something?"

"I merely thought that Oshiro-sensei in his meeting with you had echoed my earlier advice to your brother from your demeanor," he said. "Did he visit a proper punishment upon you?"

I deliberately shoved away my fantasy of seizing a bokken and cracking Momohiko's skull, smiling thinly so he didn't get the idea that I was going to take his holier-than-thou attitude, even if my hands were tied by our relative ranks and location. "The punishment he 'visited upon me' is none of your business," I told him, leaving a deliberate pause before I added, "Wakahisa-sama."

He flushed livid pink. Ooh, peach-boy's got a temper, I thought, smile widening. "You- you little-"

"Problem, Wakahisa-sama, Hirako?" The instructor called.

"No, sensei," we said in unison, waiting until he'd wandered away before returning to our verbal spar.

"Leave me alone," I hissed. "You think I disagree with the party line? Sorry, but just 'cause I don't agree with one teacher doesn't mean I don't want to serve the Gotei 13 as much as you." Correlation is not causation, a voice from the past whispered, and I had to hide a smirk. The chance that I wanted to be a Shinigami as much as the rabid Momohiko was about the same as a snowball's in hell, but that was beside the point.

"I believe in no coincidences, Hirako," Momohiko said. "Certainly not that you've taken in a Rukongai urchin and a boy whose origins are not listed even in the records of the school, and a girl beneath another clan besides!"

'Taken in'? Was he nuts? 'Taken in,' like Minoru was my pet? And was he referring to Aizen? Something to look into, I mused as I fought giggles. "You're not one of those, are you, Wakahisa-sama?" I asked, not even having to fake my scorn. "The people who think that clans should stay within their lands? There's a word for them." I leaned in close, sweat tasting for all the world like snake venom, like the way I wanted my words to sound to Momohiko. "Inbred," I stage-whispered. Smiling thinly again, I pulled back. "But I'm sure you're not-"

"Shut up, Hirako," Momohiko snarled. "It is in the self-interest you have so much of to not want me as your enemy."

My eyes widened, my whole face going slack with innocence, so much innocence a newborn lamb would've vomited. "I said I was sure you weren't like that, Wakahisa-sama," I said, a strange feeling filling my chest. Not nervousness, or fear, or anger, but like all of those. It was a little like adrenaline, some bizarre chemical courage that let me say very Shinji-like things while staying me. Or maybe just plain idiocy.

Momohiko's face twisted, making me very happy that I had a lifetime of experience with insults and that my opponent was only a kid. Give him a few years and he'd be able to find every chink in my armor, but for now I had the advantage. "You think your cleverness is unparalleled, when the truth is your cleverness is not enough to let you win a battle when it matters. Everyone knows you won your fight with Yamada by luck and they saw you run from him a second time. A coward and a rebel. Puffed-up speech means nothing to a real combatant."

The feeling in my chest vanished, replaced by a hollow, cold sensation. Knife, meet chink. Kids were staring now. Whispering. The teacher was oblivious, congratulating some exceptional student across the room. My hand closed around my asauchi's hilt. I wanted to be noticed, but not like this. Never like this. I could practically hear the gears turning in my classmates' heads, opinion of me dropping by the second, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

"That hit the mark, did it not?" Momohiko said, voice soft and tone hard, glass shards in honey. "Now consider that that is mercy. You may rethink your life and turn yet to an orderly life. But there is no remedy for fear." He paused, blue-grey eyes expectant. "Well, Hirako? Thank me for the advice."

"Thank you," I mumbled, tongue thick and heavy. You bastard, I added in my head. Himura could take my time, Oshiro my library refuge, but Momohiko alone laid claim to my bravado. I blinked back hot tears—I refused to cry!—and took a deep, shuddering breath. If Momohiko noticed, he gave no sign, turning on his heel and following my classmates out. I registered dully that the gong had rung, feet mechanically leading me out after them.

I could've headed back to my room—the only place I had left to go—but I wasn't in the mood for Shinju's well-meaning fussing today. I wanted Shinji, with all his irritatingly funny quips and seeming inability to be sad, but I had no clue where he was and by the time I found him I'd be back to normal. Prolonged sadness wasn't something I did, whether in this life or Before. And besides, if I went to find Shinji, I'd end up forgetting an idea that had come to me on the way out of the training hall.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I couldn't do anything about that on my own, but I knew who could.

"Himura-sensei?" I said, pausing on the threshold of his training hall.

Himura didn't so much as twitch. He'd probably sensed me coming. "What do you want?" He asked.

I grimaced at having been seen through so easily. "You don't have a class today, right? Except me." I clenched my fists, still sore from Zanjutsu. "Can we move my lesson to now?"

He raised a dark brow. "Depends. Why?"

I shoved down my pride and lifted my chin. "You were right. I'm scared to fight when it matters. I want to be- not scared."

Himura's grin was tight with satisfaction. "The word you want is brave. I can't teach you to be brave. Nobody can, not even you. But I can teach you what to do about fear and how to look a damn lot braver than you do now."

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. "Then I can learn."

Chapter Text

My opponent came at me with the speed and force of a train. I stumbled back, escaping his punch by an inch. A twist into a horse stance brought my shoulder to a right angle with his body—I briefly thought of slamming him with my shoulder but swung my forearm into his instead. Fuck, he's more solid than he looks-! I threw that out of my mind and twisted my arm into a reverse hammer punch at his groin-

Thump. I blinked up at a white-painted ceiling, trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong as I gasped for air that wouldn't come. Himura's smirking face interrupted my view. I wrinkled my nose at him. Teachers weren't supposed to be smug. Still, I took the hand he offered and yanked myself up.

To Himura's credit, he let me walk around, hands on my head, to get my breath back instead of getting right back to training. I'd expected him to be relentless and student-crushing, but Himura hadn't gotten where he was by being stupid. People couldn't hone themselves after being broken, he said, and continuing training when hurt constituted broken in his book.

"Forget you had legs, Hirako? Always the legs-or-arms dilemma with you." He snorted, loudly enough that I expected smoke to puff from his nostrils. "You have a whole body, not a half one. Same for me." His smirk widened into a grin that I had to admit he'd earned the right to wear. I should've expected his spoon sweep. That I hadn't... it didn't make me feel too great inside. I prided myself on being honest as much as I did on being observant. And if I was honest, I wasn't as observant as I thought I was.

I nodded, dismissing my doubts and still trying to suck in some air. "She better be coming soon," I half-gasped, half-said, referring to the student he'd dragged into teaching me.

Himura huffed. "Can't take it?"

Uh, no, I can't take a guy who could wipe the floor with a seventh-year, I thought, but shrugged at him. Actively disagreeing with teachers rubbed me the wrong way, but sometimes it was just as dangerous to agree with them. Dangerous in this case meaning that Himura would make me do exercises until I was too weak to lift my brush.

We waited about five minutes for me to get my breath back. Memories of winding other people trickled back as I paced around the training hall. I almost cringed, but it was more a reflexive embarrassment for an idiotic past self than anything else. Looking back felt more like I'd read about someone else than having actually lived that life. I didn't have to remind myself as I once had that I wasn't that person anymore. I had enough control not to knock the air out of someone unless I chose to, at least. Hey, thinking about that, Himura had to have winded me deliberately. Jerk.

"I'm here, sensei!" A girl sailed in, and all my thoughts flew out of my head, because she was gorgeous. No ifs, ands, or buts, and I could say that having seen some top-notch fanart of Yoruichi and Unohana. I sucked in a breath. Speaking of memories... brilliant crimson hair, roughly an inch shorter than me, with laugh-crinkled brown eyes and a borderline-childishly round face. Himura couldn't have picked someone worse suited to me if he'd tried. And by 'worse suited' I meant 'best suited to my tastes and probably horribly distracting.'

Well, I hadn't decided to embrace training with Himura because of pretty girls. I was going to focus on learning, dammit.

Wait. Himura'd said something to me. An introduction. I offered him my best 'sorry for being an idiot' smile. "Um, what?"

Himura pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, she's always like this," he told the redhead, then turned back to me. "Hirako Nariko, meet Choujuno Akane, the one Kidou Corps brat who can give an onmitsu a run for their money in Hakuda. Apparently she didn't get herself disappeared."

Wait, what? I filed that away before Akane could make me forget that too, just in time for her to turn a wide grin on me. "Only because they're lazy," she assured me with a toss of the head. I fought back the urge to tuck the strands of red that drifted loose from her bun, pinned in place with two silver and blue kanzashi. Not a popular day-to-day choice around here, but she was a Kidou Corps hopeful. They weren't always the most realistic people, as her word choice indicated. Onmitsu didn't do lazy. Careless, stupid, arrogant, messy, maybe, but only in their private lives. Sui-Feng and Yoruichi hadn't gotten where they were by slacking off.

I skimmed my reiatsu over hers as she bounced off to remove her waraji and kanzashi. What I found made my eyebrows fly up. Besides Akane's own reiatsu, smooth, bright, and colorful like stained glass, something she was carrying rang with the pattern of Kidou. It was barely distinguishable from her own power—definitely self-made and not too powerful, but still. Really, really cool.

Himura folded his arms. "First thoughts?" He asked. A test. Eww. But it was a chance to feel a little better about my observational skills.

I took a deep breath, slotting things I'd noticed and background knowledge into place. A specialist in Kidou, with her clan beneath the Wakahisa and only slightly less powerful than them, so... "An endurance fighter. Graceful, good footwork if I know their style, but... you wouldn't have chosen her if she was conventional. She knows grappling too, I bet. Choujuno-san seems very... aware." That was obvious from her kanzashi alone: kogai kanzashi with hydrangea-patterned sheaths and streamers of willow leaves trailing from the ends. They were the sort of ornaments that only someone well-versed in seasonal fashion would wear.

Clattering metal interrupted my thoughts. Himura and I glanced over to find a small pile of knives as the noise's source, Akane standing above them with her sleeves rolled up.

"I thought they were better-secured!" She called over without a hint of shame before going back to what was apparently an extended disarming, untying the cords that had secured the knives.

"You said she wanted to go into the Kidou Corps," I accused, lowering my voice.

Himura didn't lower his, barking a laugh. "And now you know what they use instead of Zanpakutou. Good job she doesn't have a sword yet."

I frowned. "But you just said they don't have Zanpakutou."

"I'd tell you to go look it up if rumor didn't have it that you were banned from the libraries." A slight frown crossed Himura's face at that. "The onmitsu don't like Zanpakutou because it interferes with reiatsu-cloaking and the Kidou Corps don't like 'em because it messes with the kind of Kidou they can do. Hence knives like those." He nodded over at Akane's miniature armory, more knives being added to it as we spoke. "Forged so you can channel Kidou and strengthen 'em with your reiatsu. Pretty useful, except they like to explode when Zanpakutou users try them."

Well. There went the plan of 'weaponize all my kanzashi.'

"Anything to add now that you know how much metal she carts around?" Himura asked, eyes bright.

"She's either paranoid or she really likes to show off," I said. "Sorry, I forgot you called that being ready."

Himura scowled. "I can send her away if you want to keep being a smart-ass."

"No!" I burst out more quickly than I'd intended. "I'm good. Really, sensei, I am."

Was his resting face a smirk? I had to think so as it shifted from annoyance to smugness again. "Then wrap up all your little points and tell me what she's gonna do and what you're gonna do about it. Better do it quick; she's almost done."

I resisted the temptation to stick my tongue out. I did need to be more concise. "She'll make it hard for me to land a clean hit." That was more of a Kidou Corps trait than anything, though. If they got hit mid-chant, or just got hit at all, they tended to be well and truly fucked. "And probably try to get me on the ground or get in close. So I have to stay light on my feet. Don't know what I can do about her forcing me to the ground, except fight dirty." And by fight dirty, I meant headbutt her, bite her, or even take a crotch-shot. Maybe she didn't have dangly bits, but that meant precisely jack if I wanted her off me bad enough. Not that having her on me would be too objectionable... I shook that thought away.

Akane bounced over, hair now corralled into a bun by a ribbon. "There we go!" She chirped. "So, wanna get this started? I'll only use kicks if you want me to. Handicap and all that."

My liking of her soured slightly at that. Maybe Himura hadn't told her about me. I was Hirako Nariko. Nobody went easy on me. "I'm fine," I said, voice deliberately cool. Damn, it was hard to be mad at her. "What style do you practice again?" I didn't really want to leap into things if I had some more background knowledge to use.

Akane smiled brightly. "Spring Butterfly!"

Wait, what? I didn't- Hands up, she's got hers up!

I sprang back as she snapped a kick into where my stomach would've been, arms swinging down in a motion I'd never seen before. Like a butterfly, I thought with faint admiration, shuffling back to avoid her effortless waxing crescent kick as Akane switched legs. Two could play at that game. I stepped in and pivoted to snap my own waxing crescent at her back. Akane's hand closed around my ankle for a second before she twirled away, all-too-adorable grin on her face.

She probably expected me to hesitate, to wait for her to make the first real move so we could have a staredown. Too bad. I spun on my front foot, sparing a look over my shoulder to make sure Akane hadn't skipped back, and thrust my other heel back, snapping it into her side. Or at least I intended to—she slid in, grabbed my leg with one hand, and shoved me hard with the other.

Bam. On my back again. I rolled out of the way as Akane dropped into a crouch where I'd been. Not today! I crowed mentally, scrambling to my feet. I didn't know what kind of hold she would've put me in. I didn't want to find out. My muscles already ached from the rapid-fire exchange. Akane, on the other hand, looked as fresh as she had when we'd begun. Not even a hair out of place.

I'm going to change that. I lunged in—one step, two!—and threw a punch at her face. Predictably, Miss Sticky-Hands caught it—but not my knee to her groin. She yelped, half-doubling over before recovering herself and snapping a chicken wrist into my chin. Stars flashed in my vision as I snapped my head back. I leaped back, blinking them away. I had a second of downtime before Akane lunged in, face flushed and twisted with anger.

I'd remembered her weakness: pride. Her moves were showy to the point of telegraphing. Not an obstacle for a fighter with enough reiryoku—couldn't hit someone using Houhou to go faster than you could see. Which was unfortunately the case with Akane. Instead of slowing down, she'd sped up. My body burned hotter with every hand strike and kick I knocked away. Too fast. Too damn fast.

I set my jaw as she stepped just out of range of my forearm smash. Toying with me! I shouted in my head. Going easy! No one does that to me!

Except she could. My arms and legs felt like lead pipes. Every breath caught in my throat. I could see the satisfaction written on Akane's face as she paused, smile still in place. I'd been wrong. All she had to do was tire me out. But she'd been moving around as much as me. Why wasn't she tired? Endurance fighter didn't cover it.

Whatever. No one beat me this easily. I'm going to beat Aizen. You aren't him! I scrabbled for my reiryoku, ready to shunt some to my legs, and yanked.

Funny, how two steps became one long, smooth leap. How my ridge hand to her temple practically blurred, heedless of my fatigue. How Akane's smile vanished for an instant before her hands snatched my collar, foot planting itself on my stomach, and rolled backwards.

Oh. Ow. Owwww. All at once I was staring up at a round, smiling face. Her red hair, falling into my face, smelled faintly of jasmine, I noted distantly.

"Still got what I wanted," I managed after a second. "Your hair's out of place."

Her eyes going wide, Akane laughed, standing and offering me a hand up. I took it, conscious of how warm and small it was, and heaved myself to my feet. She opened her mouth to say something-

"Houhou," Himura interrupted. "You've got that, but not lasting through a fight?"

My eyes slid over to him. "Shifting Moon isn't great at endurance," I mumbled before my ears caught up. "Wait, what? Houhou?"

Himura gave me a long look, then started chuckling, shaking his head. "Figures. You got that by accident. Usually it's the other way around, but... huh. Guess we'll work on endurance first."

Akane's smile widened. I caught the flicker of her reiatsu, dimmer since the fight had begun. "I forgot first-years learn how to move their reiryoku before they learn how to use it for anything practical. I learned how to use it for stamina the hard way." She grimaced, rubbing scarred knuckles. "Piece of advice: don't annoy your teachers so much that they make you clean the Kidou ranges while they're being used."

I giggled, wiping sweat off of the back of my neck. "Advice taken. So I used Houhou accidentally?" Makes sense that Aizen would know how, then. Only he'd figure out something after doing it by accident.

Himura nodded. "Better be glad Choujuno knows a bit of it."

She made a face. "Alright, I kinda started using it after you took that crotch shot. Not fair," she complained.

I made a face back. "Neither was attacking me before I was ready."

Akane frowned. "In real life no one's going to warn you before attacking!" She pointed out, folding her arms.

I mirrored her, ignoring the way the fabric clung to my skin. "In real life people are going to fight dirty," I replied.

Himura stepped in. "Girls," he warned.

Mindful of that tone, we froze.

He let us stew for a second before laughing, low and harsh. "You're both right. Choujuno, that sacrifice throw was stupid, effective or not. A Hollow'd see a downed Shinigami and snap you up in a heartbeat. And you still need to work on telegraphing. Hirako, your stamina is pathetic, but the feinting worked well. If Choujuno hadn't started on the Houhou, you might've won. Might've," he stressed. "There's never certainty in a fight. Alright, Choujuno, you and I are going to demonstrate a basic throw for Hirako..."

 "Hey! Do you guys want to start a study group?"

The speaker was Nanase, at his bubbly best. Unfortunately, he endeared himself to exactly no one by asking at breakfast. Shinju and I managed something unintelligible, while whatever Minoru would've said was cut off by a yawn. Aizen didn't even respond. Apart from his inhaling of food, it was hard to tell if he was awake at all.

My dear brother, on the other hand, perked up. "Study group? I could use that!" He said.

I dredged my brain out of the sludge of sleepiness. "Only so you wouldn't have to do your own work," I mumbled.

His reaction was a predictable, age-old gesture. I swallowed my mouthful of rice and stuck out my tongue. Jerk.

"But seriously!" Nanase continued. "I, uh, got held back in a couple classes. And I can still help you with the ones you've got."

He did have a point there. "Aizen-san and I already study Zanpakutou together," I said. "Fujikage-san and I study in our room, too. It'd be handy to have everyone in one place."

Shinji snorted. "Shoulda known you'd be in it to keep everythin' nice an' efficient."

Shinju's and my feet lashed out in unison.

"If everyone isn't too busy, I'd like that," Shinju said over Shinji's whimpering. "It's easier for me to write an essay when I can get other people's opinions on it."

"That sounds okay. If you all really want to do it," Minoru said around a yawn wide enough for me to count every tooth.

Nanase's smile could've lit up all Seireitei. "Perfect! Where do you want to meet?"

After a couple minutes of debate, we settled on the Mizuchi courtyard. It was decently close to all of our dorms and had level steps to work on, with plenty of shade. I wasn't too fond of the place, given my association of it with the Nimaya-Oshiro debacle, but it fit what we needed.

"I've got training with Himura-sensei after dinner, though," I said at some point, rewarded by the stares of my classmates.

"Still? I thought your punishment was up," Shinju said.

Minoru frowned. "And I thought ya said ya had it right after classes let out."

I shook my head. To Shinju, I said, "He decided to extend it. Apparently my grappling and such need work." To Minoru I said, "That was a one-time thing. It fit better with the third-year who's helping us out's schedule to do it after dinner."

Shinji's grin was uncomfortably sharp. "Ooh, is it a musclebound cap'n-to-be?"

I flushed. "I don't like what you're implying," I told him. "It's a girl, anyway. Choujuno Akane."

Shinju frowned. "Choujuno... I thought that family usually went into the Kidou Corps."

Nanase shrugged. "Heck if I know!" He said with a smile that no one should've been capable of wearing before noon. "I think I know who you mean, though. She's got this red hair done up in fancy styles, carries lots of knives?"

I nodded. "That's her. Loves to remind me that I'm not, in fact, perfect." I made a face.

"I'd be happy to take up that duty," Shinji said, grin sly. "I remember how, let's say, Mom had to remind ya for years to brush yer hair. Or how ya got bitten by a dog and didn't think ta mention it ta anybody until they saw that yer sleeve was all bloody. Or-"

"It wasn't that bad a bite!" I protested. "But no thanks. I'm fine not knowing the many ways I screw up every day."

"There's the bitch that tattled on you." I very deliberately didn't turn. That voice again, the raspy one from my fight with Seinosuke. A brief expansion of my reiatsu caught the edge of the reiatsu of Seinosuke himself as he skulked past. But no one was with him. From the looks I saw sent his way, no one wanted to be. Out of the corner of my eye, Nanase tensed.

"So," I said a little too loudly, "anybody got a test today? I've got one in Government."

That elicited a chorus of responses, switching the topic to one that provided a nice distraction from weird voices.

"So we'll meet right before dinner?" Nanase said. Man, he really wanted to hang out with us. But I nodded with everyone else. Studying was useful and the group would give me a chance to view how Aizen interacted with his peers. I could foist Nanase on someone else if I had to as well. Shinju would be happy to have me being social—I knew she worried about how much time I spent in the library or our room—and Shinji would get to hang out with Shinju.

Ew. My little brother crushing on my roommate. Not thinking about that.

Anyway. Minoru would get some much-needed practice with his kana. Maybe even start on his kanji.

All the objectives are coming along nicely, a voice in the back of my mind mused.

Bad self, I scolded. People aren't objectives.

To my surprise, the voice responded. They are if they're involved in a plan, it argued.

I shut that away for now as the gong rang to send us off to class. I needed to catch up to Seinosuke and talk to him like I'd said I would. It'd only been a couple days, but I doubted Ounabara wanted to wait much longer.

I threaded my way through the crowd, following the now-familiar antiseptic sense of his reiatsu. Close, closer, closest...

"Yamada-senpai." I made my voice steady and calm as the stone beneath our waraji. "Can we talk?"

He whirled at his name, face going dangerously dark at seeing my face. "What the hell do you want, horse-teeth?" Seinosuke snarled. "You took Nanase, you got me in trouble again—is there anything you don't want to steal?"

Interesting. So he had cared about Nanase. "To talk. Like I said." Okay, that had come out whiny. Oh well. "In private. It has to do with your punishment."

Wrong thing to say. "Rubbing it in?" Seinosuke said, blue eyes narrow. "Really, you had to stoop that low?"

Idiot. Idiotidiotidiot. Why was he so stupid? "Shut up," I said, low and hard. If being blunt got through to him, I'd be blunt. "You're going to come with me, and I'm going to try and not get your Zanpakutou broken, genius." A step, an iron grip-and-twist of his forearm that Akane had taught me, and I was dragging Seinosuke away.

I came to a halt in a vacant training field, releasing him. I started talking as he rubbed his arm, before he could remember to be mad again.

"Look, they want to break your Zanpakutou. You're a jerk, but you don't deserve to get cut off from Byakuren-" I stopped. Where had that come from? It fit, settled nicely in the air, but... Not important. What was important was that Seinosuke had stopped too and was now staring at me like I'd announced I was Yamamoto in disguise.

"How- how do you know my Zanpakutou's name? Nanase? No, I didn't tell him- How?!" Seinosuke burst out, fists clenched at his sides.

Now was a really bad time to remember that Zanpakutou were considered somewhat private, wasn't it?

The memory of his Zanpakutou's sword guard, shaped like a lotus blossom, descended on me like a gift from heaven. I folded my arms, scoffed like I knew what I was doing. "Seriously? With your Zanpakutou's guard? Poets use it all the time to symbolize purity." I smirked, praying it didn't shake. "But you knew that, didn't you? You're not that stupid."

Seinosuke's neck was redder than Akane's hair, but to his credit he just swallowed hard and glared at me. Hit the mark, I thought triumphantly.

"You said you wanted to talk about me getting punished," Seinosuke bit out. "So talk."

"I told Ounabara that if I talked to you and saw that you were remorseful, I'd tell him about it and he wouldn't break your Zanpakutou," I said. "By that I mean I have to tell him everything you said and did and everything I said and did. If he thinks you're sorry, then he won't do it. So make me think you're sorry."

Seinosuke's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Because I have no reason to lie? I'm not a sadist," I said, narrowing my eyes back. Two could play the 'suspicious for no reason' game. "And contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a liar either."

He huffed. "Everyone knows you Hirako lie as easy as you breathe."

"Well, everyone's wrong," I said, relishing the chance to not sugarcoat or defer to anyone. It was like a kata: I only had to worry about myself and what I wanted. We weren't friends. He wasn't my teacher. No misdirection, no half-truths. Just us. "And it's not wrong of me to ask for an apology. You attacked a first-year girl because your d- your pride couldn't handle it!" I bit off the curse I'd meant to use. Seinosuke wouldn't be what tripped up my tongue. "And no, you couldn't be bothered to do it by yourself. You needed help."

Seinosuke glowered. "You wonder why people don't like you? Oh, don't act like you're the social butterfly your kid brother is." He sneered. "Nobody was walking with you to class; the only people who sit with you are the ones who're obligated to and a couple of brats who'll run with anyone; you don't know anybody who'd tell you about the way you're supposed to act here." Seinosuke snorted, arms folded snake-coil tight. "Maybe you aren't like a real Hirako, but what you are is worse. You're a self-righteous know-it-all bitch who punches first and thinks of the consequences later. Should've been born a Kuchiki or a Waka-"

I cut him off with a slash of the hand, familiar slow burn building in my chest. "Don't blame me for your choices!" I all-but-shouted at him before he could finish that hated name. "Don't blame me for your social status being so pre-precarious that people will look down on you for losing one fight! You chose to ambush me. You refused to let it go. Maybe I'm part of the problem. Maybe I get why you did it. But I didn't make you do anything!" My breathing came hot and harsh, forcing its way out of a tight throat. "And I can't make you take the offer. Last. Chance." Reiatsu fizzed on my skin, faint but present. The deep breath I gulped did nothing to abate the lightning-hot anger in me.

Seinosuke's stance shook—no, shook implied something solid enough to be shaken in the first place. He swayed like a tree in a storm, ready to react if I attacked.

If I attacked. The thought did interrupt my fury then. He thought I'd hurt him. That I was that much of a loose cannon. Our encounters had been violent, true. But he'd been the aggressor!

Aggressor, yes, but I was born and bred and trained to never carry out attacks by half. And not so oblivious that I didn't know that people drew conclusions from how you acted and looked and talked, not out of thin air. Seinosuke really thought I was some kind of vicious zealot and I hadn't discouraged that perception.

Breathe, whispered tempered rage in my soul. I breathed. You're not in the right. But he is even less so. Understanding is not justification. Breathe, and wait.

I breathed, and waited for his reply.

What I got was a storm of hallucinations instead.

"You're going to just let her cut your branches like that?!" A pause. "I don't care that you don't have those! She's ripping up our roots one by one, that crazy bitch! Who does she think she is?" Another pause, long enough to fit a sentence. Then, more grudgingly, "Maybe growing around it is better. But we've got thorns. Let her see them!"

I blinked rapidly, wrapping my hands in my sleeves so I didn't cover my ears. Don't look like a crazy freak, don't look like a crazy freak...

"Fine." Seinosuke's eyes were anywhere but me. He took a deep breath, still radiating poison and brambles, but the sensation was muted, like he'd tried to prune the briars. "I'm- sorry. For attacking you. And insulting you. You're still a self-righteous know-it-all, but there's no sense in fighting anymore. My rep's not coming back soon enough for you to make amends. I'll stop messing with you and you stop messing with me. That acceptable?"

The quickness of my nod might've surprised him, but it wasn't a hard decision. Byakuren spared, Seinosuke one less thing to worry about, and Ounabara satisfied. Three birds with one stone, just how I liked it. "Yeah. Except for one thing: you don't mess with Nanase either. I'm not letting him get wrapped up in your crap again."

Seinosuke snorted. "Like you care."

"I don't." As soon as the words sprang from my mouth, the thought asshole sprang into my mind. Who said that? "I don't have to to want the best for him. People deserve better than what he had with you. And if I don't care now, I will. If caring about people didn't take work, I'd be as friendless as you think I am." And as I think I am. The cold hollow Momohiko had created in me threatened to open again. I shut it out for now. Everything had its time and this was not the time.

"Fine. Go scurry off to Ounabara-sensei and do what you said you would, then." He flapped a hand at me. I suppressed the irritation that bubbled up at seeing the gesture. It wasn't like I hadn't already known he was arrogant.

I bowed. "Thanks for cooperating, Yamada-senpai." Turned, ready to do just that, and made it a few paces away before he spoke again.

"Hey. You'd better take care of Nanase. He's not from that high a district, but-" his breath hitched "-there are bastards wherever you go. You act like them and I don't care how well-bred you are or how much knowledge you've got crammed into that crazy head of yours. You die. And don't go getting yourself disappeared before you've talked to Ounabara."

I kept walking, calling over my shoulder, "Sure thing."

Note to self: Keep an eye on Nanase. It looks like I've exchanged one headache for another.

"Someday," I declared, breezing into Mizuchi, "I'm going to drop dead of exhaustion and it's going to be Himura's fault."

Shinji whistled. "No honorific. Somebody's pissed."

I shot an 'idiot little brother' glare his way and settled gingerly onto the stone steps beside him, sticky with pollen still wet from last night's rain. Sometimes summer sucked.

"I thought you didn't meet with him until later, Nariko-san," Aizen said, fidgeting at the edge of our circle as usual. Well, calling it a circle was being generous. 'Collection of people in a shape that couldn't be described as a polygon' was more accurate.

"Afternoon, Hirako-chan!" Nanase sang out, echoed by Shinju's quieter "Hello, Hirako-chan" a heartbeat later. Minoru mumbled something that might've been a hello.

I smiled broadly at Aizen, scooching so he was a little more in the circle. "Good memory. Yeah, I don't, but if I didn't have to keep his abuse in mind I wouldn't have to stress about getting my work done before then." Then, turning to my other friends, I said, "Afternoon, guys."

If my smile dimmed a little for them, not having to be so bright for those who weren't future megalomaniacs, that was just too bad.

"So, what'd I miss?" I asked, spreading my materials out.

"I'm writing about the Punishment Force and what they get called to deal with," Shinju said, gesturing to a half-filled piece of paper in front of her. "It's pretty short since they obviously can't teach us the details."

Shinji rolled his eyes. "I'm supposed ta learn a couple hand seals by tomorrow. They're testin' for speed," he complained.

I rolled my eyes back. "Like you aren't fast enough with your fingers when there're mochi around?"

His grin was completely and utterly unrepentant.

"I'm memorizing a Hadou incantation. Wanna see?" Nanase practically bounced, impressive considering he was kneeling in seiza in front of a scroll. I held back giggles. Somebody should take the poor kid for a walk every day and burn off some of that energy.

"Sure," I said. "Just a sec." I glanced over at Aizen, hoping he'd say what he was doing without prompting. It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk sometimes.

"I have an essay on important events in West Rukongai history," he obliged me. "I'm mostly done, if you want to talk about Zanpakutou?"

Tempting, but someone hadn't spoken up.

"Minoru-kun?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Need any-"

"No." His voice couldn't have been any closer to an animal's growl, sullen like a child's. "Stupid essay, I told him-!" He broke off, flushing purple. Given how everybody suddenly seemed to be looking elsewhere... They didn't know Minoru was illiterate. Teased him, maybe? Either way, major button pushed.

I shot Shinji a look. You wanna handle this, or should I?

He took me up on it. "Yo, there's no point in refusing. It's still yer work if somebody else writes it for ya."

"I don't care," Minoru said, shaking his head hard. "I'm not givin' inta that asshole!"

"It's not about givin' inta him or not," Shinji went on, jaw set as his opponent's. "No point in gettin' lower marks than ya have ta. Yeah, sometimes ya gotta take a stand, but this ain't anythin' more than a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things."

Minoru's voice rose. "He knew I can't read! And he still said I had to write that damn essay! I hate nobles!"

I hate you. Not the first time someone had said that to me, or implied it. It was easy to retreat into the knowledge of a life where I wasn't a noble, never had been. Hate? Meaningless to me.

But not to Shinji, one eye twitching in a distinctly unfunny way. Not to Shinju, who looked like Minoru had run her through. And definitely not to Nanase, who looked torn between agreeing and defending us.

And I didn't need to be able to read Aizen's reiatsu, heavy with suppressed anger, to notice the answering rage in every line of his body. But he hadn't reacted, so the volcano wasn't erupting just yet. Phew.

So it fell to me to keep the peace. I hid a grimace. I would've liked Shinju to mollify everyone with her sweet words, or failing that Shinji, who exemplified our clan's light-heartedness. But Shinji's reiatsu, blazing like midsummer in a desert, had just about slipped its leash and Shinju would cry if she said a word. Minoru... didn't seem particularly likely to back down either, fists clenched at his sides.

"Okay," I said, suppressing any emotion in my voice. "Why?"

He sputtered, caught off guard. "Why? Whaddya mean, why?"

"Exactly what I said," I replied, folding my hands tight in my lap. Don't punch the idiot, don't punch the idiot... He was a justified idiot, but an idiot nonetheless for saying that aloud, with multiple witnesses, and to a mostly-noble group. Good thing we were relatively decent nobles. "Why do you hate nobles? Just curious."

The trick was working. I heard it in the hitch in his voice and felt it in the subsiding focus in his reiatsu. Still churning with frustration, but distracted by my question. "Because... ya do things Rukon folk don't get and don't explain any of it, just expect us to do it because some broad brought ya inta the world kickin' and screamin' and not us. Ya feel free to treat us like dirt and justify it by pointin' at some fancy title. Souls starve 'cause they can't make it here in time and none of ya care!" Water shone in dark eyes, a hair away from spilling out.

I filtered that through my mental Kansai-ben filter and then again through my anger filter. What I got began a pounding in my temples. If I refuted what he said—and that'd be lying—then I'd have a couple hurt, pissed-off Rukongai kids on my hands and possibly earn the ire of a batshit insane superbeing. If I agreed with him, I'd have a couple hurt, pissed-off nobles on my hands and jeopardize my relationship with Shinji to boot. I couldn't afford either.

Lucky for me, I'd long ago mastered the art of riding the fence. "You're angry because we take and the way we give back isn't obvious. Because a lot of the time there isn't time to explain everything and so many factors are under consideration that it'd make no sense anyway. Because the clan system is meant to ensure that heirs are trained to do their duty, but when bad apples come along or not everyone can be pleased it looks like power is arbitrary. And that the 'all-powerful clans' can do something about souls unfortunate enough to be missed or distant." The thrill of smugness flickered around Shinju and Shinji, anger returning to Minoru and beginning, subdued, in Nanase. Aizen felt—but didn't look—like he was about to go postal. Shiiiiiiiit.

One side appeased, one to go. "However." I held up my hand, purely to feel impressive. "You aren't wrong. Can I speak freely?" I shot a glance at Shinju, who gave me a puzzled, tearful nod. A flash of my reiatsu revealed no onmitsu, though that didn't mean they weren't there. I decided not to say everything I thought. "Then I will. Soul Society is stagnant. Shinigami take care of Seireitei more than the Rukongai. Order is the same way things have always been, not how they should be. Not that that's always bad," I added, glancing around as obviously as I could to make it clear that I was trying to appease any eavesdroppers. "Certain people are spoiled and feel entitled to their rank. And we let it happen in the name of tradition. Of what's always worked."

I paused for dramatic effect, bowed my head. "I'm sorry. I can't do anything about your teacher being a jerk. Just offer help. Same with the government."

If we'd been in a different manga, my friends' jaws would've been scraping the ground. Goal achieved.

I shrugged, like I hadn't just bordered on treasonous. "Shinigami officers have power. Who says I can't do something about it?"

"That's-" Shinju broke off just short of that word.

I slid my gaze over to her, faux-casual, twisting the fingers of one hand with the other to hide their telltale stillness. "Not really. I don't want to take down the government. Just improve it."

Shinji whistled, low and long. "Maybe it's a good thing that Oshiro banned ya from the library. Clearly they've got some funny ideas there."

"Good ideas," Aizen put in. I stared at him, wide-eyed, before I remembered that surprise kinda ruined my carefully crafted 'brilliant older sister' mystique. Not that Shinji paid attention to it. The writhing rage in his reiatsu had faded to nearly nothing. "Odd, for a noble."

I sighed. "So be it. Normalcy's not for me anyway." Which, really, I was resigned to. My brother was a future captain and the rest of my family spies. Normalcy was never going to happen.

Minoru gulped. "M-maybe I shouldn'ta taken up with ya," he stammered, voice returned to its usual volume. "You're gonna get us all killed."

I shook my head hard. "I won't! Not if you don't get involved. Won't even get myself killed if I don't get caught." Back to the schoolgirl. I slung an arm around Shinji's shoulders, grinning. "Besides, what're they gonna do if my brother's a captain, huh?"

"Hey!" Shinji squawked. "Don't go makin' promises for me ta keep!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Quiet, you. They'll have you graduating early, you mark my words." I turned back to Minoru. "You too, if you work hard."

The scowl returned. "I thought ya said no teasin', Nariko-san."

I rolled my eyes skyward. Okay, he wouldn't be a captain like Shinji, but a seated officer for sure. "Someday someone's going to believe me when I tell them I don't lie and I'll be incredibly surprised," I said to no one in particular. "Seriously, I can see it. Maybe in the Ninth or Tenth. But they aren't going to let you if you get bad grades."

"That yer way of sayin' I should give in ta Bastard-sensei?" Minoru grumbled.

"Yeah," I said, lacing my fingers together. "It sucks, but there's no getting around him now. Headmaster's just going to back him up. Better to just do it, then show him up by graduating and getting a better position than that jerk could ever dream of. 'Sides, you don't think there aren't other kids in your position, do you? They're doing the exact same thing."

"I don't believe ya," Minoru said firmly. "But fine. And no offense, but could Shinji-san maybe write it?"

By the time we finished our study session, everybody had their work done and no one was upset anymore. Outwardly, anyway.

"Hey, Shinju-sa- Shinju-chan," I said as we left, trying to switch honorifics and not quite making the change smoothly. Stupid tongue had used up its eloquence for the day.

"Yes?" She turned, smile plastered on.

"Are you okay? With what was said, I wasn't sure..." I fixed my gaze firmly on the walkway instead of her face.

She hesitated for a long second. "Oh, I'm fine. Minoru-san's having a bad day, I'm sure," she said.

"Hey." I tried to reach out and touch her shoulder reassuringly and ended up poking her. "If you're mad, or hurt, or whatever because of him? You can tell me. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Shinju sniffled. "Really, I'm fine. You and Minoru-san had a point, you know."

Ah. So that was the problem—she thought I didn't like nobles too. Maybe I'd leaned a little more towards one side of the fence than I'd intended. "Minoru-kun had a point," I corrected, scuffing my sandals on the path. "I just wanted everyone to calm down. Less trouble that way."

"...you do a lot of things so there'll be less trouble, don't you." Shinju's face and voice were unreadable, slate blue eyes staring straight ahead and reiatsu drawn in close to her skin.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I said carefully. Shit. Shitshitshitfuck. I'd hoped that my machinations—had I really made many?—had gone unnoticed.

"You just... seem like you have an agenda," Shinju said. "Like you look at life and see obstacles to get out of the way, you know."

Okay, now how do I convince her—wait. I shook my head, both in response to Shinju and to that thought. That's exactly what she thinks I'm doing. And I'm not. Am I? I'm not a sociopath. I know I'm not. People matter. I just can't let them get in the way of making sure the world doesn't end. "I- my dad says everyone you meet has an agenda. So I'd be lying if I said I didn't," I said, hiding my hands in my sleeves. "But I promise you it's a good agenda. I like life. I like living. It's just easier for me to- to take a step back sometimes. Besides, why would anyone want trouble?"

Shinju's lips curved into a slight smile. "Fair point. I don't know how much I agree with it, you know? It seems... inadvisable."

I laughed, half-forced, half-genuine. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but I have trouble taking advice. I get what you mean," I added when it looked like she was going to explain herself. "But I think it's possible. And I promise you I won't risk my neck or anyone else's for it." Key word being 'or,' I added mentally. It's going to have to be one or the other depending on how well I pull this off.

But I'd try to make sure no one got hurt. If people died, it should be the person who wasn't supposed to be there, not people who'd never even imagined other worlds.

Shinju lay snoring on her futon, conflict resolved earlier that evening and evidently not troubling her further. Good.

Meanwhile, I sat cross-legged on my futon, asauchi drawn and resting on my lap. In the shadows and moonlight spilling in from our window, it was midnight blue and silver, a pretty combination. Now, if only those colors went with my hair. I lifted one hand from the blade to finger the light strands, hanging unbound by my face. For all my disapproval of Shinju's hair, mine wasn't much better.

Focus. For once I couldn't tell the difference between the mental reminders I gave myself so often and the whispers of my budding Zanpakutou, one of the sources of my voices. Both were stern, yet strangely soothing, though the latter sounded much more cultured. My mental voice came from a mouth dirtier than my waraji.

I should probably get on that, I thought, eyeing the pollen on the sandals by the door.

Focus, daoshi. Definitely the Zanpakutou spirit this time, something 'shh'ing behind its words. Stay committed to your little rebellion.

It wasn't much of a rebellion, I thought as I let my hand fall back to the asauchi. Really, it was more like doing extra credit in my free time, only I didn't get extra points for it. But if Oshiro was going to punish me for going to the library like any ambitious student would, studying outside of his class was rebellion enough.

Now, time to get back to meditation. I'd just about memorized the questions from that class anyway.

Question Twelve, the spirit prompted.

Right. 'How do you seek to best serve Soul Society?' I rolled my eyes, both physically and mentally. Nimaiya would've slapped the idea right out of my head. But I didn't really have anything else to go by...

Stupid daoshi. You think you're restricted to what someone else gives you? the spirit scolded. Make them up if you aren't satisfied.

Yes, 'mom,' I grumbled.

My ears popped painfully as a wave of static blasted through my head. I blinked, licking suddenly dry lips and tasting ozone.

Hypocrite! Don't scold your brother for disrespect and turn around and sass me, the spirit snapped, voice crackly instead of whispering.

Even though it was in my head, I flushed, averting my eyes from its silvery blade. I'm sorry, I replied with more sincerity than I'd expected from myself. No shame or social pressure to force me this time, just genuine remorse. Forgive me?

An almost tangible pause. Yes, the spirit said, whispery echoes returning as its tone softened. Now, if you would come up with your own questions?

Fine. I sat back, sighing. The silence around me swallowed the sound. Weird, that I didn't hear my not-yet-Zanpakutou's voice as loudly as the others, half-drowned by shushing like leaves and staticky crackling, but maybe that was because it hadn't-

Oh. Ohhhh. My eyes, half-closed in thought, flew wide open. The voices weren't my imagination. They were other people's Zanpakutou. That... explained a lot. Why I heard the raspy voice of Byakuren only around Seinosuke, for instance. Why I'd heard the deep voice of Engetsu upon meeting Isshin.

Knowing why didn't necessarily make it better, though. I hadn't started out hearing Zanpakutou, after all, and it'd gotten more frequent and louder since that had begun, which implied that my newfound ability would get more powerful as time went on. With a hurried apology to my Zanpakutou spirit, I forced my mind out of hajimezen-mode and into past-life-mode. Did canon say anything about this? I doubted it, though I half-remembered something happening in Ichigo's fight with Kenpachi. I untangled my legs and tip-toed across the room, snatching my future events scroll and uncapping it.

Nothing, I concluded after a quick scan of the scroll's contents. Ichigo'd felt Kenpachi's sword screaming, but that was easily attributed to Kenpachi's monstrous reiatsu and the ferocity with which Kenpachi'd attacked. Plus, a neglected Zanpakutou like that probably would've shouted so loud anyone could hear. I rolled it back up and went back to my futon.

So. Pros of being able to hear Zanpakutou: it was a little like mind-reading. Not really, though, since I only got to hear it when the Zanpakutou responded and then only one side of the conversation. Or maybe I'd get the ability to hear them all the time later. I kinda hoped not. Zanpakutou reflected wielders, and their wielders were as petty as anyone else.

Cons: I had precisely zero ability to turn it off or otherwise control it, which pretty much meant I couldn't use it to find people. The fact that it seemed to require me to be in close proximity to people didn't help. And it was distracting, as my formerly-broken nose could attest. Kinda annoying, depending on the spirit. Why couldn't I have the ability to see the spirits instead? Improved vision would've been nice, if only to make up for poor vision in my last life.

Overall, it wasn't too much of a problem now that I knew what was going on. A mild nuisance more than anything. Except for whatever'd happened with Oshiro, now that I thought about it. Metal against metal? I could only pray that other Zanpakutou weren't so grating. And more comprehensible. How on earth Oshiro heard his spirit was beyond me...

Daoshi, my spirit reminded me, weren't you in the middle of something?

Right. What questions could I think of that were more me?

How do I want people to remember me? That was a good one. One I'd need to think about to decide what I'd do in between the Hollowfication and now. Did I want to be like Shinji, bored mask hiding extreme competence? Like Urahara, goofy act tricking nearly everyone despite his recorded brilliance? Maybe even like Nanao, serious and respected despite rarely unleashing her power? What legacy would I leave behind?

It was a more important question than it seemed at first glance. Depending on how I acted in the meantime, Soul Society might treat me differently. If I built up a stellar reputation for myself, they might be willing to negotiate when Ichigo and company invaded Seireitei. It would certainly save a lot of trouble if they didn't have to fight their way through Soul Society. I'd have to make up for that by making Urahara train Ichigo a lot more, but it would be worth it. Communication would've solved a lot of problems in Bleach.

I want to achieve, I decided, and I want to do it on my terms. Not mimicking anyone else.

So what are your terms, daoshi? The spirit murmured, its voice a hair less obscured than it had been before.

An even better question. No one judges me on my clan, I responded. If I do well, it won't be because of who my dad is, or who my brother is. I'll work as hard I can and make sure people know it, but not flaunt it. No, bragging was a bad idea. Bragging invited people to prove you wrong, besides being rude. And it would be so much more delicious if people overlooked my accomplishments and got their ass handed to them. And I'm going to alternately scare the shit out of them and make them underestimate me.

Whispers and electricity were silent for a heartbeat. ...explain, daoshi. I could've sworn I heard exasperation in the spirit's tone.

Simple. People won't fight me if I freak them out badly enough. Less dying that way. And if I act ordinary, they'll think I'm nothing special and be in for a surprise. Maybe even lie about what I can do.

Daoshi, it scolded, that's dishonest.

Fine, I replied. I won't lie. But if I don't tell them all the truth, it's not my fault if they're stupid.

One can never help others' stupidity, it agreed. But you'll make enemies that way. How will you deal with them?

No mercy, I thought back with more than a little reluctance. It was wrong for me to be that sure about my reaction to people attacking me. But I knew that I wouldn't lie down and take it. I couldn't. I didn't know what came after this world and didn't want to find out.

You fear death? Genuine surprise, in that lilting voice.

Anyone sane fears death, I thought. People who say they don't are lying. I want to live. I want to make this world better. If I die, I can't do anything. Why shouldn't I be scared of that?

Your warrior-poets would call you unenlightened for that, she—in a moment of clarity, I knew it was a she—said. They would say you can't possibly do the right thing with such a warped view on life.

I would say they have a warped view on enlightenment, I retorted. Hey, that's another part of how I'm going to deal with my enemies: do the right thing when I can. They've got to at least respect me if I do the right thing.

And if they have a different idea of what the right thing is? she asked.

Then fuck 'em. I couldn't have done anything to convince them anyway, I retorted. I was way too awake for this time of night. Maybe a walk would help. Hey, would you be mad if I went outside without putting you through an obi?

A sigh, like crashing waves. Just this once, she said.

I sheathed my Zanpakutou and rolled off my futon, padding across the floor so as not to wake Shinju. For once I was thankful that the doors here didn't use creaky hinges. Much quieter. I slid ours shut behind me without any trouble.

Once out in the cool night air, I let my feet carry me at random. Campus looked so different without students walking around it. Peaceful, certainly, but also lonely. Shadows softened what moonlight couldn't sharpen in its rays. A breeze drifted through the trees, carrying with it the sweet perfume of lilac and blood. I must've wandered to Mizuchi without realizing it.

Ice flooded me. I stopped dead in my tracks. Blood. Someone's bleeding. Oh no someone's bleeding have to help-

I half-dashed, half-stumbled into the courtyard. Who's hurt have to help-

Moonlight, spilling out from behind a cloud and illuminating a body. Pigtails in a pool of blood. No asauchi, but a sheath. One of my classmates. I ran to her side, kneeling as I reached frantically for my reiryoku. Blue-green light shimmered around my hands. But I didn't- we hadn't learned any Kidou yet, let alone healing Kidou! How did I-

Footsteps behind me, heavy enough to belong to an adult. Or upperclassman. I wasn't picky. I half-turned, relieved smile gripping a face that had to be as pale as the moon with how cold and bloodless it felt. "She's hurt, you have to-!"

A palm in front of my face. Light, brilliant white, illuminating a gaunt figure.

Nothing at all.

Chapter Text

My mouth tasted like something had died in it. Typical morning mouth, really, except generally I woke up in my bed, not wherever here was.

'Here' sounded like distant dripping water instead of Shinju's rhythmic breathing. Instead of her sandalwood scent, I could smell wet stone and the fishy-metallic stench of dried blood. I turned my head slightly, cracking my eyes open, and heard metal clink. I decided not to turn further as some of that metal proved to have very sharp edges that were very ready to poke me in the eye. Not that I got poked in the eye, but I had to go cross-eyed to see the stuff, which meant I was lucky to have been dumped where I was.

"You can stop pretending to be unconscious. I heard your breathing change."

No. Nonononono. Not happening. This wasn't happening, someone pinch me, what's going on it can't be-

It was. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I caught sight of purple hair in the gloom. Oshiro.

But he's a teacher, I reasoned as I levered myself into a sitting position, careful where I put my hands so I didn't shred them. He's my teacher. He won't hurt me. He's probably been attacked and captured too. He has to be good. Hastobegoodhastobegood HE HAS TO BE A GOOD GUY-

"Where's my Zanpakutou?" I managed through cracked lips. That wasn't water on my cheeks. A metal shard had cut me. Right, that was it. I wasn't going to cry because of some stupid guy. Or because of the gaping hole in my soul. Not inside me, not like when I let Momohiko get to me. Deeper, in the same place I reached to for my reiryoku.

 "Your Zanpakutou?" Definitely Oshiro's voice, but not his smile. Oshiro's smile belonged on Ukitake, wide and benevolent as it was. This man's not-smile was a cut in his face. "Ah, yes. I suppose one could call it that now. Right on the threshold, neither an asauchi nor a full Zanpakutou. Call it what you will."

"That isn't an answer," I growled. My head was throbbing, my stomach didn't particularly want to hold onto its contents, and my teacher had apparently kidnapped me. Life sucked too much right now to be polite.

Kidnapped. Oshiro kidnapped me. Somehow that thought made it clearly through the pain pulsing through my brain.

He's my teacher! He couldn't have kidnapped me! I protested. Why, I wasn't sure. The thought didn't come from my Zanpakutou spirit, just from my own mind. It couldn't provide me with anything original.

Face it. You're in an unfamiliar place that smells like blood and he's the only other one here. He kidnapped you and if you don't figure something out the next person here will be smelling your blood, the part of me that had stayed rational responded.

"I took it," Oshiro said, nonchalant as though he was critiquing an essay I'd submitted. "You won't be needing it after I've finished the process." Something about that niggled at me. He sounded like a B-movie villain, the kind that narrated their whole evil plan before finally, finally moving to finish the damsel in distress. Just in time for the hero to arrive, flex his manly muscles, and save her, of course.

I went through a whole life without having a Zanpakutou and did just fine. My mind's just going to have to be original enough. "P-process?" I asked, not having to fake the tremble in my voice at all. I hadn't told anyone where I was going, or even hinted that I made a habit of walking around Shin'ou at night. There was no hero coming to save me.

So I'll just have to be the heroine and damsel in distress at the same time, I reasoned as I waited for Oshiro to snap out of his daze. He seemed lost in some demented trance. Why couldn't Soul Society have some mental healthcare on top of the Fourth Division? Or was this guy sane and just plain evil? What do I know?

Wherever you are has an entrance and exit, or he couldn't have brought me in here. There may or may not be a source of water that I can swim through as a last resort. Oshiro has experience doing this, or you wouldn't have stumbled across that girl. And there wouldn't be so much blood here. Was it a bad sign that I didn't put more emphasis on the whole 'this place reeks of dried blood' thing? I couldn't, anyway, not right now. I needed to take this rationally, with a nice, neat plan. No freaking out. He cast some Kidou on me which might have side-effects I don't know about. I don't have my Zanpakutou. And this definitely involves his obsession with asauchi. Oshiro isn't afraid to hurt me, so I can't be afraid to hurt him.

Not that hurting him would be likely. An armed, adult Kidou practitioner vs. an unarmed teenage girl with no practical combat knowledge? Yeah, I could predict the outcome of that pretty easily. But still. He's done this to other people. They didn't deserve it. You don't deserve it. You have to fight!

Oshiro had started up again. I tuned back in. "Simple in theory," he said in a dangerously absent tone, as if his mind was on murdering kittens. Oshiro turned to face me, strange slash-smile still in place. "You're a prodigy, Nariko-san. I wonder if you really know how much of one you are?"

Ooh, flattery sounded nice right about now. Plus, I needed to get him monologuing. Observations meant nothing without application. "I'm not a prodigy!" I blurted out, injecting as much confusion and fear into my voice as I could. "That's Shinji you want! He's not crazy, not like me..." I sniffled, which actually wasn't part of the act. This place reeked.

"Crazy? Some people call geniuses crazy. But they realize how smart they are after the fact. Of course they do. Except for the lucky. The lucky get recognized for what they are before. Nimaiya was one of those. My wielder... wasn't," Oshiro said. His eyes weren't twinkling now. They were flat, almost literally so. The half-light that illuminated the chamber didn't reflect in his eyes. Impossible.

Not if he isn't human, I realized, processing the last of what he'd said. I'd touched him, talked to him. But that meant nothing. I knew very little about Zanpakutou in the grand scheme of things. Except that Zangetsu, the real one, had possessed Ichigo's body on multiple occasions. Even the fake one had been able to affect Ichigo's body by stopping his bleeding. Could the Oshiro I knew, sickly and worshipful of Nimaiya, be a Zanpakutou possessing the real Oshiro's body? Not out of the question.

"You're a Zanpakutou," I breathed, lowering my voice to cover up the lack of actual awe in it. Didn't quite have the stupidity to admire a villain right now. "How?" Zangetsu hadn't been able to possess Ichigo's body indefinitely. Then again, he'd been trying to kill everyone and thus been stopped, and Oshiro was a schoolteacher, but still. Weird.

The Zanpakutou seemed happy to oblige me. "I heard you advocated for Byakuren to be left intact," he said in a voice as flat as his eyes. "So you have an idea of how much it hurts for a Zanpakutou to be broken." Gingerly, he drew the sword at his waist from its sheath. Only 'sword' didn't really apply here. 'Hilt with shards of metal attached to it in a mockery of a blade' was a hell of a lot more accurate. The whole construction was sickening to look at, pieces mismatched as though they were straining to get free of each other. I didn't try to touch it with my reiatsu. Vomiting tended to make one weak. "Fixable, of course, when the Shinigami applies the reiryoku and time necessary to fix what others have done to him. Not when the Shinigami consents to it. Not when he breaks you, over and over again, and forces you to fix yourself every time. Not when he hates his own soul."

I can't imagine why anyone would hate a murderous, controlling spirit, I thought, but kept the scared-animal look on my face. "Nobody should be hurt like that," I said to hide my disgust.

"He should've been," the Zanpakutou hissed, pacing across the metal-strewn floor. "He knew how much it hurt both of us. He wrecked this body!" The Zanpakutou raised a red-stained hand to his chest. "But he didn't listen. Never listened. Some self-righteous quest to destroy his demons. You fear me, Nariko-san. Your reiryoku is sealed, but I can see it. Because you liked the way I acted. You would've liked him too. Where do you think I took my inspiration from?"

"Is he still alive?" I asked, shifting position so I was kneeling. We'd learned in Zanjutsu how to strike from a specific kneeling position. Maybe I couldn't make a sword-strike, but I could get up a lot faster. Hopefully the Zanpakutou didn't know enough to recognize what I was doing. "I don't want you to give him back. Just... curious."

He made a choking sound that I guessed was laughter. "You like what I really am better? Doesn't that make you a traitor to your kind?"

"If I ever held allegiance to them, yes," I said, matching his flat tone. "I hear it when Zanpakutou speak to their Shinigami. Listening... it's obvious they aren't the paragons they pretend to be. Weak. Why shouldn't I support the limitless Zanpakutou?"

He stopped dead. "You know of that ability, yet you claim to be ordinary? You're lying about one of those, Nariko-san."

"Am I? Nimaiya knows every one of the asauchi and Yamamoto wields the strongest blade in Soul Society's history. They're the prodigies. I just have a... unique perspective," I said, keeping my eyes trained on his sword hand, still gripping the broken blade. You moron. You think I'm lying about that and not sympathizing with you?

The Zanpakutou turned, approaching me and kneeling so we were almost eye to eye. "You poor, ignorant girl," he rasped. "Nimaiya-sama can forge the asauchi, but he doesn't run the risk of turning each one to himself. Yamamoto can devastate the world with Ryuujin Jakka, but hear others' souls over the roar of his? No, never. You are of your soul in a way no other student of mine is. Which makes you the ideal candidate for the final stage of my process."

Shit. Got so caught up in debating the crazy Zanpakutou that I forgot about that. "You never explained what the process is," I stalled, wrapping a still hand carefully around a metal shard. Better weapon than nothing.

The Zanpakutou clicked his tongue. "No, I didn't. Simply put, I'll take your Zanpakutou and make it part of me. The asauchi haven't been enough, even over years. Blank. Holding allegiance, but not strongly. Confused. A blade receptive and half-formed, but not of you completely? It'll last me forever. And a prodigy's, too. Young souls are the best candidates, being so raw, but they have no flavor. I wonder what yours will taste like?"

"That'll kill me," I said, shifting grip on the metal.

"It won't," the Zanpakutou said. "It'll kill your presence inside my world, then kill your body. Entirely different."

Inner- Oh, fuck this. I'm not in the real world. No reiryoku, nobody to hear me screaming. Smart. I glanced down at my arm, muscles tensed to strike, and saw glowing marks swirling over it. Apparently they were the source of the light here. Seals, probably. Well, I'm well and truly fucked. How do you fight a spirit in its own soul world?

"You don't," the Zanpakutou said. "There's no need to struggle. I've got your Zanpakutou right here. You'll have to hold it while I take it, to have the connection to your soul. It'll be over quickly."

Now or never. "No, it won't!" I shouted, lunging to my feet and slashing out with the metal.

The Zanpakutou caught my strike effortlessly. "How foolish. You think I can't control part of my own world?" He squeezed and my arm exploded with pain. I shrieked, yanking away as the marks burned red.

"You can't control me!" I gasped, cradling my arm. "You stupid spirit. I'm not part of your world. You can't control me."

His expression hardened. "I can control everything else," he growled, and the world collapsed. Something struck my head. Then another something.

When I could think clearly again, warm, sticky liquid trickled down my head. I gasped for breath, ready to run, until I saw what surrounded me. Imbedded in the cracks between stone chunks that formed my prison, shards of metal were poised to cut me to ribbons. Only my hand was free, and even then limited in its motion by a small armory's worth of iron.

"You think you're the first to fight back?" the Zanpakutou snarled, form rippling until he no longer looked my teacher, but instead a warped combination of him with a suit of steel armor, accented by darker iron. Not in the armor, merged with it. "Stupid Shinigami! I wouldn't even need you if you couldn't listen!"

"Well, you do!" I howled, lightning fury the only barrier keeping me from complete terror. The world spun around me like a whirlpool. "What's to stop me from killing myself on this?"

"Your damn need to survive. The need your kind never respects in others!" He shrieked back, each word hell on my ears. An asauchi just like mine materialized in its hand. No, the asauchi was mine. I didn't know how I knew that, but it was.

"You're a murderer! You would kill me for my powers!" I yelled. "And you don't regret it! You're the exact person I told Shinju I wouldn't hesitate to kill! You bastard! You don't deserve to survive!"

He howled wordlessly, a sound echoed by tearing metal, but kept advancing. "I hate you! You rejected him and led him to form something he hated! Shinigami! You all deserve to die! Now take your blade and give me yourself!" He shoved the hilt into my hand roughly, and despite myself I gripped the thing like it was my lifeline.

"Goodbye, Hirako Nariko-san. Your wretched mind was the only one I ever enjoyed for a time." He wrapped a blood-stained hand around my neck and placed the other on my forehead, misshapen fingers on each temple and right between my eyes. The world blazed with tattoo-light again as the spirit opened its maw.

No! Not me! I refuse! He's been doing this unchecked for too long. I have to make the difference. I have to havetohavetohaveto! I will change the world!

Time slowed to a crawl. A statuesque woman, delicate features more traditionally Japanese than my own, stepped out from the shadows. If the spirit noticed her, he gave no indication. She glided towards us, kimono unstained and whole despite dragging over the broken-metal ground.

"Daoshi," she said, every word proper Tokyo-ben, lifting the sakkat that shaded her face. Silver fabric attached to the back hid the suggestion of dark hair. "You are better than this death. I am better than this thing. You will challenge me later. Now, we make the difference." She reached out a hand to me, wrapped in trailing indigo fabric, placed it on my sword. "Speak."

Words fell into my mind and out of my mouth. "Extinguish the infernal flames," I whispered, void filling with every word. Lightning fury? The real thing was surging through my veins. "Cleanse the unjust, roar through heaven, and strike down the moon. Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!"

The world exploded.

Laughter carried over the thundering waves and screaming lightning as if from a demented Valkyrie, come not to collect bodies but to leave them behind. Whoever it was, I didn't care. Rage and joy and belonging crashed through me like a tidal wave as blood and metal gave way to a winter storm. Nothing could beat me. Top of the food chain, fuckers! I shrieked in my head.

...oh. I'm laughing. And why shouldn't I? I win, you lose! Nyah!

When the hurricane cleared, no trace remained of Oshiro's cramped dungeon-world. We stood atop rocks, the Zanpakutou on a flat slab of granite while I balanced on top of stone clearly placed to mimic a mountain peak. A sloping rock stood between us as though trying to make peace.

Too bad. Despite the smooth white sand of a Zen garden raked around the rocks and temple I saw out of the corner of my eye, I wasn't in a mood to be fucking peaceful today.

"Maybe you control your world, but I control mine!" I snarled at the spirit in front of me. Human parts drenched and armor parts dented, he didn't look so formidable in the light of day. "Still want my power? Bring it!"

"How?!" He howled. With a shudder and the scream of metal on metal, his human parts twisted into armor to match the rest of his body. "The seals make Shinigami powerless!"

"But not Zanpakutou," my spirit's voice said, calm as it cut through the armored man's voice like a well-placed knife. She materialized, wraithlike, from the koi pond bordering the rock garden, approaching with the same eerie grace she'd shown in Oshiro's world. "Those marks seal one person, not the spirit bonded to them."

The armored man was done talking. I leaped off of my rock as he stamped his foot like a petulant child, a burst of blades exploding where I'd been a second before. A forest of metal sprouted around Arashi, as I'd decided to call her, who continued to advance, untouched by the weapons.

"Daoshi," Arashi intoned, face still set in an implacable, rice-powder-pale mask as I landed not-so-gracefully on the sand. "This is our world, not the lair of an usurping vampire. Any effect he has is what we allow him."

What we allow- Fuck yeah.

If the armor's helm could be said to have skin, it would've paled at the grin on my face.

"You wanted to be some kind of genius? The kind people remember?" I strode across the sand towards Arashi as I spoke. "Try 'forgotten in pieces beneath an ocean.'"

Arashi was far too dignified to laugh like me, but the whisper of her kimono told me as much as a huff from Shinji. "You ask a lot for an apprentice, daoshi," she said.

"You can deliver," I replied without a hint of doubt that it was true. "On three?"

"On three."

She drew a sword longer than a wakizashi, yet shorter than a katana, hilt wrapped in blue and sword guard a circle made of crescents. Not as poetic as Byakuren or as in-your-face as Zangetsu, but way cooler for all that. I wrapped my hand around the hilt beneath hers, once again engulfed in overlong sleeves. Together we raised the sword high above our heads.

"One," Arashi and I said in unison. The armored spirit stood frozen like the proverbial deer in headlights. "Two."

Right about then, the spirit finally realized we meant business. We let him get a few steps away before bringing the sword down and yanking.

The mountainside turned white with rushing water, frothing torrents barely clearing my head. The streamers of lightning riding the tempest made me very glad that it had. I couldn't see what happened when it met its target, but the raw scream of pain I heard was enough. The water crashed over the sand, to the very edge of the garden—and over.

For a long minute Arashi and I stood like that, sword held high as we stared at the water, vanishing from the sand as though it had never been.

The world shook, bluebird sky turning to night, and my mountain garden shattered.

"Nariko? Nariko!" A boy's voice, one I dimly registered as familiar. Thin, kinda awkward. Who did I know like that? "Nari- Gah!"

I jolted awake, eyes flying open. I sat up so fast I nearly clocked Aizen in the head. His dripping wet head.

A look around revealed a room that could've belonged to any dorm room, save for the layer of dust covering everything. Oh, and the copious amounts of dried blood. Less dry now, as it looked like someone had turned a fire hose on the place. Which made me acutely aware of how very dry I was. And the stench of burned something that might explain that.

"A-Aizen?" I said. Stopped, when it came out hoarse, like I hadn't used it for years. "Wha- Agh! Sorry. Aizen-san?"

I really had to ask that question, too. He looked like a different person, glasses gone and so pale he might as well have had no blood at all.

"We have to go," he gasped, forehead wrinkling like he was in physical pain. "Please-"

I nodded, grabbing a rotted bedpost and shoving myself to my feet

"Be mindful of me, daoshi." Arashi, finally as loud as other Zanpakutou. But how-? "Look down."

I looked.

Holy shit, tessen. Sure enough, my other hand was clenching a pair of war fans, plain indigo silk stretched between shining silver ribs that looked uncomfortably sharp. Great. Yet another way to cut my hands open.

The second I was up, Aizen was dragging me out of the room through a door reduced to splinters. As we went, I discovered a building much in the same style of the dorm room, if marginally less bloody. An old dormitory, I guessed. Probably didn't want to know why it wasn't in use anymore.

"H-how'd you find me?" I had the presence of mind to ask when we were in daylight again. Sweet, sweet daylight. I thought I'd never say this, but I love the day right now.

Aizen didn't answer for several minutes, evidently too focused on getting me as far away from that building as humanly possible.

"It doesn't matter," he answered finally. "You're safe. We need to find your brother before tears up campus looking for you. And before Oshiro comes back."

I shuddered, mind trying very hard not to remember the charcoal form that had been so, so close to me. If Aizen wasn't focusing on it, I wasn't. "He's dead. You don't- you don't come back from that."

"People can survive a lot." He said it flatly, not a hint of the syrupy tones I knew he'd eventually attain. "Don't. Take. Chances."

I swallowed hard. "That's- that's not what I mean. He wasn't Oshiro. He- I think he was Oshiro's Zanpakutou. Possessing him, or something like that. He tried to kill me in his soul world. Only- it didn't stick." I twitched the hand holding my tessen. "I think I got Shikai."

Aizen spared a slight smile for me. "At least one of you survived that untarnished. She's beautiful."

I tried for a grin and ended up with something that probably looked more like a minor facial seizure. "One of us has to be." Wait, had I said that? Or had someone with my voice said that? It was hard to say. Something else was definitely putting one foot in front of the other; I was way too tired to be doing that. Everything was going hot, and cold, and hot again.

Yet again, everything went white.

This time when I woke, I knew exactly where I was. The infirmary was really the only place to go after passing out.

"Nariko!" A slender body awkwardly wrapped around mine. I sniffed, breathing being the only action I had the energy for right about now, and didn't smell sandalwood. Shinji, then. The layered uniforms didn't always make it easy to tell. He held the hug for a few happy seconds before pulling away. I made a noise to make him come back—I was cold, dammit!—but Shinji ignored my pleas. "Ya moron! Ya just got me shown up by Aizen!"

A sniffing noise came from somewhere to my right. "You were the first to point out that Nariko-san doesn't skip class, Shinji-san. That counts for something."

He snorted. "Not enough if ya dragged her back all bloody. What the hell happened? Oshiro's dead, they're findin' a buncha the kids who disappeared's bodies, ya got Shikai...  Jeez, ya just had ta show me up!"

"Hirako-kun..." Shinju said plaintively. Was she on my right or left? Things were getting spinny again...

"Please step away from the patient," a soft female voice, clipped yet gentle in the way only a nurse had, said. Another face appeared above me and some dim emotion stirred in the abyss of fatigue filling me. I wasn't completely sure whether it was fear or awe. Could be either, given the face above me belonged to Unohana friggin' Retsu. I couldn't quite bring myself to swear. She'd know. I didn't know how she'd know, but she would. "I wouldn't want to be forced to remove unauthorized persons, even close friends and her brother."

Everyone kindly shut up. The part of me paying attention wondered if Nanase was there—Minoru I could imagine not saying anything, but Nanase had exactly no concept of silence. The part of me already drifting back into sleep—the dominant part—didn't particularly care.

"Now, Hirako Nariko-chan. Exactly how is it that you managed to disrupt your reiryoku so severely that the faculty at the Academy saw fit to send for me?" Her smile had the sweetness of anyone else's genuine smile; its rigidity was all that indicated otherwise.

"M' Zanpak'tou spirit an' I got really pissed off," I mumbled. Breathing enough to speak hurt. Screw Tokyo-ben and dignity right now. "We kinda... drowned Oshiro's Zanpak'tou spirit."

Unohana was quiet for a few moments. "That would be sufficient to explain it," she murmured at last. "A maturing soul is generally less receptive to the introduction of order than a fully developed one."

Shinji saw fit to pipe up right about then. "Erm, Captain Unohana? Ain't ya gonna ask how she got the thing anyway? Or why she drowned our teacher's soul?" He wilted at the look she gave him—a look I couldn't quite get worked up about, given that it was measuring rather than harsh. "If'n ya want her ta explain, I mean."

"Hirako Shinji-kun," Unohana said, folding her hands in front of her. "I would remind you not to attempt this in the future. Your sister's injuries are the only reason I tolerate it now."

"Yes'm."

She turned back to me. "But your brother raises a point that I think may be significant. Shikai is... very, very rarely achieved in your year." A particular piece on the age of souls vs. Zanpakutou development that I'd read probably would've said 'never,' but I didn't particularly want to quibble. Especially since memories seemed a little fuzzy right now. "Destroying another person's Zanpakutou is an equally rare achievement."

"'shiro wasn't there anymore," I managed. "His spirit implied that he hadn't been aroun' for a fair amount of time. That it... killed him when he tried ta destroy it." I closed my eyes for a couple seconds, seeing its nightmarish face caught between spirit and man again. I pried them open to avoid the temptation of falling asleep again. "It was psycho enough that I got that. It said that it kept killin' students with asauchi ta stay alive."

Unohana's elegant black brows furrowed. Damn, the manga didn't do her justice. "That would explain the worsening of Oshiro-sensei's health in the summer," she said, voice poised on the razor's edge between hard and quiet. "And how the state of his soul was resolved so very quickly in his time at Shin'ou, despite its severity."

"Na' Oshiro," I mumbled.

She turned steely blue eyes on me and I suddenly discovered how very, very cold the Academy could be in the summer. "For the purposes of our discussion, the being possessing Oshiro-sensei's body will be referred to as Oshiro-sensei himself. Is that clear, Hirako Nariko-chan?"

"Yes'm."

"Now. You say that you drowned Oshiro-sensei. I was under the impression, however, that such a thing was impossible in his own soul world," Unohana continued. "Please explain how such an event came about. I would hate, after all, to be informed that a problem had been dealt with only to have it resurface."

I squirmed, insofar as one could squirm lying on a bed. I hadn't figured that out either. "Uh... I don't think we were in his soul world. He was a Zanpak'tou spirit, so I think 'e used Kidou an' forced himself into mine. 'Cause I didn't have Shikai just then, it looked like his, an' when I got mine, it changed. When I did... I kinda made a flood, only there was lightnin', and it threw him off a cliff. I think the Kidou keepin' me there broke when he died."

Though they were already quiet, complete silence fell on my friends.

Unohana continued mercilessly. "Water and lightning, according to the current theories of elemental Zanpakutou, cannot be contained in one sword." The look on her face didn't say it was impossible, though. Actually, it looked more like a scientist with a particularly interesting specimen to dissect.

"Ask Aizen-han," I mumbled, blush staining my cheeks as I fell into the worst depths of Kansai-ben. "We were talkin' 'bout it an' I never thought it was impossible. Maybe that messed with her."

"Your spirit?" she asked, arching an elegant black brow.

"Yeah, her." A giggle trickled out of me at my own nonchalance and the floodgates opened. Everything was all nice and fuzzy and friendly... except for the huge green shimmery thing lurking behind Unohana. Whatever. "Like it weren't enough ta have all the Zanpak'tou yappin' at me, I get one more. Byakuren an' Engetsu an' Oshiro's an' Tennyou no Rai'arashi. That makes... five? Four, four. But five if Minazuki says anythin'. Maybe. One plus one plus one plus one plus one equals five, except when it doesn't." I giggled again. "An' then sometimes I think Shinji's is startin' ta get an idea of itself, only maybe that's him bein' dumb, 'cause Shinji's dumb."

This time the pause was practically tangible.

"Out," Unohana ordered, half-turning to catch my assembled friends in a gaze that I imagined made her seem very captainly indeed. "Including you, Hirako Shinji-kun."

When the last person had shut the door behind them, she turned back to me. Pale green light shone on her palm as Unohana reached out a hand to me. I shut my eyes as she laid it on my forehead and-

What the heck? What was wrong with me? This was Unohana friggin' Retsu here! Ex-Kenpachi and Terror of the Fourth! Nothing fuzzy and warm and friendly about it! And what had I been saying?! I shot up, ignoring the protests of muscles that wanted to rest for the next five years.

"Please don't strain yourself, Hirako-chan," Unohana said, turning a sapphire gaze on me that better suited a tiger. Or Yamamoto. It was that sort of guilty-until-proven-innocent look. "I only lifted that Kidou so that we might discuss your... statements."

State- Shit. "What did you do to me?" I burst out, feeling sick and scared and angry all at once. "That was supposed to be secret!"

Unohana lifted white-clad shoulders. "Standard procedure for healing patients with unknown injuries is to place a Kidou on them to lower inhibitions. Very delicate, as I'm sure you understand, and unfortunately limited to incapacitated patients." Otherwise the Onmitsukidou would use it, went unsaid. "Many members of the Eleventh would refuse to disclose the nature of their injuries otherwise."

I bit back a snarl. "I told you how I got hurt!" I said, scrunching my sheets in my hands to keep from lunging for Arashi, wherever she was.

"Yet you neglected to include the discovery of your... abilities," Unohana replied, clasping her hands in front of her so tightly I thought she was trying not to strangle me. "A key point." Which really sounded more like 'something that you could be thrown in prison for.'

I sighed. No point in getting angry at someone who could flatten me with a sidelong glance. "Yeah, because I didn't 'discover' them just now. I've been... hearing things since Yamada-senpai—Yamada Seinosuke—attacked me the second time. And I started hearing something like my Zanpakutou spirit shortly after we received asauchi." I couldn't help the hunch of my shoulders and set of my jaw. I hadn't fought off Oshiro just to get punished for a useless ability I couldn't help. "Everybody's good at something. I'm good at listening."

Unohana regarded me for a long moment before sighing. "Then you are unaware of the implications and history of abilities such as yours."

I glanced away. "I only figured out what was going on last night and Oshiro-sensei banned me from the library before that. I didn't have time to look it up."

Unohana's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then let me inform you. A sense of reiatsu is common to souls. Shinigami alone have the ability to focus this sense." She lifted a pale hand, a gauzy red ribbon materializing out of nowhere to wrap around it for an instant before dissolving.  "Shinigami with the ability to further focus their sense of reiatsu are uncommon. Your level of 'listening' ability, while too nebulous to truly compare to others', is unprecedented. You belong to a clan that deals in information and its concealment. I'm sure you don't require an explanation as to why an undetectable informant on military officers would be considered undesirable."

Had I said the room was warm? More like arctic-blizzard-cold. I glanced down at bloodless, still hands and gulped. "But... I don't want to be an informant. I'm not even on the Onmitsukidou track!"

Unohana shook her head, glossy black braid swinging like a pendulum with the motion. "You are a teenage girl, not yet finished your second decade, under the authority of a clan that has supplied the second-in-commands of the Patrol Corps for the past six centuries, scarcely begun training as a Shinigami. My unseated officers have more control over their actions than you have of your own." Translation: you don't get a say in any of that.

I laced my fingers together and dragged my eyes up to hers. "Captain Unohana-sama, I think you're overestimating my value to my clan. Shinji's the heir and the captain-to-be." I sighed. The room was getting spinny again. "I had to beg just to go here. They don't think enough of me to press me into that sort of service. And my ability doesn't have combat application anyway. I hear what the Zanpakutou say to their Shinigami, not the other way around. I don't have much range, I can't use it for tracking, and the most it would be is a distraction." I laid the facts out for her one by one. See, I'm not worth much, I thought desperately at her. I'm not even rebellious.

Everything lit up like a Christmas tree. I yelped, shutting my eyes tight against the brightness, but eyelids meant nothing to it. The light seared itself into my brain, brighter and brighter. A thousand people speaking in a thousand voices drowned out Unohana, surging louder and louder until I thought my skull would burst. My throat burned with screams I couldn't hear. Too much too much make it stop go away!

Silence and darkness. I cracked open watering eyes. The room flickered into view, with the addition of a car-sized Komodo dragon crouched behind an impassive Unohana.

And because the universe hated me, oblivion hit me like a ton of bricks for the third time in a row.

The period of time following that might've been a day, or a minute. I experienced it as a stream of moments, voices drifting in and out of hearing. Sometimes they were so sharp my eardrums nearly burst, other times they whispered like Arashi's waves. Images, textures, and smells occasionally made their appearance, but the world was too bright to form distinct shapes, the only textures were the prick of needles and the brush of fingers, and all I could smell was anesthetic. ink, and roast meat.

That last one was me, as it turned out. Kidou seals on the skin, while convenient, were painful, permanent, and insanely complex, needing Kidou to do the job well. Kidou being what it was, a process similar to branding worked the best.

I woke after a millennium and a second, concentrating all my strength into my eyelids to lift their mountainlike weight. The numbing effect of the anesthetic kept me too cold to panic when the only things I saw were a bunch of blurry blobs, but that too was resolved when one of them started making noise.

"Hirako-chan, your eyes should adjust momentarily. The effects of the seals take time to integrate into your system." That was... someone familiar's voice. Scary but polite. Sounded like flowers... Unohana. Who, incidentally, was correct: after a few seconds, the world swam into focus.

I blinked a couple times, marveling at how darkness came and went. My eyes felt heavy in a way that fatigue had nothing to do with. My ears were similar, only they felt like someone had pushed invisible earplugs into them.

"You've caused us a fair amount of trouble, girl," another woman's voice creaked. "The Kidou Corps isn't in the habit of coming out for brats like you." I let my head flop to the side and saw a woman who looked like she'd been carved out of a mountain, face a leathery mass of wrinkles, hair wispy and white, and clad in the ornate robes of the Grand Kidou Chief.

"Thanks," I croaked, throat for all the world a desert. "Kidou Corps Commander. Ma'am."

She sniffed. "Don't call me that. Anyone could lead today's idiots." She eyed me as though I was one of those idiots. "A full two days we've labored over you and the only good that's come out of it is the invention of new seals that'll likely never be approved anyway."

"Now, Xun-san," Unohana chided, "it's important to preserve the younger generation."

Xun waved away the statement. "And why is that? Empty heads, the lot of them, not a speck of knowledge drifting around in there even if they could focus for a second, let alone think for themselves. Mark my words, the second I'm gone the Corps will go downhill."

Good thing I'm not entering them, I thought, but kept my parched mouth shut.

Unohana's smile, evidently, hadn't changed in the two days I'd been out, or possibly ever. "I'm sure that someone will step up to take your place. The Tsukabishi boy looks promising, someday."

Xun waved that away too, turning and walking out of my field of vision. "An orphan fostered by a clan that talks with their fists and thinks with their royal jewels—and I don't mean just their wealth. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't end up with a cloth over his pate. If that's all, Captain, I'll be returning to the Archive, where I can do work that matters."

Unohana inclined her head, but said nothing. Looked like even centuries of practice at etiquette could only go so far for a person like Xun. When Xun was gone, Unohana turned and extended a hand to me. I took it and discovered rather abruptly that trying to sit up on my own wasn't necessary. Healer or no, Unohana was strong.

"If you'll walk around a bit, Hirako-chan," she said, "the movement should start the movement of your reiryoku again. I'm afraid Xun-san and I had to slow its pulse in order to place the seals upon you."

Interesting. So reiryoku had a flow like blood? I stood and began to shuffle around the room obediently. A wave of relief swamped me as I saw Arashi on a generic sword mounting, much like those some teachers mounted their own Zanpakutou on above their desks without the personalization those usually had.

Soon, I thought in the direction of electric potential in watery veils. I'm going to treat you with the respect you deserve.

Excellent pulsed from the sword. I spared a second to be sad about that, simply because having a connection to my Zanpakutou that was so strong I heard her like a corporeal person was cool. But the seals—which I was guessing blocked my abilities—were ultimately the better solution. Much more convenient, and I wouldn't be flagged as a potential traitor by the Gotei because of my abilities. I refused to call them powers, since that implied something that was actually useful.

As I walked in circles, my reiatsu sense sharpened—like listening between radio channels and then switching to a specific channel, the vague signals resolved themselves into information that actually made sense. By the time I'd walked eight or so circles, I felt human again.

"Captain Unohana-sama?" I asked. "What exactly do the seals do?"

Her lips twitched into what might have been a genuine smile. "Curious as your brother, yet more polite. How pleasant. There are many theories I could explain to you about the sort of sealing Xun-san and I used on you, but given your level of schooling I think that would confuse you more than help. The end result is, as I'm sure you've already suspected, that your sensitivity to Zanpakutou is substantially dulled. Not an easy task to perform without removing your sense of reiatsu altogether."

I couldn't help the frown that crossed my face. "So that's it? The nail that sticks up is hammered down?"

Unohana's brows drew together to mirror me. "As I was about to say, you can partially deactivate the seals if the situation requires it. The Captain-Commander would not want to restrict the capabilities of a promising Shinigami, after all. Touch them and apply a small amount of reiryoku and your abilities will be restored. Do so again with the intent of sealing them and the seals will activate. Xun-san was rather adamant that you be able to activate your sight of Zanpakutou spirits and your ability to hear them separately to limit the potential for distraction, so you may do that as well."

I raised my hands to where my skin felt the most raw, tentatively rubbing my ears and the area around my eyes. Ordinary, if tender skin—was there really anything there?

"In the interests of whatever match the Hirako may arrange, I applied a technique my division's members use to minimize scars," Unohana added. "Others may see the markings from certain angles and in certain lights, but the ink we used is white, so they should be unobtrusive."

And that answered that question. I sighed happily, letting my hands fall back to my sides. All fronts clear—classmates, whatever romantic prospects, if any, that would come, and my future coworkers. I couldn't imagine that the stigma of tattoos was entirely nonexistent here. Plus, it would've driven me up the wall to answer a thousand questions about the sudden ink on my skin. I mean, telling people that 'the Kidou Corps Commander and Captain of the Fourth put seals on me to control my quasi-psychic powers' probably would raise even more annoying questions.

I bowed from the waist. "Thank you for your efforts, Captain Unohana-sama. My ears and eyes appreciate them." I shuffled my feet. Abrasive or not, Xun had contributed, but she'd left, so should I...? "If you get a chance, please tell Chief Xun-sama that I extend my gratitude to her as well." One thing I'd learned when dealing with important people: flowery was the way to go.

Unohana nodded. "If I should see Xun-san, I will notify her of your gratitude. Now, if you would please collect your Zanpakutou, one of my unseated officers will escort you back to Shin'ou Academy. It wouldn't do for you to miss further classes."

I was at the door, Arashi thrust through my belt, when Unohana cleared her throat. Gah. Was there something else I needed to know about the superpowers that I was apparently the only one to not value? I half-turned, just in case she wanted to stab me. One could never be sure with an ex-Kenpachi.

"Oh, and Hirako-chan? Please take care not to let your abilities become known. The relevant teachers have been notified in the event that you have complications, but it would be a shame if the Onmitsukidou took an interest in you, wouldn't it?" Unohana's smile was distinctly sharp. "I couldn't predict how much influence I would have if your case came to their notice."

I gulped. Translation: don't use your powers or else. "Y-yes, Captain Unohana-sama."

Returning to Shin'ou was a remarkably boring journey. To my relief, I didn't see anyone important and the unseated officer—a middle-aged man, remaining hair pulled into a tight topknot—didn't stick around after we arrived at Shin'ou or try to talk to me on the way. Business as usual was back.

"And exactly what happened to you?!" Himura demanded, throwing up his hands. "No, wait, don't answer that. I'm sure I don't want to know." His eyes flicked over to Akane, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tried to pretend she wasn't listening.

Ah. So you were one of the teachers Unohana told. I smiled sheepishly. "I guess I have a talent for getting into trouble?" I laughed, the sound so high and nervous it didn't sound like mine. "At least I'm not banned from the library anymore."

Himura hesitated for a second—actually hesitated, really. I just about dropped dead of shock. After a second, he barked over his shoulder, "Choujuno! You're not needed today. Go back to your magic!"

"Sir!" She called back. Himura waited until she'd gathered up her knives and pins and flounced out before he spoke again, more quietly than I'd ever heard him.

"Sit down, Hirako. Seiza or otherwise, I don't care."

I knelt, folding myself into seiza. Himura didn't do quiet, and in my experience plausible deniability was easiest to maintain with a little formality in place.

"Sir?" I said, twisting my fingers in my obi.

He ignored me, walking to the edge of the room and taking a stance I'd never seen before, more relaxed than his usual. A little like the basic Shifting Moon stance, actually. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. What the actual fuck?

I watched him walk the perimeter in that stance, every movement completely smooth and centered. Better than I could ever hope to be. And stranger. Every movement carried the ghostly flicker of Kidou. Like- 

Like Shunkou, I realized. Proto-Shunkou, even. He mentioned using reiryoku to increase endurance... wasn't Shunkou similar?

Not important right now, I decided as I watched him. Half-consciously, my fingertips brushed just above my eyes. What did using Kidou do to a Zanpakutou spirit?

My hands fell into my lap again as he neared the place where he'd started. The incantation Himura had been chanting throughout, barely audible when he'd started, had grown to a kiai-like shout. One final step and the whole place lit up deep orange, sheets of fire rolling over every surface of the dojo. Himura turned, straightening, and the fire vanished, leaving only afterimages when I blinked.

Some time between blinks, he arrived in front of me, mirroring my seiza, albeit a little slower to allow for what I presumed were creaky knees.

"I thought Kidou incantations were in Japanese," I said, trying to redirect the conversation before Himura turned it into An Important Talk. I'd had that before, thank you.

He grunted. "I may be a Himura, but my father's all Korean. He taught me a few nonstandard Kidou before Hueco Mundo got him, scatter their sands." Himura swept a hand across the ground in a gesture I'd seen a thousand times but never quite understood until now. "A fair bit of Ordered Strength Hakuda, too. Makes good training for you."

I nodded, filing that away. It wasn't at all unheard of for men to go live with their wives' clans, or for children to be sent to live with the clan one parent had left if it was decided that they'd fit that clan better, but learning that Himura was half-Korean still surprised me, somehow.

Guess you don't know much about your teachers, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered. I shushed it, shivering. Himura was fine. I was fine. I was fine.

Himura caught it with a frown. "And that's why I wanted to talk to you." He sighed, placing his hands on his knees. "Hirako, I don't know if you realized this, but you killed a man. That-"

The world blurred out. You killed a man. I killed a man. I killed someone. Murderer. Murderermonsterwrong. That's me. I said I wouldn't hurt anyone but-

Breathe! Arashi screamed in my soul. The sky's going dark in here, daoshi. Tunnel vision helps no one!

I breathed, and saw the world blossom back into focus from pinpricks. Oxygen helps, I told myself, reaching for the harsh truth that panic had chased away. Breathe. And stop lying. Remember what you said to Shinju.

"I- I know," I whispered. "I knew I'd have to, eventually, just- not this soon. But he wasn't going to back down. He wasn't," I insisted. "He was a monster; I found him when I stumbled on a girl's body." And I didn't want to think about the hair sticky with blood, the cool skin with a fading pulse beneath. I didn't. But I did anyway. "I had to do it. I- I decided that a long time ago. That I can't be afraid to kill someone who's going to kill me. 'Cause I'm the better choice for staying alive." I offered Himura a shaking smile. "Right?"

He looked at me levelly. "Yeah. You think I want a blade-breaking freak of nature alive with a kid who could be a lieutenant dead? Hell no. It's sure as fuck hard to say, but it was a traitor. You don't leave scum like that alive when you've rooted them out."

I swallowed back bile that rose at hearing my future self described that way. "People call me a traitor," I said, fighting the rasp in my throat as emotion I couldn't afford to show choked me up.

"People are stupid as fuck," Himura said, making a sound that might've been a chuckle. "You just got rid of a monster by your own admission. From what I'm told, it was the closest thing you can be to a Hollow without a hole in your chest. That's pretty damn loyal to me. You're a good kid, Hirako. I'm not gonna make you question whether you did the right thing. You did. You took the only option you had and that monster won't kill any more of our students. Good in anyone's book." He took a deep breath. "I'm talking to you because I've seen good Shinigami whose only chink in the armor was that they couldn't kill. Not without breaking."

I bit a dry lip. "Ounabara-sensei said that any killing for Soul Society was good," I parroted back. Each word tasted like poison. But technically it wasn't a lie. I didn't think that. I couldn't. I was just quoting. "But... you're saying that you can be a good Shinigami and not want to kill."

Himura grunted. "Sure as hell can. No one should want to kill. Being a good Shinigami means knowing that you have to. Don't misunderstand me," he warned. "I'm not saying they were good Shinigami. Just that they were otherwise good people who happened to be Shinigami."

No! I shrieked. No! People aren't good! Not when this is the sort of society they produce! I stared at the planks of the floor. "Don't you ever wonder?" I asked, hoping beyond hope. Please. You have to pardon me. "Is killing for Soul Society is always right?"

Himura gave me a long, hard look. "I used to, when I was your age. Then I grew up and read some history. You think this place was always orderly? Before Central 46 and all that junk, Soul Society was chaos. The clans were at each others' throats. There was more blood than water flowing here. Even after the Gotei got established and the 46 started setting down laws, people fought it. People that were a hell of a lot more like that Zanpakutou thing than me and you. Those laws that you greenhorns call harsh saved us." He glanced down at calloused hands, turning them palm up. "There're always going to be questions in the back of your mind. And you have to tell them to shut up. Because maybe that one guy didn't have to die. Maybe this order didn't have to be followed, or that kid had an excuse for breaking the law. But the system is bigger than you and your conscience. It works because we all follow the law. We do what's right and send people on to the Living World when the balance demands it. And everybody else keeps on living their lives."

The world burned red. I yanked my reiatsu back beneath my skin to keep from exploding at him. You're wrong! screamed every part of me, save for the one part that couldn't decide if it wanted to sob or kill Himura. His reasons made too much sense, even if everything else was jarringly wrong. Even if Soul Society needed so much changing that my mind wanted to collapse imagining the scope of it all.

"I understand," I said, voice far too confident to my ears and words far too honest to my brain. "Thank you."

Himura nodded. "You're promising, Hirako, even if you'd rather study Hakuda styles than practice them. It's a bit early to have this talk, but do you know what division you'll go into? I won't be offended if you don't choose the Fifth," he added when I hesitated.

I laced my fingers together. "The Ninth or Twelfth, I think," I said.

Himura nodded again. "You'd better be prepared for a captain with even more of a stick up his ass than me," he warned. "They've got a tradition of that, the Ninth. Twelfth's more of a mixed bag—purpose changes with every captain. Captain Than Sein's got them doing all kinds of stuff in the Living World these days. If he's still around when you've graduated, might fit you well. Why those?"

I shrugged. "Rukongai needs order like the Ninth brings," I said. "And security sounds like a pretty good problem to put my mind to. The Twelfth?" I shrugged helplessly. "I kinda liked their flower's symbolism?"

This time Himura's laugh sounded slightly less like choking than it had before. "Here I think you've got a brain in your head and then you go and say shit like that." He shook his head.

"You sound like Xun-sama," I said immediately. A little less abrasive, granted, but he did.

"Xun-sama?" Himura frowned, expression clearing as he placed the name. "Oh, the Kidou Corps Commander? Forgot you met her. She's supposed to be somethin', alright." He leaned forward. "Hey, Captain Unohana told me you could see Zanpakutou spirits. Let's see. I won't rat you out."

I swallowed hard. Was this a test of character? Did I say yes or no? "I mean, I said I wouldn't," I began.

Himura shook his head, cutting me off. "I'm serious, brat. I want to see if you're the real deal."

I sighed, but raised my hands to my face anyway. A spark of reiryoku sprang to my fingers and when I opened my eyes again, the world was... less bright than I'd expected, actually. It was like I was seeing everything through dark sunglasses. Except Himura.

He glinted with tiger-orange light, stabbing out into space and flickering over his skin. What was more interesting, though, was the large lion-dog crouched beside him, curly red-gold fur rippling like fire caught in a draft. I tapped my right fist to the opposite palm in a student-to-teacher bow, just in case he could affect me. As my efforts to not get noticed by the universe had failed, I decided not to chance it.

"A lion-dog," I said. "Dark reddish-gold." A description from a story-book flickered back into my mind, and I grinned. "Komainu, I think the right word is."

Himura nodded. "Put- put the seal back, Hirako," he ordered, oddly vehement for a simple request.

A brush of my fingers over my eyes again and the world wobbled back to its normal appearance. "What?" I asked.

Himura shifted uncomfortably. "Not your eyes I saw just now," he said. "Not a great deal different, just- unnerving to see them change. What color were they as a kid?"

I shrugged. "Brown like anyone else's, I bet. They were different?"

"Not one color or the next," he said. "Bit of green, blue, brown, grey."

Ah. That was much more comforting to hear than some unnatural color. I'd been hoping to avoid purple. Hazel was my normal eye color, actually, but no pair was alike. Mine usually leaned towards brown. "The word you're looking for is hazel," I replied. "Point is, was I right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, right on. Damn good javelin when he's released."

Melee-type, most likely. Or knowing how underhanded Himura was, something that looked like melee but exploded when he threw it.

"And you have one of your own," Himura said, nodding over at Arashi on her rack by the door. Poor thing looked like it'd held so many Zanpakutou that it would collapse the next time someone set their sword there. "Techniques?"

I shook my head, giving him the Cheshire Cat grin my family did so well. "I wouldn't tell you even if I had some," I replied. "That's just stupid."

He frowned. "Zanpakutou give a technique at the beginning of training—otherwise it wouldn't be training. You have to have one."

I shrugged, seeing an opportunity to put my silly facade into action. "Not me, I guess!" I chirped, smiling sheepishly. "Actually, we were kinda so focused on not dying that she said I'd have to earn her later."

Himura sighed, massaging his temples. "Then get over to the registration building, you idiot girl! They'll have somewhere you can learn! Lesson over!"

I sighed back. "Fine, fine. I'll get to that after I check in with Shinji. He's probably going nuts."

"As long as you get around to it at all," Himura said, getting to his feet. I followed his lead, wincing at the prickle of feet about to fall asleep. "I wanna be able to point to an official document and say one of my students had the record for the earliest Zanpakutou ever."

I blushed, traipsing over to my bundle of stuff and collecting it. As I thrust Arashi through my obi and stepped out the door, I called back, "I'm no one's trophy, sensei!"

His laugh followed me all the way down the hall.

"Nariko!"

"Nari-nee!"

"Hirako-chan!

"Nariko-san!"

I got the last one twice, actually, once from Aizen and once from Minoru. At least, I thought it was Minoru. Couldn't quite tell while being squished between Shinju and Shinji.

"Gak! Air!" I squeaked when I could catch a breath that didn't smell like sandalwood or teenage boy. "Kinda need that!"

They stepped away, leaving me to gasp dramatically while I tried to compose responses to the inevitable questions.

"So what's this I hear about ya gettin' Shikai and upstagin' me?" Shinji demanded. Ah, yes, there was the bluntness of the Hirako men I'd missed. Somehow. "Lemme see!"

I drew Arashi from her sheath obediently, holding her in a standard kendo pose. "Thoughts?" I said.

All my friends crowded around this time, peering at my sword.

"Not long enough for a katana or short enough for a wakizashi," Aizen observed, tilting his head birdlike at me. "I thought it was a pair of tessen, not a chiisgatana."

I thought I'd left the delicious sensation of learning a new word behind when I'd finally become fluent in Japanese. Clearly I was wrong. "That's her released form," I said, putting special emphasis on the pronoun so I didn't have Arashi nagging me to stick up for her. "At least, I think so. Technically I don't have Shikai yet since she didn't have time to give me a technique."

Shinji crowed with laughter. "Ha, see there," he told everyone else. "Told ya I could catch up!"

I turned my best sickly-sweet smile on him as I sheathed Arashi. "Not really. I'm heading over to get her registered after this. Himura-sensei said they've got rooms for people who know they're close and don't want to wreck their bedrooms."

His face dropped so fast it was almost comical. "Aww, c'mon!" Shinji considered for a second before his smug smile reappeared. "Well, it'll only be a little bit longer 'til I get one! An' I won't have a girly weapon!"

My smile widened into smug smirk territory. "Sorry. Reason I'm doing that today is that Himura-sensei wants to brag about having the youngest student to get Shikai." I savored the shock on their faces, letting a little pause hang there before I added, "Ever."

"...maybe I should study more," Nanase managed. My eyes locked on him, slight frown crossing my face. Seeing Nanase reminded me that he was my current biggest problem to straighten out, Momohiko being a lesser concern if I knew how well the rumor mill worked here. The story of my confrontation with Oshiro would've spread across campus before even one of the days I'd been missing had passed. Nanase beamed at me, eyes crinkled practically to slits with how wide his smile was. He looks less like a kicked puppy than he used to, I noted affectionately. "I mean, now the standard's so high! The Gotei'll never let me in if I don't have something to recommend me!"

I grinned. "You'll be fine, Nanase-kun—can I call you that?" At his nod, I continued, "Gotei'll take just about everyone, I hear. I mean, you might be unseated, but still."

"Yeah, yeah, enough about the tagalong, what about ya, Narin?" Shinji interrupted. I frowned sharply at him. Dammit, Shinji, I'm trying to get close to Nanase! Your paranoia can come later! "Oshiro didn't hurt ya? Why'd Unohana grab ya? Is that ink on yer face?"

"I'm fine, no, not allowed to tell you, and ditto," I said wearily. "Can we get back to something that's actually interesting?"

Shinju nudged me. "Oh, come on. You can spare some time to let your little brother fuss over you, you know?"

No, you can't, daoshi, Arashi argued. We have to know!

I suppressed a giggle at the lightning zing of curiosity in her voice. Shinju's right, I replied. My relationship with her and with Shinji is more important than finding out what Nanase's hiding right now. And before you argue, yes, every interaction counts.

Disappointment rolled back to me like muddy water, but there was grudging understanding mixed in with it. No problems with my Zanpakutou just yet, thankfully.

"Fine, fine," I said aloud. "It's complicated, but Captain Unohana-sama put seals on my face. I'm not completely sure what they do or how they work, but she thought they were necessary." I shrugged, as if to say, 'Who would argue with Unohana?' and hoped they took that for an answer.

"Ya ain't tellin' the full story," Minoru observed, narrowed brown eyes shaded by unkempt hair.

Genius. I rolled my eyes at him. "And like I said, I'm not allowed to tell you on pain of onmitsu."

Shinju's eyebrows flew up. "Oh, that's not good." I refrained from saying 'no shit.' "Can't you get your family to intervene?"

I shook my head. "Wish I could, but that'd do more harm than good. Don't suppose yours has any sway there?" I said half-heartedly. The chance of that wasn't too likely, since the Shihouin had something of a monopoly on information and espionage, but all of the Great Noble Houses had some way of keeping tabs on their rivals.

She bit her lip. "None. Isn't there anything we can do?" Shinju directed that question at Shinji, which made a bit of sense. Odds were he'd have more knowledge about our clan capabilities than me.

Shinji shrugged, tilting his head back to let the sun gild it. "Sounds like as long as Narin doesn't mess with whatever the seals do she'll be fine. Better protection than anything Dad could give her."

I smiled. Second tenet of the Hirako: don't waste energy on a solution when you can avoid creating a problem. "Yeah, makes sense enough." I took a seat in a patch of shade and patted the pollen-smeared stone beside me. "Have you fussed enough now? I want to know what I've missed."

Taking seats of their own, my friends were happy to spill. My Reiryoku Manipulation teacher had finally gotten together with the First's Twentieth Seat who'd been sneaking around campus with her ever since school had started. The Shiba Clan Head had stormed onto campus and ripped Isshin a new one over money issues. Classwork had been all but suspended with Oshiro's death, which had spawned more rumors than there were students. Momohiko, most interestingly, had actually shut up. Shinji's smug smile at that bit of information told me everything I needed to know about his involvement there.

"Nobles," Minoru muttered, but there was no bite to his words. "I swear I'd go right outta my head if I had to learn all those ceremonies and ranks and whatnot."

"I imagine you'll have to learn those anyway," Aizen observed, "with so many nobles being in the Gotei."

Nanase made a face. "Don't remind me," he groaned, flopping backwards onto some tree roots and immediately sitting bolt upright again when a particularly gnarly one dug into his back. I giggled. "You haven't heard anything yet. There're some kids in my Zanjutsu class who are already talking about cousins who can get a spot in this division or that division. Drives me nuts."

"It drives everyone nuts," Shinju said, "but we're just used to it." She twirled a lock of ashen hair around her finger. "My brother started telling me whose palms he'd have to grease to get me a seat in the Tenth before I even enrolled. Our parents scolded him so much for that." Her mouth turned briefly downward, as if she was reliving the argument. Shinju shrugged, smiling again. "That's life."

Eventually I did make it over to the registration building, no thanks to Himura. Directions would've been nice.

"Are you lost?" The woman at the front desk asked, peering down at me over an unnecessarily tall desk. "Or waiting for a friend, perhaps?"

I shook my head, sliding Arashi out of my obi. "It's a two-part trial," I explained, holding up Arashi for her to see. "Himura Kyou-sensei said I should come here."

She raised an eyebrow at the first part and sighed at the second. "I'll assume Himura-san knows what he's doing then. This isn't at all usual. Lisa!" She called over her shoulder.

"I'm coming, Keiko-soba!" A familiar no-nonsense voice called from one of the back rooms. Dammit, I thought as its owner appeared, twirling a scroll like a baton.

Lisa, out of all the future Visoreds, had changed the least over the years. Blue-green eyes appraised me coolly from behind familiar red-rimmed glasses for a second before she glanced at the woman I presumed was her aunt. "What, did she get sentenced here too? i thought first-year delinquents got hit with safer stuff."

"I'm not a delinquent!" I protested before I could remember to keep sizing her up.

Lisa tossed her head, ink-black braid lashing like an aggravated cat's tail. "Not what I heard, but suit yourself."

The lack of malice in her voice didn't make the statement sting any less, but I didn't get the chance to say anything as Keiko intervened.

"She's... apparently here to achieve and register her Shikai." Keiko cast a doubtful look at Arashi again, rather stupidly, I thought. What else would I be doing with her? "Take her to one of the rooms and I'll let you leave early for the day."

Lisa nodded sharply and turned on her heel, leaving me to follow. I suspected she wouldn't care if I didn't. Regardless, I did, so I trotted after her.

"So, got an inkling?" she asked, maintaining the same blasé tone. "Of what her name is?"

"Tennyou no Rai'arashi," I replied, enjoying the surprised twitch of her shoulders. "I did tell the woman at the desk that it was a two-part trial."

"Good for you," Lisa said after a second. I wondered where her own Zanpakutou was. As I recalled it was some kind of humongous polearm. "Alright, let's use this one." We stopped at a training room best described as spartan. As in, it had a few small, square windows cut into the wall—which, come to think of it, was incredibly weird to see after getting used to sliding screen walls—and a zabuton cushion in the middle and nothing else. No, that wasn't quite right. A nodachi lay by the cushion, half-sheathed. Lisa strode over, retrieved what I supposed was her Zanpakutou, and walked back over to me.

"Sorry. Keiko-soba lets me do jinzen in here when the place is slow. Usually is. Try not to blow yourself up." With that valuable wisdom dispensed, Lisa brushed past me and left, still twirling her scroll.

I stood there at the threshold for a second, butterflies beginning in my stomach. Stupid as it was, I couldn't get over the fact that in front of me was a milestone. All I had to do to reach it was walk in.

Arashi made a sound that was too polite to be called a snort. You worry too much, daoshi. Now begin before I decide you are too delicate for me.

Delicate? Me? Ha. Still, they were the words I needed. I entered the room fully, shutting the door behind me just in case achieving Shikai brought a geyser again. Aizen hadn't seemed terribly happy to be soaked and I doubted anyone else would be.

I settled onto the cushion, deliberately delaying by folding my legs so my feet were soles-up on my thighs. Drawing Arashi, I laid her sheath in front of me and rested her across my lap. I put my hands on the blade, ready to call reiryoku to my hands like I had so many times before with Oshiro-

I swallowed hard, hot guilt displacing bubbly anticipation in my chest. I thought I'd long ago accepted the knowledge that as a Shinigami I'd have to kill. I'd said it to Oshiro and Shinju and been so sure. Really, truly thinking about it? My past self would've been sick. My present self felt a distant regret, the sort one would have for replacing a beloved but broken toy.

Arashi, am I damned? I asked.

The sensation of hesitation came before she answered. If you are damned, then I am with you, daoshi.

I didn't mean that, I snapped. Would He- did I- was it right? I scrabbled for long-unused tenets, for a faith in a God I was no longer sure existed, for anything that could justify or condemn me beyond a warped society.

Hesitation again, but gentler. I believe so, daoshi. You sought to protect and save the lives of others. And if you still worry, I do not have to agree with you. That is the truth as I know it.

I knew that voice, mincing and unfailingly precise, if hesitant, with every word as it tried to present something complex simply. Arashi was mine for sure.

I shut my eyes and dove into the lightning-well inside.

There was no sensation of transition, of numbness or static or anything like that. I closed my eyes on a plain room and opened them to see a slightly less spartan temple, simple as that.

"I thought you'd change the world," I said aloud, assuming Arashi could hear me despite being nowhere in sight, "since you want to give me the test before real Shikai."

A fluttering sound came from behind me and I turned to see my Zanpakutou, every bit as regal as she had been against Oshiro. Although maybe I needed to check my belongings for rabbits' feet and four-leaf clovers, since it appeared that I had an inordinate tendency to encounter beautiful women. At least this one was beautiful in a more abstract way, like the moon on water, or a forest fire—remote and primal.

I frowned. "You're dressed differently," I said.

"I am dressed the same as ever," she replied. "I'm showing myself differently."

Ah, there was my daily dose of cryptic. The simple deep blue kimono she'd worn had been replaced by a five-tone chuufurisode, long sleeves falling to her knees. No better, its hem brushed the ground. The 'background' was now indigo, patterned with white and slightly lighter blue waves. Ethereal silver clouds shimmered above the waves, metallic gold thread forking down to imitate lightning. Even the maru obi she wore used those colors, thin gold and silver stripes on blue with a white obi cord. It was a dramatic kimono, the kind I'd always admired from afar but would never be caught dead wearing.

Some aspects had remained constant, I noted. Her chiisagatana hung at her side, tied tightly with a white cord. The wide sakkat still graced Arashi's head, opaque silver fabric hiding her hair like a curtain. White rice powder still made her face an unreadable ivory mask—by design, I suspected.

"Are you done admiring what your soul has produced?" Arashi's tone was wry. "We have a task before us."

That one sentence brought me firmly back to earth. I nodded sharply. "Let's do it."

Arashi drew her sealed form. The metal fractured, smoothed, and darkened into war fans. Taking one for herself, Arashi held out the other to me. I took it, flicking it open in front of my face unthinkingly.

Her eyes crinkled. "You carry out their intended function without even realizing, daoshi. Tell me, if you can, what a fan does."

I blinked. "It deflects, parries, cuts, clubs, signals troops, keeps you cool... what?"

She shook her head. Though I couldn't see much of her face, I could read exasperation in the lines of Arashi's body. She began to circle me, geta clicking on the floor. I matched her, crossing my steps carefully so I didn't ruin the moment by falling. "Perhaps you've spent so much time preparing for conflict that you've forgotten the arts of peace. True, a fan may deflect a strike, but it can also help you to avoid an uncomfortable question. It may accent a well-worded retort, or signal your mood, availability, interests... You are allowed to be a person before you are a tool, daoshi. The crimson girl is not the only one who can wear ornaments. The flower-shadow maiden is not the only one who can take time to grow up instead of rushing ahead." Arashi paused. "The true liar should not be the only one to love."

I nearly tripped over my own feet in spite of my caution. "Are you trying to get me to be girly?" I sputtered. "Sorry, but that's not me! I know what's coming! I can't just- just relax! What if they come early? Or I'm not strong enough? What if they win because I didn't train hard enough?"

Her fan fluttered. "You are as feminine as you need to be, daoshi. But did you listen to a word you just said? You think you are the only one responsible for the fate of the world and you aren't. You aren't good enough to be."

My hand froze, no longer rippling the fan. I'm not good enough. My soul doesn't think I'm good enough. Who would want me? I stared at Arashi, whose dark eyes showed no sign of mischief.

Focus. Focus, you good-for-nothing piece of shit. This is a problem. Solve it. She wants you to deflect? Deflect.

"And?" I said, forcing loftiness into my voice. "I'm here to grow stronger. That's what's important."

Her fan snapped shut. "Stupid, stupid girl," she said softly. "I tell you you can't be the only one to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and you ask how to manage the burden. Daoshi, you cannot. This is a society that has lain in its filth for millennia and you want to scour it clean with only your hands. Do that and you will be forced to take measures that leave your hands covered in the same filth."

"It doesn't matter!" I yelled, voice pitching high and whiny like the little girl she seemed to think I was. "I don't matter the way they do! This- this place is rotten," I said my voice cracking as it quieted. "If I have to ruin myself so everybody else can live better, that's what has to happen. 'It can't be helped,'" I quoted the often-heard saying. "People are composed of many individuals. If one of them chooses to be hurt so the rest can be happy... isn't that good? Isn't that right?"

"No," Arashi said, expression cool, tone blunt. "You may make your choice to do right, but that doesn't make it the right choice. Perhaps you're right, daoshi. Perhaps you and I don't matter. Perhaps we are a tool to accomplish an honorable end. But we can be used another way. When I said that you would dirty your hands if you tried to clean this place alone, I did not mean that you must not kill, or strike preemptively, or follow the system to reach a place where you can change things. They are necessary. But so are you."

Arashi came to a halt. I stopped too, warily. Was this where we fought for her power?

No. All at once the fan vanished from my hand and reappeared in hers. Arashi snapped both tessen open, silver beads blossoming on the silk, and with a flick of her wrists, fog filled the room.

When the fog cleared, I stood in the Zen garden from before, Arashi nowhere in sight. Fluttering came from behind me and I turned to see her once again. Arashi reached up, removing her sakkat, sleeves dissolving into mist and skirt flowing into something more like a loincloth. 

Long, iridescent black feathers now shimmered along winglike arms, hands tipped with talons, only slightly shorter on crane-like legs. Not geta, I realized. Claws. Even the shadow of hair I'd seen beneath the sakkat was a mane of coal-black feathers.

Harpy, whispered a girl steeped in myths of toga-clad gods and proud, princely heroes.

Tennyo, corrected the part of me that had soaked up tales of faceless women and dragons of water instead of fire. Beautiful.

And that was what vaguely unnerved me, not her appearance: the fact that feathers and talons were so much more natural than skin and nails. I'd been walking on a battlefield without armor and weapons before. Something within me settled. Before the seals Arashi had filled me to the bursting point, barrier between Zanpakutou and Shinigami tenuous at best. Afterwards it'd felt as though she'd found a gap I hadn't known existed and filled it, but parts still grated. I breathed in cool, fresh air and exhaled contentedly. Now she fit exactly as she should.

"We're a chimera," Arashi said, done with letting me gape. "Not of this world, but a part of it nonetheless. To be true, we have to deceive. We manipulate others to keep them free. We fight for peace, do evil for good, hurt to heal." Her feathers rippled, rainbows shimmering across their darkness. "You know that. And yet," she said, crossing the distance between us in a few long strides, "you fail to grasp the two essential points." Arashi held up a curved talon. "The first is that our knowledge of weakness gives us strength. You have been weak, human, powerless. You are still a raindrop compared to the oceans of the captains. And so we can become strong, because we know what we need to be. Our rain warns them of the storm, and if they don't listen? We change them in a way they can't understand." She held up another claw. "The second is that we aren't alone. The sun evaporates the sea, the pearl steals its grit, the spear pollutes it with its children's blood, the seaweed chokes its flow. We have allies. You know this, have planned for this—don't try to get out of it."

I sagged, all the strength taken out of me by her words. "But there's so much to do," I whispered. "And they don't know."

She tilted my chin up with a single claw that was exactly as sharp as it looked—which was to say, extraordinarily. "They managed without you the first time, daoshi," Arashi scolded. "You will improve this world, but it does not hinge on you. They need you, yes, but it will go on without you, as it has for centuries."

I half-sobbed, half-laughed. "That shouldn't be as comforting as it is."

She smiled thinly. "To anyone else it wouldn't be. To you, silly girl, it is. Now, we take a step towards that peace."

Two fans condensed from a tendril of mist in front of me. I knelt at her pointed look and picked them up, flicking each open to match her.

"First things first, daoshi," Arashi said, all at once brisk as Himura. "We will work harder than Himura will ever push you."

That was all the warning I got before she lunged, front fan snapping closed as she brought it down in a classic overhead strike. I dodged purely on instinct, leaning back and letting my feet catch up just fast enough to leap away from her follow-up slash with the back fan.

Narrow, closed, high, front-weighted stance, I noted frantically, landing on top of the middle rock. Unexposed, unstable, fast, aggressive. Best bet? Run. Strategically. My eyes flicked back to Arashi, only to find nothing there. Dammit.

She reappeared above me, leading again with a closed-fan strike. I caught the whisper of gold across her open fan a split second before the stench of ozone hit me. I slammed my wrists into hers in an X block. Basic weapons training. My mind stalled for a second as I realized that with my hands occupied I couldn't follow through with the rest of the technique.

Arashi took that opening, twisting and slashing her open fan across my kosode. I shrieked, more in surprise than pain, as its razor edge tore through to my sarashi. I snapped my front fan open and swung at her—the motion was similar enough to an eclipse hand strike that I got good power out of it. I missed, naturally, failing to account for the fact that bird legs meant she didn't stand and move like me.

But Arashi didn't account for the fact that my eyes were naturally drawn to her legs, making her attempted kick telegraphed as hell. I jumped off the rock before she could connect, landing on the gravel with a faint thrill of relief. Arashi followed me, shaking her fans open, The gold pattern had disappeared, as had the buzz of electricity. Good. I couldn't help noticing the awkward way she landed, claws not quite gripping the pebbles. Inspiration hit me like a bolt of lightning, observations slotting into place into my earlier half-assed plan.

This time when she flew at me, fans a maelstrom of blue silk and silver edges, I moved. It was easier now, clad in the armor of a good if not great plan and getting the hang of my tessen, to shut my fans and use them like tantou. I'd never dual-wielded tantou, but the length and weight was similar enough that I could pretend.

"Fight, daoshi!" Arashi shouted, apparently not at all exhausted by her onslaught. I ground my teeth to keep from letting her knock the tessen out of my hands. "You get from me the power you deserve! Lose and you get nothing!"

Fire flared in my chest, tearing out of me as a screech as I snapped my fans open and whirled the same way I had for a thousand spinning kicks. The first fan failed, blocked by a casual chicken-wrist block, but the second got through. The fabric was too dark to see clearly, but the telltale sound of tearing silk declared my success.

"Second blood," I panted, fighting the urge to stop and laugh at her expression, eyes wide and lips forming a delicate O of surprise. She looked like one of the old paintings Shinji and I loved to mock.

The wind went out of me as she slammed a closed fan into my side like a club. Wheezing, I staggered back, flicking my fans shut as Arashi resumed her assault with the fury of her namesake. The world narrowed to a tunnel, her fans the only things I could see at its end. I would've liked to be in the box in my head that i went to during kata performances in class, but instead I was in the driver's seat completely. Blockblockstepblockblockblockstepstep in rapid sequence.

Straw sandals slid on wet gravel and I was scrambling upright, dripping wet. Something cold and scaly slipped past my ankle. Koi? I hoped so. The shock of the water had made the tunnels retreat, at any rate.

Arashi clicked over the gravel, feather-hair flattened in... disappointment? Anger? I couldn't tell. "Lightning doesn't wait. It strikes," she said, mincing towards me. "Water, too, takes any opportunity to advance. If you do neither, you fail. Another day, daoshi." Gold shimmered across her open fan. Arashi stepped forwards and swung down-

Now! I lunged forwards, wrapping my hands in her collar, and heaved. Arashi flailed for a second, just long enough for me to hurl myself out of the pond.

Belly-down on the gravel, I didn't directly see what happened when electrified fans met water. The deafening crack from behind me, as well as the white blaze of light that painted my shadow briefly on the stone, told me enough, though. I lay there for a moment longer before struggling to my feet, ribs aching. I turned, both curious to see what had happened to Arashi and dreading the sight.

The truth wasn't as spectacularly horrible as I'd expected. Arashi was climbing to her feet, clothes and body repairing themselves rapidly as I watched. Even her tessen, scorched to metal ribs and tattered silk—which reeked—mended before my eyes.

"My ears are ringing!" I said before she could rip me a new one. "Can't hear you!"

Arashi shrugged, an interesting movement given the way the light played off her feathers. She flicked her fans shut and brought them together, ribs elongating and silk rippling until I was looking at her sealed form again. As soon as she sheathed it, the ringing disappeared and my tessen evaporated.

"No excuse now," Arashi said, as fake-pleasant as I liked to be with Momohiko. "Well done, daoshi."

I blinked. I couldn't have heard her right. No one got electrocuted and congratulated the person who'd done it. "Uh, what?"

"You heard me," Arashi said, lifting black brows. "Your plan to deceive your enemies will come along well if that performance was any indication. I was convinced that you were too scared to fight with an unfamiliar weapon."

I sighed in relief, smiling. "Well, I didn't use them- you-" I stopped, looking at her helplessly.

"'Them' will work fine for our purposes," Arashi provided. "Continue."

"I didn't use them all that much," I said. "But once I got used to them, the motion's a little like an eclipse hand strike, and they have a weight like tantou." I grinned. "Keeping that in mind, it was easier for me to use another weapon: the environment. Er, are the koi okay?"

Arashi's lips twitched, though she was too dignified to smile at that. "They belong to your soul, daoshi. They can withstand a little electrocution. How did you plan that?"

"I bought time at first, obviously. My first plan was to run until I had a better plan," I explained. "Then I saw how you walked—no offense—and realized that I had a better footing. I'd noticed the pond before, so it was easy to figure out that water would make the gravel even more slippery. And water and lightning don't mix well. All I had to do was get you near it." I shrugged. "Besides, I figured water would weigh down feathers."

"They're waterproof," Arashi informed me. She lifted a hand and water streamed out of the pond, wrapping around her. Instead of soaking her, it darkened into fabric, reforming her sleeves and skirt, and paled and solidified into her sakkat. The water dripping down from its straw surface shimmered into silver fabric again. "Other than that, you think better on your feet than I thought. We'll have to work on your technique, of course, but you did well for your first time. For your first time," she repeated, giving me a pointed look like she expected me to declare myself master of my Zanpakutou right then and there.

"I understand," I said, smile fading. Time to be serious. I folded my hands in front of me. "Thanks for the lesson," I said, inclining my head. It never hurt to be respectful to one's teachers.

Arashi returned my slight bow. "Do you understand? We are water, aggression and change. We seem to move through life by others' grace, when in reality everything would fall apart without us. Destruction and life in the same being. And when we must, we are constant. But we are also lightning, potential waiting, then realized. Brilliant, unmistakable, more powerful when put to use than uncontrolled." She paused to straighten her chuufurisode. "We love strangely, freely, warmly, like a summer storm. But as you saw today, one wrong move and we can destroy ourselves and those close to us. Freedom and caution together."

I smiled slightly, hiding the worry that welled up in me. I didn't like to think of myself as self-destructive, but... I'd resolved to befriend Aizen. I'd decided to take Hiyori's place, knowing what would happen to me. Heck, being a Shinigami could be considered self-destructive. "A chimera," I said. "I didn't realize I was so complicated."

"Everyone's complicated," she replied. "I simply have the privilege of picking you apart."

I laughed, a loud sound that clashed deeply with my mountain temple world. Her words weren't particularly funny, but it felt good to laugh like a real person, not the way I did to be polite or express ladylike amusement. I tilted my head back, body shaking as I laughed until my sides hurt. As my laughter began to fade, I noticed a quiet giggling coming from a certain Zanpakutou's direction.

Arashi sat there with a long sleeve covering her mouth, dark eyes crinkled. I had to confess that her laugh annoyed me, not because it was ugly but because it sounded exactly like I would expect a female Momohiko to laugh, proper and restrained. Still, laughing meant our encounter had gone well, so I suppressed my irritation.

"Are you laughing at me?" I asked, faux-annoyed. "I thought you were supposed to be above that, Miss 'Heavenly Maiden.'"

Arashi shook her head, though her amused expression stayed. "Not at you. At the way you laugh. The average person doesn't have a seizure every time they laugh, you know."

I made a face at her. "I'm aware." I hesitated, not wanting to seem greedy, but the whole point of my coming here was to get a technique from her. "Um, Himura said I was supposed to learn a technique...?"

She nodded, seriousness returning. "Yes, that's true. Its name is Justo Rayo."

Short, sweet, and since as far as I knew no one here spoke Spanish, nonindicative of its effects. Perfect. "Justo Rayo," I repeated. "Thanks." I glanced up at the sky, deep blue with wispy clouds drifting across the surface. "Not to be rude, but how do I leave? Dinner is soon, I think."

"All you have to do is want to leave, daoshi," Arashi said, walking past me towards the temple. "Return soon."

"I will!" I called over my shoulder.

It was only as I was leaving that I realized that we'd both spoken English.

Lisa was the one to get me registered, her aunt having been called to deal with some troublemakers by the other end of the building.

"You didn't blow yourself up," she said, tone so flat I couldn't tell if she was joking, "so there's that going for you. Name?"

"Mine or hers?" As always, my fingers couldn't help brushing Arashi's hilt.

"Yours first, hers after. Not like it's hard to tell the difference." Lisa glanced at the paper. "Fuck. Full name. How much space'll I need?"

I sighed. Names were a tricky thing in Soul Society—best exemplified in noble names, which tended to be incredibly long and archaic. Mine included. "Plenty. Sorry."

She brushed an unruly strand of hair out of her eyes, bending over the paper. "Alright. Start talking."

I drummed my fingers on my thigh, thinking for a second—it'd been a while since I'd had to recite my full name. "The Children of the Flatlands's Daughter of the Lords of the Just Pines's first daughter, the Lady Nariko," I said wearily, immensely thankful for the fact that my parents hadn't made me go to many formal events, where I would've had to introduce myself that way every time.

Lisa nodded briskly when she'd finished. "Those the right kanji?" She turned the paper to me. I squinted at it.

"Yeah. Um, I think you forgot the furigana." I pointed at the space above the characters where kana should've been. Roughly. My eyes were refusing to focus again.

Lisa glanced at it and sighed the distinctive sigh of a person utterly done with the world around them. "Fuck. Better give me those." I did, following up with Arashi's name as soon as I'd finished. Bureaucracy, I could already tell, was going to be my least favorite part of the job.

"Category?" Lisa asked, eyes flicking to my face without any hint of interest. "That means-"

"I know," I interrupted. Her apathy was starting to piss me off. Maybe I should've been concerned, Lisa being necessary and all, about her lack of affect. Too bad. "Elemental-type Kidou. Water and lightning."

Her hand paused by the appropriate box. "Fuck, delinquent girl. Any category you aren't exceptional in?"

"Yeah, every other one," I told her. "Are we done?" A pulse of dull pain through my head underscored the question.

Her brush flashed across the paper. "Yeah. Go beat someone else up."

I was halfway out the door after 'yeah,' but I paused for a second. "I don't beat people up."

Finally Lisa met my eyes. "Yeah, you do. Better than your brother, from what I've heard. You Hirako break people with your minds."

She rose and left before I could say anything else, but I couldn't help wondering exactly how much I would have to revise my plans.

After all, everyone else seemed to know more about me than I did.

Chapter Text

Arc Flower: Orange Blossoms

I would've liked to say that I passed my classes with flying colors, saved Soul Society from itself, and wiped out the Quincy in the rest of the trimester, just to continue my success. But that would've been lying. Instead, it went by pretty much like any school trimester, with the barely-passed exams, forgotten homework, and late nights I'd thought were behind me. Not that everything was bad—I did well on most of my finals and learning tessenjutsu proved easier than I'd expected. Not easy, given my spirit, but easier, possibly because the knowledge was literally embedded in my soul. Which led to my continual problems with Zanjutsu, my teacher assuming that Shikai meant I was more skilled than I was letting on and pitting me against the star of the class—who was Momohiko, naturally. Dude definitely got kendo training pre-Shin'ou.

My relationships with Shinju and Minoru neither improved nor deteriorated. Shinju just about tiptoed around me for a month before she seemed to settle into being the roommate of a killer. I could've said something, but that would've meant awkwardness and probably crying and I could never find the right time. We talked about everything else instead, but that knowledge always lingered in the air. Minoru withdrew back into his shy persona, thwarting most of my attempts to draw him out again, but he kept progressing in our Japanese lessons, which was rewarding enough.

Aizen and I continued to talk Zanpakutou when we got the chance, though we moved towards the ramifications instead of mechanics. For now, we were both content to not pry into how Zanpakutou worked. I, at least, no longer wanted to know what let Oshiro exist. The meaning behind Zanpakutou was a lighter topic, anyway. What traits were universally associated with certain kinds of Zanpakutou and such.

When fall break came, we weren't allowed to go home. Instead, Shinji and I went to our mother's clan estate—tradition dictated that children returned to the clan they didn't normally live with after attending their first trimester at Shin'ou. Maybe it was about recognizing the other side of the family's influence on prospective Shinigami, or maybe it was to allow us to spend the more important winter break with the family we were more familiar with. Rukongai kids generally stayed at Shin'ou, though they were allowed to wander around Seireitei, so Minoru, Aizen, and Nanase—who I still hadn't puzzled out, dammit—were left at school.

The winter trimester, too, was uneventful. I got over Akane, thankfully for my attention span. Introduction to Kidou turned out to be simultaneously more boring and more interesting than I'd thought—more interesting because have you heard the incantations? and more boring because they went over theory for way longer than I needed before we learned our first spell and spent a few days shoving people across a field with a first-level Hadou. I was briefly interested by the fact that Kidou numbers described the reiryoku requirement of the spell rather than numbering how many there were, but the teacher started droning on about the history of Kidou categorization and I dozed off again. Other than that, Minoru's birthday was the only interesting event—I discovered to my dismay that we weren't allowed to leave even for important events like that and had to promise to get him something during winter break. I didn't think he believed me. But Shinji solved that problem very handily.

"Hey, Fugai, Aizen, Nanase, ya doin' anything fer break?" he asked some time during our last week, like he didn't know they weren't. "Some of our relatives are bound to not be able to make it..." he trailed off.

Minoru, shivering under a frost-covered tree, shook his head. "J-just the usual. Studyin' and s-sleepin'."

Aizen blinked, removing his spectacles and wiping condensation from them. I was struck for a second by how eerie his eyes looked without being hidden by the smoky lenses, wide and darting. "Nothing much. Why?"

I glanced over at Nanase, who'd frozen like I'd just stabbed his mother. "Yeah, why?" he said weakly.

"Why d'ya think, dumbass?" Shinji said, beaming. I watched Nanase's face, hoping he'd mirror the expression. Serious expressions looked wrong on Nanase. "New Year's is way more fun with loads of people! 'Sides, we could always use a few more warm bodies."

I matched his smile. "Yeah! I don't know if you have obligations, Fujikage-chan, but we'd love to have you."

"Do we get our own bedrooms?" Nanase asked, warm smile reappearing. Good.

I considered. "Yeah, I think so. We have a lot of relatives, so there are a lot of guest houses."

Shinju tilted her head, playing with the tip of the braid she'd put her hair in today. "I can probably stay for a few days, but my family will want me for New Year's proper," she said.

Shinji nodded happily, rubbing his face to bring some color back to it. "Hey, whatever works. Any idea what you'd want for a present?"

Shit. I'd almost forgotten about those, except for Minoru. "I know what I'm getting Minoru-kun," I sing-songed. I'd been slowly putting my silly facade into place over the past few months. Arashi, as usual, hummed with satisfaction when I did that. She seemed big on keeping promises. Weird, since I wasn't.

It's about truth, daoshi, she insisted. Either you told me the truth when you said you'd do that and I give you my power, or you lied and I won't give you any of it. Which made sense, I guess. I pulled myself back to the conversation.

Shinju was musing over what to get us, it seemed. "A yukata for Shinji-kun," she murmured, half to us and half to herself, "and a calligraphy wall hanging for Nariko-chan?"

Shinji poked out his tongue at her. "Aww, it's no fun if ya spoil it for us, Shinju-chan! But I'd totally take anything you gave me," he added.

Enough of that. "There's no obligation to get anyone anything," I explained to Minoru, who'd begun to look stricken. "Tradition is to give everyone small bags of mochi and Mandarin oranges, but we don't have any oranges and everyone makes mochi together. Gifts are just for the people you're closest to. And all the kids get money!"

Shinji's face took on a ridiculously smug smirk. "Which means ya don't get anythin' from the family this year," he said, twirling a lock of hair that had yet to be winter-faded around his finger.

Wait, what? "But I haven't graduated yet!" I protested. "I'm not an adult!" I wasn't even a full two decades, let alone past my first century. I couldn't be an adult.

Shinju steepled her fingers in front of her. "Well, I don't know how it works in your clan, but in mine people are adults when they achieve Shikai, or when they take on their first official responsibility. Whichever comes first, you know?"

Shinji's smirk widened. "Same fer us. They might cut ya a break 'cause you're still young, so ya won't have to give out money just yet, but ya totally ain't a kid anymore."

My exaggerated pout was... less of a facade than it should've been for someone my age. I liked money. Not just the clink of kan against kan, but also the security it symbolized. Money meant the basics of life, even if I didn't have to pay for those yet. Better to be safe than sorry.

I let the conversation drift away from that topic, content just to watch and shiver. Note to self: invent either warmer clothing or better heating. Some brilliant bureaucrat had decided that Shin'ou didn't need kotatsu, which meant a couple months of freezing. Nanase was shivering a lot more than someone who was simply cold, though. I kept my face neutral as I watched him from the corner of my eye.

Analysis? Arashi prompted. I felt-saw her clicking through the rooms of my inner world's temple, pacing the way I did when I had a particularly annoying problem to solve.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My Zanpakutou spirit seemed kinda pretentious. Maybe a little bit of soul-searching was in order. Still, I indulged her. He could be sensitive to temperature, I thought stubbornly. Lots of people are. Or maybe he's uncomfortable with coming for New Year's. But I can't tell exactly why just from the way he shivers.

Irritation rolled out from the blade at my waist. And you can't tell by observing the rest of his behavior?

No, I argued, 'cause I'm not Sherlock. We already know that he wants to be a part of something. It's possible that he just doesn't want to be put in the middle of a bunch of strangers.

She huffed, presence retreating. Perhaps later, daoshi. You fail to use all your senses.

My senses? I cast a glance at Nanase's waist, easily visible as he sat with his legs to the side the same way I did. If Arashi meant my spiritual senses, Nanase didn't have Shikai. Which didn't necessarily mean he didn't have a spirit, just that it hadn't told him its name yet. Hmm. Maybe I could do that. Or maybe not, given the shadows I kept seeing out of the corner of my eye, which could've been either onmitsu-track kids practicing stealth or the real thing. Bad news either way.

Oh well. If Arashi wanted to be fickle, I had only myself to blame for that.

Feathery white spun around us, not thick and wet enough to really be snow, as we tromped down the winding path towards the Hirako estate. Flurry, that was the word.

In the end, everyone invited had come with us for New Year's. Shinju had sent for permission to come with us and received it just yesterday. By all rights she should've been carrying less than she was, but Nanase, who walked at the center of our group, was cradling a Kidou fireball. In the interests of preserving the faint warmth it gave off, we'd agreed that Shinju could take his belongings since he didn't have much. Nanase ended up taking his bag back when we reached roadside inns anyway.

Apart from the cold—which one got used to pretty quickly—the trip hadn't been that bad. The aforementioned roadside inns were happy for the business, so they treated us well. And since we weren't moving fast enough to need our reiryoku for that, we could walk for longer times than humans. It was nearing noon on our fourth day and I felt as tired as if I'd just gone for a decent-length hike. Granted, I felt pretty icky too, hair knotted into frozen clumps by the snow and wind and clothes vaguely grimy the way they tended to be after a long period of doing anything, but physically I could've gone on like that for a while.

"So, Nariko-san, any family members I should be warned about?" Aizen asked, crunching over a patch of last night's ice.

I considered. "Not particularly. I bet you've heard rumors, but we aren't as bad as the last leader." I made a face. "Even the Hirako were smart enough to know that Uncle Haru was bad news for our future."

Aizen busied himself with cleaning his glasses. "So he was," he agreed in the toneless way of someone who didn't want to give his own opinion. Oops. Maybe I should've said something a little less embarrassing, in case he mentioned it in front of my parents later. Or, more likely, if Nanase heard it and mentioned it later. He'd been chattering practically nonstop the whole way. I'd only gotten a break from him when we'd stopped at a market to get gifts for each other and at hot springs when he elected to stay in his room. No one knew exactly how he stayed clean. Snowmelt and a bar of soap?

Of course, I wasn't much better when it came to talking. Nervousness about going home combined with Arashi's nagging had gotten me talking a lot more than I usually did about nothing at all.

"Oi! Glasses, Narin, keep up!" Shinji hollered back. I blinked, noticing that we were several paces behind the group. "Stop making kissy faces at each other an' walk!"

Aizen turned as white as the snow clinging to his hair. For my part, I screeched wordlessly at him, dashing past Shinju to jab him in the back.

"You idiot!" I shouted when I pluck the words from a mind that couldn't decide whether to shut down out of embarrassment or anger. "Don't- don't embarrass Aizen-san like that!"

Shinji snorted. "I'm pretty sure that it's s'posed to be the guy stickin' up for the girl, ya backwards bookworm. Oi, Aizen! Get up here with th' rest of us, dumbass!"

Aizen obliged, trotting up besides me. "Someday, Shinji-san," he said in the measuredly conversational way of someone trying to avoid reacting violently, "I'm going to teach you how to see things from others' perspectives. Such as perhaps not implying nonexistent relationships?"

My violent twitch had nothing to do with his second sentence. I hoped they all knew that.

Right, I thought as we continued, the sloped roofs of the first Hirako building appearing as we crested the last rise before the flatlands that lent us our name. This won't last forever. But how can I do anything when everything's so slow?

Shinju made a noise of appreciation. "It's so colorful, even in winter," she murmured. Shinju didn't have to point to show what she was talking about. The brilliant yellow and pink paint across the roofs of the guardhouses drew everyone's eye. It wasn't as bad as it sounded, really. The particular shade of pink used for the roofs was redder than our clan colors generally used and the gold, though not actually gold, came close enough to be tasteful. New Year's colors for fortune. Just seeing them made my heart warm.

Minoru, for his part, squeaked with surprise. "How long does it take to slather all that on?" he asked, blinking like he hoped they would go away.

"Way too long, an' these brats should've been around for it," a deep drawl said. Its owner emerged from one of the guardhouses by the east gate, shit-eating-grin firmly in place. Someday I'd have to find out if our family trees intersected at all.

"It's not my fault!" I protested as Shinji made a rude gesture at the man, retorting, "Ya want a fuckin' captain outta this fuckin' house or what?"

Kawaguchi Sousuke laughed, taking it in the spirit it was meant—or maybe he had plenty of spirits inside him by now. You never knew with the holidays so close, and the man definitely had a prominent gut anyway. As I'd found out as a child intent on trying out my new Shifting Moon tricks on someone, that didn't detract from his strength at all. "I swear, ain't no point in callin' ya 'young master.' Ya got a mouth on you as dirty as my great-grandda's."

"Mine too," a similarly bass voice rumbled as another guard stepped out of his guardhouse. He looked our group up and down from beneath thick eyebrows. Despite his bushy beard, a few ice crystals already collecting on it, Sousuke's twin Ryuunosuke had no hair on the top of his head. "Though I guess that ain't a coincidence. yeah?"

Oh, he was definitely drunker than a seventh-year after finals. "Good afternoon, Sousuke-san, Ryuunosuke-san," I said before they could embarrass themselves. "These are my friends, Fujikage Shinju-chan, Aizen Sousuke-san, Fugai Minoru-kun, and Nanase Hibiki-kun. They're staying with us for New Year's. I think my parents would've told you to expect us?"

"Ah, that's right," Ryuunosuke said, flushed cheeks rounding as he grinned. "If it's alright with y'all, m' idiot brother an' I'll get yer bags."

"I wouldn't want ta be a problem-" Minoru blurted, protests cut off as Sousuke stepped in and wrested his belongings away.

"Wish everybody had yer mindset, kid!" Ryuunosuke grunted as he took Aizen's stuff. "Make my job a hell of a lot easier. But nah, this is what we get paid for. Don't tear yer hair out over it."

"Not my stuff!" Nanase screamed, reiatsu bristling.

I glanced over to see Sousuke stopped with his hands outstretched for Nanase's belongings, confused expression on his leathery face.

"What's happenin'?" Shinji asked, all at once as much an adult as the guards, blond brows drawn together in a sharp frown.

"I-I just wanted ta take h-his stuff for 'im," Sousuke stammered, falling all over himself as he struggled for an explanation. "If 'e wants ta hang onta them, that's no skin off my nose!" He stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.

Shinji relaxed, smile playing over his lips again. "See, Nanase, it ain't no problem. Ya wanna take yer stuff, ya can, but it's fer convenience."

Nanase set his jaw, reiatsu subsiding. "Yeah, okay. Guess I haven't grown outta Takahashi after all, huh?" He forced a laugh, but the intrusion of his natural accent gave him away.

"Every group's got to have someone who's high-strung," I teased as we were led past the gate. "Guess you're ours, Nanase-kun!" I bumped him with my shoulder, prompting a slightly more normal chuckle.

"Guess so."

You know those family gatherings with all the relatives pinching your cheeks and talking about things you have no interest in but have to listen to anyway to be polite? Yeah, try that with a whole clan of people who've earned a reputation for being talkative and sociable a thousand times over. And half of them were drunk, the ones who weren't either children or slightly senile relatives whose wrinkles could give Yamamoto's a run for their money. The dogs underfoot everywhere didn't help.

We arrived right in the middle of that chaos, nearly getting run over by a servant running past as he yelled something about preparing enough food in time.

Shinji, for his part, started laughing his head off and threw his arms out wide.

"Welcome ta our home!" he shouted over the din, wrapping one arm around my shoulder and the other around Shinju's. "Let's get ya introduced ta our parents and find ya somewhere ta sleep!"

He led the way through the crowd of overwhelmingly blond people, tugging Shinju along. I barely managed to grab her hand and seize Nanase's before we were swallowed up by the sweaty masses. And let me tell you, sweaty was accurate—not everyone could hold their sake as well as our father and some faces were very flushed.

We found Kenji in his study, as usual, though it was a lot more crowded than usual with all the people who needed to ask him about this detail or that. Equally unsurprising was the amount of papers strewn everywhere. Some retainer was fluttering from person to person, addressing their problems if he could so Kenji had less to deal with. My heart warmed just seeing them. Order out of chaos—we couldn't manage it when it came to paperwork, but the Hirako could handle people.

"Perhaps we should wait until later," Aizen ventured, echoed by Minoru and Nanase's emphatic nods. It was amazing how they could synchronize so well when they were nervous. I was inclined to agree until Shinji shoved his way to the front of the line.

"Oi, old man!" he shouted just as Kenji turned around from grabbing a scroll. "I got introductions ta make!"

Beside me, Shinju's jaw dropped. "Is he usually that forward?" she whispered.

"Have you met Shinji?" I retorted, following him over to Kenji and motioning for the others to come with me. I dipped my head to at least pretend like civility was a thing around here. "Happy New Year's!"

Kenji, just like his son, cared absolutely nothing about what was in his way, practically knocking over his desk to wrap us both in a hug.

"M'little stars are back ta followin' the moon again!" Kenji exclaimed. Oh yeah, he'd definitely joined the drinking. My dad only got poetic with sake in him. He held us until my lungs started to burn, releasing us with a shout of "Introductions!"

Shinju bowed from the waist, knocking a paper half-hanging off the desk to the floor when her head brushed it. She stooped again to put it back into place, blushing brilliant pink. "S-sorry! I'm Fujikage Shinju, sir."

Kenji laughed. "Good catch, Shinji!" His forehead wrinkled. "Though we can't be havin' a Shinju an' a Shinji. Junko, that's it," he proclaimed, making a sweeping gesture towards Shinju, who to her credit just blinked and blushed darker pink. "I'm callin' ya Junko now, darlin'. Who's next?"

Minoru bowed even more deeply. "I-I-I'm called Fugai Minoru, Lord Hirako, sir," he stammered. "Honor t-ta meet ya."

Kenji grinned. "Where're ya from, boy?" he asked, raking a hand through already-unkempt blond hair. "Can't be near here, or ya'd know that hardly anybody calls the likes of me 'Lord.'"

Minoru flushed red, mouth working as he tried to come up with an apology.

"It ain't a faux pas, boy," Kenji assured him. "Yer district?"

"I-I'm from West 67th, Fugai," he said between short, sharp breaths. "S-so-"

"I said don't worry about it!" Kenji scolded, shaking his head. "Honestly, kids these days get so flustered over the littlest things. Next?"

Nanase stepped forward, bowing deeply enough to put even Minoru to shame. "I'm Nanase Hibiki, sir," he mumbled. "I hope you'll treat me well."

Kenji positively beamed. Oh dear. I was going to have to pry him off of Nanase. Kenji prided himself on his sense for people—to be fair, with his career he did have a good idea of who was good people or not—and, being a Hirako through and through, treated people he deemed likable as though he'd known them for ages. Not everybody liked that. "Course we will! 's New Year's! Ya need anythin' at all, come an' find me and we'll settle it." He sent a glance at the fidgeting adults behind us. "Ah, looks like I better not keep everybody waitin'. 'fraid I'll have ta shoo y'all out fer now, but- hey, kid, what're ya doin' hidin' back there?"

Ah, so that's who I'd been forgetting. I glanced over my shoulder to see Aizen shuffle out from behind Shinju.

"Sorry, sir," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. Behind the dark lenses, his eyes skittered off to the side. "I'm used to concealing myself, I suppose. I'm Aizen Sousuke."

Kenji blinked. "So you're the one with the right odd name, huh? How was it in that letter... 'indigo dye?' Like ya don't even exist, kid!" He laughed for just a few seconds longer than was comfortable, then shook his head. "Who the hell are ya?"

Aizen shifted from foot to foot. "Your guest, sir. If that's all...?"

"Sorry, I think he's a little drunk," I muttered to my friends before raising my voice again. "We're going to get my friends some rooms, okay? B-"

His brow creased. "Ah, wait! Yer mother wanted ta see ya as soon as ya got here—just Nariko, don't ya fret. Somethin' about a cousin whose name I didn't catch. She was makin' introductions fer her around the pavilion next to that old plum tree."

I pursed my lips. Ugh, she wants me to be friendly to some cousin I've never met? Probably going to be some socialite who wants me to show her around everywhere and hang out with my friends, I complained mentally. And it's going to be so awkward. What is wrong with that woman?

Still, after I'd grumbled sufficiently to everyone when we'd made our escape from the study, I trudged off to the designated pavilion. Stupid parents.

Though it wasn't like I minded too much, it took longer to get there than I'd expected. When I finally shoved my way out of the stream of people, I was faced with a group of yukata-clad women, none of whose faces were made up with anything resembling properly ladylike makeup. Arashi's sniff was almost audible.

Gotta love 'em, I thought to her as I lingered at the edge of the pavilion, trailing my gaze over the delicate buds that crowned the tree sprawling over the nearby pond and the pavilion itself. A shame I wouldn't be here to watch it bloom. At least I'm not expected to be good at putting it on. Or shave my eyebrows.

Stop avoiding your responsibility, daoshi, Arashi scolded. Go say hi.

As it turned out, I was allowed to avoid seeking out that responsibility, if only by having it thrust on me when my mother stepped out of a circle of women with the most brilliant smile I'd ever seen on her face. My stomach sank.

"Nariko! Ya certainly took yer time gettin' here, didn't ya?" She grabbed my arm and dragged me over, ignoring my whimper of pain. The thick sleeves of the winter uniform were no match for lacquered nails. "Meet yer cousin from the branch house! Ain't she just the cutest thing?" We came to a halt in front of the aforementioned cousin and-

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I'm related to her?! "Sorry in advance," I blurted out.

Sarugaki Hiyori glared at me as though apologies were grounds for murder in her book. "What've ya got ta be sorry for?" she demanded, tiny fists clenched at her sides. "Ya get those bores at Shin'ou ta fail me 'fore I even get shipped there or somethin'?"

There's got to be a mistake, I thought, staring at her. She's adopted. Or a foster-daughter. Or an impostor. Nope. Not Hiyori. No way. Hiyori isn't so- My brain ran out of words, because there were a lot of things that my Hiyori was that this one wasn't. Visored, for one, and cartoonishly violent, for another. This not-Hiyori hadn't kicked me for pissing her off. Her hair wasn't even in her characteristic pigtails, for heaven's sake! What was this little comb doing there? Who'd gotten her to sit still long enough to pull her hair back in the first place? And where was her characteristic fang?

Makoto reached over and pushed up my chin with the back of her hand. "Don't start catchin' flies, Nariko," she said. "Ain't ya happy ta meet her? She'll be joinin' you two at Shin'ou for the spring trimester! Special circumstances, y'know," she added in a faux-conspiratorial whisper. "Well? Say somethin'!"

"Um, I didn't catch your name," I said intelligently, eyes still fixed on her face. Brown eyes shot daggers back at me.

Hiyori snorted, folding her arms across her chest. "Figures! Too good ta talk Osaka-ben an' too good ta ask anybody else's name!"

I just did! I wanted to scream, biting back the cutting words I was sorely tempted to fling at her. "Sorry," I said instead.

She snorted again. "Apologizin' all the time! What kinda princess are ya? I'm Sarugaki Hiyori. Bet I'd make a better heir than some shrinkin' violet!" She grinned, as though daring me to prove it.

Two can play at the intimidation game. "I'm not the heir, actually," I corrected her, folding my own arms. This close I could distinguish her reiatsu, hard, patterned, and faintly vulnerable like armor, from the masses around me. I filed that away as something to work on. She was easily on my level, at least. Probably would put up a good fight for the Twelfth's lieutenancy. "That's Shinji. But," I said, smiling my most saccharine smile as I tugged aside my traveling cloak to show off Arashi, "I am a legal adult. You seem like a smart kid. I'm sure you know what that means." I raised my reiatsu slightly, feeling it buzz in my mental grasp more than flow. If Hiyori had a brain in her head she'd know I wasn't happy with her, whatever the rest of me said.

A scowl replaced her smile. True to the Hiyori I remembered—maybe this was the real thing—she was stubborn enough to refuse to admit defeat. "Am I supposed ta be impressed that you're some kinda prodigy?" she demanded. I ignored the dumbstruck expression on my mother's face. That could wait for a later discussion. "Gettin' a fancy weapon doesn't make ya a good person! What's the point of bein' a Shinigami if ya ain't got the balls ta stand up for the right thing!"

And now the whole conversation made more sense. How can you be anyone worth talking to if you're too shy to speak your mind? "Means I know who I am," I replied, irritation ebbing. "How you feel about that is up to you." Brat, I added silently. She was, for all that I thought I understood what she was getting at. There were better ways to go about deciding if you liked someone. Less offensive, at any rate.

Hiyori's scowl deepened. "Whatever. Wishy-washy bimbo," she added in a voice that was technically a mumble but clearly was meant for me to hear.

"Rude child," I replied, curling my fingers around Arashi's hilt. I didn't intend to draw her, but the rush of waves and electricity that filled me when my fingers brushed indigo cloth soothed away some of the edginess Hiyori was creating in me. I turned to Makoto. "So, you said Sarugaki-kun is going to be joining us at Shin'ou? Why so late?"

I ignored Hiyori's fuming as Makoto recovered, smiling with relief at having something to talk about. "Well, if I recall what Hisana-han told me-"

"I didn't want ta have ta spend the rest of my life bobbin' my head yes to whatever a Hirako said," Hiyori snapped. "I got my own wants, y'know."

Way to interrupt your hostess, I grumbled. Arashi, can't we shock her a little?

Rain pattered in my soul, almost loud enough to drown out the eager zing of lightning. That would be a waste of my abilities, Arashi replied. And I'm sure the scarlet man would caution against it.

Does that mean you want to but don't think we can get away with it? I asked, struggling to hold back my snickers.

A pause. It might.

"Some people want to serve," I replied to Hiyori, lacing my fingers together so I didn't 'accidentally' break her nose. "I do. But if that's not for you, fine." I shrugged. I could only imagine how a spitfire like Hiyori would handle being part of a clan bound to serve another, possibly so distantly related she didn't see why they should work for us anymore. Still, it grated to hear her put down people who did want to help others, assuming she defined 'serve' as 'help' the way most people did. I would've liked to include myself in that group, but as Arashi loved to remind me, I was too pragmatic to risk helping people when my definition of 'help' was bound not to match Soul Society's. The Gotei had a mission I could follow until Aizen made his first move, which was close enough.

"Hisana-han and Shinobu-han struggled with whether ta send Hiyori-chan ta Shin'ou or simply have her privately taught," Makoto broke in, desperate to not be completely locked out of the conversation. "Her aptitude was high enough that they wanted her to get the best instruction in the end, though. Ain't that nice?"

Instead of replying, Hiyori shot a look at her that was part-exasperation, part-irritation, and scornful enough to wilt flowers.

It's a good thing you're baby-faced, I thought. You wouldn't get away with this if you looked your age. Aloud, I said, "Shinji brought four of our friends back. I think he'd probably like some help finding them rooms. Mind if I go?"

"Not at all," Makoto said. "Hiyori-chan, d'ya want ta go with her?" And get out of my hair? was left unsaid.

Hiyori shook her head. "I'm headin' back ta my room," she said. "Ya talk too much." With that, she turned and stomped off.

I watched her go. "Is she always that angry?" I asked.

Makoto shrugged helplessly. "It's like an oni switched Hisana and Shinobu's child, I swear. Such a sweet couple and they produced that girl!"

I frowned sharply. It pissed me off to hear Makoto call Hiyori an oni behind her back. I got that our clan dealt in information and naturally had to lie a lot, but did everyone have to bring business into their personal lives? "She's young," I said, glancing over at the gnarled plum. "Give her time."

A few other relatives trapped me in conversation before I could make my escape, but when I finally did extricate myself, it was with more than a little worry that I went looking for Shinji and the rest. Call me paranoid, but nothing good could come of my not being around to supervise that bunch.

Eventually a maid was able to point me in the direction of the rooms Shinji had staked out for our friends, which was lucky for me. Have you ever tried to track down a bunch of not-yet-grown kids among a crowd of fully-grown-adults? Yeah, it's not easy, especially when all the adults tend to be tall.

Still, I found the collection of simple teahouse-style cottages Shinju, Aizen, Minoru, and Nanase had been installed in after a while. Pretty little things, decorated enough that a noble clan would be proud of them but plain enough that they reminded their inhabitants that they were guests. I didn't actually get to enter them, though, since Shinju, Aizen, and Minoru, led by Shinji, were leaving right as I entered the small plaza the cottages were clustered around.

"Finally come crawlin' back ta us, eh?" Shinji called when he spotted me. "Traitor!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Quiet, you. Mom wanted me to say hello to one of our cousins. She's going to be coming to Shin'ou in spring."

If Shinju and Shinji's mutual crushes ever did amount to anything, I reflected, they would have an interesting time of it, exemplified by their particular reactions to that news. Shinji grinned evilly, while Shinju clasped her hands and asked, "What's her name? Is she nice? How is she going to make up her work?"

"Sarugaki Hiyori, not particularly, and I don't know," I answered, ticking off my replies on my fingers so I didn't answer anything twice. I gave Shinji a sidelong glance. "What're you plotting?"

Shinji shrugged. "I dunno! Gotta wait ta meet her so I can find out what'll tick her off the most!" He punctuated that statement with a cackle.

Minoru shook his head. "Ya got a weird family, Nariko-san," he observed. "Yer ma anythin' like Shinji and Lord Hirako?"

I hesitated, playing with a strand of hair that had fallen out of its ponytail. "A little. Sometimes I think she took better to this clan than someone born in it."

"I resent that!" Shinji said, sticking his nose up in the air. "I don't look anythin' like Mom."

I made a show of looking him up and down. "True. You're a lot prettier." I was saved from his retaliatory kick to the shin by Shinju sticking her foot out. If she applied those reflexes to her Hakuda, she might actually do well at it, I reflected.

"What's she like?" Aizen interrupted our comedy routine, breath puffing in the air. "She isn't a Hirako, right?"

I nodded. "She's part of a... branch clan, I guess? We're fifth cousins, if I remember her parents right. But the Sarugaki clan usually provides bodyguards for us. For the people who go into the Onmitsukidou, that is. I might've gotten one eventually." And Hiyori's distaste for me made sense all of a sudden. She was around the right age—deemed old enough to go to Shin'ou—to be assigned to me. With my change of plans, she would've lost the purpose she'd been trained for her whole life. Oops.

Shinju raised an eyebrow. "You were going to be an onmitsu?"

I nodded, sticking my hands into my sleeves and yanking them out as my comparatively warm arms decided they didn't like that. "It's traditional for the firstborn Hirako child to join the Patrol Corps.  But an intelligence operative who doesn't want to ferret out secrets is useless, so they let me go to Shin'ou in the end." That was the harsh fact I'd had to face when I'd made it to Shin'ou. The clan elders probably hadn't let me go because they supported my dreams. They'd just recognized with an onmitsu's efficient logic that I was of more use to them in another easily observed organization I wanted to be in than I would be if they forced me into the Onmitsukidou.

Shinji whistled. "So that's how ya managed it. I thought Mom was gonna tear her hair out."

I shrugged. "Love her, but I don't really care if she doesn't approve. There's more to life than pleasing parents." Even if that sent an unpleasant twinge through my heart, it was true for my purposes. Speaking of parents, who was missing that didn't have any? "Hey, where's Nanase-kun?"

Shinji jerked his head back at the cottages. "He stayed back. Said he had somethin' ta take care of and I'm not gonna mess with a dude's private time."

I glared at him. "If you just made a dirty joke, knock it off." I sighed, scuffing my geta in frosted dirt. Maybe Nanase wasn't as extroverted as he seemed. "I'll go back and get him. I think they're reciting renga in the eastern opposing room if you want to head over there."

"Hell no!" Shinji scoffed, flapping a hand at me like it was a stupid idea. Hmph. I liked renga. "There're usually some shougi games going on in the western room. C'mon, I'll teach y'all how ta play. It's way more fun than poetry."

If he'd been hoping to get a rise out of me, I refused to reward him. I forced myself to blink mildly at him. "Sure. You guys have fun. I'll catch up once I've got Nanase-kun."

They left, calling over their shoulders for me to hurry up, and I made my way over to the cottages. I had to peer in at a couple before I found the one Shinji'd indicated—nods weren't too accurate as gestures went. Nanase had left the shouji door open a crack, so I slipped inside.

Huh. I'd never been in one of these cottages before, but the room for removing shoes and haori and such before entering the house proper was a nice touch. I slid off my geta and donned house slippers. I probably wouldn't be long, but some people really couldn't stand when you didn't switch to indoor shoes. I slid aside the painted screen and stepped in.

Nanase wasn't in the main room, which wasn't surprising. Though it included a kotatsu, the teahouse aesthetic dictated that it be sparsely furnished, so apart from said kotatsu, a low table with some cushions around it, and a statue of what I expected was the progenitor of our dogs' line in the alcove, not much decorated the place. Not that it was shabby—the statue was very well-carved, some red wood I'd never seen before, and if I knew my fabrics as well as I thought I did the cushions were upholstered with silk—but it was a little spartan for someone to hang out in.

I padded across the room and down the corridor that led to the main bedroom. I paused outside the screen door and listened, just in case Shinji had been correct. Nothing. I sighed in relief. That would've been... awkward. I opened it, stepping in with my best sheepish-but-well-intentioned smile and-

Nanase, face bloodless. Frozen, clutching bandages in his hands. Stopped in the process of binding what were unmistakably breasts. Ah, fuck.

Fire and ice flooded me as I stared at him. Her. Him? Nanase stared back as the bandages slipped from her hands.

"Get out!" she shrieked, voice pitching high and shrill. "Out, asshole!" Small hands shoved at me, forcing me over the threshold. I stumbled, landing right on my ass. When I climbed to my feet, the screen was firmly shut and the house's quiet was disturbed by short, sharp breaths.

For my part, I did nothing to disturb that silence. Mostly because the contents of my brain could best be rendered as a large question mark.

Nanase's a girl. Or- Nanase has boobs, my brain translated the panic into after a while. Boy's name. Looks like a boy. But I've heard it as a girl's name. Haven't I? Either way, definitely a girl-body. Did Seinosuke know? He had to. Or he knew something was up. 'There are bastards wherever you go.'  Arashi, did you know?

Water rippled, an evasion if I'd ever sensed one. I guessed, she said after a moment. The way he sits. The hunch of his back after a long time spent around you. Small things. Uncertain things. I thought it better to wait to see if I was right, and to let you draw your own conclusions. This... wasn't anticipated.

Not anticipated? I snapped. Not anticipated? You should've told me. Now I've just walked in on her. Him. Them. I don't know.

Then ask, Arashi ordered. Or offer some reassurance. Who knows what's going through the child's head?

I'm a child too, I thought faintly, scrabbling for some humor. Why are you calling them one?

Daoshi, she said, waves curling behind her words. Go.

I shuffled forwards, brushed my knuckles on the screen in some weak attempt at a knock. "Nanase-" I began, stopping as vicarious embarrassment flooded me. I swallowed it down and kept going. "Nanase...kun? Could you let me in? I-I'm sorry. I'm really, really, so sorry. Only I told Shinji I'd come find you and-"

"Why're ya still here?" Nanase's voice was higher than mine, flat and sharp as a knife. "Why didn'tcha leave and go tail 'em? You're supposed t'kick me out. Or scream an' throw sheet."

I blinked, scrambling for words as I translated the Rukongai drawl. Why hadn't I left? Even if I'd wanted to tell someone, a smart person would've given Nanase some privacy. It just hadn't occurred to me. Brilliant. "Uh, I don't have anything to throw," I said in my infinite wisdom as I stopped trying to keep my reiatsu from betraying my confusion. My own mouth gave me away anyway. "And, um, I can't kick anyone out. I think?" A laugh forced its way out of my throat. I pinched the back of my hand, both to remind myself that yes, the situation was serious, and to keep myself from passing out. My head felt awfully empty all of a sudden.

"Just get on with it. Run me through or beat me up or whate'er." Nanase's breath hitched in her throat. "Not like I ain't taken it before."

'No one my age tells me what to do' and 'friends take care of friends' collided and came out of my mouth as "No." I blinked, glad that Nanase couldn't see my puzzled expression. Nothing like loyalty and deference to authority to force a decision. But that felt right. I had a decision made and now I had to stand by it. I didn't lie to Seinosuke. I refused to let him win. "You haven't hurt me. You aren't hurting anyone I care about. You aren't doing anything wrong." I laid out my reasons, crystallizing in my mind even as I said them, nice and neat for Nanase to hear. "So why should I hurt you?"

The gasping breaths stopped. Nanase's reiatsu was shaky and wary, divided between hope and hostility. "Because- because ya seen me. Ya know. I lied t'ya."

Gah. I couldn't hold a conversation as tricky as this one from behind a screen. "Look, I'm not saying anything else until you let me in," I said, forcing the shakiness from my voice with good old-fashioned bluntness.

"I ain't stupid! I thought ya'd find out and ya did and I'm so rock-stupid," Nanase hissed. I got the sense that he wasn't just talking to me, but to himself as well. "Second I open this thing it's gonna turn out that ya lied and you'll beat me up like everybody else."

The prickling fire of frustration burned away the nervousness. "I ain't everybody else!" I hissed back, shedding Tokyo-ben for a dialect that I hoped would calm Nanase down. "I ain't! Look, Nanase, I heard it said that it's people's job ta be better than their society. Well I'm tryin', yeah? I ain't never gonna lie ta ya. I don't hate ya or whatever ya think about me. Sure, I saw, I know, but I don't know what the hell ta make of it. I don't decide what ta do unless I know enough 'bout what's goin' on. So ya better tell me. I'm mad as hell at ya fer bein' so stubborn, but I ain't makin' a judgment on anythin' unless ya tell me yer side. Got it? If I had my say in things nobody'd be beatin' up anybody."

A long pause. I'd just about given up hope of my speech working when the screen slid open. A face slightly less pale than when I'd walked in greeted me.

"C'mon," Nanase said. "Or did ya lie about wantin' in?"

I stepped in, folding myself quickly into seiza. Much harder to hurt anyone from that position. I hoped Nanase realized that. They stayed standing, whatever conclusion they reached. The bandages lay discarded at their feet, though Nanase had put on a shirt in the meantime.

"Gimme yer sword," Nanase ordered, voice brittle. "Or I'm gonna see if I deserve my Hadou grades."

My jaw tightened on instinct. Not my Zanpakutou. Not Arashi. But my first impression of Nanase was proving to be more and more correct. He was wound tighter than an onmitsu on guard duty. No question that he'd pop me in the face with a Shakkahou if I didn't. I forced my fingers to loosen my obi and slide Arashi loose. I didn't draw her. No one's fingers but mine got to touch her naked. I handed her over, palms less flat than I would've liked. At least Nanase received her with something like courtesy, not curling his fingers around her and setting her gently on the futon.

"I'm a guy," they said. "I am. Not everybody gets that. Or wants ta. An' wakin' up in Takahashi, everybody already knew what I looked like." They- he glanced down at his chest. "No hidin'. So I left. Whatever luck I had went to my reiryoku, so I came here. Nobody's made me at Shin'ou yet, not till you, but they got just enough brains ta get close, so they roughed me up. Until Yamada-san. He found me one time, whaled on the bastards who did it until he could slap a Kidou ta muddle things, an' cleaned me up an' took me in. Not perfect, but he cared." The sidelong glance Nanase sent me was unnecessary. I heard the unspoken question: Do you?

"He told me to take care of you, you know," I said. "Said that you'd had a rough time in Takahashi. Ah, Yamada-senpai did. I said I would." I met his eyes. "I told you, I don't lie. And at the time... I'm sorry, this is terrible of me, but I didn't care. Not really. It was just on principle. Nobody hurts people I said I'd protect. I... I think I care now. I mean, I care by now. Not all of a sudden." I tilted my chin up, working to act like I knew what I was doing. "You love life, Nanase-kun. This place needs more people like that. And it needs less people like the jerks who hurt you. I'm surprised, to be honest, but it's my nature to try to keep everything on my radar. It bothered me not knowing if you were hiding something that could come back to bite you more than it bothers me to know what you were hiding. Does that make sense?"

Nanase looked at me, long and steady. His reiatsu had subsided, less of a dog with its hackles raised than a wolf appraising whether I was a threat to his pack of one. Maybe that first impression had been off. "Y'talk too much." His voice had deepened again. "What're ya tryin' ta say?"

Note to self: brevity is not your strong suit. Work on that. I shrugged. "I'm not gonna hurt you. You're my friend. I'll stand by you on principle and because I want to. You're a good guy, Nanase-kun, even if you keep secrets. Not that it's always a bad thing"—I was a prime example of that—"but I'm just a little... paranoid, I guess, about misunderstandings getting people killed." I scrunched my kimono in my hands. "Um, I really hate to ask this, but about that, what's your birth name? And is there anyone else who might want to hurt you?"

Nanase's scowl returned. "Hibiki is my name."

It took an act of will for me not to scowl back. Was it so hard to understand that I was asking in case his past came back to bite him? "Yeah, I know. Let me rephrase." I laced my fingers together. "What name would people from Takahashi know you by? If I hear about death threats against 'Nanase Sakurako,' I might not know to tell you."

Nanase's expression softened slightly. "The name they called me was almost as bad. 'Tomoko.'" He shuddered violently. "But none of them are gonna come here. I was the only one with spirit power enough to get in."

I discarded the 'don't knock -ko names' joke before it could slip past my filter. Not the time. "Okay." I leaned in, trying to meet his eyes. "Thanks. You're Hibiki to me, but it makes me feel a little better to know that. Second thing: what do you want me to say to Shinji and the others? I won't say anything unless you say I can. But in my experience secrets don't stay secret for long. So... I'm not saying you have to tell anyone, or saying that I will, but... it's just a thought."

Nanase grimaced. "No. You can't tell them. You can't. You weren't supposed to know. If I tell them, it's my choice. Gotta hope for the best, but I'm in the business of expecting the worst."

I nodded, tension draining from my body as that last loose thread was tied up. No more problems, or at least none that were my problem. Nanase was safe as he could be. I didn't have to worry about him being some Hollow in disguise or one of Aizen's accomplices. "Okay, okay. That's none of my business." I gave him an apologetic smile. "But seriously, I'm sorry about all this. I shouldn't have been so nosy."

Nanase seemed to relax a bit at that. "Yeah, you think? But what's done is done. It can't be helped." He shrugged, familiar smile touching his lips. I was going to have to keep a more careful eye on his emotional state in light of that smile—a possible defense mechanism, I realized now.

We sat like that for a few minutes before I broke the silence. "Do you want to meet up with Shinji and the others? They were going to go play shougi. I'm not too good at it, but he'd probably love to teach you. We could watch, anyway."

Nanase nodded, cheer returning rapidly. "Sure! Gimme a second to, uh, get ready, and I'll be right out."

Nanase, it turned out, was a natural at shougi. Once he had the rules down, he and Shinju, equally fond of the game, spent a good few hours in matches together. Shinji and Minoru cheered them on with a gusto no doubt enhanced by the free flow of sake. Aizen I didn't catch sight of very much that first day, but we did have an extensive library, so I would've bet on him being there.

I passed the afternoon with Shinji and Minoru for a little bit, but it wasn't long before my well of tolerance for people, already low from our journey, dried up. From there I made my way back to my rooms. A heavy winter robe and a kotatsu shielded me from the cold while I added to my cache of possibly-future-relevant information.

Zanpakutou—wills are not always aligned with their wielders', I wrote, Arashi's waters whispering faintly in my mind. Seemed she hated the cold as much as I did.

Incorrect, she told me, rousing herself just enough to be audible. Your will when I was born was to remedy the world. I must follow that broad desire, as my kin must do the same for their Shinigami. Simply because most do not change their will does not mean that a spirit will always align with a Shinigami. Should you change your will, only the creator, or some other fundamental change in your soul, could alter mine.

I stopped, brush poised to cross that out. Is that how we got not-Oshiro? He wanted that creature originally and after he changed the spirit didn't change with him?

The shift of staticky clouds, akin to a shrug. Possible. Only the blood-metal-man could answer that. Continue. With that, she subsided. Helpful.

I crossed my first addition out, replacing it with what Arashi had told me. Moving on, I turned my attention to Nanase.

Nanase's birth name's Tomoko. Possibly damaged emotionally, but generally positive affect makes it difficult to tell. Keep an eye on subtler cues. Threats from past are unlikely. I paused, giving that a once-over. Seemed fine.

Shinji and Shinju—potential couple? My brush hesitated as I considered the courses of action. Attempt to discourage affections, but back off if they don't fizzle. Odds are they'll break up anyway. Not worth jeopardizing relationship with both over.

Hiyori is here. No fang—look into Sarugaki clan for possible clues why. Befriend her to keep on her good side after the exile.

Shinju seems to value peace, but a preference for order is a trait of Kuchiki clans. Find out which one wins when push comes to shove.

Aizen is abnormally skilled. Learn why so you can replicate it, but don't push him into the spotlight. Kid's withdrawn as heck—mother's death by Hollow is a likely influence. Probe the circumstances, in case that was a trigger.

Now for personal goals. Learn Kidou—master basics first, but develop original spells for unpredictability. Consider devising a martial arts style for later use—don't get fancy. Useful tricks from other styles, adapted, should work fine. Zanjutsu needs the most work, but an evasion-based style may work best. Best to not get hit.

I frowned as I set my brush down, running the fingers of my other hand over my eyes. What had I been thinking of- ah, yes. I put my brush to paper again.

Figure out how to activate the seals without using your fingers. Just get better at moving reiryoku, period, while you're at it. Research seems to support the idea that that's the foundation for high-level Hakuda, Kidou, and Houhou, so it's a good skill to have down. Either way, there's no point in having that ability without figuring out how to use it without people knowing. Shinigami are human weapons, so weaponize it. I underlined the last two words twice.

I sighed, rolling the scroll up and disentangling myself from the kotatsu. I rose, padding over to the painted screen that had dominated a wall of my room for as long as I could remember. The scene depicted on it was drawn beautifully, colors vivid despite the fact that the screen had been in the family for at least two centuries. Soul Society built things to last. The lurid hues and fluid yet strong lines had distracted me from its subject—a falcon flying above a snake for a panel before flying down and fighting with it in the next panel, followed by the falcon tearing into and beginning to carry the snake away before in the very last panel the snake sank its fangs into the falcon's chest. No one I'd asked about the screen had had the same answer for me as to the meaning behind the scene depicted, but I'd long since given up wondering. Like most things in the Hirako household, it was ostentatious at first glance and vaguely unsettling if one looked for any longer, which was probably the artist's intent.

"Hey, Narin!" I whirled, finding Shinji standing in the doorway. "Ain't ya gonna join the party? Shinju-chan's demandin' that I hunt ya down so she can give ya her present. And ya better have one fer me." He sauntered over, throwing an arm around my shoulders and frog-marching me out of there. "C'mon, don't be a loner! It's nearly New Years!"

I wriggled out of his grasp. "Hey, idiot, I need to get my presents for people before I can give them! Gimme a second!"

I dashed over to where I'd stashed the gifts, wrapped in cheap rice-paper beneath my calligraphy table. Two attempts to gather them into my arms later, Shinji was leading me to the enclosed pavilion where our friends had established themselves.

"Nariko-san!" Nanase sang out, waving so hard his arm looked to be about to fall off. "Open mine first!"

"Wh-what? Why am I the one opening my presents first?" I spluttered, shooting a glance at Shinju to confirm. She nodded, smiling.

"We were going to let Nanase-senpai do it first," she answered, "but he wanted to give before he received, and Aizen-san said he wanted to respect our hosts. You're older than Shinji-kun, so we decided you would instead."

I grinned, flopping down on a cushion beside her. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Just curious. Alright, let's get this going."

Shinju beat Nanase to it, thrusting a small silk bag at me the second I finished my sentence. I took it, tugging the drawstring open and withdrawing its contents.

"Whoa..." I murmured, holding up the beaded necklace the bag had contained. Silver threads winked at me from between dozens of shimmering white beads. "Fujikage-chan, what is this?"

Shinju beamed at me. "They're thought beads! I don't know how religious you are, but I figured they'd be good for your concentration. The merchant who sold me them said that the beads are made of mother-of-pearl for purification."

Aizen leaned in to get a better look. "They look like bad luck to me. White and all."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Hey, don't jinx them! Besides, if everything white's unlucky, we might as well not do anything during winter. The snow's bound to curse us all. Thanks, Fujikage-chan," I added, nudging her shoulder with mine.

Shinju shot a mock-annoyed glance at Aizen too. "Aizen-san! Now she'll fail her finals, or something awful like that!"

Aizen's peculiar soft smile dimmed. "There are things far worse than that, Fujikage-san. Who's next?"

Nanase gave me a slip with a poem written on it in his best attempt at calligraphy, glowing as though he was getting the gift. "See, read it!"

I ran my eyes over the characters. "Honor... stands like a frail orchid... in the driving storm." I glanced up at him. "Beautiful, Nanase-kun. Thanks so much! Where'd you find it?"

He rubbed the nape of his neck. "Well, I didn't know what to get you on short notice, so I went looking in the school library for poetry, and with your Zanpakutou it looked good and all... so yeah! That's how I got it!"

I nodded. "Whose turn is it now?"

Shinji gave me a brick of jasmine tea. I couldn't fathom how he'd gotten it, but I thanked him anyway—he'd already known what I'd like, naturally. Minoru's gift was a block of wood with the kanji and hiragana of my name carved into it. Turned out Fugai district had taught him some some skills that weren't strictly necessary for survival, like whittling, so a wood block it was. The wood wasn't great, but his workmanship made up for it. I made sure to wrap him in a tight hug.

Aizen's gift, in contrast, was notable for its utility. He'd written an analysis of the main branches of Hakuda and rolled it into a remarkably small scroll for the volume of information it contained. My fingers itched to open it right there, but in the name of being sociable I set it aside and instead gave him a broad smile that felt far more genuine than it had a right to. His glance away and blush made the warm-and-fuzzies in my chest get that much warmer and fuzzier.

The rest of the gifts went much like that. Shinju's were more fanciful, while Nanase's and Minoru's were understandably simpler. Aizen gave useful, handmade presents like the scroll, though the rest were less detailed than mine. Shinji's gifts ran the gamut from a practical brick of tea for me to trailing wisteria kanzashi made out of violet glass that looked as though a slight breeze would break it for Shinju. Mine relied on my most marketable skill: calligraphy. Each person received a poem written on the most delicate paper I could find with my favorite brush. I'd had to do them when we arrived at home, since the paper wouldn't survive a journey, but for being so last-minute I was proud of them. Minoru, of course, was the exception. At a market we'd stopped by on our trek, I'd slipped into a small stall and picked up the promised brush case, with some paper and a decent-quality brush to fill it.

"I wasn't sure how the inkstone would weather a journey," I told him apologetically, "or I would've gotten one of those too. Guess it's kind of a late birthday present, but... oh, just take it."

He took it as though I'd handed him a newborn baby, tying the case to his obi immediately as though someone would barge in and step on the thing the instant he set it down. I could've been wrong, but I thought his mouth quivered like he was about to cry. Oops. With any luck that meant something good.

When we saw Shinju off the next morning, my eyes weren't just watering from the cold. Best friends had never been a concept that I'd fully understood, let alone the idea of nakama, but in that moment, I thought I'd figured it out. These were my people, the ones that I could bring into my home as easily as I'd talk with them at school. Maybe... this was a complete family, the kind where blood relation meant nothing. Or maybe I'd just inhaled too many sake fumes. But I really, really wanted to believe the former.

Chapter Text

"Hey, who wants to help me put ornaments at the entrance gate?" I shifted my grip on the ornament in my arms as I spoke. Heavy, but that was to be expected from something that was probably better described as a pine topiary than an ornament. "Anyone feeling strong today?"

"Where's the other one?" Minoru asked, glancing up from where Nanase was presently creaming him at shougi. Or at least I thought he was from the way Nanase was grinning like a maniac. Standing on the threshold didn't give me a great view. "Or two, or whatever?"

"One," I said, giving up on getting a quick answer and easing the ornament to the floor before my arms gave out. It shed a few needles, as if disappointed in my unwillingness to use reiryoku for such a mundane task. "I left it where some poor servant shoved the things at me. How he managed to carry that many decorations I don't know, but I figured it'd be nice to start a new year with a good deed, right?" Made a good excuse to get out of the bustle of people, too, but it probably wouldn't have gone over well if I'd said that too.

"What's the point?" Shinji asked, peering at the shougi board spread across the blissfully omnipresent kotatsu. "Hey, there's a move y'can make there." He tapped a square and had his hand slapped away by Nanase.

"Don't mess it up! Besides, you'll ruin his victory if he gets it only because you tell him what to do!" Nanase protested. He grinned, surveying the board. "I mean, not that that's likely, but still. Thank you, Fujikage-sensei!"

"When break's over, you'll have ta give her a kiss ta thank her," Minoru joked. "I'm movin' my foot soldier." He nudged a piece forwards.

Shinji's glare was absolutely filthy. "Like hell! I met her first!"

Time to end this silliness. "No, you didn't," I pointed out, scuffing my slippers on the floor. "She met me, then Minoru-kun. You were second-to-last."

"Third-to-last," Aizen said from where he leaned against a wall reading. Kid seemed allergic to sitting still, or at least down. "I met her after Shinji-san."

"Whatever!" Shinji said, flapping a hand at his roommate. "Junko-chan's still mine!"

"She's my roommate," I said, entering the room fully, "and she isn't dating you. If anything, Fujikage-chan's mine."

Minoru raised an eyebrow. "Something you'd like ta tell us all, Nariko-san?"

I shrugged, donning my silly smile. "Fujikage-chan's cute, what can I say? Not my type, though. Shinji can have her. Now, is anyone going to help me with this?"

To my surprise, Aizen nodded, rolling up his scroll. "I'll come with you. I need to stretch my legs."

I nodded, fixing a polite smile on my face. I'd been hoping to officially patch things up with Minoru, but that was an unreasonable expectation from the beginning, given his preoccupation. Aizen would work just fine. "Alright. You mind grabbing this one?"

"Not at all."

Ah, winter. Good for childish fantasies of being a dragon if nothing else. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled, sparing a moment to appreciate the resulting cloud before walking right through it. Sorry, cloud, but my fingers and toes would be a lot happier by a fire. Speaking of those, why wasn't Aizen freezing by now? He hadn't even been near the kotatsu.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked, sidestepping a patch of ice.

Aizen shrugged. I couldn't see his expression from where he walked in front of me, but I imagined it to be the same calm, slightly sheepish one he wore the rest of the time. Maybe I should look into his emotional stability. "Yes."

"You know there's a kotatsu in that room, right? Minoru-kun, Nanase-kun, and my idiot brother are using it, but it's got four sides," I pointed out as we trudged along. A burst of wind threw snow in my face. I spluttered, stopping to shake it away before I continued, "You don't have to sit out in the cold."

Aizen stopped as well, giving me his usual sidelong glance. The cloak Shinji had mentioned him arriving in had made its reappearance, presently shielding him from winter's bite. "I prefer layers. Fire and I... don't get along."

I shivered, trotting over to catch up with him. "That makes two of us, but even I have to avoid hypothermia."

A smile played over Aizen's lips as he waited for me to come up alongside him. "'Even you'? And you're so self-deprecating around Shinji-san and your family, too. I never would've guessed at that sort of hubris."

I tilted my head at him. "What do you mean? I haven't really said much when we've been around them."

"No," Aizen agreed as we continued down the icy path, "but that was a clue. You aren't the heir, correct?"

I nodded, pretending to find the wizened tree by the path fascinating so he couldn't see the way my lips pursed. "That's right. I'm second in line to Shinji, even though I'm older." The laughter that spilled out of me was almost genuine, memories of Aizen's final form flickering through my mind's eye. "Always someone better, you know."

"And your parents think Shinji's better," Aizen said. "It's clear, from the way they stand and talk."

I bit my lip. Way to rub it in, asshole. "Yes. They've never been shy about that. They're right, but even before it was clear that Shinji's reiryoku was going to be stronger than mine, they treated him as better because he was born to be the heir."

Aizen's forehead wrinkled. "But can't the Hirako change the succession?"

I hummed the singsong tune of 'yes, but no.' "If the clan elders give permission, yes. But they need good reason to do it. Uncle Haru was kicked out because the man was screwing a different woman every night and didn't even try to balance drinking and managing the clan affairs. I can't get mad at Shinji for being the heir. Captain-class reiryoku, silver tongue, good swordsmanship, brains to spare even when he doesn't study..." I tilted my head back, squinting through snow-covered lashes at the sky. Clouds didn't look too heavy. "He's got all they want." And I don't, was left unsaid. I hoped I wouldn't have to spell it out. Besides, I didn't begrudge him the position much.

Aizen huffed. "You could have most of those if you wanted, Nariko-san."

I scowled, putting on a squeaky falsetto that sounded nothing like my Zanjutsu teacher's hoarse tenor. "Not you too. 'Hirako, laziness is no excuse! We can see the evidence of your training on that sword rack. You should be fighting better than this!' "Besides, a silver tongue? No. I don't like that kind of people."

"You like Shinji-san," Aizen pointed out in that soft way of his that I couldn't bring myself to be mad at. "And the rest of your family, I assume. I'd like to think you don't outright hate me, too."

I snorted. "I have to like Shinji and my family. And who says you're silver-tongued?" Not that you aren't, but you haven't shown it yet, I amended.

Aizen raised an eyebrow. "I've persuaded you to talk about yourself in a place where you're used to giving your brother the spotlight," he said. "A mark in my favor, I would think. But back to my point. I think you could make your words weapons. You are smart enough to do so."

I blushed despite myself. I shouldn't have been taking compliments from a maniac, but it was kinda nice to hear that anyway. "I doubt it. People are confusing."

"That's true," Aizen conceded. "I'll admit to having felt the same way once myself. It gets easier when you keep in mind a few things, though. People have individual agendas that differ from person to person. The only constant is that everyone wants at their core to survive another day. All you have to do is discover the former and play on both." He leaned towards me like an onmitsu reporting hard-won secrets. "Please don't misunderstand this, but you strike me as the sort of person who would excel at that." His reiatsu, usually ethereal and intangible even to me, prickled on my skin like needles, testing how I reacted. My stomach clenched, the fear that had chilled my blood against Oshiro making its icy presence known again. You played him for all he was worth, you bitch, it whispered.

Externally, I kept my chapped face unreadable, swallowing back the tang of blood and metal. Internally, I was frantically taking notes. Those few sentences were a veritable goldmine for information about Aizen. Assuming he wasn't lying. Which he might be, if he was trying to get rid of me as a potential obstacle. I mentally frowned and stopped taking notes. "So if everyone has an agenda, what's yours?" I asked, ignoring the quasi-compliments. He wouldn't answer, but hey, worth a shot.

Aizen's infuriatingly gentle smile reappeared as he looked and pulled away. "Didn't I just tell you? I want to survive."

"You just told me that everyone wants to survive," I complained. "C'mon, be honest with me."

His eyes traced the geta tracks no doubt left by some nutjob who thought a walk was worth frozen toes. "I can't do that, Nariko-san. But I suppose I'll tell you my 'agenda,' if you're going to be so insistent. I want to make the world a better place to live in. Simple as that."

I stared at him. Aizen, where did you go wrong? "You should already have Shikai, then," I said, forcing my voice to be light. Please don't mean anything bad, please don't mean anything bad...

Aizen still refused to look at me. "Motivation is one of many facets of a soul," he said, gentle tone shifting to one that fit Aizen-from-Before much better. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran up my spine.

We were nearing the gate at that point. "Alright," I said, "let's get this taken care of. You put yours near that post and I'll put mine near this one." I jerked my chin at the respective posts and we went our separate ways. When I set my ornament by the pole I'd chosen, it shed a small shower of needles, as though indignant that I was leaving it in the snow.

As I straightened, panting, I found Aizen leaning against the gate, cleaning his glasses. Evidently despite his scrawniness he was stronger than me. Had I lifted with my back and he'd used his legs? Was that it? Whatever. The snot presently freezing onto my face was a higher priority right now. I swiped it off and took the rare glasses-free moment to observe him. If I squinted, I could see how this kid who would've made a perfect movie nerd could eventually become the object of a million fangirls' lust. A little effort could bring much-needed order to his mop of wavy brown hair. He had no baby fat to be lost, but age and training could—and would, I was sure—add muscle to give Aizen some presence.  He was already a few inches taller than me. Let puberty do its thing and there was no reason why the ugly duckling in front of me couldn't be a swan. Hell, even his eyes, silver in the lantern light, could reach bedroom-eyes status if they weren't panicky-wide all the time.

Aizen slipped the glasses back into place and the effect ended. The future attempted god-king of the worlds was only my brother's roommate. Looking at him shivering in an oversized cloak in the snow, I felt small and silly. My knowledge of a series I hadn't been a part of insisted that Aizen was pure evil. The rest of me, the part freezing and learning and growing alongside him... I couldn't believe it. That idea was ridiculous. I didn't know what Aizen had gone through in canon. Maybe the loneliness Ichigo had sensed from him had begun here, in his childhood. Everyone had shut him out and Aizen-from-Before had been left to fester in his rage and pain until he'd resolved to destroy the world that had made him that way. Could I have changed that?

No! My knees buckled as lightning blazed and a tsunami crashed in my inner world, steadying myself with a hand on the gate as the world swam in front of my eyes. No, daoshi! He's the flaw we're supposed to correct! He can't have changed, not from a minor kindness. Lying is what he does. We've seen what he did to the fire-tree, what he did to the sun-from-Before. Unforgivable. We should just electrocute him now.

His future self did that, I argued, and are you insane? Aizen needs to be left alive if he really is evil so we can ensure the Visoreds and Ichigo. And I don't even know what happened back then. How do you know I haven't changed him, even accidentally?

It's too much of a risk! Arashi yelled, voice a thunderclap. We can't trust him!

That's what future-Shinji thought! I shouted back. And look where it got him! Look, maybe we have to rethink things. Maybe-

Aizen, wheezing, sank to the ground. His hood blew back, revealing a face paler than the snow. Arashi could wait. I lunged forward, not caring about the snow melting into my kimono as I knelt in front of him.

"Aizen-san!" I blurted, reiryoku leaping to my hands as I reached for him. Dammit, I hadn't thought I'd need Kidou so soon! "What-"

His hand clamped around my wrist, knuckles white. "N-Nariko. G-get away from me. Need space or-" He broke off into a coughing fit, releasing my wrist to cover his mouth. I scooted back. Breathing room, Nariko, I told myself. Give him breathing room.

When his coughing sounded less like an attempt to puke up his lungs and Aizen's body stopped spasming, I dared to speak. "You okay?"

Aizen shoved his glasses back up his nose. "I think so. My apologies for the rudeness. When attacks come out of the blue I tend to forget my place." His smile, though shaky, was his usual sheepish one. My worries eased.

"It's fine," I assured him, filing away the information. Aizen's definitely sick and knows it. Cough and faintness like Ukitake. Anything else? "As long as you're okay, you don't have to apologize to me. Want help up?" I stood, holding out a hand to him.

Aizen shook his head, taking advantage of the gatepost's support as he climbed to his feet.  "Such courtesy. Truly, you're a diamond in the noble coal mine."

Dammit. For the second time that night, he'd made me blush. I glanced away as heat stained my cheeks. "Hey, there are a fair few nobles who'd object to that. And some others who actually don't deserve it. Are you sure you're fine? Anything I can do to help?"

"No," Aizen said, straightening fully. "I'll take care of it myself."

I bit my lip as we started back towards the house. "You don't have to, though. We're all more than willing to lend you a hand."

"If I didn't know better," Aizen said, voice soft, "I'd say you'd taken my words to heart. You're very quick to offer someone of no family a place in yours."

How did I respond to that? Offense? Pride? Embarrassment at him being closer to the truth than I would've liked? I went with a joke. "What, you hate us all that much? Have the Hirako been so inhospitable? Clearly I'm going to have to drag you to tonight's toast kicking and screaming."

Aizen seemed willing to go with my change in subject. "I don't drink," he said, "but I assure you that I'm not such an ungrateful guest. What all goes on then?"

I shrugged. Unencumbered by the ornaments, we were making good time. The rising moon had even begun to peek through the veil of clouds. "I dunno. People eat a lot and make good wishes to each other for the new year. There's a lot of collaborative poetry. Some of it gets absolutely filthy, depending on how drunk people are. Honoka-obaasan tries to predict relationships and doom for everyone she sees, so you can expect to be thrown together with someone you've never met and have her declare that you'll have a prosperous marriage and a fiery death."

A gust of wind rattled iced-over branches and nearly drowned out Aizen's breathless laughter. "So I can expect that Shinji-san and I will end up at her table? His hair's so long that I'd imagine he's been thrown together with men a few times."

I grinned. "Every year."

"Young master," Honoka bawled, lacquered claws digging into Shinji's palm, "you'll fall in love with a beautiful maiden clad in pearls and have a long an' happy courtship with her. But before y'can achieve it, a great disaster will lay ya ta rest in the desert king's grave an' a Hollow take the blushin' bride."

"Told you," I whispered to Aizen as we watched Shinji and Hiyori squirm in front of my who-knew-how-many-times-great-aunt. Her formal kimono, Shinigami-black with gaudy orange poppies splashed across the shoulders and our clan's camellia crest, made my fingers itch to pull it off of her and exchange it for something even slightly more appropriate. Her sagging skin probably contained the secrets to the universe in its folds. Neither stopped her from having a keen eye for who would be easily embarrassed. "She usually gets a couple to go up, though. Maybe it's because Shinji's true love isn't here?"

"If you think he's destined to marry Fujikage-san, yes," Aizen whispered back. Like me, he made no mention of my great-aunt's filthy language. Civilians didn't talk about Hollows unless they were ripping someone a new one. "Thank goodness Fugai-san took himself out of the pool of contestants." He nodded over towards where our friend dozed in happy, drunken warmth. Poor kid could hold his liquor better than I'd expected, but not nearly as well as he'd expected. At least everyone around here was an expert at handling alcohol poisoning in themselves and others. Nanase had long since fled, citing the fact that he knew he couldn't hold his liquor and didn't want to have one of our relatives force him to try.

I snickered. "Hey, it's Sarugaki-kun's turn. She's the cousin my mother introduced me to."

"What's she like?" Aizen asked, nibbling on dango. The evening had revealed that he could really put food away. Maybe the growth spurt I'd expected would come soon.

"Mean, but I think she's just mad because when I switched to Shin'ou she lost her position as my future bodyguard. Security's highly prized in the branch clans. I think I told you all that she'll be returning to Shin'ou with us, right?" I rushed my words, just in case Honoka finished her palm-reading of Hiyori. Hard to say whether her ancient eyes were even looking at my apparent cousin. "Anyway, she'll grow up. Plenty of reiryoku to spare, too."

"Not similar to Shinji's, I hope?" Aizen said as Hiyori yelped, Honoka presumably having tightened her grip.

"Closer to my level, actually," I replied, scooting closer to him as someone left the hall and the heat of the crowd was undercut by frigid air. "What do you wanna bet we'll be rivals?"

"I-" Aizen began.

"A liar!" Honoka screeched, releasing Hiyori and flinging out her bony arms. Partygoers, entirely used to her by now, didn't even glance over to make sure she hadn't just suffered a heart attack. "Ya must draw close ta the pair of liars an' beware the snake! Oh, it'll come fer ya, darlin', an' take ya too. Sink its fangs inta yer heart, but its remorse will turn aside the falcon's claws and leash the jackal with its teeth at your throat. Yer only bright spot is the liar whose love fer ya will burn eternally in his breast. The second will be cast aside as gilt trash, a sword no longer worthy ta protect ya."

I choked on breathless laughter. Granny'd gone off her rocker tonight. That wasn't even fortune-telling, just a bunch of pseudo-poetry gibberish. "Pretty doom-heavy," I gasped to Aizen between bursts of giggles. "I should leave before she tries to-"

"Off with ya!" Honoka shouted, flapping her hands at Shinji and Hiyori to shoo them away. "Nariko-hime! Get yer inked-up ass over here, an' that boy you're with too!"

Fuuuuuuuuuck. Time to leave. I stood, tugging Aizen up by his sleeve. "You know some flash-step, right? Let's- Oof!" Someone, crowing with laughter, had taken it upon themselves to shove us forward, out of the crowd. When Aizen and I regained our balance, Honoka was glaring right at us. And seriously, how had she seen the tattoos?

"C'mon, girlie! I'm old! I don't have all night! I might not even have the next hour!" She hacked theatrically. "C'mon! Let yer old auntie trace yer fate an' find ya love!"

"Just humor her, Nariko-san," Aizen murmured. "She can't be that bad."

Well, what was I going to do now? Disappoint my friend and my borderline-senile aunt? "Fine," I grumbled as we picked our way over to her table. "I blame you if we die horribly."

Honoka's hands snared our palms before we'd even sat down. "Love!" she howled, the ornaments holding up her pile of white hair rattling as she threw her head back. Something that bore a suspicious resemblance to one of our missing ink brushes clattered to the ground. "Sweet, tender love, like a maiden's blush! But when the sky's cup is full, it'll bear witness to a turn to limitless passion. Great tragedy born of threefold treachery will smite ya both and part ya like the world barrier. The hands of one shall forge the sword that slays the other and brings the final outpouring of ardor."

The thunk that followed could've come from our released hands hitting the table or our jaws dropping.

"B-but I'm not a blacksmith!" I stammered, choosing to focus on the part of the rant that wasn't insanity given voice. Love? With Aizen? The roar of laughter around us only served to deepen my blush as I curled in on myself.

"I-I would never hurt Nariko-san!" Aizen blurted, face paler than it had been during his coughing fit. His hands balled into fists, Aizen surged to his feet. His ethereal reiatsu twisted, near-tangible rage souring the air. "I would never! Take that back! Take it the fuck back!"

"Ya wanna defy fate, boy?" Honoka struggled to her feet, planting her cane on the ground. "No amount of cursin' is gonna help ya! Love is love and death is death! I ain't the source, jus' the messenger! Ungrateful brats!" She turned and hobbled off at a truly impressive clip.

I tugged at Aizen's sleeve. "Let's go," I whispered. Eyes were turning our way. A few men, well into their cups from the look of it, looked like if I wasn't the clan head's daughter they would've broken their sake flasks over my head. "I think everyone needs some time to calm down." Especially you, if you're cursing, I added silently.

Aizen was rooted to the ground, an iron statue unfazed by merely human efforts. "No," he hissed, lips pulled back in a very un-Aizenlike grimace. His sword hand gripped his Zanpakutou with white-knuckled fingers. "That hag needs-"

"You need to calm down," I hissed back, yanking on his sleeve. "Losing your temper isn't an excuse for threatening an old woman."

Aizen stumbled into me, resistance evaporating. "My temper," he mumbled as we wove our way through the mob of people. "Yes, better not to lose that..."

The freezing air outside hit me like a slap in the face. I bit my lip to avoid cursing, but a little ice had to be good to cool Aizen's head. I marched him away from the house, over to a pavilion in the center of the courtyard. In the summer we would've used it for moon-viewing. Tonight was too cold for such an occasion, but the moon blazed full in the sky, so bright that its silvery surface was paler than the snow it shone on.

I gave Aizen a few seconds to compose himself, pretending to be looking at the moon while I waited. The conversation would go a lot more smoothly if he wasn't ready to lash out at me too. Which... worried me, really. From the moment I'd met him, Aizen had been all calm words and soft suggestions. Just as I'd begun to get used to this idea of a gentle, sweet future world-conqueror, the ugly, mad Aizen that Ichigo'd dethroned had reared his head.

"Please don't be mad," I said, tucking in my chin as a chill breeze tried to stick its icy fingers down my top. "Honoka-obaasan's just like that. She predicts all this ridiculous stuff every year, I told you. She doesn't mean anything by it—it's hard to tell if she- if she's really all here, to be honest."

Aizen stuck out his chin. His hold on his Zanapakutou hadn't loosened in the slightest. "It's not that easy," he choked out, each word strangled by that nameless emotion that could sour into despair or fury. My arms ached to wrap around Aizen before he could cry, while my legs trembled, ready to flee before he could yell.

"No, I know it's not," I soothed, forcing my uncooperative body to shuffle closer to him. "It's hard to control what you're feeling. But please, don't get mad at her. Everyone knows you wouldn't hurt anyone."

"They don't know anything," Aizen whispered. My legs steadied. That was definitely a crying voice. I inched closer. Our shoulders were touching now.

Silence hung between us. The tail end of a line of obscene poetry drifted over from the house. I cringed, trying to cobble together a sentence that would cut to the heart of the matter.

"I meant what I said earlier," I said, glad that the dark hid the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. "You don't have to do things alone. We're friends."

"No one shares everything," Aizen said. He made no effort to push me away, which I took as a good sign. His shoulders shook like a bird shuffling its wings. "You keep secrets, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I replied, wiggling my fingers to get some feeling back into them. I had to turn this situation around. The depression that might've-maybe-who-knew led to Aizen's defection shouldn't be encouraged, but the idea of exposing my weak points to him set my teeth on edge. "Everyone does. But friendship doesn't mean not having secrets. It means... understanding that there are people you can trust with those secrets if you want to." There it was, that spark of this is all I need to say, that thrill of condensing a million thoughts into ten words. But concision meant nothing if Aizen didn't want to listen.

Aizen finally turned to look at me, eyes shining wetly from behind dark lenses. I swallowed the burst of laughter that bubbled up in me at the bizarre mental image of Aizen falling flat on his face, half-blind in the darkness. Bad time. "You know how I said you could succeed with manipulation, Nariko-san? I told the truth. You have this way about you. This... efficiency that lets you treat even people like objectives. Like when you killed Oshiro."

"I didn't want to," I whispered before he could get any further. Nonono stop you have no right- Guilt, and anger for feeling guilty in the first place, sank their talons into me. "I didn't want to. It's wrong, and I know it, but Himura-sensei says I was right and it wasn't-"

"Himura-sensei is right," Aizen interrupted. "Anyone would rather have you than a crazy monster." His shoulders hunched again. Damn the dark. Being so close to him and near-blind made my skin crawl with worry, both for him and for me. Arashi wanted me to learn to read people? Not happening when I couldn't freaking see. Couldn't see the lines of his body telling me what buttons not to push. Couldn't see hands forming seals for Hadou I couldn't block.

Back on topic, Nariko, I reminded myself. You can whine later. I opened my mouth to respond, but Aizen continued.

"I-I like you, Nariko-san. I do. But I can't help wondering how safe it is to give you a window into- into me. You might not like what you see." He swallowed hard, though his arm, no longer clutching his sword, wasn't a barrier between us anymore. Good sign. "You might not want to see it anymore."

Ah. There it was, the teenage desire for acceptance. I felt old just thinking it, but Aizen had said it himself. I dragged my brain, fed up with all this sentimental nonsense, back to the present. Tuning out Aizen's pain because I was bored would be rude.

"Hey," I said, switching tacks. If the pithy, understanding Nariko who was at home in the night hadn't worked, maybe the fiercely lighthearted, clever one would. "You think I don't have skeletons in my closet? Yeah, right. Everybody does. Doesn't mean we should all go be hermits until we're good enough for each other." I bumped shoulders with him. "If you wait until you're good enough to open up and be friends with people, you'll never get there at all, you know?" Ah, now Shinju had me doing it too. Moving on. "So don't worry about me approving of you and whatever secrets you have. That's your business. Just know that I wouldn't hang around you if I didn't like you."

Silence, made all the more nerve-wracking by the groan of the pavilion as a blast of wind rattled it. I fucked up. Oh yeah, I fucked up big time. Time to dig a grave. Yep.

Aizen's sleeve brushed my wrist. I froze. What the-? The part of me that knew what was coming rushed hot blood to my cheeks. Calloused fingers neared calloused fingers and-

"Hey! Lovebirds! The clan head's about ta give a toast! Ya wanna look respectable or not?" Hiyori bawled. Common sense and instinctive shame fought, the latter winning out as Aizen and I jumped apart.

"W-we weren't d-d-d-doing anythin'!" Aizen stammered. In between blurting out similarly flustered reprimands and murmuring assent, I noted the way a Rukongai accent clipped the end of his sentence. Aizen never had said where he was from, but his accent usually fell much nearer to Shinju's than Minoru's. Another note to put in my scroll.

Hiyori snorted. "Like I give a shit. C'mon." She slid the door open and disappeared inside.

I shrugged at Aizen. "Might as well go see if Minoru's awake, right? C'mon."

 Yeah, he was drunk. Or hungover at least. Hard to tell.

'He' in this case was dear old Dad, slumped over his desk. Idiot must've had too much last night, even for him. I couldn't bring myself to be sympathetic. Still, I tried to step lightly as I entered his study. No need to put him in a bad mood before we had whatever conversation he'd called me here for. He and Mom, who looked slightly less hungover but made even less of an attempt to sit properly beside him, wore looks that would've been alarmingly serious if they hadn't been so bleary-eyed.

"Na'iko," he slurred, "shuh the door. This ain't a, a whaddyacallit, a conversation fer anyone ta hear."

I did as he asked, folding myself into seiza when I reached them. What were they going to do, talk to me about Oshiro? I breathed deep, trying to ignore the smell of sweaty partygoer as I schooled my expression to something that hopefully looked calm and open and very much not nervous.

To my surprise, my parents straightened, booze-fogged eyes hardening clear and sharp. Half-hidden by stained silk, their frames were tense in a wholly different way from Himura, poised to strike rather than tensed to block. Bad time to remember that they're technically 'knives,' isn't it? I thought, torn between wanting to laugh and run for the hills. I knew my father the sake-brewer and paper-pusher. In front of me knelt Hirako Kenji, spymaster and Shifting Moon Headmaster. I knew my mother the cloth-dyer and nag. The woman coiled beside Kenji was Matsumura Makoto, who had never deigned to match her naginatajutsu against mine and always had had a knack for sneaking up behind me even when I listened for her steps.

"Yes?" I said, scrabbling for some control over the conversation. Had to get in the first word, even if they'd have the last.

"I'm told ya pick up details other people don't notice," Kenji said. His eyes locked on mine. So that was how it was going to be. A nice little unspoken 'screw you,' seeing who would slip up in the game of indirect talking first.

"An' anyone can see that ya grew up real fast," Makoto followed up, in case I'd hoped we could avoid that topic. Her eyes met mine as well, the same cool brown as Shinji's. Didn't one of my parents share my eye color? It was a bizarre thought, but I needed bizarre thoughts right now, not serious discussions with my parents. The Talk had been awkward enough.

"Are you?" I said, pure Shifting Moon. See how the battle stands and react later.

"Fact is, the Court's lady healer got her eye on ya," Kenji continued, drawl thick. He tucked a lock of golden hair behind his ear. "Y'know, I expected that Shinji'd run with a bad crowd and get himself inked up," he said, casual as if he was changing the subject.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. "Well, Shinji's too young to try attracting women that way. No need," I replied, wondering which one of us would make the first move. "You know, my Hakuda teacher has tattoos. Wonder what they do? Anyway, he's a real tough guy—Himura Kyou is his name. Nothing like my teacher for Introduction to Zanpakutou, the first one. We had to have a new one for finishing up the class since the first one had an accident. They should really make sure teachers are in good health, but he did hold out for several years."

"I heard tell that the classes force ya ta mature just ta keep up," Makoto said, fingering a knickknack that had fallen off of Kenji's desk. "Would ya say that's true?"

I hummed, wobbling my hand back and forth. "I suppose so. I've had to be more active in learning, certainly. I was banned from the library briefly, actually." I grinned, both to maintain the pretense that this was a casual conversation and because it was actually pretty funny in retrospect. What kind of teacher tried to stop kids learning?

An icy vise gripped my stomach. The kind that wants to murder and eat you. It was warm enough now that the grasses that carpeted the estate only had a thin layer of frost, but I shivered. My hand trailed to Arashi's hilt. Her smooth silk called up the usual whisper of water and crackle of electricity, which left the chill inside untouched.

"I'm not supposed to talk about them," I blurted out, hands flitting to my face. The cluttered, secluded study pressed in around me like a prison. I swallowed hard, focusing on the pulse of my reiryoku within. Breathe in and lightning gathered. Breathe out and waves crashed, soothing away some of the heat that burned in my cheeks. Defeated, like always. "Captain Unohana said so."

Makoto's face was caught briefly between a smirk and her pity-pout. Really, my mother was prettier when she was smiling. Her expression smoothed. "Captain Unohana's power doesn't extend ta Hirako clan affairs."

"Captain Unohana knows what she's doing," I argued, ducking my head so I couldn't look at her and lose my nerve. Focus on this argument. This is here and now. "She wouldn't take action if it was a clan matter."

"Clearly she did," my father drawled. "Ya ain't yet a Shinigami, Zanpakutou or not. You're our problem alone until ya graduate."

I gritted my teeth. I am not the fucking problem child. I have never been the problem child. "So," I began, "what did you-"

"Ta congratulate ya," he interrupted, drumming his fingers on the desk's smooth blond wood. "Yer mom an' I, we think ya got a lot more goin' fer ya than we ever woulda guessed. Makes me shake ta think how good ya woulda done as an onmitsu."

My face, damn its stupid betraying inked-up self, broke out into a grin. I moderated it quickly to a shaky closed-lipped smile. "Th-thanks. I- uh, yeah. Thanks."

Kenji looked at me for a few long seconds, waiting for me to stop falling all over myself. He continued on, as I'd known he would. My heart sank. Couldn't they just let me have this moment? "Course, ya ain't some Kuchiki flowerlet ta show all yer riches and be content with 'em. Ya gotta learn ta temper it, Nariko. Pick an' choose what ya show."

Makoto bobbed her head. "That's right. We haven't raised ya ta show all yer cards. Ya really gotta bide yer time, Nariko, wait 'til the time's right."

I blinked. What? That wasn't right. Shinji was flashy as all hell. Shinji straight-up announced when he wanted to kick people's asses. Everyone knew Shinji was the heir and what power that gave him. Shinji-

Shinji. Fear and joy died together as realization set in. It's about Shinji again. Big fucking shock. How could you? How could you, how could you, how could you, you- why? "What?" I whispered. I wasn't even an onmitsu. They had no right to act as though I was. Except they did, because they were my parents. I let my long sleeves fall over my hands to disguise the clenched-white fists they'd formed. I couldn't talk. Couldn't move. Couldn't act. They'd given me everything, far more than Minoru and Nanase and Aizen had likely grown up with. It was the least I could do to listen and obey.

Makoto continued on as though she hadn't heard me. Probably hadn't. Volume was what you needed around here. The only things that were quiet were other people's secrets. "Great that you've gotten so far, darlin'. Really. So young an' so skilled. A piece of advice, Nariko: power's what ya make of it. Ya think this clan got where it is by chargin' in and releasin' all its knowledge in some great flood? Hah. The key ta power is usin' it in small doses, ya see? Little bits here an' there. You'll take after the clan that way, I think. No huge walloping load of power, somethin' discreet." She pursed her improbably perfect pink lips. "Sorry ta be that voice of reason, but ya ain't never gonna be some titan like the Captain-Commander, if'n ya were hopin' fer that." Her laugh, normally an almost braying sound that made you want to start laughing too, sounded like someone was punching her in the stomach. "Yer father an' I were wrong about ya not bein' able ta survive that way, but ya ain't no earth-shaker."

"Shinji says I could be a lieutenant." The words tore free from my lips before I could bite them back. I dropped my gaze to the floor, sticky heat rushing up under my collar. Idiot, don't be rude, I scolded myself. That wouldn't help me at all.

Kenji frowned at me. "Nariko, darlin', please don't take this the wrong way. I'm just tryin' ta make sure ya don't get yer hopes up for nothin', it bein' such a competitive job an' all. But Shinji ain't even old enough ta know that girls his age ain't fond of gettin' their hair pulled no more. Hell, he doesn't even have his Shikai yet. Which I was hopin' ta talk ta ya about."

I nodded, trying to inconspicuously stop my nose from running and giving me away.

"When ya came ta me talkin' about goin' off ta Shin'ou, we talked about how Shinji's got more raw power than you," he said. "Which brings me ta an interestin' problem. Ya already honed yer power into somethin' that might be usable, given some work. Shinji, well, he ain't reached that level yet. He's got lotsa power, but his reiatsu ain't got more of an edge than the classmates y'all brought back. I'd compare ya ta an arrow, bein' precise an' effective but useless without trainin' and good circumstances. Shinji I'd call a warhammer. Kid ain't got subtlety, can be seen a mile away an' dodged easily, but he's got a lot goin' for him with a little discipline."

No. They weren't asking that. They weren't turning this to Shinji again. No. Please, Kannon, make him say something evil so I can hate him.

"So, yer mom an' I were thinkin' that maybe ya could show him a thing or two, hurry him along. It's important that Shinji demonstrates his power early so he can climb the ladder before all my hairs turn grey." He grinned, tugging at his mane unscathed by old age even after centuries. I had to smile at the sheer resemblance he had to Shinji with that expression.

We sat there in silence for a few seconds before I worked up the nerve to make a final attempt at making the conversation the self-centered one it should've been. The acid-fire of jealousy ate away at my core like I'd drunk lye. Maybe I should've brought some along to put myself out of my misery.

"Did you have anything you wanted to say about my perceptive abilities?" I tapped my cheek beneath my right eye. "I think you mentioned something about those."

Makoto perked up. Shut your mouth, I growled in my head. At least I can stand to hear Dad's voice chew me out. "Well, I had a couple of thoughts on 'em."

I steeled myself and choked out the words she wanted to hear. "Oh, what were those?"

Makoto beamed as winter wind whistled above our heads. I was absurdly thankful for the tiled roofs instead of the thatched ones I'd seen on my way here. "Well, ya see, them bein' so new an' all, it's understandable that ya might not be able ta use 'em ta their full potential yet. A bit of practice might do ya some good, if ya can avoid gettin' caught. I'm sure that if ya found the chance someday, the clan would welcome some discreetly gathered news."

I focused in on the sentence that I could hear without wanting to throw Kenji's damned paperweights at Makoto's head. "Yeah, I was already planning to experiment with them when I got the chance. Thanks anyway." I let my face go slack, staring past them as though I'd forgotten something important. "Ack! I'm so sorry! I've got to go get ready. Shinji and our friends and I were going to go practice Zanjutsu. Mind if I do? Keep my strength up as a good Shinigami and all?" I plastered wide eyes and a sheepish-but-content smile on my face, a perfect whimsical mask. Might as well keep putting my plans of acting in place. I could use the happiness, too, fake or not.

They shook their heads in unison, lines of their bodies drooping back into my parents' forms, hungover partygoers like they were supposed to be. I wondered idly if I'd ever get that in sync with someone.

"Go easy on yer brother!" Makoto called as I backed out of the room.

"Go on ahead, darlin'," Kenji said, smiling tiredly. "Have fun."

Go sleep and get rid of the heaviness in here, my body murmured.

Go to that training session, my brain whispered, sounding the least eager of them all.

"Sex!"

"Eh?"

The speakers were Shinji and Minoru respectively. At Minoru's insistence, we'd followed the rules of kendo and only awarded points for strikes made with kiai. Shinji'd complained for easily ten minutes about Minoru only wanting to follow the rules to avoid getting creamed, but when he'd gotten into it he'd proved to be creative about which words he used.

"Banned!" I called out, panting on the sidelines. Shinji'd trounced me, as expected, though I'd done better than I'd hoped. "That's just silly, Shin."

Nanase, laughing his ass off, piped up as soon as he found his breath, "No! Let that stay! That's the best one yet!"

I glared at him in mock fury, inspired by my impression of Himura. "No way! That's- that's obscene!"

The handful of people who'd gathered to watch tittered. Some of them, if their outfits were anything to judge by, would beg to differ. Didn't these people know it was winter? At least they left the judging to us.

I cast a pleading glance at Aizen. The polite friendliness between us had fallen back into place, but it didn't fit right, like a new board squeezed into place in old flooring. Something else belonged there, but fuck if I could figure out what. The potential of a threat shimmered too strongly around him for me to consider close friendship for now, but distance was achingly wrong. Honoka's rambling was laughable. I wasn't left with any real options but to continue on like nothing had happened. "Guess you're the tiebreaker, huh?" I chirped, donning the whimsical mask for the second time that day. "Quick! Stop the advance of these perverts!"

He looked at me for a second, expressionless, before his own mask appeared, faintly-crinkled eyes and faintly-smiling mouth and faintly-there presence. Had he recognized my pretense for what it was? "I'm afraid I have to agree with Nariko-san," he said with that half-apologetic tone he always used. "The point is to hit an opponent's physical weak points, not their mental ones."

Minoru could've passed for a plum from one of our trees, bearing fruit early. "A-Aizen-san! I am not- well, you know. I'm not!" he squawked.

Aizen folded his hands in his lap, curling his legs around the bench we huddled on. "I'm afraid I don't know, Fugai-san," he replied. "That could mean any number of things." Only the curl of his mouth in a slier smile than normal said his words held no malice.

Minoru raised his bokken in a mock-threat. "See if I don't put you in your place!"

I jerked as Aizen surged to his feet. The bony angles of his body smoothed as muscles I hadn't even known rippled under pale skin. Nanase and I were on our feet in a second. My eyes flicked around the field. Gravel, trees, grass, winter sky reiatsu pressing the air from my lungs. Dammit, what'd he-

Nothing. I—and half the other people here—had glanced around, looking for a Hollow or bandits or whatever. People here had a weird way of going about life, complacent and ordinary except for the ability to be ready to take it to the wall in a heartbeat. Hell, some of the dainty maidens, as much as any of my cousins were dainty or maidens, had drawn daggers out of nowhere. Minoru had whirled, brandishing his bokken.

Shinji stood stock still, staring at Aizen like he knew where the real threat was.

"Guys, guys," Nanase said, startling everyone out of their daze, "it's fine. No worries." He swept his sunny smile over the gathered watchers. Sure enough, their frozen forms melted into your usual chattering group of nobles, if a slightly shaken one. Shinji slid back into his kendo stance. Minoru mirrored him a second later, as though convinced that some beastie really was about to pop up.

I shook the lightning-pain of shock away. Arashi's eager crack of thunder faded into a murmur of rain as I took my seat again. No alarm. So why had he-

Shinji beat me to it. "Hey, dickhead! Don't worry everybody like that!" he snapped, blond ponytail whipping like a striking snake as he shook his head violently. "Ya wanna be a Shinigami, don't ya? Ya can't be jumpin' at nothing!"

Aizen's head snapped around. His eyes, so wide they looked about to fall out of his head, narrowed to hawklike slits. For an instant the air burned between them, sour-dark around Aizen and clear-light around Shinji. Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck where's Shinju when I need her? Not a threat that had made Aizen stand up. His dark side rearing its head again.

"Hey!" I blurted. The cogs of my brain turned at lightning speed. Where was I going with that outburst? Wise? Funny? I went with carefree, pulling the smiling mask up again. "C'mon, it's all good, right?" I tapped the tips of my index fingers together for the cutesy effect. "We've got time until we're Shinigami, don't we? I hope so, or I'm screwed." A huff of a laugh escaped my throat. "And besides, the Fourth isn't the worst if you're jumpy. Bet I'll be a sewer cleaner. Wanna help me, Nanase-kun?" I shot him a pointed look, still smiling.

He took the hint, releasing a giggle that sounded surprisingly natural. Good on you, Nanase. "Yeah, sure! Shinji-kun can boost morale an' Aizen-san can tell stories so we don't get bored an'- and Fugai-kun can help us 'cause he keeps his stuff so neat anyway and Fujikage-chan can pretty up the place," he chattered.

Shinji stayed tense for a second, eyes bright as his hair with some dangerous emotion. Then his straight tall sharp gold lines dulled and drooped back into my brother's slouching form. "Hey! That's my sister right there! Ya sayin' she ain't pretty?"

"Shinji!" I screeched, flapping my hands at him because a hyped-up Hirako would do that. "You can't just say that! After all, it's not my fault Fujikage-chan's only pretty compared to my great beauty." I ran cold-reddened fingers through my hair and tossed my head for good measure.

There. The social wires that stretched taut between us slackened. Aizen's shoulders lifted in a deep inhale, hunched in a foggy exhale worthy of a dragon. He plopped back down on the bench. The glasses, nearing the end of his nose during the argument, resumed their normal place jammed up the bridge of his nose. Minoru and Shinji took their stances again, raising their bokken like they were prepared to end this day bleeding out on the field together.

Boys.

"We gotta walk back? What kinda bullshit is that?"

"How else ya wanna do it, huh? We ain't got horses or carriages or shit. The Hirako aren't lazy."

"I ain't lazy! I ain't even askin' ta go back another way, ya idiot! You're the one who suggested that!"

"Ya complainin' because yer legs are too short ta- Bitch!"

Thank you, Takaokami, for the cold weather. My face was too frozen-stiff to scowl at Shinji and Hiyori's antics. They'd been bickering since we'd started packing. How did people get off on the wrong foot that quick? Speaking of which, Hiyori was trying to stomp on Shinji's again.

"Hey, you two, can you maybe save the fighting for when we've got teachers around to pull you apart? I don't think anyone here's keen on getting caught in the crossfire." I gestured around our group. Minoru, Aizen, and Nanase had all proven to have the good sense to keep their eyes on Shinji and Hiyori, but if Hiyori started throwing things who knew if vigilance would protect us.

"He started it!" they blurted in unison. I face-palmed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Three, two, one-

Hiyori's face flushed red. "Hey! Ya asshole! I'll strip right here, see if I don't! I'm a girl!"

Shinji made a show of raising an eyebrow as high as it could go. "What? Really? Oh, my greatest apologies, madam."

"Hey, the slapstick's gone on long enough," my father drawled, deep voice cutting off the yowl growing in Hiyori's throat. "Makoto an' I'd like ta see y'all off before we're old an' grey."

We made the usual goodbyes and see you soons and be safes. Dad dragged it out a little longer to give Nanase a seafoam yukata that he swore would travel well, but otherwise they let us go on our way with surprisingly little fuss. That was the Hirako clan for you. Leave the house and they trusted you'd made that choice because you could handle yourself.

As we tromped off down the ice-encrusted path, I couldn't help but wonder if I was the exception to that rule.

Chapter Text

Arc Flower: Snapdragon

Freezing inside and freezing outside. I didn't know why I bothered to hang out in my dorm room if it was nearly as cold as the ice-crushed world outside. That slight temperature increase was only due to the presence of another warm body in there. Which, come to think of it, was probably most of the reason I spent any more time than I had to here.

"Have a fun time without me?" Shinju didn't look up as I entered the room. Her brush stained the pale paper in front of her with black ink, smooth, fluid strokes that I could probably have learned something from.

I resisted the initial urge to roll my eyes. An hour back and I'd already pissed her off?

Wait a sec. Shinju. Pissed off. I didn't need Arashi's almost-storm clouds rolling in my soul to know that this was exactly the opposite of normal. And that despite the alarm bells clanging in my head, I didn't have the faintest idea of how to deal with it.

"If you count my relatives practically emptying our stores of sake and my crazy great-great-great-aunt ranting about me falling in love with Aizen-san fun, I guess." I shrugged off my jacket, draping it over one of the wardrobe's knobs. "Could've used you. My little cousin that we brought back has the temper of a wild dog."

"Who's she? Anyone I might have heard of?" Shinju's brittle voice asked. I couldn't say that Shinju had asked the question. Shinju had retreated into this pretty little shell to let habit do the talking.

Empathy. I need empathy. But what's the problem? What'd I do? I thought frantically, turning away to set Arashi on the sword rack to hide my discomfort. 'Without me.' Is she feeling lonely? Unwanted? Is it what I didn't do?

I went with that, brushing imaginary dirt off my hakama as I plopped down beside her. "I doubt it," I said so she couldn't try to deflect me by saying I hadn't answered her question. "What's wrong, Junko?"

I'd just opened my mouth to repeat myself when her head jerked up. Should've expected a delayed reaction from a Kuchiki retainer, slow to adapt in war as they were in peace. "What did you call me?" she snapped, twilight reiatsu grating against mine. Her brush creaked ominously in a white-knuckled grip.

"Junko," I answered, adopting that neutral tone and expression that pissed people off with how bland and inoffensive it was. "I know I should've asked to drop the honorifics, but it is a nickname."

Shinju's breath hissed through her teeth. In and out, slow and shuddering. Her face, drenched in the watery winter light, twitched. When she'd taken about five rhythmic breaths, Shinju spoke again. "Are you trying to get me mad? I should've known it would take a while for a Hirako's true colors to show. Nariko." She added my name in an afterthought that managed somehow to convey even more rage than already simmered in her tightly-controlled voice.

Well, that was easy. "Yes," I said, dropping the mild mask. "You've been avoiding talking about whatever's bothering you ever since- ever since I killed Oshiro." I took a deep breath of my own. Across the room, Arashi thrummed with satisfaction. Damn spirit, trying to make everything a problem to be solved. She'd been nagging me to cut the tangled knot of my guilt and straighten things out with Shinju the whole way back. "How am I supposed to know what you're thinking unless I hit you hard enough to crack open your shell, 'pearl'?"

I didn't have time to congratulate myself on that turn of phrase when she finally turned to look at me head on. "Can't you just look at me and know? Isn't that what you're supposed to be good at, ferreting out information before someone's even said a word to you?" The flat, hard tone was gone, replaced by the bitter lilt of someone who'd already started to crack. Oh, Shinju.

Still, my teeth ground. I clasped my hands together as my pulse pounded in them, ready to tighten into fists and sock Shinju one. Wouldn't it be nice to see that delicate face marred by a broken jaw?

No. It wouldn't. Shinju was hurting and lashing out. She didn't even know what my parents had said to me. No point in getting mad. I took another deep breath before mustering the words to reply.

"That's not fair," I said, leaning towards her."I'm not my clan. Neither of us is." It was a gamble, albeit one that didn't have much riding on it. But family troubles were a pretty good bet for a minor noble's second daughter fresh from New Year's celebrations. "How about we talk as just ourselves?"

"You aren't, though," she said, lower lip trembling. "You're Shinji-kun's second, and main family of your clan, and y-you have a spirit and everything. It's not fair!"

Second? I put that aside for later thought. Arashi's hilt shimmered near-purple as the light dribbling in through the window grew stronger. "Fairness? If there's someone who judges how worthy you are by your personality, you should have a Zanpakutou, not me."

Shinju sighed, gaze dropping to her lap. Her brush clattered to her desk, spattering it with blots of ink like the flower petals that adorned her sleeves. "Yes. But I don't want to talk about school when we're technically still on vacation. How'd it go after I left?"

I frowned, ready to insist on talking about whatever was bothering her. But there was a catch in her throat, all but begging me to answer her question and let the conversation flow away from the nasty, prickly problems. Or maybe my own willingness to believe that she wanted that. Either way, she wasn't going to say anything more. "It went. We froze our butts off when that snowstorm hit, but the actual New Year's celebration was fun. I got so much mochi!" I clapped my hands over my childish smile at remembering the sweet, squishy treats. I could practically taste them. Or maybe the snow's resemblance to powdered sugar was getting to me. I let my hands fall to tug at my kimono sleeve, a number in beautiful golden-cream laced with delicate red camellias. "And this, actually. It was a reward for getting Shikai, or something."

Shinju sniffled, turning to face me fully. "What do you mean, 'or something'? They didn't officially make you a princess?"

I shrugged. The kimono was a sign of approval in itself, tasteful and seasonally appropriate. "They had a lot on their hands at the time. Gossip stops for no man." I grinned at her. "Especially not when all the nobles have just had huge parties. Always a little dirt to scrape up. I bet they'll get around to it sooner or later."

Shinju's silvery brows drew together, smoothing a moment later as she appeared to come to some sort of internal resolution. "Well, I suppose that's true. Although I'm not sure if you could call my family's New Year's gathering a party, you know? Everything's so-"

"Traditional?" I guessed, trying to picture a Kuchiki party and failing. There would probably be protocols for small talk and rules about gift-giving and all that.

Shinju's frown reappeared and vanished again. A lot of her expressions, I noted, were transient, seen briefly before resuming a placid mask. "Subdued. Really pretty, really nice, just... quiet, you know." Her hakama rustled as she shifted position. Shinju's perpetual slight smile widened, looking almost genuine. "My brother and I composed this beautiful renga together. And everyone else agreed! That it was beautiful, that is. Let me see if I can remember a line." She tapped her chin with a finger that was, naturally, unmarred by ink. How some people managed to do that was beyond me. "Ah, here we go. 'Frost-crested branches—in them, golden spring promised, yet zouni beckon.' That was the opening verse, I think."

I drummed my fingers on my desk, counting out the rhythm. Well, it worked. Who knew Shinju had a knack for poetry? Actually, thinking about it, what did I know about her that wasn't school- or family-related? Not enough. I'd never been good at working with others and it showed now. Note to self: fix that. "Pretty! Did you get an award?" I tilted my head at her, trying to channel all my energy into being girly and sociable and likable.

Apparently it worked, because Shinju's smile widened and kept up the genuine look while it did. "Do you really need an award besides bragging rights? But yes, we did. My brother got this ornament for his Zanpakutou and I got this paperweight!" She fished a lump out from under her sleeve. I blinked away sun spots as the sun came out from behind a cloud and caught whatever it was. Jeez, someone likes their shinies. When my vision cleared, Shinju was holding out-

Shiny! chirped sparks and foam.

Waking up, magpie? I teased before turning my attention back to the aforementioned shiny. Shinju was holding out possibly the only paperweight that could make me actually want a paperweight. A lurid blue morning glory turned its blossom toward me. Smaller morning glories ringed it, trailing green vines and leaves spreading out in iridescent teal.

"What's it made of?" I asked, using my gaping mouth for one of its actual purposes. "That can't be stone. Right?"

Shinju beamed. "See, there is something you don't know. It's glass! The flowers were painted on with molten colored glass, I think my lady mother said. The glass workers would know." She flapped a hand like she didn't really care about the process or the workers. "And the way it shimmers... I forget, honestly. I was just happy to win, you know?"

"Sheesh," I commented, drawing on the sly charm that was my birthright, "if that's what you get for winning poetry contests, I should start writing!" And then promptly ruined it by adding, "Speaking. Whatever."

Shinju giggled. She picked up her brush again and finished the letter, or what I assumed to be a letter. One quick, neat folding later and Shinju was tying it up. Yep, letter.

"Didn't you just see your family?" I asked, idly playing with a wisp of reiatsu. Well, idly wasn't the right word for it. It took more concentration than I'd hoped to have to move it when it wasn't tethered to my skin. My grades in Kidou weren't shaping up to be as stellar as my skill with essays. "Leave something behind?"

She glanced up from her letter, giving me the mixed innocent-annoyed look that nearly had me ready to punch her again. "You didn't see the notice? There's an end-of-the-year field trip for first-years. My brother warned me about it, so I thought I'd send a letter home so they knew if I didn't respond it wasn't because I'd been kidnapped, you know?" The smirk from before flickered across Shinju's face. "You really didn't know? It's more of an internship, from what I've heard. Different every time, so no one has an advantage."

Aw, fuck. There goes all my plans. No familiar bed, no library, no warning. I've heard of practical exams, but this is ridiculous! I swallowed back the bitter anger in my throat. I was too old to be whining, dammit. But I'd just gotten back- No whining! "Where is it? I didn't see anything," I said, fighting the groan dragging my voice a few notes lower. "You'd think I'd-"

"-there's a notice board at the center of campus," Shinju interrupted. She was having a field day with knowing more than me, wasn't she.

We need to work on your anger management, daoshi, Arashi mused. People can be aware of things you aren't.

I know, I snapped back. It's just kinda annoying that she has to be so smug about it!

The curl of a wave, like a raised eyebrow. And you think you aren't, sometimes? Your pretense could use a little more work.

I turned back to the real world. Clearly today was gang-up-on-Nariko day."Really?" I asked, keeping my voice and face bright. "So what, do people post about lost cats?" The mental image of Urahara putting up posters for Yoruichi gave my laugh some genuine humor. "That'd be kinda funny, huh?"

Shinju blinked. "No, I don't think so. Notices for important school events, clubs that apparently first-years aren't allowed to join"-she pulled a face that almost took the edge off my annoyance- "and illegal tournaments." Shinju sniffed, standing and smoothing her hakama. "Some people actually sneak off campus to fight for prizes! Can you imagine? They should all get expelled, but some of the teachers turn a blind eye to it since they did it too."

I filed the information away. A club might look appealing come graduation. I stood, not bothering to neaten my kimono. Time to check that board. And while I was at it, find out who else had known about this field trip.

I decided to kill two birds with one stone and head to the library. First, Aizen and Minoru might be there—well, Aizen more likely, but Minoru had begun forays into basic kanji. And second, I needed to do some research.

Research came first. I slid into one of the library's many pairs of indoor slippers and padded over to the desk. Some poor upperclassman was stuck sorting scrolls today. I figured he was better than nothing if I wanted to avoid searching through a million shelves. "Excuse me?"

His head jerked up. My hand shot out to catch the glasses that fell off his nose with the abruptness of the movement. I missed, naturally, but they clattered to the desk's dark wood harmlessly. Great. I'd gotten the absent-minded professor of library workers.

And yet I couldn't help my irritation fading as he set their wire frames back into their proper place. Dude just had this thing about him, like a much taller, blond-brunet version of Hanatarou, that made him instantly endearing. "Ah, sorry about that. How can I help?" His voice had the sound of someone who'd said the same thing far too many times, but I forgave it. The amount of idiots late on projects one got in here, it wouldn't have surprised me if he had said that many times. The bruiselike moons under each eye didn't indicate a particular ability to think clearly at the moment.

I steeled myself against the instinctive 'ahh, an upperclassman!' reaction. Having to crane up at him didn't help, though. "Um, I'm looking for some history on paranormal abilities. Instinctive learning of zankensoki, Kidou without formal training, reiatsu sense. And sensing Zanpakutou." I hoped like hell he hadn't noticed the way I'd slipped that in there. He didn't look like he'd be on the Onmitsukidou track, but you never knew. That might make him the perfect onmitsu. But no, a pulse of my reiatsu brought back the crackle of a fire-type Zanpakutou to match the charcoal smears on his fingers. Probably. "And I don't know if there are student records or anything, but I was looking into a-an old friend I'd lost touch with after he came here." For a given value of friend, it was true. Oshiro and I had known each other. I'd liked him for a while.

Are you sure you want to do this?  murmured brooks and distant thunder. He-

This ends here, I replied. If mental voices could be grim, mine was. You're the only good thing I got out of that. The rest of his influence can go to hell.

I focused on the intern—he had the look of an intern, even if that wasn't really the same here—again. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I, ah- the second one. The second one first. We have some, for famous students or teachers as long as they're still teaching here. It's supposed to be, I don't know, an example or something? An example for students. Yes, that's it. I know where that is. The first one, hmm. I'd check the section on techniques or maybe history."

We stared at each other for a few minutes before he processed that I wanted to know where.

The intern blinked worryingly black-ringed eyes. Yeah, someone had better get the guy a day off before he collapsed. Maybe sleep deprivation would prepare him for the Fourth if he went there. "Three rows back against the left wall. Anything there might be, uh, pretty disorganized. There was a project rush before break."

"Thanks," I murmured, turning in my heel to find my intended prey. Maybe it was the lingering echoes of Zanpakutou as my system finally settled, but I could've sworn I heard him mumble, "Are you the one with the cute cousin?"

Ignoring Hiyori's potential love interest—and I really didn't want to think about that— I closed in on the shelf in question with a sinking heart. Oshiro's file had probably been moved. On the other hand, it was pretty chaotic, less a shelf than a pile of scrolls threatening to spill off their designated platforms.

There! A scroll with the kanji for castle stamped on its cap. I snatched it up, popping off the cap and unfurling the damn thing. Let the truth be known.

A quick skim—alright, it was a read-through, but I read quickly—turned up almost nothing. It was your typical polished crap, all praise and barely any meat. Made me wonder if that was why Oshiro'd gotten as far as he had. If no one had bothered to really look closely at the guy, he could've been as suspicious as he wanted.

Hang on. '...achieved numerous distinctions in Zanjutsu despite social setbacks in his initial years and struggles in Kidou.' That's something. I scanned the text again. There it was again, a couple more references to some kind of social troubles and 'proving that a truly valiant Shinigami must be judged on his skills and not the judgment of his peers.'

I sucked in a breath, released it with a shudder. Processing wasn't done, but I had something.

Looking around in the section on Shinigami abilities—okay, almost entirely the zankensoki—yielded almost nothing. There was a small scroll that seemed to be on the science of spiritual senses, insofar as science existed here. I snatched that and went looking around the history section. Which... ugh. Well-organized, at least, but Soul Society really liked its history. Every imaginable historical topic in easily a dozen language, organized by eras with names that sounded like B-list magical girl attacks. 'Northern Dawn Bloom Peace,' anyone? I scooped up a bundle of scrolls marked 'Warring States' and headed to my library alcove.

As weird as it was, I smelled Aizen before I saw him. The room I usually made my den in smelled old and stale, while Aizen... didn't. He had a certain scent about him, an odd mix of teenage boy musk and deep-woods pine. He valiantly tried to mask it with the gold osmanthus-scented soap from the bathhouses around campus, but I knew him by that unique perfume anyway.

I shuffled my feet as I approached, mentally snickering. 'Don't tap on the glass, may startle Aizens.'  I saw his deliberate nonreaction before I spoke, wondering even as I chirped his name why he hadn't said anything first.

Shy kid, I reminded myself as I fought to keep from dropping my armful of scrolls. Probably overrides the 'appease the noble' instinct when there's no one else around.

Aizen glanced up, adjusting his glasses as they tried to make a run for it. "Nariko-san? I didn't hear you come in. You're done unpacking?"

Bull, I thought, blocking the word's escape with a wall of teeth. You actually acted like a normal human being instead of a wild animal and I know even you can't change that fast. "Sure am. I try to pack light," I added when the silence hung between us for a few seconds. Nervous much? snarked a voice in the back of my head. I shushed it and continued. "Can I sit with you? These things are going to fall any second." I twitched my chin at the scrolls. Any more motion would've started an avalanche.

He nodded, simultaneously scooching over and sweeping his own material aside to make space for mine. "It's your usual table anyway," he murmured as I dumped today's reading material in front of us. "What're these for?"

Sheesh, this conversation felt like I was constantly playing catch-up, answering one question only to get hit with another. "Sweet," I drawled, fixing him with my best 'aww, I could kiss you but not really' smile. Yes, there was a smile for that. "I'm touched, really." I nodded at the scrolls, resolving to follow this charade of a conversation. "These? I'm doing some light reading."

"Fine, don't tell me," someone else grumbled through Aizen's mouth. Word-perfect, not a hint of hesitation, but the tone marked them as someone else's words. A novel's, maybe. My head was starting to ache from how much analysis I was going to have to do.

But since the pleasant Nariko I needed to curry favor with Aizen wouldn't have complained, I relented. "Oh, fine. I'm taking a look at Oshiro-sensei, the real one. I just- I have to know why. The rest of them are just my own interest. Shinigami weren't always like this, right? I want to know what they were like. Or what Seireitei says they were like, at any rate."

A ghost of a smile touched Aizen's lips. "Courting danger, Nariko-san?"

I brushed a lock of damnably long hair back over my shoulder. Had to get it cut as soon as I had salary enough to not rely on the clan stipend, which was strictly not for haircuts above a certain length. My clan liked its members with long hair. "No more than they're making me on this field trip," I answered. "Did you know about that?"

From the way Aizen went as white as a Hollow's mask, he hadn't. "F-field trip?" he stammered, fingers starting up a rhythm against the table's surface. I fought the urge to rap his knuckles with a scroll. "Th-they're making us do f-field work? With r-real targets?"

I shrugged, keeping a careful watch on his darting eyes and listening just as carefully to the rapid wheeze of his breathing. "I don't know, Aizen-san." Personalize it. Remind him of who he's masquerading as right now. Anchor him. "Junko-chan's brother told her about it." I dropped my voice into the low, hushed tone of someone asking about the topics you didn't usually ask about. "Are you okay? Anything I can do, honest."

Can we rule out illnesses from Before? Arashi asked, voice barely a whisper at the edge of my mental hearing. Not powerless, just efficient, keeping out of the way.

A pause filled by shuddering breaths that sounded half-blocked by something slimy. "I think so," Aizen answered with convenient timing. I thought an impression of 'yeah, what he said' to Arashi. Slowly his breathing began to even out. When it sounded like each inhale didn't hurt and his eyes lingered in a spot for more than a second, I let the reiryoku that had built up in my hands fade. Like I could do healing Kidou anyway.

Probably, I answered as my mouth said something soothing. Not like I know enough to make diagnoses, but I wouldn't peg him as schizophrenic, shitty eye contact notwithstanding. Anxiety is a maybe. Panic attacks?

Short and coherent for panic attacks, Arashi murmured. I could feel her sifting through faded memories, pops of mental static going in and out and finally stopping. You're right, you don't know enough. More watching and waiting, daoshi!

You don't have to sound so gleeful, I grumbled. It's not like you're the one who has to actually pay attention.

"So what're you looking into?" I asked, breaking the ice of awkwardness. "History?"

Aizen shook his head after a moment in a much more Aizen fashion. "Hollows, mostly. Famous ones, famous battles. Some light reading of my own."

"Might as well," I mumbled, bending over a history scroll. "Never know what you'll find."

An hour late, I had found little more than speculation, interesting though it was. There was occasionally reference to psychics, 'farseers,' shamans, all that crap. Mostly they turned up in stories of old battles with descriptions of battle auras and valiant spirits that seemed to stand in for willpower. Ambiguous enough that one wouldn't even think that the references were anything but poetic. Maybe I was reading into things and they were. In a few cases, there were intrigues in which a spy disguised himself as a clan member and another person—always the heir—sniffed him out. More often, a person in the perfect position to inherit if the main branch was discredited discovered corruption by 'hearing their inner self.' Telling words.

The most interesting were the tales of wars being fought over someone with those powers. In this scroll, a clan leader fought to reclaim his daughter, a girl who 'through cleverness and divine favor discerned the thoughts of friend and foe.' Of course, she ended up brainwashed, spilling everyone's secrets before going insane and trying to kill him. Whole clan ended up dead when Daddy Dearest couldn't bear to kill his little girl. In another- yep, a kid saw a girl's beautiful soul and fell in love with her. Turned out she was from another clan and he decided to kill his own to be with her. Surprise, she didn't love him back and he died.

Most read like stories. Great ways to push ideas on impressionable kids, right? Tell 'em a story and watch the themes repeat.

I sat back, rolling my shoulders and hearing my back pop. Clearly I needed to start working towards a better posture. Terrific. "End up with supposedly impossible powers that are actually extensions of a natural ability and are thus beyond your control? You're either going to go crazy or betray your clan. Or both and you die no matter what."

No. That wasn't quite right. If you kept the order of things or if you were already favored by it—noble and orthodox, basically—you could get away with it. I couldn't help noticing that most of the positively-portrayed psychics, for lack of a better word, were either tied to the Wakahisa or Kuchiki. I supposed that both made sense, the ruling houses being judges and soldiers respectively. The Shihouin wouldn't share that information if they had it, while the Shiba probably didn't care as long as it didn't wreck their harmony. Who the heck even knew what went on with the Takamiya. All Asami had been able to teach me about their origin was that they'd founded the Kidou Corps and tried to use them to make a power grab. That'd gone over pretty badly and ended up with the Takamiya losing their taste for political activity, so mostly they just managed passive holdings and everything Kidou. Tech, actual Kidou, the Kidou Corps, that sort of stuff. Brought their weight to bear occasionally, but it was a sleeping giant thing.

Point was that the Takamiya might be involved, but there was no practical way to find out. I discarded them. That wasn't important. None of this was. Knowing the history was what mattered. Knowing that Unohana was right, that I had the potential to be dangerous not because of who I was but because of what people associated with me, that was what mattered.

Oshiro I had nothing but guesswork on. I excused myself from Aizen's and my impromptu research session, finding places for some of my scrolls as I left. I knew everything I needed to know.

What I didn't know, it turned out, was where exactly the jinzen rooms I'd registered my Zanpakutou at were. Eventually I found my way over, to the relief of tingling fingers.

"Man, it's cold," I said, because that was what one said when they entered a building in winter and found strangers there. The man at the desk spared me a glance before nodding at the sign-in sheet and returning to his reading. A stealthy glance over at the scroll half-unrolled in front of him made it pretty clear that Desk Man didn't have much in the way of relationships, but that wasn't my business. I left him to that and headed for a room, hoping Arashi's waters would scrub away what I'd seen.

"I don't know how much help I'll be, daoshi," Arashi murmured, face obscured, strangely, by a paper fan. Where she even got that I didn't know, let alone how she could kneel with bird legs. "I was unleashed in our conflict with the blood-metal man. We owe him, in a sense, for that."

We knelt beneath a pavilion, looking out at the Zen garden that dominated the temple landscape. My eyes slid away from the white sand to the cloudscape beyond the mountaintop. "We don't owe him anything. I would've learned your name eventually," I countered, attention split between talking to her and continuing to breathe deeply.

"Not any time soon, daoshi," Arashi said, giving me the side-eye. "You're too reactive, as the crimson man says. You don't take action enough."

I huffed. "Well, what am I supposed to take action against? You want me to murder Aizen before he gets a chance to be a supervillain? Find the Quincy shadow realm? Make the Hougyoku all by my lonesome? Might as well just start killing everyone! Who knows what they might do?"

"Don't twist my words," Arashi scolded. "You know I wasn't suggesting that. You know just as well as I do that you would've kept meditating and meditating and never done anything that would've made me want to give you my power."

I hunched my shoulders as if they'd hide my burning face. "So you're saying that the fact that I panicked when he was about to kill me makes me a hero? I'm not a hero, Arashi. I just didn't want to die with nothing done. If that got me Shikai, why the heck wouldn't some dedicated meditation have done it? Devotion right there."

"I'm not bonded to some hotblooded young man who needs to learn patience, daoshi," Arashi said, adjusting her sakkat. "You wouldn't grow from making a routine of something you wanted anyway. Fighting back and resisting evil for a noble goal, that is why I gave you my power then. You didn't shy away from-"

"-from murdering someone?" I interrupted, shoving an unruly lock of hair away from my face. The more I said it, the easier it became to hear those damning words.

"From protecting yourself! From protecting anyone else the blood-metal man might have hurt! From avenging his previous victims!" Arashi's head snapped around, silver fabric fanning out like a halo around her. Her smooth rice-powder mask was creased by a scowl. "What was your intent, daoshi? Not to kill senselessly! You knew he wasn't going to back down. You knew he had killed without remorse! If you could've found another way to stop him, would you have taken it?"

"Of course!" I blurted. Why was that even a question? She knew I would've done anything to escape without killing him.

 "Then why are you beating yourself up for it? The approval of Soul Society doesn't mean you should hate it!" Arashi said. Rain was beginning to patter on the pavilion's roof. "If a Hollow says it's from Hueco Mundo, it isn't wrong, no matter how monstrous it is. And you aren't wrong for defending yourself against that man just because Soul Society applauds your action. You hurt no one else by killing the blood-metal man, you saved yourself, you feel remorse for it. Stop trying to find an excuse to shirk your duties."

The wind whistled past, torture on already-chapped lips that couldn't offer any counterargument. Not one that didn't make me feel like a dirty coward, anyway.

"I'm scared," I managed after a few minutes. The rain had slowed to mist. "I don't want- it's hard. I don't know if I can keep killing like this and I have to, don't I? It's supposed to be wrong to kill, but I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, are we?"

Arashi chuckled. "No, I suppose not. But there you have it. The difference between you and a murderer isn't what you've done, daoshi. It's your intent. You just have to- live with it. Yes, that's it."

A stupid, impulsive idea entered my head. "Can I go do something silly?" I asked, disentangling myself from seiza and standing.

"It's your world too, daoshi," Arashi pointed out, face half-hidden by an overlong sleeve. I hoped she hid an amused smile rather than a smirk. "Do what you want."

I kept her words in my head as I headed for the edge of the mountaintop. I wasn't going to chicken out now. Oshiro was done intruding on my life and if he was still out there somewhere, I had to let him know it.

"You're done here!" I shouted, turning my face to fully face the wind so it could chase away how ridiculous I felt. "Get out! I won't let you make me feel guilty for living! You gave me no choice and I will not feel guilty for defending myself, Oshiro! Or whoever you really were!"

It was the stupidest thing in the world to cry about. I never cried when I was happy. But maybe the feeling crashing over me, chasing shame from my veins with each heartbeat, wasn't happy. Maybe it was relief. Whatever it was, the water the wind carried away into the sky wasn't from the koi pond.

The crack of thunder and deluge of summer-warm rainwater a second later might've had something to do with it. But probably not.

Silk rustled behind me. I turned to see Arashi there, close enough that her heavy layers were all that prevented her from feeling my breath. I had just enough presence of mind not to back up as arms padded with silk and feathers folded awkwardly around my shoulders.

"That's the wielder I gave my name to," she murmured, clipped voice softening. "People are going to hear your voice, daoshi. Not just some washed-up spirit and me. Keep shouting, my chimera."

"Not right now, I hope," I mumbled into her inexplicably mammalian chest. "I'm the harmless bookworm right now, remember."

She released a huff of air that wasn't quite a laugh. "Yes, of course. Now, how about some training while you're here? Your footwork on unstable terrain could use work."

"Oh, fine."

The assembly for the first-years' field trip was right after dinner, giving me barely enough time to quiz Nanase about it. He swore forwards and backwards and in every possible direction, despite Shinji's passionate insistence that he must've known, that he'd honestly forgotten about the whole ordeal.

"I blocked it out!" Nanase had claimed, waving his hands frantically at us. Which gave me exactly no hope for this little excursion, but it was no use making up my mind before I'd even found out what it'd be about. Apparently the current second-years had served internships in Seireitei itself, which had been bad enough that the class had actually lost a few students. Nanase's group had been stationed in the Living World, which didn't sound so bad until one considered that war had absolutely been a thing then.

Joy.

So we all, minus Nanase, dutifully piled into one of Shin'ou's many lecture halls. By some miracle Aizen found five seats together towards the back. Shinji didn't have a reason to gripe about having to look like he was paying attention, giving us a nice bit of time to chat about the weather and other pointless stuff.

The dull roar of everyone else's talking subsided. Time to listen.

"First-years!" Ounabara boomed. "Those of you with family members who are graduates of this fine institute may already have inklings of what I'm about to say. Those few who have learned to pay attention to notice boards" -Shinju stuck out her tongue at me- "may also be aware. You'll be getting some practical experience this semester." He actually had to raise a hand to quiet everyone again. I supposed it was pretty big news for a bunch of kids itching for a chance to prove themselves as something better than the fresh meat of Shin'ou.

"This year's trial is a post with security patrols in the Rukongai. Your time at this institution has started you on the path to being the pinnacle of martial prowess. The districts we assign you to will be appropriately difficult," Ounabara continued. "If you do not return, the chaff has been separated from the wheat."

Well, damn. Ounabara hadn't even paused in saying that. Either he believed it unflinchingly or he'd said it to several previous classes. Both were chilling prospects.

"Putting down insurrection is a valuable skill for Shinigami to possess. Some districts may include former Quincy. Others, yakuza. Some will certainly hold the seeds of rebellion. Much gossip has reached me" -he swept a disapproving glance over the class, as if to say that he'd put down those rumors- "concerning the atypical events of this year. If you thought the rest of you would escape unblooded, think again. Even if your blade doesn't send a soul on, you will be given reason to remember proper sword-cleaning technique."

It was easier, having talked with Arashi, to not look around at my classmates for the inevitable stares. Nearly as easy to keep breathing without feeling an iron grip on my lungs.

"You'll be sent in groups. Assignments will be given based on social groups according to your teachers' observations. Overly large circles will be broken up, but it's our priority to make sure you'll be invested in protecting your comrades. The Shinigami you will be working with will train you to value the mission above lesser matters, but a foundation of trust may be what gets you through your first true test," Ounabara intoned. I'd never really had occasion to think of anyone as intoning anything, but Ounabara really did. I supposed decades of making speeches to teenagers about to see battle gave him practice.

I joined my classmates in a collective jump as Ounabara clapped his hands. No way he didn't have some kind of Kidou that amplified sound here. On second thought, no. That would've been too trivial for someone with as serious a face as his. 

"Students in the left column of seats may see Honshou-sensei, Lau-sensei, and Kotetsu-sensei for assignments. Students in the middle, see Nguyen-sensei, Ise-sensei, and Kurosawa-sensei. Students in the right, see Aikawa-sensei, Kim-sensei, and Maeng-sensei."

With that, Ounabara left us to navigating our way through the mob of students clamoring to know what they'd be spending the rest of the school year doing. Aizen had found seats on the right, which proved pretty lucky. I wasn't super keen on approaching a teacher I didn't know.

As luck would have it, traffic nudged me towards Love anyway.

He glanced up from juggling his over-long scroll. "And you are- right, Hirako. Did you know you've got a cousin? Comes up to about my elbow, tried to kick me in the shins when I said she'd be going with you? Anyway, you're off to West 64th, Kinsawa. Better than it sounds, honest. Next!"

I let the crowd push me out the door. A quick scan of the crowd revealed no familiar heads, though Minoru wasn't terribly distinctive from behind and he was too short to be spotted easily anyway. Oh well. Shivering in the thawing air wasn't that bad.

"Where are you going? You're with me, right?"

Holy balls. I spun around to find Shinju bouncing on her tiptoes behind me. How the- ah, another exit. Finally, something with a clear answer.

"If you're going to Kinsawa, yes!" I beamed at her, matching her bouncing as much as I could. Bless the lean Hirako frame for not... bouncing... as much. "Are you? Maybe we'll bunk together!"

Well, that seemed to be working pretty well, even if my temples were aching. How did Shinju do this saccharine routine all day? Didn't she get sick of it? "Yes! I thought we might, you know, because of what they said, you know? Do you think your brother will be sent there too?"

Shinji and Shinju. Eww. "I'm sure he'll find a way to be even if he isn't," I replied, glancing around for Minoru and Aizen. Well, that hadn't come out filtered, but it didn't matter when Minoru melted out of the crowd, Aizen trailing behind.

"Y-y'all got Kinsawa?" Minoru stammered. Damn, I hadn't heard his accent that strong in a while. "Only that's Aizen's an' my assignment."

"Sure thing," Shinji drawled from right behind me, because of course he did. "Safe ta assume that'll be Junko-chan and Narin's stompin' grounds too, yeah?"

"Yep!" Shinju chirped as I drove my elbow into Shinji's side. I had to keep enough bizarre people straight as it was. Shinji did not get to get away with mixing me up about myself too. I ignored his wheezing attempts to cuss me out. "Oh, that's so great! We're all together, you know? Maybe some of the rest of us will get to show off, huh, Hirako-chan?"

The heat in my face could've come from the instinctive embarrassment that brought a mumbling reply from me. Or it could've come from my growing irritation with her. Okay, so I'd had an inordinate number of mishaps here. So I definitely did like people recognizing it when I did something cool. Not my fault.

I tossed a look Shinji's way and laughed for everyone else. "Yeah, maybe. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Shinji rolled his eyes. "Now ya gone an' jinxed it fer us, Nariko. This better not end with us havin' ta explain ta Nanase-kun why he got one less friend."

Minoru's polite-worried expression creased into a scowl. "That ain't funny, Shinji-san," he snapped. "We can't afford ta joke around like that with the kind of thugs they got runnin' around there." His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing as if the mud permeating the thawing campus had splattered there.

Shinji shrugged, stuffing his hands into his sleeves as the crowd dispersed enough to let us head for our rooms. "Suit yerself. I think I'm pretty funny."

"You would, wouldn't you?" I teased as we set off. "Let's see how the real Shinigami like your jokes."

Chapter Text

"Don't like that face. That face means ya got ta thinkin'."

Ah, Minoru, ever-observant even when his accent made it blatantly obvious he had other worries.

"I'm always thinking," I retorted, stepping around a patch of ice. "That's how I know I'm alive."

He pressed his lips together. I guessed whatever he wanted to say wasn't quite so polite as what came out. "Seems a little dull, if'n ya ask me. Sure it ain't breathin' or eatin' or stuff like that?"

We were walking along behind some Shinigami, who I was half-convinced thought we were all weak and idiots. That was what came of having been slung over a man's shoulders and flash-stepped a good part of the way. There were just enough breaks that I could blush and mumble things to him and get dismissive replies. Dude didn't seem like the best candidate for this program ever.

At the moment, we were close enough that it was better to 'build character' and walk our own selves to the barracks. Ever had someone's shoulder bury itself into your stomach for around an hour, with just enough time to recover to do it all over again? I welcomed the chance to use my muscles at that point. Minoru and Hiyori'd gotten the worst position, being small enough to be cradled much like a baby, only more scrunched up. Aizen seemed motion sick, having shaken the whole way and thrown up multiple times, while Shinju's tall frame was really unsuited to this ordeal. The two were keeping each other company several paces behind Minoru and me. Shinji and I had gotten the best deal, except that Shinji was bitching about it under his breath. Hiyori had given up bitching right back at him and had fallen back with Shinju and Aizen.

Really, it wasn't that bad. The world was thawing. Grey tree bark was deepening to brown again and a few pathetic flowers had dared to bloom early. The soft breeze was perfumed with dried blood and carried distant shouts.

Revolution had emerged with the usual greenery.

That was why we were here. The Shinigami needed all hands on deck and couldn't be bothered to run the usual patrols when riots might be brewing. We might as well get some experience out of the whole deal.

"I'm sure," I answered, tuning out Shinji's attempts to joke with the accompanying Shinigami. Heavens above, he actually seemed to be succeeding with one of the women. "That's just routine. Thinking turns up new stuff."

Minoru nodded, though I caught a roll of his eyes out of the corner of mine. "So what're ya thinkin' about? G-gonna put some hoodlums in their place?"

Ooh, that didn't sound good. Didn't look good, either. His face was tight and guarded. Just when I'd begun to pry him out of that. Was it because we were near his home district? "I don't know what we'll have to do, Minoru-kun," I said evasively. "But no, I was thinking about Oshiro-sensei."

The sharp-eyed mask dropped all at once, Minoru's lips parting as his eyes went wide, like they'd be able to see something to clue him in. "Oh. Why? What about him? Someone botherin' ya about it again?"

I shook my head. The whole complete strangers coming up to me and asking me what it'd been like to kill him had stopped pretty quickly. Whether it was my flustered reaction, teachers' intervention, or fear I didn't know, but it'd mercifully ended. "No, unless you count myself. I went and looked him up. 'Cause I wanted to know why- why he did what he did," I explained after another moment of baffled Minoru.

A new expression fell into place, though this one didn't look like an act. Straight black brows drew together, creasing copper skin. "An' did ya find anythin' new out?" He asked, worrying his lower lip.

I shrugged. "He was- he was bullied, I think. A lot. And right when the troubles with that started to end, he started having trouble with Kidou. Which he used to be pretty good at, apparently. From what his Zanpakutou said- I don't know. It's all guessing."

Dark eyes were locked on mine. "So tell me what you've guessed. I ain't the best at readin' an' writin' just yet, but I've got- experience, y'might say, in knowin' which way people jump. Try me."

I ignored the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. Minoru didn't act like this, right? But I'd never had occasion to see him like this, confident in something he apparently was good at. "I think- I think that awful spirit developed in response to who Oshiro-sensei was then. He was hurting and it's easy, really easy, to just snap when people are grinding you down and no one can or will help you. He needed a monster to defend himself and when he got out of that period, he didn't want it anymore." I paused, gathering my thoughts as leaves somehow remaining from fall crunched under our feet. "There's a reason they recommend people practicing hajimezen at a variety of times, so the sword gets a balanced impression of the wielder. And most people don't do it as deeply as Oshiro-sensei did, so he gave his asauchi a huge dose of really intense hate and anger and despair. And kept doing it. And when the spirit formed according to that, he was in such a bad place he said that was what he wanted and it stuck."

"But when Oshiro-sensei, when it started getting better, he realized he'd created a monster. And monsters don't help you live, they just help you survive at the price of everyone and everything else. So he tried to get rid of it and" -I dropped my eyes to the dirt- "I guess we know how that turned out. Probably why his Kidou grades dropped. Zanpakutou spirits aren't identical to their wielders in terms of reiryoku and reiatsu, so it probably didn't work Kidou correctly. If spirits can even do that. If all that's right, Oshiro-sensei was... he was pretty messed-up."

Minoru tilted his head one way, then the other, a crow picking apart a particularly good scrap of leftovers. "Definitely the first part's right. I've seen people who make it out alive from shitty situations, but they ain't really alive. It's what y'get fer goin' in without anybody ta get ya through it. Everyone ends up a little bit a monster, but it's better than a guy who comes back a whole montster." He half-mumbled the second half of that, like I wasn't his audience. I was getting really sick of people talking to themselves.

The rustling of the aforementioned persistent leaves and scratch of sandals in gravel filled the air for a few long moments. Minoru's tight-eyed mask had locked itself firmly in place.

"And the rest? In your professional opinion?" I went for a teasing tone. Humor wasn't a universal thing, but I knew a good joke at least helped pull me back from dark places. A little smile here, a tilt of the head towards him. Calculated but genuine affection.

The mask faltered but didn't fade. "Maybe sensei did try to destroy what he'd made. Whether it ate him or he gave himself ta it, I dunno. Some people, when they ain't in a good place, they'll try an' make sure they ain't in any place at all. Can't get hurt there. And the Oshiro-sensei we knew just did what it was told an' tried ta keep its wielder alive an' kickin', even in that form. But like ya said, it's just guessin'. Can't ever ask him."

"Kinda like Hollows," I said, unable to help the way my voice went hushed on the last word. Out here, on a back road in the deep Rukongai, far from the shining Seireitei, who knew what could happen? "They're out of their minds, can't or won't tell you what's going on in their heads. Staying alive any way they can, even if that's by eating people."

The mask slipped beneath Minoru's features again. Now that I looked for it, I could see where it lay even during everyday life, ready to emerge and protect him. Barely visible, save for the perpetual watchfulness of his eyes and the tension written in lips pressed together. "Yeah. Except Hollows can't fake it. Imagine the trouble we'd be in if they could, huh? Just walk among us, find the best targets, kill 'em all."

My stomach flip-flopped in a way that had nothing to do with the town coming into sight. "Yeah. Imagine."

"Ma! Are those Shinigami? They've got swords but why aren't they dressed the same?"

Ah, the exuberance or stupidity of the young. Had to love 'em, even if the brat's family didn't feel the same way. The grubby face vanished behind the muffling veil of cotton hakama and pomp was restored. Well, pomp was a strong word for it. Procession was better, though fuck if I knew why anyone wanted to see our ragtag bunch.

Static on the back of my head. You're smarter than that, daoshi, Arashi chided. Unrest in the air and Shinigami in the move, what do you think the normal people would do?

I pressed my lips together, stepping around a hole in the dirt road. Run for cover.

With nowhere to go? People are remarkably stubborn about their territory, Arashi said. They won't leave unless they must. And if they won't leave, the best option is...?

To know where the bombs are gonna drop, I replied, letting my eyes flick over the people lining the mud-streaked street. Two washerwomen, broad, mannish hands a stark contrast to the delicate white flowers tucked behind their ears, clumsily folded sopping clothes over the alleged bridge to the town proper. Scrawny children gaped at us, clutching at the skirts of the hawklike women who stood in for mothers here. A hunter, face smeared with mud, strung his bow and kept his hands very pointedly where we could see them.

Common sense was all that kept my hand from Arashi's hilt. Raw power was all well and good, and we had loads of that in Shinji, but there was a reason Soul Society wasn't perfect even with captains. Power didn't always get shit done. Power silenced tongues and inflamed hearts as much as it coaxed from them brave speeches and courage. Here I knew which one our powers would bring. These people were wary around Shinigami and ready to tip into either fury or admiration as it suited them. No room for error.

"Ma! They're only kids! Why'd the stupid Shinigami bring them here?" The kid again, behind a mother figure now white in the face.

Ah, hell. The tiniest flicker of readiness from ahead, taut reiatsu pulling tight to end the impudence-

"Ain't ya a kid, too?" Minoru, dropping onto his haunches in front of the urchin, reiatsu keen and bright and spreading. "Don't ya have yer own place here?"

Whatever apologies Grubby-Face's mother had been about to offer died as she heard Minoru speak. I could've kissed him right then. Both for the adorableness of already-short Minoru down on a kid's level and defusing the tension in a way I was pretty sure no one could get mad at him for. Knowing which way people would jump indeed.

"I'm Tobio! Potter Shuusuke took me in, so I belong here! Why are you here?" The kid blurted, tilting his head birdlike at my classmate. Heads were starting to turn, but none of the faces I saw looked like they were ready to throw down. A few looked more curious than tense now.

"I'm Minoru. Hopefully my friends an' I are gonna help you," Minoru said mildly. "That's one there." He nodded in my direction. "She's-"

"Fugai! Get your ass up here! That's an order!" A man barked up ahead.

A slight smile and a mouthed goodbye and Minoru was popping back up and darting up to the man in question. I offered the kid an awkward smile and moved on.

The barracks weren't too far away from the main road—made sense, since it made it easier to get messages around the district. Three long buildings presented themselves immediately, squatting around a courtyard with a central well. One, the smallest and dingiest, screamed 'barracks' to me. Across from it lay a slightly more presentable, larger building with a sign out front that read 'Office.' The largest building was without a doubt a prison, which I could say because a pair of Shinigami were dragging a woman in what was technically a kimono but amounted to body paint towards it as she screeched at the top of her lungs about there being 'no damn law about advertising with a white scarf.' Guess we had that to look forward to.

Approaching the courtyard, it was easier to pick out why the buildings looked so weird compared to the rest of the town. Instead of being made with the usual stone or wood, the builders had used some sort of plaster-sekkiseki combo. The 'dingy' barracks weren't dirty so much as they contained the most sekkiseki, off-white stone contrasting with the weathered white plaster. Looked like they didn't want someone getting a nightmare and waking up half the town. I spotted the smallest and shoddiest construction of all just behind the barracks—latrines, I imagined. Those'd be fun in the middle of the night.

"Attention!" Hoo boy. I jerked to a halt as the Shinigami did an about-face. The apparent leader was the man who'd yelled for Minoru to join him. "Who among you is a native of the Rukongai?"

Silence broken by the din of village life in the distance and shuffling feet. Nobody wanted to call Minoru out.

"I-I am, sir," Minoru said finally, half-raising his hand.

The man snorted, brushing a strand of fine black hair fallen from its topknot away from a surprisingly delicate face. He didn't look 100% Japanese, more European, especially since he'd only trimmed his pate instead of shaved it. Somebody was a little vain about their hair, hmm? "I do not need the obvious stated for me, Fugai. Your name couldn't be more clear as to your origins."

Minoru flushed nearly purple. "R-r-right. Sorry, s-sir."

The man harrumphed, blue eyes glinting. I could practically hear him writing Minoru off. "Now, my original question. Who else is a native?"

My eyes fell on Aizen, gone completely still behind Shinji and trying fairly successfully to conceal his scrawny frame behind Shinji. Which really wasn't hard to do, given the loud-mouthed, bratty ray of sunshine that was my brother, bouncing on the balls of his feet already. Impatient little brat. Should I...? It wasn't fair to hide information from our teachers, I supposed.

"S-sorry, but aren't you from the Rukongai, Aizen-san?" I stammered, clasping one wrist with the opposite hand.

Topknot's eyes flicked around. "Who-" he began.

Aizen shuffled out from behind Shinji, who'd twisted around to give him the trademark Hirako deadpan look and ruined the whole thing anyway. "I-I was, ah, born in the Rukongai, sir," he mumbled. I waited for him to offer more information—as in literally any information, like his ward or even the region, but naturally the resident man of mystery lapsed into silence.

Topknot nodded briskly. "It's truly impossible to tell with the initiates who take names whether they're minor nobles or common." His lips twisted in a halfway smirk, as though he had his own stories to tell about that. "I digress. Fugai, your district is close enough to this one, so you'll take charge of patrols. Perhaps you'll not stumble your way into a knife-fight. Fujikage, you can probably teach your classmates a thing or two about propriety. Your duty will be demonstrating proper paperwork if you all manage to accomplish anything. The elder Hirako will be responsible for compiling reports and any information, if any arises, which you may gather. The junior Hirako may assign the menial duties which you cadets may be responsible for. Any failure in those will be upon your head," he warned. "Sarugaki, Aizen, you can" -his brow furrowed- "take whatever else there is. I'm sure tasks will crop up."

We all stood there awkwardly for a second. What else was there really to do? We had our assignments, but nothing with which to carry them out.

Topknot apparently realized that. "Tokugawa, take them to the barracks and find them bunks," he ordered. "Afterwards, take them back here and- hmm." His nose wrinkled with distaste as he glanced at another Shinigami. "Ishida, you can run them through some drills and see if they're up to par, to the best of your limited ability. All the zankensoki."

Two women, one a busty girl with a hairline scar running into her blue hairline, the other a plainer brunette with a crooked jaw and most of her baby fat still in place, nodded and snapped out salutes. The former rolled her eyes. "Alright, c'mon. Let's find you bunks." She turned on her heel and started for the barracks without a backward glance. The brunette—Ishida—smiled at us and followed, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

Hmph. Tokugawa might be prettier, but Ishida was definitely more attractive.

The barracks weren't anything special. Didn't reek as much as I'd expected from a sleeping space shared by a bunch of people who almost certainly didn't have great places to clean off and definitely didn't get to wash those uniforms as much as they should've. Kinda musty, but it was in remarkably good shape. Only a few clothing items on the floor and all the lamps where they couldn't be knocked over for a burning oil surprise. Not that there was much floor to put them on, the barracks being a couple corridors with bunks lining them, but still.

"So, Tokugawa-senpai, is that old man usually so pleasant, or is this one of his good days?" Shinji asked once we were safely in the barracks.

"Watch your mouth," Tokugawa snapped. She stopped by an empty bunk, pointed. "Fujikage, take that one. It's a little longer than the others, might give you some more legroom." As Shinju smiled and set what little she'd brought with her on the bed, Tokugawa turned back to Shinji. "That old man's your commanding officer. Show some respect."

"Torisei-sama really stresses discipline," Ishida offered from the back of the line. "I know you all haven't interacted too much in all-Shinigami settings, but it's not an uncommon attitude, especially in the Sixth, which he's from."

Annoyance radiated from my younger brother as we moved down the corridor. "Then what'd you do, knock over all the paperwork your first day here? 'Cause I can't think of any other reason he woulda gave ya the stink-eye back there."

Mild, watery reiatsu rippled around Ishida. "Not that I know of. He seemed to like me right up until I introduced myself. Maybe he had a bad run-in with one of my brothers; they're rather boisterous and they joined the Sixth briefly."

Boisterous? I snickered at her back. That wasn't exactly how I'd describe this Ishida. But then, I doubted she was noble, so her brothers could easily have wildly different temperaments without that being odd.

Wonder what her Zanpakutou spirit looks like? I murmured to Arashi, spotting the orange-wrapped tantou at her side. Anthropomorphic rice? 

Static popped in my ears. You could try to find out, you know. As long as you're discreet, it shouldn't be a problem.

Hmm. Arashi was right in that, though I would've preferred to do it in a space where my reiatsu wasn't so obvious. Still... I drew out a spark of reiryoku and carefully guided it up to my face. Close, closer, closest-

"Did a branch catch you in the face, Hirako-chan?" Shinju asked from behind me.

Crap. I let it disperse harmlessly. Gotta be more discreet, idiot. "Headache," I mumbled. It was completely true, if you took it in the slang sense. This whole trip was a headache. "Thought I'd try to get rid of it."

Satisfied with that explanation, she fell silent again and left the rest of us to finding our bunks.

Basics were a chore to go through. You'd think reviewing techniques that were the foundation for powers that had earned the Shinigami their names would be interesting, but the novelty had worn off fast.

We'd already covered some basic Hakuda techniques—and some more advanced ones, once Ishida had learned Shinji and I took Hakuda II—and Kidou hadn't lasted that long. I sent mental thanks to whoever'd designed the curriculum such that we didn't learn too many spells. Four were more than enough for me to mess up on. Minoru had proved the best at Hadou and Shinju best at Bakudou, though. Flash-step was right out since that was an advanced topic as well. I'd thought about pointing out that Aizen knew a bastardized version of it, but he probably wouldn't have liked it if I sabotaged his attempts to go unnoticed twice in one day. Hiyori was exempt from Kidou, but she apparently had some training in Hakuda and Zanjutsu, so no such luck there.

And so we'd moved on to Zanjutsu. Fun. I was just waiting for Ishida to notice Arashi and make the usual assumptions. Because really, I had a hard enough time being halfway-decent at physical activities without that pressure.

"Draw!" Ishida called and like automatons we answered. Blades flashed half-out, hands pulled back the sheath, hips twisted, and in one fluid motion the greatest weapons of the Shinigami shone in the spring air.

The fact that we were a bunch of kids who looked it only detracted slightly from the image, as did vivid memories of the many, many times I'd dropped my practice sword on my toes. People just didn't give Shinigami enough credit for being able to do that in a combat situation. Hell, no one gave regular samurai enough credit for that. It took enough practice that I'd had dreams of drawing my sword over and over again. Pretty boring dreams, those. And how had Hiyori even gotten a Zanpakutou that fast?

"Fujikage-san, you're leaving yourself open when you draw. Remember that swordfighting has to be fluid, not rigid. Twist your hips. Here." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Shinju freeze as Ishida stepped in to manually adjust my classmate's stance. After a second she yielded to the touch, but it was, well, kinda revealing. Maybe the reason you're doing crap at Hakuda and Zanjutsu is because you haven't gotten used to teachers of physical disciplines helping you physically, I thought in her direction. Step off your high noble ground for a sec, would you?

On the bright side, Aizen was right next to me and not being able to hide behind anyone had apparently improved his Zanjutsu skills tenfold. Sure, his sword shook like a leaf, but his stance was strong and he wasn't holding the hilt like it was a dead rat. Improvement from the last time I'd seen him with his asauchi for sure.

Minoru and Shinji were the best of us, so it was no surprise that they received the fewest corrections. Stupid actually-decent-swordsmen.

"Nariko-san? You're holding the sword- huh." Ishida had stopped in front of me, blinking like a startled puppy. "Shift your grip back a bit for me?"

I complied, even if it meant losing my secure grip on Arashi. If Ishida wanted to prove a point and disarm me, she had an easy opening.

Ishida blinked a few more times before understanding smoothed her forehead. "Oh, you're the one with Shikai. Chiisagatana, is it?"

Heavy relief nearly dragged me out of my stance. No fuss. No expectations. Just- 'oh, that's you.' Whoever the kami of mercy was deserved some of my attention. "Yes. A little more towards wakizashi length, I think."

She nodded briskly. "Well, loosen your stance and tighten your grip. You won't last a second out there if you're rigid and especially not if you can't hold the blade!"

One forcible adjustment of my stance later, I was forced to conclude as Ishida moved on that Shinju's reaction had been pretty accurate. Sharp, lacquered nails did not a gentle grip make.

"She's the first one not to fuss over Arashi," I complained as we stood in a clump resting. New orders would no doubt be coming soon, but for now we took the opportunity without question. "I just want to get through lessons, not make a big deal out of her."

Shinji raised an ever-lightening brow. Damn his stupidly pretty hair. And damn his habit of not putting up with my drama. "Oh, cut the crap, Nari-nee. Ya threw any chance of that away when ya got it."

Aizen adjusted his glasses. Damn his stupidly pretty hair too. Or at least it could've been, if he actually combed it out of his face. "I'm afraid I must concur with Shinji-san. A monumental occasion must be treated as its rarity deserves."

"Meanin'?" Minoru asked, scuffing a toe in the dirt. His hair wasn't quite as nice, but he kept it neat, which was more than the rest of them could say.

"Meanin' people make a big deal outta big deals," Shinji translated, sticking his tongue out at me. "Nari-nee, doesn't that make ya some kinda prodigy?"

I slid my gaze away, trying not to look at Shinju's almost pointed stare. "I guess. I-"

"Prodigy? You?" Hiyori scoffed. She probably had the nicest hair of all of us, what with its color and all. I hadn't known what flaxen hair was really like until I'd met her. "Gimme a break. Does it even do anything special?"

"Yes," I answered without thinking. Stupid attention-seeking mouth. A few yards away, Ishida perked up. I caught the way Torisei's scornful expression passed through puzzled and stopped at vaguely interested. Which for him didn't look that different from scornful. Well, damn. Now I had to do something.

Shinju perked up. Didn't like the look in her eyes, combination jealous and... hungry. "Oh, would you please? I'm sure we'd all love to take notes."

I shuffled my feet. I was supposed to be giving Shinji some pointers. "I don't know if I should. If Torisei-sama thinks I'm showing off, he'll probably make me clean out the latrines or something."

"If you plan to do something, get on with it, Hirako," Torisei himself called over. "I won't tolerate an indecisive cadet."

Why did I even bother to have conversations with a few people when everyone was apparently listening? "Y-yessir. You better not laugh," I added to my classmates.

They took a few steps back, enough that I could draw. And so I did, trying to distract myself from the possibility of screwing up Arashi's release by focusing on my stance.

"Extinguish the infernal flames. Cleanse the unjust, roar through heaven, and strike down the moon. Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!" I called, hearing the answering song of storms in my soul. I pulled my hands to their respective sides and twisted my wrists on instinct, and sure enough Arashi followed suit, glowing gold and separating into her tessen.

Ahhh. There's nothing like that feeling of purpose and belonging, of settling into your proper place, that Shikai grants. It's impossible not to raise your voice for the command, the way that pride wells up in you. I wished for an instant that my classmates could jump the line and earn Shikai now, just so they could understand it.

Of course, they were probably wishing they were dry, courtesy of the spray of water my release had summoned. Aizen being soaked when I'd first released Arashi hadn't been a fluke occurrence, evidently. Water even spattered the edge of the street, down which a man with a white-ribbon-tied topknot, having narrowly avoided the splash zone, was walking.

"Um, oops?" I said, switching one fan to the other hand so I could rub the nape of my neck in the vein of shounen protagonists everywhere. "I'm so sorry about that, really. I haven't-"

Hiyori recovered first. "What the hell were ya thinkin', princess? Not even a warnin'? What the hell is that Shikai of yers, huh? Some kinda kiddie pool? What a buncha crap! That's so stupid an' annoyin'!"

"Fuck off, pipsqueak," Shinji drawled, Cheshire smile wide and voice wry. Asshole wasn't fazed by anything, was he? "Ya needed a bath like Glasses needs ta get laid."

Ishida approached as they went at it, Shinju mediating in her mother hen way. Her mouth curved in a not-quite-repressed smirk. "Tessen, right? I would've expected a wind-type with that. Water's got waves too, I guess."

I shrugged, half-tempted to tell her Arashi was dual-type. But why bother? She didn't need to know and I didn't need to expose all my secrets. "Yes, tessen." I flicked the fans open and shut a few times. "Everyone had a good look? Good." Sorry, Arashi, but I don't have anything to show them. Tasing my classmates wouldn't be a great idea. Return?

Grudgingly the storms receded. I laid the left fan over the right and let them melt back into sword form. From there it took an instant to sheathe her and return to my wonderfully dry reality. I might've been smirking a bit. Just a little.

Minoru shook his head, creating a miniature rain shower. "White Spiders show up, we'd better hope they're all scared a' water."

My smirk widened, though I found I couldn't shake this smile. Yay for nervous habits. "Just 'cause I'm not flashy-"

"White Spiders?" Ishida cut in, abruptly sharp. "Sorry- Nariko-san, is it? Sorry. You know the White Spiders?"

Minoru went faintly grey. "I- ah, no. No, I don't know 'em. I mean, I do, but I ain't runnin' with them. They are- they were top dogs back in my district." His hand went to the nape of the neck, as mine had, but the briefest flash I caught of blue-green ink was a similarity we definitely didn't share.

Tattoos. Nervousness and defensiveness when the topic of a gang came up. Skill at gauging a person and finding someone he knew in a crowd. The fact that a short, scrawny kid with spiritual power had survived in such a high district in the first place. And hadn't Minoru once mentioned an old gang?

If he hadn't been a White Spider, I'd eat Arashi.

Okay, no I wouldn't, but he'd definitely been in a high-ranking gang in Fugai. If I saw the tattoos he so carefully hid, maybe I'd know which one.

Ishida accepted the answer. "I forgot they grew out of there," she said. "Well, when they finally show their faces around here, maybe you'll be able to help us."

Minoru's pasted-on smile faltered. "Maybe so."

Ishida wandered away. wringing water from her sleeves, and the shadow on Minoru's face lifted. Mine, I was sure, darkened. Time to forgo the knife and use a club.

"Minoru-kun," I whispered as I approached him. "You-"

He turned a hair too sharply for my tastes, though not fast enough to be called a whirl. "Huh?"

I raised my voice by a fraction. Couldn't let someone else hear, though we had to have this conversation while I could still see who was around. "Stay calm, whatever I say. Minoru-kun, you were a White Spider. Or someone similar. Is that going to get us hurt?"

He went still, not statue-still but about-to-pounce-tiger-still. Oh, fuck. I'm not very good at the dramatic reveals, am I? "N-no. N-nononono. I ain't onna those street dogs. I ain't. An' ya can't prove otherwise."

"No, I can't," I agreed, fixing my eyes on his chest so I wouldn't get taken by surprise if he made a break for it. "I don't have a problem with it. I just need to know if-"

"Fuck off," Minoru breathed, barely louder than the dust skittering across the courtyard. "D'ya wanna get me killed? I'm a Shinigami, not a-" Blood beaded on his lip as Minoru bit down on it, trapping whatever he'd been about to say.

"I said I don't have a problem with it," I said, maintaining a placid mask. It wasn't the first time anybody'd cussed me out. Even if my stomach felt sour like I'd just made a huge mistake. "But this isn't about your secrets. This is about our lives- no, don't walk away." I grabbed his arm as Minoru spun to leave. "Don't you dare get us all killed or-"

"-or what?" he snarled, half-turning back to me. His face had snapped back to the defensive mask from earlier. "You'll use yer noble power ta get me arrested? I'd smack ya one if we weren't in public. Just like ya said I could." Something glittered behind those dark eyes, something sharp and wild and bitter if not outright mean. He wrenched his arm from my grip.

"Then do it," I snapped back before he could get more than a few steps. Moron! This isn't a game! Damn mouth had gone dry, or I would've been spitting mad by then. "Never threaten me if you can't follow through."

The last thought I had before my face exploded in pain was, I should stop tempting fate.

I caught a brief flash of the sky through watering eyes as I staggered back. Son of a bitch! My arms, instinctively up, windmilled for an instant. I swiped at my throbbing nose. Or tried to. Slick, hot blood poured between my fingers.

He hit me. He actually hit me. I brought my head back down slowly, looking Minoru dead in the eye. I found no regret there. Chin tucked in, eyes showing more white than color, teeth bared—Minoru was scared of retaliation, but not of what he'd done.

Strangely, I wasn't scared either. More vaguely satisfied. Arashi's storms hummed in my veins, but they weren't waves and lightning, only the constant ocean and ready clouds. My heart disagreed

"Hirako-chan!" Shinju was fluttering at my side, ruining her silken sleeves as she wiped away my blood. She glared at Minoru. "Minoru-kun! How could you?"

"You. Fucking. Bastard!" Shinji, a heartbeat late as he and Hiyori broke from their fight. Summer heat blazed around him, gold light shoving at my head and drying my mouth and-

"Stop!" I shrilled. Not a second too late. Ishida and some redheaded man took the second my shriek bought them to plant themselves between Shinji and Hiyori, united in frothing at the mouth and clawing at their captors. Stop, you idiots!"

Aizen stood off to the side, face bloodless and shaking like the proverbial leaf in the wind. I shuddered and turned my attention back to the melee I'd caused.

It was my fault, really. It was. A stupid promise I stupidly hadn't told anyone about.

"Hirako. Fugai."  Torisei was there, all of a sudden, blue eyes laser-focused. I was put sharply in mind of Ryuuken's infamous glare as he stared me down. "You will explain or both your sorry selves will be walking back to Shin'ou this instant."

"A bet," I croaked before Minoru's barely-tamed fire could burn anyone else. "I said something stupid and Fugai-san was completely within his rights to correct me."

"To lay hands upon a noble personage outside of a military context?" Torisei said, reiatsu a chilling razor hanging just above my head. "No. He was not."

"We had an agreement," I pleaded. Fuck me fuck me please don't get him in trouble I was asking for it literally I was asking- "I asked Fugai-san to use physical force to correct me if I said something out of agreed conditions and he held to it. Shouldn't you" -I scrabbled for the right word, any word- "allow my noble personage to establish a contract and complete it?"

Torisei's hands were in his sleeves, but I would've bet 500 kan his hands were in fists. I didn't have to bet his teeth were grinding; I could see that for myself. "Dish duty. You and Fugai. For the rest of your stay. It may be your noble right to conduct informal transactions, but the right to choose punishment or grace lies with your military superior, who for now is myself. From your perspective, it may seem harsh, but I have no intention of doing this in your accustomed way."

No. That's wrong. You don't- I stared at Torisei, at the blue eyes boring into mine. What the hell was it with this guy? He sounded, acted, looked like- like- I had no words for it, only impressions. Someone using 'a' where 'the' was appropriate, a mixed metaphor, substituting a jab for a hook. He was so close, but to what, and how?

Fuck, my head was throbbing too hard to think about this. I'd seen thousands of people in my past life. Maybe it was just some lingering familiarity. Or hell, maybe it was just deja vu. What the fuck was up with this guy?

Torisei didn't seem to know himself. He jerked, eyes flitting away to the redhead. "Wu! Find Abe and have her attend to Hirako. And look over Fugai's hand," he added grudgingly when the man didn't move.

Frog-marching? Really? I'd thought Soul Society was too Eastern for that. But no, we'd taken—or been forced to take—a rather European method to get to the space allotted to whoever Abe was. What Abe was was with a patrol in southern Kinsawa. Thankfully back soon, but still not here right now. Dick. Bitch. Jerk. Whichever.

So Minoru and I sat silent seiza a few paces from Wu's workspace. I guess that was supposed to make sure we didn't get into trouble in the meantime, even if Minoru could've run me through in the time it took Wu to get to us. As nice as it was to have someone respect my possessions—sorry, Arashi—it was starting to look like the principle of honor before reason hadn't been a recent invention in Ichigo's time.

"I gotta say, I didn't expect you to actually hit me," I admitted. As awkward silences went, it wasn't the best thing I could've said to break one.

Minoru's face, gone slack with inattention, creased and fell back into resignation as I watched. "D'ya expect me ta apologize?"

"If you want to," I said, mild as milk mask in place. Not that it was hard to don, considering that after today I was too tired to feel much more than tired. And vaguely bored. Sitting around does that to you. "If you don't, that's fine. I probably deserve to get punched more often than I do." I paused, purely for comedic effect. "Also, that was awesome. You've got a mean jab!" I threw a couple punches at the air.

Minoru made a noise. Several decibels louder, I would've called it a grunt. His shoulders slumped, defiantly straight back rounding as all the air left him. It struck me how small he was. Not just short, nor scrawny, though he was both—Minoru was small, powerless in all the ways that mattered to his adopted society except for his sword arm. And even that was so fragile. Bruises had blossomed on his hand just from punching a surprised teenage girl in the nose.

Toughening skin, increasing stamina, staunching blood flow, strengthening muscles—that was what we needed to learn, not how to walk the streets of people crushed down for centuries and ready to rise up. Because fuck, if I had to see the hands that had carved me a woodblock bloody and shattered again and again over our careers, I'd use mine to dismantle Seireitei myself. The sweet kid who'd carefully traced kana with me should never have to endure that.

"You know, I do enjoy talking to you," I said, shifting position as my feet began to tingle. Dammit. I was out of practice. "And I'm not all that prone to grudges."

"An' who's sayin' that? My friend Nariko-san, or the Hirako princess?" Minoru asked, rusty-brown eyes finally flicking to my face.

"Aww, I'm your friend? Thanks," I drawled. Or I was tempted to, anyway. I kept my mouth shut, thinking. Minoru might have subsided, but it turned out a punch in the face was exactly what I'd needed to realize that just because Minoru was usually shy didn't mean I should take advantage of it. I had to stop teasing him when he wasn't comfortable with it. The sparks he'd been all-but-spitting at me came from a fire I'd probably helped stoke.

What was more worrying was that he had struck a dichotomy that didn't exist. It didn't, right? I was one person with one mind. Even if Arashi liked to chime in to correct my thoughts. Even if those thoughts were often the swords with which clashing opinions fought. Even if I obscured and dodged and put up a front to mask the less-winning parts of my personality.

For Fugen's sake, had I divided myself into the ordinary Nariko and the bland, all-appealing princess of the Hirako?

Better correct that, I noted, hoping Arashi was listening to remind me. Wait. No. That's what's getting me tripped up, isn't it? Trying to excise this and add that to appeal to people? To win allies for when I need them? Fuck me. I don't even like the Hirako that much!

"I didn't know there was a difference," I said, words tumbling out like a guiltless confession. "I hope it's me saying it as a friend, though. 'Cause it's true. I don't have any reason to hold grudges for something fair. Unless you- actually, no, I can't find something pithy for that."

Minoru shook his shaggy black head. "See, ya say that, but I still hear it in the voice of a girl who talked Osaka-ben ta me the first day we met and switched right out the second her brother turned up. Yer embarrassed, ain't ya? Of bein' from a clan with such shitty nicknames, of bein' connected ta people ya don't really mesh with."

A thousand things fell through my head. Embarrassment? My standing out? My feet still falling asleep? "Nicknames?" fell out my mouth.

He nodded. "'Golden Foxes?' Doesn't sound right trustworthy ta me, that's fer sure. 'Fools' Gold' ain't so flatterin' either. Not even gettin' ta the nicknames for nobles—ya think hair that color's common? More likely ta find a Shinigami with a mask than ya are ta find a blond person from the Rukongai. 'Pissmop' is onna the nicer ones, if'n ya ask me. Maybe ya don't hear it on account of ya spendin' all yer time trainin' or readin' or thinkin' whatever damn thoughts spin up in that head, but I've heard all that about you an' Shinji-san. Some of 'em are a bunch of idiots who prob'ly don't know the right way ta fold their kosode, but there're a few who might be able ta give ya a run fer the money in some areas." He touched a cheek that only a couple weeks before had turned up bruised. "Couple find it funny that a bunch who already get accused of courtin' street rats fer information whelped a pair with a few street rat friends."

Minoru finally twisted to fully face me. "So why're ya hangin' around us? First you're sayin' ya wanna change the Seireitei, which ya need ta do a lot of muckin' with politicians fer, then ya scrap with a healin' prodigy an' a noble... an' Nanase-kun. So I heard. Ya know ya can't keep that from Shinji-san forever, right? He's gonna be madder than a stepped-on snake when he finds out. Point is, you're a princess. Maybe not a pretty one, but ya don't have ta be. I ain't experienced with high society and Shinigami stuff like Fujikage-san, but I got enough experience with the poor man's clan." His expression shuttered briefly, then determinedly unfolded. "I can tolerate you bein' indecisive, high-an'-mighty, downright stupid about how ya treat yer friends—honest, Nariko-san, you can kinda be a bitch sometimes. But I've had enough of gettin' used. If- if I'm gonna tell ya what ya wanted ta know out there, be straight with me. Take the mask off."

The well-worn floorboards looked really interesting right about now. Sanded smooth by feet, scattered with stray papers, stained by ink, mud, sake, blood, and some suspicious other fluids... eww. I dragged my eyes up to meet Minoru's.

I couldn't tell him the truth. He wouldn't believe me if I did. And if he did believe me, who knew what he'd do in response? Who knew how many of my memories were right?

I had to tell him some truth. Just not the right one.

I'm sorry, Minoru. My mask can never come off.

I ducked my head. "I- please don't tell Shinji what I'm telling you. I don't know how he'd react. That's- that's not an agreement. Just a request. I can't face him."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Minoru nod. "I've known a lotta screwed-up people, Nariko-san. Ain't anythin' ya could say that'd put me off."

"I want to be more than my parents say I can be," I said, scrunching my hakama in my hands. "They don't- they love Shinji. I don't use that word lightly. They love him. Everything they do, they do for him. He was always going to Shin'ou. I had to beg. When I told them about what I'm not allowed to tell you about" --I swallowed past a tight throat--"they said not to show anyone because it wouldn't make a difference anyway. I'm not as strong as Shinji. Even when I got Shikai, I had to help him get his." I forced a smile. "Sorry. That was a lot of whining. But the point is that they think I won't amount to much. That I'm weak."

Minoru's eyes were narrow, evaluating but not judging. His reiatsu rested, warm and rough, against mine. I couldn't tell if he was trying to tell if I was lying or offering me silent support.

"I want power," I whispered, hearing my laughter screaming through a hurricane's rage. "The princess facade, it's a way to get it. Fighting means obstacles and trouble. If I'm the peacemaker, they can't get mad at me, can they? Stay in the shadows and I can iron out all the problems. So I can protect what's important to me when military power won't cut it. That's- that's what I want more. The power to be a real Shinigami. A god of death. Someone so far up no one will challenge them. Who can crush anyone who tries." Well. Hadn't meant to say that. Even if it didn't feel completely wrong. Or at all.

"What's so bad about that?" Minoru broke in, not a trace of apprehension on his face.

Am I just not as horrible as I think I am, or is he sketchier than I thought? "I-I- um." I ran that sentence through my head again. "I want to hurt people. Isn't that enough?"

"Not fer the sake of it, right?" He shrugged. Was his accent receding at last, or was that just me? "I've known some screwed-up people, like I said. It's the ones that hurt to make people hurt that are the bad ones. You want ta be strong enough—and ruthless with it—ta protect what ya love, don't ya? If the answer ta that's yes, you don't wanna hurt people. Ya know what you'd do to protect 'em, is all. Doesn't mean I trust you completely, but who trusts anyone like that? Thing I need to know is—are we all your friends, or tools?"

I breathed in, trying to ground myself in Arashi's waters' rhythm. "Is there a right answer to that?"

Minoru ran a hand through his hair. "Sure. The truth. One of my first friends in Fugai, Saikhan, he wanted to rule the streets. Not fer any reason, just to have the power. Freaked the heck outta me, so I went along with it for a bit. Then he got turned into a pincushion when he went for the wrong gang leader's throat. Now she wanted power, but not at the expense of her friends. Or convinced us it was that way." He scowled. "Bad example. But if you're like Mari, an' ya have a goal for the power an' know what lines ya wouldn't cross with it, say so."

Take the mask off. I had a goal. I wanted to turn this stagnant, floundering mess of a society into an efficient order that could react when- if Aizen went off the deep end. I had lines I wouldn't cross. I couldn't betray my friends, couldn't drag innocents into a conflict, couldn't lie. Those were good starting points, right?

But I'd gotten close to my friends for purposes. Minoru was supposed to be a project, a future ally if everything went to hell as Before. I'd befriended Shinju to smooth our time rooming together. I'd hoped to keep Nanase out of trouble by reaching out to him. Hiyori and Shinji were probably the only ones free of that, though the former I was obligated to care about.

Idiot. Hadn't I said myself that I'd befriended people knowing I'd come to care about them? It hadn't been a lie. My original intent didn't matter now that I did feel those bonds of affection tugging on my heart. Why else was it that I had tried to comfort Shinju, or apologized—though heaven knew I needed to do it more—to Nanase, or was confessing to Minoru now?

Maybe I was neither as horrible or as benevolent a person as I believed.

"You're my friends," I answered at last. "Not tools."

Minoru's shoulders lowered from around his ears. "Good. I'm not gonna find a knife in my back down the road, then."

I laughed. "I doubt it." Waited a few moments so it didn't sound like I'd been playing him the whole time. "So, this 'Mari'—she led whatever group you were with?"

Minoru sighed, a hissing sound like water on a fire. His reiatsu spread through the room, pressing against everywhere someone could be eavesdropping. "Fair's fair. You- you were right. I worked for the White Spiders. I have- stuff on my back ta prove it."

"In blue?" I gave him my best 'I'm not that stupid' eyebrow raise. "With a name like that, I would've expected white."

His hand went to the back of his neck. "Kinda white ink we had fades real fast. White Spiders, they like ta mark you. Even if you get away, ya can't get away." He shuddered. I probably didn't want to know the story behind that.

"Mari?" I prompted as the silence dragged on.

He shook himself. "Yeah. Mari. She- well, see if ya can guess why the first symbol she puts on recruits is this." He leaned forward, lifted shaggy black hair with one hand and pulled down his collar.

I stared for a few seconds. Tried to blink away the image in front of me. I had to be seeing wrong. It was impossible. Too early. Too bizarre. On top of the Shinigami, of my friends, of the souls of Kinsawa, I had to deal with- "Quincy?" I hissed. "You were in a gang run by a freakin' Quincy?!"

His hands fell back into his lap, letting cloth and hair veil that damning blue-green cross. A cross. An ornate one, too. Amidst the simpler ones I'd glimpsed beneath it, it was easy to see where Mari's priorities lay. Spiders were loyal to a Quincy before they were loyal to anything else. "No, I just like getting permanently tattooed with symbols of Public Enemy #1," he snarked.

Ask a stupid question, daoshi... Arashi teased.

Oh, now you're taking an interest? I complained to her without any bite to it. It's not even winter anymore! You have no excuse!

Clouds and mist rolled like arms folding. And deprive you of the chance to question yourself without your soul telling you what's what? I think not.

I turned back to Minoru. Just because she was right didn't mean I had to like it. "Okay, okay, I'm an idiot sometimes. Get on with it."

He half-smiled. "Well, I wasn't gonna say anythin'. Anyway. Not much else different from the usual troops roamin' the streets. Mari was the only one I knew who had- that kind of power. She thought there were others. Not sure if that shoulda clued me inta how batshit she really is or not."

"What do you mean, crazy?" I asked. Some people would've called me crazy. Batshit didn't tell me much.

"I mean she wanted to topple the Shinigami."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I checked my memory. Checked my hearing. Checked my memory again. My eyes were working, obviously, but my ears had clearly failed in their place. Take down the ruling power of the whole world? The one that'd held power for centuries upon centuries? That boasted as a leader a man who could destroy the universe at his strongest?

"Yeah, that's pretty crazy," I said hoarsely. You couldn't just do that. Sure, I knew the Shinigami wouldn't always be this entrenched. Or did I? Bleach never had focused on high society. Or the intricacies of military life. Or really anything that wasn't fighting or drama to lead to fighting. But they'd relaxed. Even if the Shinigami had only loosened their death grip on Soul Society by a finger or two in the grand scheme of things. After centuries. To get them to let go, you'd have to chop the whole hand off.

"I dunno if she's still like that," Minoru backpedaled. "I spent a while shakin' them before I got ta Shin'ou. An' obviously it's been more time since then. Maybe she backed off."

"Or maybe she got stronger," I said, stomach flip-flopping as I remembered a prostitute screeching about being arrested for advertising with a white scarf. "She's had time. Enough for more people who aren't happy with Seireitei to throw their support to her. Enough to get allies of her own." And with the readiness I'd seen in some of our convoy to draw their swords, and centuries of people being crushed under the rule of Shinigami...

Minoru bit his lip. "I think-" He blanched, mouth clamping shut.

An instant later, the sliding door admitted eight Shinigami, all in various states of done-with-your-shit. Frayed, damp reiatsu like rope lashed around this one, disinterested, cool serpentine reiatsu slunk around that... it was the perfect hubbub for me to finally drip a bit of reiatsu into my seals. And then to pick my jaw up off the floor, because Shin'ou was a confusing slurry of still-settling and unformed spirits. Real Zanpakutou were beautiful.

Oh, sure, they weren't all pretty the way Arashi was. But there was something that made me stifle gasps at each one. A bearlike warrior in burnished bronze armor lumbered past, shaking his head and grumbling at a silver-bearded man in front of him. A bird-faced eel crooned a melody I couldn't quite distinguish into a woman's pointed ears. A whispering vine with hundred-colored blooms twined around someone's ample belly.

And fluttering in sourly behind them all came a winged baby, skin so yellow it would've put jaundice patients to shame and unholy halo far too big for something its size.

Wait.

Yellow skin.

Halo.

Winged. Freaking. Baby.

That asshole. Oh, maybe he hadn't done anything yet, but it was only a matter of time. Kurotsuchi was a monster, an arrogant, selfish butcher who split the world into two categories: people he could torture and chop up and brainwash and whose screams he could laugh at and people who let him have the first people. He didn't deserve to be slouching through that door, slathered in white facepaint and black lipstick. Kurotsuchi should've been locked up and the key thrown away. Arashi's shrieks at my side gave voice to what I only wished I could say. Mostly the worst profanities I knew.

An artist's hand on my shoulder. "Nariko-san? You okay? Reiatsu's bleedin' out."

"Sure," I growled, pulling storms back under my skin where that arrogant bastard couldn't taint them. The damn specters and their chatter faded. "Let's say I'm okay." Even if it was a blatant lie, if one I wasn't telling. The tiny scorch marks where my fingers had pressed against the floor gave it away, but who was looking there? They'd be looking for a face glaring up even as it tilted towards the ground, clenched teeth, a tight throat constricting speech. All of which I set to rights, lifting my chin, working my jaw, and taking a few deep mouth-breaths. The perfect, reasonable mask fell back in place.

A be-ponytailed, barrel-chested woman strode over from Wu's workspace, just about knocking down two hapless desk monkeys on her way. "Alright," she said, grinning and cracking her knuckles, "which one of you started it? My money's on the noble!" She glanced between us, allowing about two seconds before continuing on. "C'mon, don't be shy! That's no way to treat a healer!"

"A-Abe-senpai?" Minoru and I stammered, identically confused. Or in my case, happy to be confused so I didn't have to be homicidal.

Her grin widened in answer. Cardinal-red light leaping to her hands and melting into the mint green of healing, she stepped closer and raised glowing palms. "This might sting a little."

Had I said I had no problem getting undressed in front of complete strangers and classmates? Well, it turned out I was completely right. Not that I was deliberately giving them a show, but it was a nonissue. Except for Shinju, who'd somehow changed beneath her covers (as the faint teasing of Shinigami nearer her bunk informed me), and Aizen, who had his eyes squeezed shut, no one else cared either. Nice to know.

"Y'know we got chewed out 'cause of you?" Hiyori grumbled as she slipped into jinbei that swallowed her up. "What was that even about, huh? That brat half-cat or somethin'?"

"Pot, kettle," I retorted. Damn, where're my jinbei- oh, there you went. I dug out a pair of ratty periwinkle jinbei that I hadn't had the heart to turn into cleaning rags.

"Hey!" Hiyori snapped, voice not at all muffled by cloth as I yanked the top over my head. "Just answer me, ya numbskull!"

"I was a jerk," I answered, finally working my head through the proper hole. "Not sure if you've noticed." And if you keep asking, I'll break your nose too. Yes, apparently Minoru had actually broken my nose. It'd only taken a few minutes for Abe to reroute my damaged reiryoku pathways and her laughter had implied it wasn't bad as Shinigami injuries went. Still, I felt the drain from my body directing its resources to fix my nose.

She accepted it. Or maybe she just wanted an excuse to rag on me. "Hell yeah I noticed! First thing I spotted about ya, moron! Why, I-"

"Shut up," the woman above me groaned. "Lights' out is for getting your rocks off or sleeping only."

"Bet that's not what Torisei-sama said," I muttered, clambering into bed.

An exhausted huff. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. It's only the other way 'round. I'd recommend resting up for your first mission."

With that, she snuffed the nearest lantern and left me to my thoughts.

Torisei was weird. Not awful weird, just deja vu weird. I got it all the time around here, so that was nothing new. I wrote him off as anything but an annoying superior. Sure, he really liked the conservative front that got you passage nearly anywhere in Seireitei, but that was no surprise someone in the Sixth. He was like the opposite of Oshiro, I told myself, safe as long as I followed the rules.

What Minoru had said was more troubling. A gang led by an apparently charismatic Quincy was exactly what I didn't need. Worse, one who was very proud of it. Who somehow remembered some of her powers, if 'pincushion' was an accurate description of Minoru's friend's punishment.

Yeah, we were all screwed if all those were true. Swords I wasn't great with already. Fighting someone who could skewer me from a distance sounded even less fun. If I wanted to get close enough to zap this 'Mari' lady, I'd probably have to use my comrades as human shields. And that wasn't happening.

Best we could hope for was that Mari hadn't gathered more gangs under her. Even Shinigami could only fight for so long before they started doing shitloads of collateral damage—to friend as well as foe and surroundings. That or the Shinigami lost.

I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't lose. I couldn't die, not so early, before anything happened. Whatever this field trip threw at me, I had to walk away. Just saying that didn't help the way my eyes refused to stay shut, though. Didn't stop the fire-ice twinges in my stomach either.

Sorry, Minoru. Maybe it was the princess mask talking after all. 'Cause I can't die here.

Chapter Text

It was on mornings like these that I wondered why I'd ever wanted to be a Shinigami. At least as an onmitsu I could've had a little more control over my working hours. Instead I was squinting into the rising sun as the citizens of Kinsawa's fourth ward went about their business. I had the feeling we were supposed to seem imposing, but I couldn't quite manage it. I settled for blank-faced and sharp-eyed. With my face the latter was a given, so I didn't have to do all that much.

Man, I felt like a pretty pathetic excuse for a Shinigami just standing here. Occasionally walking between posts because, y'know, patrolling, but still.

Sure, there'd been a squabble over an understuffed cushion but that'd died down when I'd glared over. I felt a little silly about it—c'mon, how much trouble could come of a pillow?—but Torisei had impressed on us how seriously we needed to treat our posts. Commander Half-knot (a nickname I'd settled on as a contraction of 'half-assed topknot' for his failure to shave his pate) had sneered down on us with an appropriately severe expression and reminded us the proper number of times—seven—what we could look forward to if he heard we'd neglected our duties. Evidently latrine duty would be fun compared to the punishments we'd receive. He'd harrumphed a few times and given us a typically scornful, icy glare.

Suitably cowed by the model Shinigami in front of us, we cadets had gotten right to work.

Work, in my case, had been doing absolutely freaking nothing. I'd kept my eyes out for anyone suspicious or wearing white. The latter proved to be not quite as easy a task as I'd imagined. Anyone could wear white—hell, a white shitagi was visible in every Shinigami shihakushou. It wasn't like the White Spiders had invented the color.

But considering the hush of Minoru's voice yesterday, I decided suspicion and mild paranoia were better than death.

Of course, paranoia was par for the course when my assigned accompaniment was Kurotsuchi fucking Mayuri. Pardon the French, but that bastard deserved it. I'd been keeping one hand on Arashi's hilt the whole time just in case he started playing with syringes.

See, having some common sense, Torisei didn't trust us to do our jobs perfectly. So for the first couple days we got to have full-fledged Shinigami tagging along. I would've been happier about that if, well... you know. Hiyori and Minoru were with Tokugawa, since they counted as half a person each, to take a joke out of Shinji's book. The very one he'd employed, as a matter of fact, which had gotten Hiyori at his throat and promptly yanked back like a dog on a leash by Tokugawa. Hooray for women with strong arms and stronger grips.

So I stood here fanning myself with Kurotsuchi... somewhere. He'd vanished at some point I didn't care to remember. I hoped he'd save me the trouble and walk into the business end of a knife. Not that I'd know if he did; his reiatsu was well-contained like mine, subtle and weak as captains went, and Ashisogi Jizou was both quiet and unintelligible. Not that I cared. Just because he hadn't done anything—had even been a creepy flavor of pleasant—didn't mean I forgave him.

As for myself, I was staying here looking vaguely threatening. We'd been told to pick something to seem intimidating, because borrowed Shinigami uniforms and swords weren't scary enough. I hadn't seen what anybody'd grabbed except for Shinju, who'd apparently come prepared with nails filed to points and lacquered glossy purple. She'd made a point of checking them a couple times, face eerily impassive. I guessed the polish was the kind Makoto hadn't let me buy. Still, her distant facade was convincing enough that I would've bet people stayed well away. Seireitei made a point of employing uniformed onmitsu as reminders of its power, but disguised ones were equally common. Kinsawa would know who not to piss off if they wanted to wake up in their own beds the next morning.

Arashi and I had agreed to keep an eye on Shinju, if only because she put me sharply in mind of platinum: silvery, refined, and very soft. I couldn't help but worry that Kinsawa would leave a dent on her sheltered noble surface that no smith could hammer out.

I had settled for a more trustworthy weapon: a fan. It had metal spokes—iron outer, bronze inner—so it could take and dish out hits. That wasn't anything unusual for a noblewoman away from home, but I doubted whatever clan claimed Kinsawa, if any, often ventured here. The citizens of this district wouldn't have any idea. So I fluttered crimson-flowered silk and let them guess what Shinigami secrets lay beneath it.

Harmless, harmless, harmless. That was all I was, a prissy princess playing at being a death god. Kinsawa was some backwoods swamp that had lost its value with its gold and I couldn't wait to get out of here. Tsk tsk.

Since no one cared to test that, I alternately wondered when I'd be relieved from duty to grab a bite to eat and tried not to fall asleep. It was a day more summery than spring, a slow, soft breeze toying with my hair as wide blue painted the sky without a blot of white in sight. It'd be baking hot later, but for now a pleasant warmth suffused me. With the sky barely high enough above the horizon that all the pinks and golds of the sunrise have faded, only a few people were out and about.

It was surprisingly peaceful for a place predicted to be swept up in rebellion. If not for Minoru, I wouldn't have believed it myself.

Clattering wood. A shack knocked over or something? I roused myself, glanced down the street. Nothing but a hunchbacked man carrying pails of water. The other way- holy shit balls what the heck-

I got a few steps forward before three people burst out from an alley in a pale cloud of plaster dust. Two men, whip-lean but tall enough to need to duck street signs, pounded down the dirt road after a girl screaming her head off. Getting closer. To her and me. My fan clattered to the ground from nerveless fingers.

My job to intervene. Big men. Too young, I can't do this can'tcan'tcan't Arashi help me! 

"Extinguish the infernal flames, cleanse the unjust, roar through heaven aand strike down the moon. Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!" Water arced forward and soaked me as I sprinted through it, Arashi barely clearing her sheath before she transformed. More instinct twisted me out of the way of the girl. Blind terror, on the other hand, planted me in the men's path.

Oof. I stumbled back a few steps, scrambling to catch my left fan as it was jostled from my grip. There! I grabbed it, snapped it shut, pointed it at the nearest thug's throat. The other fan I held back at an angle. I prayed its shimmering silk would either distract them or remind them that it could easily slash forward and unleash unknown levels of power. Not much, but hey. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Oh great, I was joking as I stared down potential child molesters. Real smart, Nariko.

"Step aside, Shinigami," the one on the left said. His eyes glittered glass-bottle green and looked as sharp as its shards. "This little brat's a workin' girl, like. We're ta fetch her back to her whorehouse. Unless yer lot's got a problem with a licensed, official brothel?" He leered, giving me a look up and down like he wanted me to imagine he thought I'd make a good prostitute.

I opened my mouth to tell him I'd seen enough oiran on my relatives' arms to know I wasn't cut out for that, only for a voice behind me to squeak, "Th-that's a lie! I ain't a money-grubbin' leg-spreader! I got outta that life! Shinigami-han, they're tryin' ta kidnap me!"

I made a considering noise. With luck that'd tide them over while I tracked down my alleged partner.

A cold, leaden weight settled in my chest. I can't find Kurotsuchi. His reiatsu was too quiet to begin with, even if I had known him well enough to pick out his spirit ribbon. My special method was out too. Unohana's seals stopped me from getting flooded with the voices of every Zanpakutou in Soul Society by limiting my hearing to, well, whatever was in earshot. If I could barely hear the girl behind me past my thundering heartbeat, I couldn't hear Ashisogi Jizou.

I was an outsider in enemy territory without any friends. I seized the quivering terror that welled up inside me and transmuted it into fury before it could touch my reiatsu. I released it when I felt it buzzing and snapping in my grip. That bastard had all but thrown me to the wolves. Sucked for him. I wasn't going down easy. Ideally, at all.

The color that crackled into existence around me shaded decidedly towards turquoise instead of cerulean. Let them guess what it meant. I knew that it meant the storm was ready to strike.

Please, please don't make me fight, I begged as frigid water coiled beneath my skin. I can't promise that you'll walk away. Or that I'll want to let you.

I tightened still, numb fingers on my fans. The men were starting to shift from foot to foot, glancing about. Even the girl's grip on the edge of my kosode—when had she grabbed me?—faltered. But they didn't budge. And while I probably could've kept going in release for a while, I didn't want to get jumped and be at less than full power.

"You're bluffing," I said with a thick tongue that rasped against a bone-dry mouth. A ribbon of sweat trickled down my spine. They had to be bluffing, right? Safer to assume they were and get in trouble later. "Unless y-you want to come down to the barracks and talk it over with Torisei-sama. I'm sure he'd be happy to return your employee." I resolved to let myself have an extra dumpling at mealtime for that. Only stuttering once when my brain wanted to dribble out my ears was an achievement. Speaking of which, I pulled back the reiryoku in my ear seals. Didn't need to waste it when I could use it elsewhere.

The man on the left shook his head, scattering white dust on his shoulders. "Aw, what's the point? Place's too public to kill 'em both. C'mon, Kinsue. It ain't worth it." The way the muscles in his neck were jumping, I wished my grades were high enough that I could actually pull off even a simple Restrain. "You'll regret helpin' that one, ya damn blackcoat," he snarled at me. "Yer lot always gets what's comin' ta ya."

So saying, they turned on their heels and- well, what do you think they did? Got the fuck out of there, that's what. A wind kicked up as they went back the way they'd come, pushing aside lank hair to reveal-

Crosses. Blue-green Quincy crosses. Oh hell no. Get back here! I started forward, only to feel the girl's fingers tightly wrapped in my clothes. I whirled to pry her off, but she was sniffling. I wasn't getting out of this in time to find the Spiders.

Victim now, gang later,  I told myself, pasting on a brilliant smile that even I could feel shaking. "Are you okay? Those two didn't look so-"

She burst into tears, because of course she did, and buried her face in her hands. Dammit, I wished I knew what her base complexion was, because she looked awfully pale. Like, the plaster dust hadn't sapped much color pale. "I-I-I- they were gonna kill me! If I ain't found ya in time-" she broke off into rapid breathing to rival Aizen's.

"Hey, hey." I shuffled towards her, making the most of the back-away-from-strangers instinct to guide her out of the middle of the road. A glance around revealed that what few people there'd been had disappeared. We were alone. "C'mon, you're safe now. No one's gonna hurt you. You did find me in time. That's what matters. Cheer up, okay?" I widened my smile. She didn't mirror it.

The girl gulped down another breath and swiped at her eyes. Sunlight danced around her shuddering form for an instant, outlining her in white. "Y-your power..."

Ah, right. Arashi was still unsealed. Maybe the hyperventilating wasn't just a panic thing. Was I ever going to get a chance to make the most of her? I slid the two fans together, let them do their thing, and slid the resulting sword back into its sheath. How they knew I was resealing them I didn't know, but now was not the time to ask.

The girl's breathing slowed. I gave her a few moments to recover before starting the questioning we'd been instructed to perform if there was a problem.

"Wanna tell me your name?" Okay, so it wasn't the official way to say it, but it worked. "I'm Nariko, in case you wanted to know. Probably didn't." I forced a laugh, spurred on by the ice-lightning in my veins. I could've died there if they'd been armed. Hell, maybe even if they hadn't. A snatch at too-long hair, a yank back and shove forwards to break a skull against rock and hard-packed dirt...

But I was alive and kicking. So far, so good.

"M-Mira," the girl stammered, blinking purple-ringed eyes. Hard to tell if they were the remnants of black eyes or severe lack of sleep. Her hair, waist-length and luxuriously black, was too lustrous and clean for her to be sick, so I could rule illness out. She looked strong in the way Minoru had when I'd first met him, lean muscle stretched along bones that looked like they'd snap if they carried any more weight. At least she benefited from a feminine physique, having some padding here and there. Instead of scrawny, she came off as waifish. Maybe she really had worked in a licensed brothel. If she'd done well, it'd explain her relatively good condition. "M-my stomach." She swallowed hard. "It's so empty."

I racked my brain for what to say that. The script said nothing about hunger. Torisei probably would've told me to let her starve. Any high-spec who didn't make their way to Shin'ou would be worthless in his book.

Okay, so maybe I was judging him a little harshly. And making stuff up. But it wasn't completely implausible.

"I'm sorry, I don't have money. Or food," I said lamely. A mental inventory found that to be true. "Or money for food. Did you try and take some from those men? Is that why they were chasing you?"

She shook her head sharply. Mira was probably around my age, I realized. Teenagers had that particular way of tossing their heads, simultaneously scornful of your opinion and desperate to earn your respect. "I ain't a thief! I never steal." The ferocity with which she snarled the words sounded so bizarre coming from someone so delicate and young, so much like Minoru my heart went out to her. Her head dropped, inky hair shedding fine powder as it formed a curtain across a pink-flushed face. I caught a flash of pale, watchful brown through silky black.

Even while I'm trying to help her, she's on guard, I thought, letting my eyes flick away down the street, then up it. No threats, as expected. My senses were zinging as I came down from the panic-high. If someone turned up, I'd know. But if she thought she wasn't under scrutiny, she might relax. Is this the life of someone without a gang? To always be on the defense because you're the only one who'll watch your back? Then again, she acts just like Minoru, and he had a gang.

No point in wondering. There was a need here and now and I had to meet it. "Mira-chan," I began. Cringed, as the mousy expression that'd just returned tightened. I didn't want to know what had prompted that. "Mira-san, then. My barracks have food and healers." I thought of Abe and decided I'd just have to get up the courage to talk to someone new. Abe'd probably break Mira in two. "If you could identify the men, tell us what was going on, we could help you."

"Yes," she said too quickly, reiatsu elusive and taut like Torisei's. Her eyes gleamed feverishly bright over sharp cheekbones. Had I said she was in good condition? Either Mira used a lot of reiryoku regularly—unlikely, for someone without a gang—or she hadn't eaten in quite some time. How did one calculate the number of calories a high-spec person needed, anyway? We'd learned, but I hadn't thought I'd actually need to know. "If they come back and finish the job-" She sniffled. It was an act and I knew it, but it tugged on my heartstrings all the same. I could forgive a little exaggeration when the alternative was abandoning her to starvation and the streets.

"Stay by me," I ordered, bending to retrieve my fan from the dust. Damn thing was never going to let go of the dust and possible dog shit on it. Or was that mud? I shook off what I could. "When I'm at the nearest post to the barracks, I'll tell you where to go, who to talk to."

"I know who's who," she said. Her oddly pale, ringed eyes shifted, fixing on me hawk-like. No, that wasn't right. Hawks looked like they cared about you, if only because they didn't relish becoming featherdusters. Mira's eyes looked more like lasers, dispassionate and mechanical.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. If she didn't steal—and from the way she'd said it, I believed her—she wouldn't have had any occasion to go near there. Torisei had eventually settled on having Aizen guard the food stores for a reason: they were the best way for illicit high-specs to get food. The vast majority of farms and fisheries were under Seireitei's control, delivering most of their produce to outposts and Seireitei proper. Wards near rivers or woods were the next best option for high-specs, but anyone anywhere else was out of luck.

Kinsawa was largely forested swampland, pocked with the emptied gold mines that had supplied its name. No way it was one of those fortunate wards. So if Mira didn't steal, why would she know any Shinigami? I could imagine knowing where the barracks were; it was common sense. But either something she'd said wasn't true or I was missing a piece of the puzzle.

Bare feet shuffled. "Summa them," she said lamely, hand going to her wrist. A tarnished silver chain hung there, carrying a slightly newer-looking manji. "When someone's chasin' ya, ya learn who does what real fast. An' if it ain't a Shinigami, ya learn which blackcoat's likely ta listen ta a sob story and which one'd rather lock up every street rat they see, troublemaker or not."

"So I'm the gullible kind?" I said dryly, shaking open my fan and surreptitiously sniffing it. Nothing but mineral tang as far as I could tell. "Gee, thanks."

An impish grin broke her dusty face. "I ain't said nothin', Shinigami-han. Can I go? Them thugs might head somewhere else while you're here. Don't wanna let 'em get some other girl, d'ya?

"No," I agreed rhetorically. "Alright, fine. You think you can get there without getting kidnapped, be my guest." I tossed over the token she'd need to get in.

She caught it and darted off, hair streaming out behind her like a war banner. I shook my head, scattering hair nearly as long.

"Next post, I guess," I muttered to myself as I started for it. Maybe I'd finally find Kurotsuchi there.

"Eh, it was a mixed bag."

Shinji was responding to a question asked by his accompaniment, Ishiura. From a glance I'd guess Ishiura was a member of the Third; he'd secured honey-colored hair with a golden marigold pin and wore a smile that said butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. I would've called him an idiot, except that he kept his tiger-striped nodachi within easy reach and had clearly earned the jagged scar splitting a burnished throat. Shinji couldn't have had a better mentor.

I hummed, shifting position on the bench. The dining room was too small to be called a proper hall, cramped and dusty as it was. "So what disturbed your bright and beautiful morning?"

He beamed. Damn morning people. My darling brother looked as perky an hour after noon as he had rolling out of bed. And somehow his stupid hair hadn't gone stringy with sweat or frizzed with the sweltering heat. "Well, for one, the lack of pretty- Ow!"

Even with her tongue stilled by food, Shinju's hand was free to cuff Shinji upside the head. I flashed her a grin. She swallowed hard, returned it. We were partners in crime, if not anywhere else.

"Hey, no shame in it," Ishiura said around a yawn. His white, chipped teeth made me glance far down the table at Kurotsuchi, whose large yellow teeth were buried in a piece of egg. At least no one was near him to get the inevitable flying egg bits on their uniforms. "Appreciating the feminine figure is only natural for guys. Now, if your eyes decide they like other targets- well, keep it under wraps. Only good woodblock material when the ladies do it."

Had I said Shinji had an ideal mentor? I was swiftly starting to reconsider my first impression. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Hiyori stepped in to save me from my fumbling mouth.

"Shut yer mouth, jackass! Ugh, we shouldn't have ta put up with such a pervert," Hiyori groused. Shinji, summer-hot reiatsu simmering around him, snapped a nod. I suspected we'd have to have a little talk sooner or later from his glower.

Ishiura jerked back, hand going to his gold-brushed cheek as if slapped. "Then I'm not sure what I think of the students the Academy's turning out these days. Feisty!" He tucked into his bento-style ration.

I took it as the battlefield retreat it was meant to be and let my fan whisper over my face to hide the twist in my mouth. No use saying anything more. Someone might say something they'd regret.

Minoru, for his part, shrugged and scooped some rice into his mouth. "Never seen the fun in all that. Datin', foolin' around, 's all pointless."

Ishiura opened his mouth again and was met with the scowls of five sweaty, hungry teenagers. He shut it and mirrored Aizen, who, being the smartest of us, had his eyes firmly fixed on his food where no one could swipe it. I was pretty sure he'd made off with his accompaniment's meal, but the victim hadn't noticed yet.

"Nothing wrong with that," I said, shifting my food into one cheek. "I'm not one for 'foolin' around' either."

Shinji's eyes crossed. He shook his head, golden hair forming a corona in the sunlight trickling through dusty windows. "Okay, this conversation stops there. I don't wanna hear 'bout my sister's sex life. Or lack thereof."

I flushed scarlet. Something in my briefly frozen brain directed my eyes to roll at him. "You perv. I'm your sister!"

"I know that!" He protested, stabbing his chopsticks into his rice bowl. I plucked them out before anyone else noticed the breach of manners. "I just don't need that mental image! Who wants ta thinka their big sister gettin' it on with Aizen?"

It was my turn to break etiquette. I jabbed my chopsticks at him. "I'll say it again: you're a pervert! Who thinks about their older sister screwing their roommate?"

He huffed. "You an' he are always makin' eyes at each other, ain'tcha? 'Sides, he was just in my line of sight."

"Shinji-san." Aizen's glasses were pressed so far up his nose it was a wonder he could see past them, but the rest of his face was a mask of building fury. "Don't joke about that," he snarled, glassy reiatsu smoky like quartz. I can bring you pain, it promised. It might not look it, but if I shatter you'll bleed.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. How was it that I could still feel my ice-water blood when I was half out of my body?

"Shinji-san, shut the fuck up." Minoru, blunt as a spear point to the ribs. Shinju's reiatsu, smooth and fine, enveloped our section of the table like cool water, trying to soothe an edge here or flare there. The other Shinigami on break were starting to glance over. "Ya ain't helpin' things."

"Don't fight," Shinju whispered, staring at the ashen wood of the table. "Please, Shinji-kun, Aizen-san. Everyone's just tired and exhausted. We're friends, not enemies."

The line's so thin, I thought half-hysterically, watching the two glare at each other. Are you all blind? Crazy? It would barely take anything to cross it. My little brother hasn't had his first kiss and if he wanted he could kill everyone around him with his reiatsu. My roommate thinks she's a pacifist but is training to be a killer. The boy who probably likes me is a future omnicidal maniac ready to demolish anything that startles him and the kid I'm tutoring in reading and writing's a former gang member. Hell, if I don't plan right, my cousin's going to turn into a monster. We shouldn't be allies, let alone friends.

 We stood on a precipice in that moment. A step in any direction could end it all.

Aizen swung his legs over the bench and snatched his food in one fluid motion. In two buzzing steps he was gone. The double doors swinging behind him made the only sound in the whole hall.

"Shinji, that was a jerk move," I snapped. I stuffed an onigiri in each cheek. "Minoru-kun and Junko-chan were right. We're friends. Friends don't get each other killed." I surged to my feet. "Stay out of trouble. I'm going to find him."

"Provin' my point" followed me as I stormed out of the hall.

I should've found Aizen someplace dramatic. Maybe in a suitably creepy plot of swamp. At the very least in the tiny bathhouse with some dramatic steam.

Instead I rounded the corner of the storehouse and nearly tripped over the kid.

"Wha?" I stammered, stumbling back and landing on my noble butt.

Aizen's head snapped up, eyes sizing me up like a hawk would a mouse. I resisted the urge to scoot away. It was a ridiculous idea anyway. He was scrunched up in near-fetal position. Not a fighting stance, though his lips pulled back in a snarl. He looked like a wild animal, instinctively fending off helping and hurting hands both.

We stared at each other for a long few seconds. I blinked twice. He just stared, pupils huge and dark.

Then his head dropped and the spell broke.

"I can't apologize for him, can I?" I said before he could retreat into his shell again.

Aizen bit his lip. Blood beaded there, refused to fall until he spoke. Which he didn't. Just worked his jaw, like he was keeping a hundred words locked behind pale lips. His frame shook like he had a cough contained with them.

"I can try to take a look at you if you want," I offered, pushing down ruffled hakama and awkwardness both. Curled up like that and with the space his reiatsu should've occupied a void, dark shards pulled beneath his skin, Aizen looked miserable and hurt and Not My Problem. I gritted my teeth. If I didn't make Aizen my problem, he'd be everyone's problem. Might as well give up being a teenager, Nariko. Gotta grow up and take responsibility.

His head lashed from side to side, lank brown swishing in the air. If I ever thought he'd let me get close with a pair of scissors, I would've cut it by now and gotten rid of his veil. "No! Y'can't. I- you can't fix me. No point in trying." His voice escaped high and breathy and so shaky it half-sounded like two people speaking.

I bobbed my head, smoothing my reiatsu to deep waters and clouds. I'm harmless, remember. Just your roommate's sister. "You're right," I admitted. "I can't. Even if we'd learned healing Kidou, I-I'm a handful of points away from failing." I locked eyes with him, focusing on wavering brown instead of the falling feeling inside. C'mon. Accept it. I gave you a weakness, now get out of your shell and exploit it.

Aizen licked the blood from his lips. His eyes flicked over me, like my scrunched-up form could tell him more than my words. "Th-that's a lie. Right? It has to be."

I tucked strands of ash-blond, escaping from their ribbony restraints, behind my ear. "No. It doesn't make any sense. Kidou, that is. Not to me. I figured I'd ask you, honestly." I pulled a smile across my face. Let it fall before it seemed fake.

Aizen's face wore no expression for a handful of seconds, just a blank, sweaty forehead, level brows, slightly-parted lips. Then he seemed to remember the right face to wear and the brows lifted and his lips formed an O. "Me? But I- I'm not even takin'- taking Kidou." His eyes twitched as if to flick away. "Had to repeat Hakuda."

It was my turn to be surprised. Aizen had less body fat than our resident ex-urchin and less muscle than delicate Shinju, but martial arts didn't always require weight and power. "Seriously? How could you not pass it?" Whoops, don't antagonize the maniac. "i mean, it's not like you couldn't be a force to be reckoned with if you wanted."

His lips twisted into a smirk before the blankness reset it. "If I wanted."

"You don't?"

"I've got enough ways to kill someone without making my body a killing machine, too," Aizen said. His eyes crinkled, scrawny form shaking quietly like he was laughing at a joke only he knew.

I'm going to punch the next person who says something like that. Not sure if you or Shinju'd be better. "I'm sorry," I said instead. When in doubt, apologize. It put the other person off guard, made them like you more. At least, it made my parents happy.

Blankness, then a wrinkled forehead. "Why? You didn't do it."

Oops. Hadn't quite thought that far ahead. I shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a thing people say to tell someone they care. So whatever hurts right now, I'm sorry. For Shinji, too. He's still- he hasn't grown up yet. You and Minoru-kun and Nanase-kun have, but Shinji's never needed to. So, I'm sorry. It's no excuse, but it's a reason."

His eyes narrowed. "You didn't say yourself. Or Fujikage-san."

I had to shrug again. "I don't know Junko-chan well enough. Sucks, but it's the truth. I barely know my roommate." I chuckled like it was funny. "As for me, I'm not sure where I fall. Killed a man, but I was annoyed when I didn't get New Year's money. Make of that what you will."

"The first is always the hardest," Aizen agreed. His reiatsu jumped back into existence for an instant, ice-clear and ice-hard. A chill ran down my spine. How had I ever felt comfortable around him with power like that? But it withdrew and left a scrawny kid with finger-traced tear tracks there.

Maybe you were right, Arashi, I whispered, sense of reiatsu numb with cold. Maybe he'll never change. He doesn't even cry. Just fakes it.

She didn't answer, just adjusted her silks. Leave it to the bird-woman to be watching him with eagle eyes.

So Aizen and I sat in silence for a few minutes before I decided I had to make one last attempt to get something out of him. "Shinji doesn't mean anything by the sex jokes, you know. He just likes to embarrass me."

"Is that what I am, Nariko-san? An embarrassment?" His voice was a grating whisper.

I wanted to pitch a glob of mud at his stupid face. "I didn't say that, Aizen-san," I said, just as soft. "And I didn't mean to imply it if I did either. Shinji's an insensitive idiot, is all. Sex doesn't mean anything to him except jokes."

"With that man as your relative, I'm surprised," Aizen bit out. "'A different woman every night,' did you say?"

"Shinji's not his great-uncle," I said, fighting the defensiveness threatening to rise in my voice and hunch my shoulders. "People don't work like that."

"Bad blood will out, Nariko-san," Aizen said tiredly, like he'd said it a hundred times to a hundred people. For an instant I could see the man he'd become in his hooded eyes and still, resigned frame. "That's what everyone said to my-" He stopped, tearing into his lower lip again.

"To your mother?" I asked, carefully scooting back in case I triggered something unpleasant. This Aizen didn't seem to have a calm shell hiding tons of crazy like the one I remembered, but the chance that his apparent shyness concealed a regular flavor of nasty emotions still freaked me out.

And yet he didn't explode. Just nodded, head hung. "She never told anyone who my father was. Typical of her trade."

"That kind of working woman," I murmured to myself. A prostitute. If people had taunted him about his parentage, no wonder he didn't like people joking about casual sex. Or maybe he was the kind of person who flat-out hated those insinuations.

Aizen nodded again. "That kind of working woman," he echoed, half-smiling in a way that didn't look happy. "Kuraizumi dealt a lot in that."

Kuraizumi. Something about that name niggled in the back of my brain. A few of my second or third cousins at the New Year's party had been talking about some sort of tragedy that'd happened in that ward a while back, or rather the rumors surrounding it. Refusal to cooperate with bandits, they'd suggested. Hollow invasion. Infighting. A roaming gang. All they knew was that it'd been bloody, sudden, and left no one alive.

Aizen had nowhere to go back to. The monster or monsters that'd destroyed his home and killed his mother had made sure of that.

"I'm sorry," I murmured again. "I heard about what happened there."

Aizen blanched, arm drawing back as he half-uncurled. "You-"

I jerked away, hands out to block the blow that I knew was coming I should've known-

He stopped, claw-fingered hand shaking by his ear where it could snap forward at any second and tear out my throat. His expression teetered between that terrifying blankness and horror, like he couldn't believe what his body was doing. "Nariko-san. I, I-" He gulped. Maybe he knew no explanation would be enough to stop the ghost-prick of metal at my throat.

"No." I scrambled to my feet. I was done for today. There were a thousand possible reasons flitting through my mind for his bout of insanity, but I didn't want to listen to them. I'd had enough of people with madness behind kind eyes. Right now I just couldn't do this. If it made me irresponsible, better than my fucking the whole thing up by being angry and bitter. "I- not now. Please. Give me time."

I turned away and left him shivering and gasping there. There was only so much I could do.

So I told myself, feet dragging with exhaustion as I slipped through the bustle of Shinigami. My eyes burned and blurred with the seeds of tears. It was too much. Aizen and Shinji's stupid-ass conflict that I kept getting dragged into, the fact that my only distinguishing feature was a span of silk and steel, my distance from the people I was supposed to be closest to, my being so weak that I, a Shinigami, had had to bluff a couple thugs—all too much to handle. I couldn't do it. Not right now.

Arashi's streams rippled. Nariko-daoshi, show some compassion. We can't ignore-

I gouged out a mental trench for her waters to fill. I didn't need a lecture right now. I'm not a compassionate person, Arashi. You know that.

As I stepped into the building where Kurotsuchi and I were due to get our story straight before we filed individual reports, a layer of indifference slid into place over the turmoil inside. For a second I thought it'd give way into a flood of emotion, but soon enough calm settled in my heart and on my face. It was fine, I told myself with no more worry than I might've felt over choosing a hair ribbon in the morning. Nobody had to know I'd messed up. I could fix this, little by little. Aizen and I could keep each other's secrets.

"Sorry, Kurotsuchi-senpai," I murmured as I approached his chalked-off square of workspace. I didn't even want to know why there were scorch marks at the corners. Or why singed silver tubes and a small mountain of scrolls were tucked beneath his desk. Or why there was chalk around his spot at all. You know what, I just plain didn't want to know anything more about that creep. "I got caught up talking to someone."

"Useless." Yellow eyes snapped up to me. I contemplated shoving his brush down his throat, still detached. "That makes less time to work, you silly girl. Either they'll get over it like any well-trained Shinigami or they'll eliminate the problem with themselves."

Oookay. Well, I didn't even know where to start with that. So I didn't, glancing about as I knelt to see if anyone else in the quietly buzzing office was disturbed by hearing that from a coworker. A stout woman waiting to swap paperwork for patrol duty cast a glance that could've eaten through a Zanpakutou at Kurotsuchi. Apart from her—and from the way her reiatsu only faintly twitched and her eyebrows remained level, I read it as distaste for his person, not his words—no one did.

"What are you sitting down for?" His brush stopped its mechanical strokes. Something in my head finally twigged. Kurotsuchi's veneer of arrogance wasn't there. The abrasiveness and dismissiveness were, certainly, but he was reacting to me. Somebody higher-up had ground away his facade of superiority. Even his painted mask wasn't so caked-on, sweat trails visible at the brows.

"I-I'm sorry?" I stammered. "I thought we were-"

"Some imbecile got himself killed." Kurotsuchi's hair-thin lips pulled back in a grimace. "Shame, but the commander's got his hakama in a knot over it for some unfathomable reason. Most of the rest have already been questioned, but your time-wasting means you're still due."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to kick my brain into high gear. It wasn't any of us cadets, was it? Kurotsuchi would've said something if it was. No, that was a lie. Abe had made an offhand comment the other day that she was assigned to the sickbay for the rest of the week. Ishiura, Tokugawa, Ishida, all anybody's guess. Probably someone I didn't even know.

"Well?" Kurotsuchi demanded. "Get to the administration's quarters!"

The polite part of my brain short-circuited, pulling me to my feet and carrying me away without a goodbye. Well, I'd apologize later. Or not.

In the meantime, I made my way to the offices occupied by the highest-ranked members of the outpost. They weren't hard to spot; a short corridor led from the common office space to a series of rooms that housed/provided workspace for people like Torisei.

"Guanyin save you," a Chinese woman, face white with powder and fear, muttered as she swept out of Torisei's office.

I nodded, hoping I'd misheard. My knocking knees clicked the truth to me in anatomical Morse code: You're dead.

Arashi? I asked, hoping she wouldn't hold a grudge.

Fog swirled and settled. I'm an instrument of war, daoshi. I'll be with you as always, but it would take some truly extraordinary circumstances for me to help you against him.

That was a fair point. I took a deep breath, almost choked on the smoke in the air, and stepped into Torisei's office.

It was spartan almost to a fault. The screen that presumably divided his living quarters from his office was the only thing decorated, with intertwined blue camellias and purple chrysanthemums painted just brightly enough to be distinguished as colored. Everything else was bare. No rugs softened the pale, scuffed wood of the floor. One wall held the mounting of his sword. A plain low table served as desk and host to two white blocks. I did a double take as I realized they were sheets of paper, so rigidly shaped into columns that you could barely tell one from another. The only concessions to comfort were the ashy sunken hearth in the middle of the room and the sweat-stained off-white zabuton cushion in front of Torisei's desk.

Torisei himself knelt at his desk, brush resting by his inkstone. A sheet of paper sat in front of him, nearly blank. Nearly blank in that I could see from here the kanji of my name.

Ah, fuck. The layer of calm over my heart trembled. I was totally on Torisei's shit list. Trying to talk to Aizen had only bought me what, a quarter-hour? It'd felt like forever. But Torisei was going to dissect my every weakness now, and he'd take his time doing it.

"You wanted to see me, Torisei-sama?" I said, locking my knees to keep my legs from shaking.

"On your knees," he said, glancing up but not standing. He was the commander. He didn't have to.

And I knelt.

Even kneeling himself, Torisei towered over me. He wasn't broad-shouldered when I measured him against most men from Before, nor was he particularly tall compared to the same, but in a society where the bar was set narrower and lower, it was easy to pick him out as European. Exotic, but not completely out of the ordinary—that tall library aide I'd met had looked biracial, though I wasn't familiar enough with his clan to say which parent's ethnicity dominated. What had brought Torisei, who my gut told me wasn't a noble, to Soul Society after death was anyone's guess. He was a walking mystery.

My brain, finding no helpful information, went quietly numb with terror. I wasn't a murderer, or at least not this Shinigami's murderer, but authority figures always knew how to find fault. I had to have screwed up somewhere, or the commander himself wouldn't be questioning me.

"Hirako Nariko," he said, enunciating every syllable. "Did anyone tell you why you're here, or were you too busy hiding to learn?"

I was well past being irritated at that. "Kurotsuchi-senpai said someone was killed," I said, staring at the camellias that looked from this angle like they were blossoming from Torisei's shoulders into wings. Camellias and chrysanthemums—noble reason and truth, especially in those colors. They were the insignias of the Sixth and First Divisions respectively. I'd only ever seen Kuchikis wearing patterns of those, and then only one kind of flower at a time. "I-is that true, sir?"

"Your file claimed you were intelligent. Perhaps I should remedy it." Torisei selected a paper from the top of one stack and held it up to me. "Please tell me you recognize this man. Your brother reported an altercation with him at the afternoon meal, after all."

My mask of calm shifted ever so slightly to accommodate wide eyes and a dropped jaw. I slid it back into place a second later, but there was no changing the image in front of me. The artist had clearly had a disturbing amount of practice drawing corpses. Ishiura's empty eyes stared straight ahead, chest thrust out in staged pride. Not that he could help it—the tiger-striped hilt of a sword jutted from his forehead, its blade presumably buried in the wall behind him. A massive hole in his chest was picked out in charcoal black—and since the artist had used color, I knew it really was charcoal black. Dozens of smaller burns pockmarked his body.

And above Ishiura's head, the killer had pasted a sign. Four letters, real letters, not kana, smeared in black like some demented memorial. Treu. German, it had to be. French, my second guess, took the word for true from Latin, I was pretty sure.

"Sprechen Sie deutsch?" I said aloud, glancing up from the gore.

Torisei jerked violently, pupils contracting to dots of jet. After a second his brows lowered, lips pursed, cheeks regained some color. "You aren't completely stupid, then. You are aware of what this means?"

Loyal, I thought but didn't say. True. He didn't want the literal meaning. "A Quincy?" I asked, knowing the answer. It couldn't be anyone else.

A little of the color Torisei'd just regained bled away. "Quincies. The matter we're investigating is what traitor let them in. Or if they weren't let in, what traitor tampered with the Kidou-based security system to allow them to break in."

"S-so how am I supposed to help?" I stammered.

He leaned forward. "We both know you're connected, Hirako. You're going to tell me how."

Chapter Text

The breath I'd been taking in froze in my lungs. Connected? Me? To the Quincies? Sure, I didn't outright hate them like Torisei seemed to, but I also didn't know any so it was kinda a moot point. One I couldn't prove, either. The accusation was so bizarre it probably had equally bizarre justification. All I could do was present my side of the story. But what if Torisei pulled a Central 46 vs. Urahara and made me a scapegoat?

Well, it couldn't be helped. The law was the law and I was at its enforcers' mercy.

I took a deep breath. "S-sir, I-" I stopped, swallowed, began again. It wouldn't do to sound like a terrified little girl. Even if I was. "I don't know what to tell you. I didn't kill Ishiura-senpai. And, um, I'm really bad at Kidou. It's probably on my transcript, if you have it." I nodded at the stacks of paper on his desk. "I don't think I could've sabotaged the security system if I wanted to."

Torisei plucked at the air. For an instant, dozens of ribbons whispered in the sunlight, a forest of red and white. In the mix, Torisei's almost looked pink. I swallowed back jokes as the mesmerizing display ended and left only one red ribbon in Torisei's grasp. Stone, cold and cracked, resonated in my chest, the faintest whine of paranoia behind it. I glanced down and found that the ribbon's end was buried there.

"Sir?" I said, carefully going still. It felt like when my hair snagged on a branch. A situation for caution, but not painful unless I resisted, in which case—what could he do, exactly? Kill me? Depower me? There weren't too many options with the ribbon representing my soul.

His blue, blue eyes reflected the red of the ribbon strangely. They stayed trained on it for a moment, then a moment more, and more. Finally he released it and produced a smoky glass flask from beneath his desk. He put it to his lips, tossed his head back. I didn't see the contents, only the bobbing of his Adam's apple. It moved jerkily, gingerly, as though his throat was sore. His reiatsu shifted weirdly as the liquid flowed, like a cat- no, a tiger with its pelt rubbed the wrong way, prickling with tempered discomfort.

All this I watched, motionless. It was strange to be there for something that felt like a ritual, like when I'd first caught Shinji shaving. He was in his own world.

Torisei's head came back down, flask vanishing beneath his desk as he released the sigh of someone who'd just quenched a deep thirst. The scent I caught on the air was bitter, unlike my father's sake.

Focus, Nariko. The tone was Arashi's, but the voice was mine. If she couldn't or wouldn't help me, I'd admonish myself. Your life is on the line.

The warning helped me jerk slightly less as he swiped at the air and caught the end of my spiritual ribbon. For an instant both our ribbons lingered in the air, identically crimson. Then his vanished and only mine remained.

"You aren't so strong that you can't be replaced," he rasped, laserlike eyes a touch less piercing. "You can be gotten rid of at any time. And all they- all we have to do is give the order. In the ranks of the Shinigami, traitors will be rooted out and eliminated. So don't think that your power entitles you to special treatment. In your little group, you're firmly mediocre." He tugged on the ribbon and something in me responded, a slight shift in my power in the direction he'd pulled.

"I can't tell you about something I didn't do," I said. No matter how hard I tried to keep them there, my eyes wouldn't stay on his face. Recognizing the intimidation tactic didn't make it harmless. "Meaning no disrespect, sir, but it's true. I didn't do it."

He glared at me, reddened sclerae making for an eerie sight. When had that happened? "You understand German and lie to your superior officer's face. In the view of an commander not inclined towards mercy, that would be treason." His reiatsu, gone slack, rubbed against mine. It was strong, but not all the way through. A bundle of contradictions, like Torisei—strange yet familiar, powerful but hollow, solid yet flexible. Maybe it was because I was so used to defined characters like Shinji and Aizen that an ordinary one was my new weird.

"I don't speak German," I protested, ignoring the uncomfortable twist of a not-quite lie. "And I don't lie."

Torisei tsked. "And yet I've just caught you in another falsehood. Such a blatant one. You just asked me whether I spoke German in the same language. Can you provide definitive proof that your parents are of the Hirako? German is a Quincy language." He spat the word like a curse.

It was easier to meet his eyes if I made mine as sharp as my brother's, as my father's. "But you understood me," I said flatly.

Torisei stared at me for a minute, then turned away to hack. Muggy, smoky air swallowed the sound.

"I've served longer than you've been able to hold a blade," he ground out at last, turning back to me, though his . The dark, prominent veins in his neck throbbed irregularly. "Do you dare to presume to know which foes I've fought, which enemies of Soul Society I've had to understand to protect its ever-challenged peace? How much I've bled to ensure your precious noble estate lies unmolested by brigands? The duty shouldered by your superiors that we may hold together a world on the precipice of digging its own grave?"

I swallowed hard, eyes dropping to my lap. A stubborn lump remained in my throat, neither defense nor explanation. Hot waves of guilt swamped me. I knew the price nobles paid for their lives. Even if I didn't get access to the information flowing through my house, a little lingering outside of rooms and careful listening at feasts was enough to have a sense of the bloodshed on both sides. Hell, Uncle Isamu had died carrying information amidst the Zanpakutou Riots when I was eight.

What could someone say to that without spitting on their relatives' graves?

"I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled to an ash-stained floor. "I-I'm sorry."

He sniffed. "As well you should be. If you wish to serve properly, Hirako, you must learn that on the battlefield there is no time for questions. You must know and do exactly what your peers will, or throw it all into chaos. Conformity will be your friend."

"Yessir," the mouth of my dull, defeated mask said around twisting bitterness. Embarrassment, anger, and guilt warred in a mind that couldn't put its sentiments to words but damn well wanted to.

Torisei's neck veins jumped ominously again. "I suspect Kurotsuchi's influence," he said abruptly. "From the beginning, the man has unnerved his fellow Shinigami, if one may disgrace the title so. Unsavory rumors always did follow our year in the Academy. The authorities never found the source, but cleansing myself of the stench of Quincy was never possible with that man around." His jaw clenched. "When he was assigned here, I'd thought he might have overcome his juvenile obsession with them, but it seems one is never safe from Kurotsuchi Mayuri."

My spirit ribbon slipped from Torisei's hand at last. I caught myself just as my shoulders began to slump. Emotion was no excuse to slip. Even if it felt like stepping out of old clothes to have his fingers off my soul. Had he done that to everyone? Thinking of Shinji's pure gold power, I hoped not.

"It's common knowledge that the truth your clan deals is always buried under countless lies, if present at all. Hirako Kenji's paternity is impossible to prove, though your abysmal marks in Kidou aren't. You aren't sophisticated enough to conceal deception in your reiatsu, or at least can delude yourself into believing so," Torisei rasped, glare fixed somewhere above my head. "Your answers are unbelievable, but can't be proved true or false. To this end..." He trailed off, bloodshot eyes finally settling on me.

I gulped, now unable to remove my eyes from his. In that moment, I could empathize with the deer who stood, paralyzed, in glaring headlights. For the third time that day, I stood on a precipice.

Torisei's smile was only slightly too dignified to be a smirk. "You are no longer Kurotsuchi's apprentice, Hirako. Instead, you are mine. Your assignment is to go about with Kurotsuchi as though nothing had changed and to file reports on his behavior. If I learn that you have neglected a single detail or breathed a word to your coterie, even your precious father will never learn where your body lies. Do you understand?"

If you learn, hissed a voice in the back of my head. I muffled it. Staring into those mad, sane eyes, I half-believed he could hear it. "Yes, Torisei-sama. Of course."

He nodded, rising. I clambered to my feet, following his gaze to the sliver of sky visible through a not-quite-closed exterior screen. Sour grey clouds were encroaching on the morning's beautiful blue. A storm was coming.

"If you can be of no further use, Hirako, leave. Your duties may yet allow for some time for other pursuits," Torisei ordered. I followed him to the threshold, where a navy raincloak and damaged deerskin glove hung. At least, I could only assume it was damaged; the little finger had been torn off. He swept both from their stand.

I made my exit as he donned the cloak, purely to avoid saying goodbye. I doubted a drunkard would notice anyway.

I found Shinji standing in one of the tiny training grounds. He and Shinju were ostensibly drilling Zanjutsu in the shadow of the willow trees. In practice, both had their blades lowered and Shinju, even veiled by her rain-grey hair, was clearly saying something. Shinji didn't look to be listening. In fact, he didn't particularly look Shinji. Even asleep, my brother wore a vaguely smug face.

Now, as I approached, I saw nothing. It looked as though someone else was wearing Shinji's face.

"Afternoon," I said, giving them a half-assed wave. "You're done with your partners' reports?"

Shinju glanced over at me, expression as smooth as her perfect purple nails. "I'm done. I suppose you want to talk to him?"

I blinked. "I'd like to talk to my little brother, yes. Unless you're busy."

She pursed her lips, eyes flicking up to the darkening sky. "No, it's fine. You've obviously got important things to do." She sheathed her sword forcefully. "Please don't take too long. There's paperwork."

I watched her go, gravel crunching under elegantly swaying steps. For an instant, I wished that delicate beauty had settled in my bones too. People raised subtle as the shadows of twining wisteria were bound to be different from those who hadn't bothered to change their name when they'd reworked the lands of their birth.

But no, I was here for Shinji. Blunt, frank, immature Shinji. Who hadn't turned to me, eyes trained on the empty air Shinju had occupied.

I waved my hand in front of his face. "Hey, Shin. You wanna talk?"

He jerked, eyes snapping back into focus. "Talk?" A bark tore out of his throat, nowhere near his ringing laugh. "I don't need t'talk. 'm fine."

I kept his blade in my peripherals. Accidents happened with live blades. I of all people didn't need to be told that. "Well, even if you're fine, we should talk. It's good for you."

Sakanade-to-be jumped. "I said I'm fine! Why d'ya have ta be more of a mom than the one we've got?"

"I'm your big sister," I hissed, shoulders hunching to match his. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "It's my job to look after you."

That same ugly not-laugh, complete with a toss of his golden head. "And you're doin' a bang-up job of that! Murderin' a guy, workin' with the guy Torisei figures for the one who let the Quincy in. Heck, he was askin' me if I knew whether you'd gone an' let the bastard in."

I stumbled back, sucking in a breath. "Sh-Shinji!" Defenses and protests jammed in a pain-tight throat. "Show some respect for once!" squeaked its way out, almost drowned out by the sighing willows.

Empty, aching silence, punctuated by thunder like war drums and a gust rich in the scent of growing things. His reiatsu hummed with words held in. Mine quivered, mirroring the water not brave enough yet to become rain.

"That's so like you, Nariko," Shinji growled at last. "Pick an' choose what's worthy of yer attention. I thought you'd at least try ta deny it."

Rain flickered into sparks. "What am I supposed to say to that? When you- you accuse me of not trying to keep you safe! Of conspiring to let a Quincy murder a man! When did you decide you weren't going with the party line? You wanna lose your big sister? Want me to lie down and die next time a monster tries to eat me?" My fists clenched so tightly they hurt.

"Maybe!" he burst out. A nimbus of palest gold crackled around him. "Ya turn up at the center of every conflict, Nariko! Ain't that fucked up ta you?"

My hand went to Arashi. "That isn't my fault," I grated, voice dropping as my will to not cry, to not scream bore down on it. "You can't always avoid fights. Didn't Dad teach us that?"

"Dad taught me Shin'ou was a testing ground, not a battlefield," Shinji said, low and steely. "He said we were supposed to be warriors, not- not-"

The golden light died. Shinji's mouth gaped and shut before wrenching into the locked jaw of someone about to cry. Stepping forward before he could resist, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. They shook once, twice, fragile in a way I'd never noticed, before he broke down.

"He died," Shinji gasped. Wetness spread across my shoulder. "I stepped away and he died. An'- an'- why can't anythin' you're involved in ever be normal? Why do I have ta get grilled about my sister bein' a traitor? Hiruko's birth, I came back an' saw Ishiura-han skewered like roast meat! And Torisei's got someone ta finger for it so fast an' it's yer mentor again because of course it is! Nariko, I'll believe ya whatever ya say, but just tell me the truth. Did ya let the Quincy in?"

I shook my head, ash and gold mixing in my view. "No, I didn't. I swear on my Zanpakutou I didn't." His breathing still whispered far too quickly in my ear, so I added, "Shinji, you can't think Ishiura-senpai was your fault. It's on the guy who killed him, all of it. You couldn't have known he'd need defending anyway. And besides, if the guy who killed him was strong enough to kill an officer, how could a student have stood a chance?"

Shinji's frame quaked. "I ain't just a student, Nariko. Dad thinks I could be a captain. I coulda done better, I know it."

I squeezed him a little more tightly. "Maybe so. But you didn't know better. Nobody could've. Not Torisei-sama, not Dad, not me." Could my spirit sense hear Quincy? I guessed not, but it was something to look into later. "Power doesn't mean anything, Shin. It's a thing you either have or don't, but just because you've got some doesn't mean you have to be superhuman. You're just a guy with power."

He took a shuddering breath. "How'd ya get past it? It's barely been a few hours an' I feel like if i'd just- if I'd just-"

I wiggled out of his embrace, putting a pace's worth of distance between us. "I don't know if it would be the same for you at all, but me? I told Oshiro-sensei that he didn't have power over me anymore. That I refused to feel guilty for defending against an attack he began. Maybe tell the Quincy something like that. That all the guilt lies with the murderer. I mean, it's true."

He swiped at his eyes. "I'll try." That old Shinji grin flickered across his face. "No promises, ya hear? An' don't tell Junko-chan. She tried her best, but" -his body heaved a final time- "the most conflict she's ever dealt with's court intrigues. Worked herself up about it so much-" He shook his head, sheathing Sakanade-to-be. "Nah, not my story ta tell."

I weighed my options. If I tried to get him to stop poking at Aizen now, would he be more receptive than usual, or already pushed to the breaking point? Only one way to find out. "Shinji, can you do me a favor?"

He brushed away a strand of hair captured by tear-stained skin. "Not sure what I could do fer you, but shoot."

"Could you stop teasing Aizen-kun?" I asked, flushing when I realized what I'd called him. "Aizen-san, I mean. It's not my story to tell either, but I think there's more to his reactions than we can see."

Shinji rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Nari-nee, they're just jokes. He needs ta toughen up," he scoffed. "'Sides, the only time he really acts like he feels anything when I'm talkin' ta him is when I tease 'im."

I rubbed Arashi's hilt, half-wishing I knew enough iaido to hit Shinji with the flat of her blade. "Shinji, he's hurting. A lot. You can't tell anyone this, but he's from Kuraizumi. When you tease him, I think it brings him back there." Remember what we heard about the fatalities, I thought at him. Remember the descriptions Cousin Kei nearly made Dad puke up his dinner with. Do you want to awaken a maniac?

Shinji's crying-blotchy complexion went fully white. "Kuraizumi? Holy shit. Ya serious?"

I nodded. "Shinji, you can't tell anyone," I repeated. "He doesn't need to feel more vulnerable. And it's not going to be about you anymore. He won't look at me too kindly either."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Fine. You can be my punchline instead, yeah?"

It was a half-hearted, unfunny joke, and we both knew it. But I smirked anyway. "Sure. I can take it, long as you stop calling me those stupid nicknames."

I stepped in close again to pat his face dry with my sleeve. He batted my hand away. "Knock it off, Mom. Ain't no shame to have someone see I've been cryin'. Let's go in an' make Junko-chan happy with some paperwork."

Thunder crashed overhead. It was the only warning as the heavens opened up above us. We gasped, more of a splutter in the sudden pouring rain. As we sprinted for the office building, I couldn't help laughing.

As long as Shinji kept his word, we'd be fine. This was going to work out.

Chapter Text

If I'd had my private scroll with me, I would've put down a note to invent liquid soap. No matter what anyone else said, bar soap was freaking hard to scrub with. There was probably some ink still on my neck from when I'd forgotten I was holding my brush and thrown my hands up. In my defense, paperwork made almost less sense than the weird looks Shinju'd been shooting me lately. Seal here, five seconds after stamping something else! Write the date three lines in a row just in case someone missed it the first time! Write your full name and title, space be damned! I was starting to be very glad that the modern custom was to go by your abbreviated name. There was even a form, one as long as my arm from shoulder to fingertips, for releasing your Zanpakutou. In the interest of avoiding carpal tunnel syndrome, I'd decided on watching when I pulled Shikai.

On top of that, I'd gotten much less sleep than I deserved. The barracks, built before anyone here was born and patched up maybe once in that whole time, might not have fallen down in last night's thunderstorm, but they'd sure sounded like it. I'd contemplated going into my inner world and sleeping, but Arashi had broken her brooding silence in the storm. Or rather, she'd practically become the storm. Lightning and rain had danced in and above my head all night long.

So that was how the day found me as I waited for today's assignment: ink-stained and cranky. The fatigue hadn't set in quite yet, but noises were just a little too loud, my patience just a little too low to deal with Kurotsuchi nattering on about... something. He'd started out complaining about how he wished someone had preserved Ishiura's body so he could study it. To my eternal mortification, he'd switched topics at his leisure, not when people had started glaring at him for detailed descriptions of the things you could learn about Shinigami biology and Quincy powers from a proper autopsy. I really didn't care to decipher the science-ese he was spouting now.

"Well?" Kurotsuchi's nasal whine jolted me out of my haze of boredom. "Take the assignment, girl!"

Darn. We actually had to do something today. I snatched the scroll from Torisei's hands- wait, that wasn't Torisei. I looked up into the red-framed face of Wu, the expression of which was exactly as confused about why he was doing this job as I was.

"Where's Torisei-sama?" I asked, shuffling to the side so the next person could receive their assignment. "Is he doing field work today too?"

Wu handed over the latest of his pile of scrolls. "You don't know either? I thought you were the last one to see him, except the sentries." Pale brows furrowed over darting eyes. The lingering static from the storm had everyone on edge. "I went in to tell him security'd been messed with again, maybe by a Quincy, and no one was there."

I shook my head, trying to work up the courage to tug Kurotsuchi out of the path of traffic. "When I saw him, he looked like he was going out for a bit. He had on a raincloak and this old damaged glove. Should've been back by now."

He dispensed two more scrolls, then turned to me as there was a brief lull. "The commander hates it enough here that I can't believe he'd stay out there by choice. Guess he could've gone to a station and relieved someone there of night duty, but I don't think we had anyone come back that late. Nowhere here's gonna take a Shinigami, especially not him."

Kurotsuchi was starting to nag at me again. Time to wrap it up. "What, they think he has any more choice than the rest of us where he is? That he stays here for giggles?"

Wu scoffed. "Nah, that's not it. People aren't too happy that a guy from as far out as Fugai—I think that's where he's from, might be more like here—turned traitor for a better life. Sucks to not have reiryoku, I guess."

Satisfied, I followed Kurotsuchi out into the sodden world. The whims of spring had picked a brisk breeze and leaden clouds to accompany today's chill. I would've cursed, but winter uniforms were designed to keep heat in and cold out. Only my hands, neck, and face had to suffer.

"For a girl who asks so many questions, they clearly don't help," Kurotsuchi said. "Otherwise you'd know that Torisei's refused any other position since he was appointed here, right out of the Academy."

I made a noncommittal noise, resigned to everyone hating the pair of us from his rudeness. Torisei'd picked a bad time to visit his home, wherever that was. I unrolled the scroll for today's job.

"'Find and execute gang leaders,'" I read. Wait, what the fuck? I read over the words, making sure my bleary eyes hadn't seen the wrong characters. They glared darkly at me from the page, the same as what I'd said. At Kurotsuchi's irritated look, I continued, "'Accompany Shiraishi Hayato and Fujikage Shinju through the four eastern wards." I glanced up at him. "This can't be today's assignment. It'll take ages."

"Oh, c'mon, cadet," an amicable tenor said. I jumped, looking down into wide-set brown eyes. Whoa. Shiraishi was tiny. Probably could've grabbed a handful of his curly hair and dragged him around, he looked that light. "You should know better. In Shinigami-speak, 'find' doesn't mean 'investigate.' It's just a signal, let us know we've got our pick." His round cheeks dimpled as he smiled. "That's okay. Fujikage-chan and I will bring you up to speed."

Shinju's matching smile was thin. She was too beautiful to have her features settle so easily into such grim lines, I reflected. "It's a pleasure to be working with you, Kurotsuchi-senpai, Hirako-chan. We'll be more than happy to inform you of proper operating procedure."

"Nice to meet you, Shiraishi-senpai," I said automatically. Inside, I was coming to the horrible realization that I hadn't asked about Shinju's assignments. Hadn't asked why her paperwork took even longer than mine. "So which ward is first?"

Kurotsuchi sneered. "Whoever wrote up assignments put us with you, Shiraishi? That imbecile you call the commander paired me with an onmitsu shill already; I don't need another one."

"Why does everyone say that?" I asked, too quiet for anyone to care.

Shiraishi's smile didn't so much as twitch. "Oh, don't be so dour, Kurotsuchi-san. Besides, you know I'm a retainer to the Kuchiki. I do hope you weren't meaning to imply that that noble clan would stoop to such an unsubtle dabbling in the Shihouin art. I don't think they'd appreciate their investment being returned with such hostility."

Kurotsuchi's lips skinned back over his teeth like a wolf's. "I never imply. That's the stuff of a Kuchiki onmitsu."

Shinju's smooth, soft words were flowing before I could so much as open my mouth. "It'll only hinder our work if we allow conflict to intrude so easily. Our enemies lie in eastern Kinsawa, not in these barracks. I suggest that we direct our attentions to them, if that isn't too much trouble." Long, uncallused fingers splayed in the air as though she was pushing down Kurotsuchi's rising temper.

"I agree," I joined in, pasting on a smile. Two could play at the helpful-protege game. And I was going to have something good for Torisei when he got back. "If there are any criminals to find, it'd probably be a good idea to find them, huh?"

Kurotsuchi sniffed, turning his back on Shiraishi. "Finally. If I must direct my attentions to the likes of gangs, I'll far surpass a mere informant in the task."

Shiraishi's eyes crinkled. "Of course. Hirako-chan, I hope I'm not mistaken in saying that you've patrolled the market ward, Ginsawa? Why don't we begin there, then. A little familiarity might speed up investigation."

'Investigation,' he says. I guess now we find out if Arashi can save lives as well as she takes them.

"Ginsawa, Kinsawa. What, did someone spill ink one one of their real names and cover it up by changing the sound?" I didn't come up with the joke, but it came out of my mouth anyway. With my hands so deadly still, I couldn't stop my tongue moving. As long as my brain was telling my mouth to move, it didn't have to think about what it was about to do.

Shiraishi laughed like it was funny. Shinju echoed him a second later, a flat sound in dead air. "Well, I hope someone wouldn't be so careless as to do that. 'Ink is the blood of Shinigami' and all. I'd like to think we know how to use it better than that. No, Hirako-chan, the name is what it says. A swampy area where silver used to change hands from sunup to sundown, until they found more lucrative minerals here. A piece of advice, from an old hand: always listen to a name to know its bearer's history."

My eyes had been scanning for the brat whose life I'd saved last time I was here as he spoke. It was only chance that my peripherals caught Shinju's meaningful glare. Maybe what we had to do would soften her up enough to tell me what the hell those looks meant. "'White stone.' Isn't that right, Shiraishi-senpai? Puts me in mind of Seireitei. Man, I've never figured out how they keep it all so clean. Not sure I'm familiar enough with Kuchiki history to say where that's from."

"I'd be more than happy to give you a history lesson," he said, dropping back next to me. Kurotsuchi, walking next to him, huffed and lengthened his stride. "My ancestors discovered how to alloy sekkiseki and even how to make it pass beneath the unrefined eye. We've passed the more public duties now to another clan, but the working of sekkiseki into the kenseikan was once the province of the Shiraishi. Mostly from the northern districts, I believe it's mined from. Elsewhere it tends to be less neutral, as with here. Kinsawa sekkiseki has its uses, but it crumbles at the slightest touch. Scarce, too. Even gold was more common."

Shadows shifted in an alley to my right. I squinted into the crack between rotting planks, but there was nothing. Just light and dark playing tricks on my eyes. I almost forgot to reply and started thinking again. "There was sekkiseki here? What'd it do, give you the golden touch?" I tapped Arashi's hilt, feeling smoother gold beneath the indigo hilt-wrapping. That'd be an interesting power for a sword to have, but I was happy with hers.

Shiraishi laughed, echoed again by Shinju. I was starting to hate it when people laughed. It was flattery and I didn't want to poke into why they wanted to flatter the likes of me. "Sadly, no. Might've kept trade coming here a little longer. No, it lets you make your Zanpakutou an asauchi, so to speak. A solution of Kinsawa sekkiseki makes even the most bizarre reiatsu generic and unremarkable. Gotei members never had any use for it, but those in another trade often sample- sampled it for more discreet endeavors. Toxic in large quantities or over a period of time, but, say, a Feng assassin might eliminate any trace of her ancestry to seem a whore for a night."

"Really? I could think of-" My seamlessly smiling mouth had barely opened when Shinju interjected, quiet in the way that makes you pay attention. What court intrigue had taught her that?

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your fascinating discussion, Shiraishi-senpai, Hirako-chan, but Kurotsuchi-senpai seems to have vanished," she said, gesturing down the puddle-ridden street. I didn't have to crane my neck over passerbys' heads for once. The second she raised her hand, they parted like a torn cobweb. I suspected our work might be marginally, blessedly more difficult today. The broad-handed washerwomen from before were out, laundry hung dripping like a skinned animal, as were hunters, cushion merchants, potters, all the tradespeople you'd expect, but they'd all been watching when Shinju'd gestured. Today's business was necessary to them, imbued with a fierce urgency. We couldn't kill as many as Torisei might've hoped.

There. I'd said it. "We'd best find him, then," I said, shrinking my smile appropriately. It was time to kill. To send someone on. To murder someone and watch their life drain with their blood. I had to say it to myself or it wasn't real. And if it wasn't real, I couldn't make peace with it, couldn't take responsibility.

Closure, daoshi. That's what you're giving them, Arashi soothed, low tides and fading thunder. They can know for sure how their fellows died. And perhaps you can guide the blade to as few veins as possible.

I nodded to myself, matching Shinju and Shiraishi's quick steps. Muddy rainwater leaped up around my ankles as I went. Whatever. I'd feel it later. Like I'd feel the guilt, turn it over in my mind, and let it go. Private and neat. I had to do that, or Shinigami life would be over soon. No one wanted a death god who couldn't kill, even if it was just temporary, just until I could make things better.

And yet, as we entered the square, Kurotsuchi's hand was wrapped around the wrist of a familiar girl, not Ashisogi Jizou's hilt. Just as quick as I'd summoned it, the coldness suffusing me left. My smile collapsed. I put it back on a second later, feeling a little genuine warmness there. Finally, someone not out to backstab me.

"Mira-san!" I called, trotting over to them. A bundle of washerwomen stepped apart to let me into the ring that'd formed. Dammit, there was a spectacle. "What's the problem?"

"I didn't do nothin'!" she hollered, heels dug deep in the mud. "Make 'im leggo!"

"She's a Spider!" Kurotsuchi snapped, yellow eyes glowering at me petulantly. "If that imbecile is so insistent we do this job, I won't stand out in the mud a second longer for it!"

Why was it always me arbitrating between people who should've known better? Actually, scratch that. Mira was a child; Kurotsuchi just acted like one. "Won't you let her go, Kurotsuchi-senpai?" I said, steeling myself to grab his free hand. It was cool and dry, I noted distantly as I began to twist. "She's only a child. Nowhere near old enough for the White Spiders to recruit." I cast my eyes around the circle, watching people fade away when my gaze landed on them. It might've been true. The age part, that is. My instincts said she wasn't and they had no incentive to lie.

"I'll prove it!" Mira began to tear at her clothes, undoing knots and folds. I started yanking at the folds of my own kosode frantically. Even if Mira felt no compunctions about stripping and no one much cared, no one was getting a look at barely-grown breasts on my watch. Or rather my really-didn't-want-to-watch. But no, she was only lifting the back. She turned around, brushing her mane aside to display a bare back only interrupted by a sarashi nowhere near wide enough to cover Spider tattoos. Impressive for doing it with one hand.

I raised an eyebrow at Kurotsuchi, whose face was starting to wrinkle in pain. Heavy makeup and pride probably helped with stoicism, but no way he wasn't feeling it. "A few more degrees and some of the smaller bones might break, Kurotsuchi-senpai," I said, smiling my widest 'I dare you to push me an inch further' smile. I twisted his hand a hair more, watching the skin around his eyes tighten. "So what'll it be? Would you like to let her go and save your hand?"

Pure poison shone in those yellow eyes. "Fine," he snarled. "Have your street rat." Mira jerked free at last. With her escape went the last of the stragglers, wiping nervous sweat away with white handkerchiefs. I let my hand fall against the goading of the voice in my head to give it a final squeeze. I wasn't vindictive, not really. None of my family's roundabout machinations, just a little deal. I hoped he saw that.

"Thank you very much, Kurotsuchi-senpai," I said. "I'd hoped she might be able to help us today."

Three things happened in the second that followed. First, Mira bolted in the opposite direction, hair and silver and fabric flying. Second, my brain finally caught up to what was happening and kicked my mouth into gear. Third, Shiraishi and Shinju appeared in Mira's path in a flicker of opal and flower reiatsu.

In the second that followed that one, my mouth made a few noises and closed. Evidently some mentors were actually teaching their pupils something useful. And I was still useless.

And in the third second, Shiraishi and Shinju frog-marched Mira back over to us, hands around her wrists. Not like that was hard; despite her callused fingers Mira had wrists like a bird's legs.

"Wow," I said when brain and body had finally decided to work together. "You've been learning some flash-step, Junko-chan?"

"You can't tell, Hirako-chan?" she replied, nudging the back of Mira's leg with her knee to force a step forward. "Shiraishi-senpai's been teaching me a few things that you wouldn't have come across yet."

Was it right to sound the bitch alert? Because I was so tempted. It wasn't anything obvious, just a general air of snideness. And the fact that her usually dim, sweet reiatsu had gone a bit brighter and a bit more sour. I touched the shining beads at my neck, looked her dead in the eye. She held it for a second before her gaze dropped to Mira.

"So what's this?" Shinju asked. "Did you want to start our assignment here?"

"Wouldn't ya like t'know, Shinigami," Mira snapped, smile flitting across her face.

I molded my face into the picture of confusion. Just because I knew damn well what my roommate was talking about didn't mean I had to let Mira know I did. "Our assignment? Not really. This is Mira-san. We met the other day. I saved her from some unlicensed brothel workers in this very district. You'd know all that if you read my report, of course." My grip on the thought beads tightened with my smile.

Shiraishi jumped in. "Why, how nice to meet you, Mira-chan," he said, stooping pointlessly to look her in the eye. "You wouldn't happen to know who calls the shots around here, would you?"

She scowled. "I don't steal an' I don't spill ta Shinigami! Yers ain't the color that matters around here."

"How about the color red, brat?" Kurotsuchi snapped, stabbing at her with his finger. "Who will it matter to if I take off your head?"

Mira wrenched out of their grip, darting over behind me. Her arms wrapped around my middle. "This one, here! An' lots of others. You'll see." Craning my head around, I caught her challenging jerk of the chin. Ah, to be however young she was and think I was immortal. "My brother, he'll care!"

Shinju's laugh could've been mistaken for a ringing bell. "Your brother? Please don't delude yourself. Whatever man you've taken up with won't come for your effects. It's the law of the Rukongai. Even the most loyal man will cast aside anyone whose blood he doesn't share." She shrugged, like it was a simple fact, expression mild as milk.

"Junko-chan," I said softly, each syllable a glass shard. Names had power. If she knew her nickname, she'd better listen. This was diplomacy, not political maneuvering. The point was to entice the other party

Mira's hold on my torso constricted. "He don't have ta like it," she said stubbornly, "but differen' parents or no, we got the same blood. He'll come an' he'll raise hell." She loosened her grip to rub narrow, hungry sides.

Shiraishi, still at her height, smiled suddenly and brightly. "Where are you getting food, Mira-chan?" he asked. "If I'm not mistaken, you're in possession of a not insubstantial amount of reiryoku. You need food, a steady source of it. If you'll guide us to a few unsavory characters, we'd be happy to send you to the Shinigami Academy with the next missive out." He extended a hand to her, palm up. His honey-sweet smile shifted. "And I'm sure you'd like it just as much as we would if you weren't sent on."

Mira's stepped forward, laser-eyes flicking up to me, as sharp and evaluating as I'd ever seen them. "Ya promise? I'm not yours to command and cast aside as you see fit." She minced closer to Shiraishi, plucking at the manji at her wrist.

"On my oath as a member of the Gotei 13, I promise that you won't be harmed and you'll be sent to the Academy," Shiraishi said, beaming. "I hope that you'll work with us so I can keep that promise."

Silence, broken by the dripping of rain-soaked trees and Kurotsuchi's tapping foot. Then by the squelch of bare feet in mud. i let out a deep breath as Mira closed the distance between herself and Shiraishi, placing her delicate, callused hand in his.

"I'll do it," she said, and the blade of preemptive guilt eased away from my throat. "First, let's get off the street."

The washerwomen, wringing their clothing out with broad, callused hands, were the last to clear away.

It wasn't a grand place that Mira led us to, by my estimation, but it was away from the crowds, which was all we needed. As we approached, I could see why.

"You live here?" Kurotsuchi said, stepping up onto spirit platforms. Much as I was trying not to judge the home of a poor urchin, I sympathized with him. The swamps that dominated Kinsawa hosted few residents for a reason. "What a hovel."

Mira shrugged, hopping lightly onto a rock slick with moss and algae. "It's mine. 'Sides, when people tossed me outta the main settlements, it was the driest spot I had."

'Driest' seemed to be relative. Mud-darkened boards, gaps covered by colorless cloth, formed a house on what could theoretically be called an island. In practice, it was a patch of land held a scant foot or so above the sluggish water by a bulwark of smooth stones and tree roots. From here I could see the bright green of moss, not the olive winter-grass that struggled across most of Soul Society this time of year.

"Fujikage-chan, Hirako-chan, stay back a bit, would you?" Shiraishi said over his shoulder. "I wouldn't want to crowd Mira-chan's home with our combined bulk."

Shinju and I traded glances as Kurotsuchi and Shiraishi closed ranks behind Mira to pick their way across the muck. Slight Shiraishi and rail-thin, if relatively tall Kurotsuchi couldn't possibly take up that much space to begin with. Even when you threw in Shinju and I, we didn't have too much meat on our bones either. But we were good cadets, so we waited.

"Funny," I said, voice harsh amid the sounds of trickling water and squelching mud. It had as much place here as we did. "That is, what Shiraishi-senpai calls her. She made me call her Mira-san."

Shinju raised an eyebrow, staring straight out across the swamp. "She made you? A Rukongai girl off the street made you? Well, it's no wonder she wouldn't listen to Kurotsuchi-senpai, you know? She already learned how she could talk to Shinigami."

I didn't try to hide my stare, even if she didn't meet it. "She wanted to be called Mira-san and I obliged, yes. Thought I'd be a little polite to someone who'd nearly gotten kidnapped."

Her forehead, improbably smooth for an adolescent, creased. "Well, you don't have to be so uncouth about it. I just thought I should point out that you don't have to afford them the same respect. It looks bad."

I folded my arms, half-turning to her. C'mon, Shinju, stop faking the ice queen stuff and just look at me. "I have to disagree. Where someone's from doesn't mean I can talk to them however I want."

Finally she turned to me in a flutter of starkly black cloth. "Please don't put words in my mouth, Hirako. I know it's something your clan likes-"

"My clan?" I broke in, nails felt through cloth as my grip on my upper arms tightened. "What's your problem? I know it's hard to get us to shut up, but that's just- that's just stupid, what you're doing!"

Perfect lips thinned. "And now I'm stupid? At least you aren't trying to act as though you don't think it. Or act like you are." She jammed a hand on her hip, right by her asauchi's hilt. "Do you think that I can't see what you're doing with Shiraishi-senpai? He's my mentor."

I worked my jaw. If it got clenched, I'd have a second's disadvantage on getting a word in. "I'll call you stupid when you do stupid stuff. And making out like me and my clan are one and the same, that's stupid."

Her jaw dropped. "You've got the nerve to-! I should've known." She shoved a lock of hair behind her ear, giving me full view of a face dominated by the red of anger and the grey of eyes whose pupils were small with anger. "The second you stormed into our room, I should've known. No one who fights with their family is ever any good. No wonder no one likes you."

I jerked back. It was a slap in the face, if her hand had then torn out my heart and left a cold vacuum there. Dimly, I registered wide eyes, a tight throat, heat pouring out around the ice water of my heart. But in my brain, in the part that mattered, there was too much of me shoved there to care. Fury and despair and spite built in throbbing pressure. "Oh yeah, you know so much about my family. It's not like they opened their home and lives to you." My hands strangled each other, trying to keep from knocking her lights out. "But wait, all you care about is what friggin' Seireitei thinks of them. Drunkards, gossips, whoremongers. Piss off. You don't know crap about 'em."

Her manicured fingers hooked into claws. "I know you're a crude, selfish girl who acts like she's so smart and humble when really she's the most arrogant, most ignorant person I know. It's amazing Shinji-kun turned out as well as he did! And maybe, maybe the reason you've got Shikai and he doesn't and I don't is because you're so high-and-mighty the sword didn't even need time to get to know you!"

"You leave my brother alone!" I shouted. Shit. Who knew who might come running if they heard Shinigami fighting? I dropped my voice to a grating rasp. "Shut up, you moron. Yeah, I am selfish. And I sure as heck haven't grown up around backroom deals and- and fancy little plots like you. But don't you dare call me arrogant or stupid." Heat pricked at my eyes. I blinked it back. She didn't get to see me cry. She hadn't earned it. "Hey, maybe you're right. Maybe I do have Shikai because I'm not too busy pretending to be perfect to work at it!"

She reared back, pale purple light bleeding into the air around her. It was too predictable, what she did, but anger rooted me to the ground. I felt it like another person's body had taken the slap. The head snapped around. Heat and pain bloomed in the left cheek. I was pure emotion and will, tethered to this body. What she did to it meant nothing. I had to think that, or all the emotion would come pouring out.

I turned my face back towards her, slow and dramatic. Let her see the welt there. Let her see the hurt in deliberately wide eyes, in a face gone slack with shock. Let it be another layer to protect the girl curled up crying inside.

Her hand fluttered in the air, as if unsure whether to strike again. My eyes flicked away just as it dropped to her side. Just as her head fell. Just as her face, her perfect catlike face, collapsed.

"H-How can you say that?" Puffy eyes gleamed wetly up at me through a curtain of silver. A damp breeze blew my own hair across my face. "Do you even understand what you look like to everyone else? And how I look in comparison?" Her mouth twisted.

"Fuji-" I began, fury leaving as soon as it had come. How could I? How could I stay mad at someone in pain?

"No! You listen to me, Hirako Nariko," she snapped, head coming up fully. "For once in all the time I've known you, please just listen. It doesn't make sense! You aren't even supposed to have been a Shinigami and then all of a sudden you're some kind of prodigy! I-I worked all my life to be a Shinigami. Then I got to Shin'ou and my roommate turned out to be this crazy genius who got her power by murdering a teacher! A teacher! And a captain came there for you-" She broke off into a noise between a strangled sob and scoffing. Her throat worked, now stained with tears. "You didn't even want to be there. The thing we all wanted, it fell into your lap. How?"

My gaze dropped to my socks. I had no words. Not even the truth explained it. "I don't know. I-I don't think I'm that great." I forced a tiny, closed-mouth smile. "If I could help you, I would. But I don't make the rules." I shifted my death grip on Arashi's hilt to a tight rubbing. There was no way to help, save give her Arashi. And I wouldn't do that. Never. "Can I... can I speak freely?"

A glance sneaked at her face saw her look away, dabbing at her nose. "You mean, more freely? I doubt I can stop you."

I snickered with my characteristic timing. "Yeah, I guess not. Look, I-" I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes to look at her face. If I hurt her, I was going to make myself take responsibility for it. Hakama scrunched in my hands. "Even if I don't look like it, I always wanted to be a Shinigami too. My parents didn't." I shrugged, pulse pounding in my ears at the memory of Makoto's furious face. I couldn't complain. Wouldn't do to be so selfish. "Do you remember taking the entrance exam?"

The question hung in the rain-freed air for a moment before she realized I wanted an answer. "Yes, of course. It was awful."

I ducked my head in concession. "Yeah, it was. But we both took it. We both sat down and took the darn thing. And we passed. Not because we showed up, because- because we got enough answers right. That's it, right? It's like that with my sword. She didn't show herself because I showed up. I worked and meditated and bled for her. And once she knew I knew where I stood, I got Shikai. No one just handed it to me because that isn't how it works."

She flinched, as did something inside me. "B-But I'm a Fujikage. We've been raising Shinigami for generations. We're quicker to mature than Rukon-"

Oh no. You did not just fucking say that. "Stop that. I'm noble too, but Captain Unohana isn't. Minoru-kun isn't, nor AIzen-san. The Kenpachi never is. Who knows how many more? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all," I repeated. I sounded like a friggin' teacher. But if I didn't take a club to her head, she'd probably twist it into a flower. "Shikai isn't even about that. It's about knowing what you're about."

She shook her head. "That's not important. My family wants- they know who I have the potential to be. I won't disappoint them. Last time I saw them, they told me I could be just as good as you if I just tried. It's true."

I cast a glance over the swamp, sunlight starting to poke through the trees and disappear in the water. Couldn't Kurotsuchi and Shiraishi be done yet? "Then do that, I guess. Do whatever works for you. But make sure it works for you." I rubbed the nape of my neck, fingers coming back wet and salty. "That's all I can really say. I just- it clicked."

Shinju, who'd been examining her nails with dawning horror, closed the distance in a few swift strides. One hand gripped my shoulder, the other cupping my stinging cheek.

Despite myself, I blushed. Heat tingled in me. I swatted at it with the cooling embers of my anger at her. Shinju wasn't interested. And I really didn't need a love life right now. "Eh? Fujikage-chan?"

Her breath was warm on my skin. "You don't feel sleepy, do you? Cold? I don't believe I broke the skin, but you never know."

Ah, that made more sense. "No, I feel fine," I said, forcing my shoulders down from where they'd hunched around my ears. "It doesn't hurt that much."

She bit her lip, stepping back. "Would you accept an apology? After all I've said?"

"Of course," I said, because that was the done thing. It doesn't have any meaning, I told myself. You aren't lying. It's just to close the deal. "It's fine. I should apologize to you, for being so rude." I hesitated. Did I dare ask and risk taking another blow to the self-esteem? "Fujikage-chan... Junko-chan, is that really what people think of me? Is that how I look? Like someone who doesn't respect anyone or anything?"

She swiped at her eyes. "I-I couldn't presume to speak for other people..."

I heard it in the way she trailed off, saw it in the way the muscles around her eyes jumped. "Oh no. That is, isn't it? People say that? I guess you'd know better than me; no one really... talks... to me." I wrapped my fingers in windblown hair, yanking at it to temper my building headache. They hate me. They all hate me. But wait, everyone thinks that about themselves. But what if it's true? "That's it. Wow. I never- I figured it was just people being awkward, and me reading all the time."

Shinju raised her hands as if to push my rush of misery away from her. "Please, Hirako-chan. It was untoward emotion. Don't pay it any mind."

The snap of cloth being shoved aside rang out over the flat water. The rest of our ragtag band were done. "I don't know what to listen to right now," I said, closing my eyes. I sucked damp air in, let it out. "It's not important." I grinned, fierce and tight. "We've got a job to do, right? Let's do it. And Junko-chan? Can we talk later?"

She nodded sharply, casting a glance over her shoulder at the approaching Shinigami and street rat. "Promise me you'll have my back and I'll have yours?"

I returned her nod. "Promise."

Mira made a noise in the back of her throat. "Promises? Those're fer morons. Y'can only trust self-interest 'round here." She smirked. "I thought Shinigami didn't fight."

I clenched clammy fists as Shiraishi opened his mouth. I did not have the patience for him anymore. Every word he said made me want to sock him in his cutesy little face until he shut up.

"Well, Mira-chan, Shinigami don't fight. Not unless they have good reason." He smiled an iron-jawed smile at us. "I'm sure that Fujikage-chan and Hirako-chan simply differed on the proper course of investigation. Isn't that right, cadets?"

I swallowed hard. That was an Unohana-like smile right there. Not Unohana-caliber, but in that vein. "Yessir."

Shinju forced a wavering smile. "Of course, Shiraishi-senpai. Hirako-chan and I merely disagreed over the proper level of force. She and Kurotsuchi-senpai have Shikai, after all, and Hirako-chan wanted to make use of her talents. I thought it best to adhere to the doctrine of harmonious accord, but this is a nonstandard si-"

"Oh, shut up," Kurotsuchi said, looking as if the mission had taken second priority to relieving his bladder. Which would explain so much. "No one wants to hear it." His head swiveled to fix poor Mira with his yellow permaglare. "Tell them what you told us. Where the first target is."

Mira wilted a bit, back to the safely meek girl she seemed to become around our supervisors. "There's this man, Shinobu. Or he calls himself Shinobu, at least. Everybody knows he belongs t'a chivalrous organization. I heard he took sake with Mari-ane-han." She threw a glance over her shoulder, like a little kid afraid someone would overhear.

Silence hung in the air as we all tried to puzzle that out. No, as everyone but Shiraishi tried to puzzle it out. He wore the totally-not-smug expression of someone with an answer on his tongue. I gave up trying to get it and just waited. Sure enough, after a minute he spoke up.

"Really, Hirako-chan," he chided, wagging a finger at me, "I'm surprised you don't understand her meaning. 'Shinobu' is an alias for an individual in one of the gutter families. Have the Hirako cut their ties after all this time?"

I gritted my teeth. Soon enough I'd be looking back at this like it'd gone by so quickly. "I wouldn't know. I've never dealt with anyone in the yakuza."

"Shh!' Mira hissed. "Ya never know who might be one of them. Anybody could. Call them right proper."

"Okay, okay," I said, shuffling my feet. Why were we still talking? If people stopped talking in circles I could've been done already. "I've never dealt with anyone who belongs to a chivalrous organization. I haven't taken clan responsibilities yet, if we have any involvement with them at all. Now, what about Mari?"

Shinju's skin couldn't decide whether to be crying-pink or terror-white. "Th-The chivalrous organizations?" she said. "What do they have to do with anything? Who's Mari?"

"Indeed," Shiraishi said, smile all but oozing oil. "Who is this Mari, Hirako-chan? I hope you'll enlighten us as to how you're familiar with a woman in a chivalrous organization."

Mira looked like someone had just put a blade to her throat. Could she be Mari's younger sister or something? "You shouldn't be so- so rude," she stammered, matching Shinju's complexion. "Someone might-"

Kurotsuchi's eyes gleamed. Only my loathing for him kept me frozen in place against that dissecting stare. "Maybe not an onmitsu shill, then," he interrupted. I expected him to say more, but he fell silent. Waiting. Damn. Looked like no one would buy me any more thinking time.

"I, I don't think Mari is in a chivalrous organization," I said slowly, letting each word fall out deliberately so the torrent of words in my head didn't flood them. I couldn't tell Minoru's secret, but surely people weren't worth breaking my code. "I don't- ah, that's it." Several months back I'd written a report on the influence of yakuza in Rukongai history. Ane-san, or its Kansai version ane-han, was for yakuza women. "I don't get why you're calling her that," I said to Mira. "I mean, obviously you're not related, but I didn't think she was part of one of those groups."

Shinju's eyebrows snapped together over worry-sharp eyes. "Hirako-chan, you can't be arrested for involvement with chivalrous organizations, if that's what you're worried about. We can class it as mission-essential, right?" She sent a pleading glance at Shiraishi.

"I said I'm not involved with that!" I snapped. Dammit, dammit, dammit! I was going to have to bend the truth as I went along. "Look, I just- I questioned someone and didn't report it, that's all. A former gang member. Just gotten out of the life. He was running from his ex-allies, I guess the word is, and in exchange for me not reporting him he gave up their leader's name: Mari. That's who leads the White Spiders. Mari, the Quincy."

Even through bleary, drooping eyes, I caught each one's reaction in perfect clarity. Kurotsuchi smiled widely, genuinely, an overgrown, yellow-toothed kid opening New Year's presents that'd be in pieces the next day. Shinju's complexion resolved into greenish-pale, hunching forward like she was about to throw up. Mira went stiff and hard, the same way I did when dirty laundry and authority figures made a clusterfuck. Shiraishi's condescending smile soured into a scowl for a single instant.

All these I saw and braced myself against. Somehow I was going to catch hell for it.

Against all odds, Shinju was first to speak. "A Quincy? You interacted with someone who'd touched a Quincy?" She wrung her hands like they were stained cloth. "If I'd known, I would've-"

"Would've what, brat?" Kurotsuchi interrupted. He had a habit of doing that, I was noticing. "Lit some incense to cleanse yourself? Washed your hands? Left Shin'ou?" He sneered. "Imbeciles, both of you. You" -he jabbed a finger at me- "for not mentioning it to me so I could add it to my files, and you" -he stabbed the air in Shinju's general direction, ignoring her scandalized gasp- "for being so superstitious as to ignore potential. The data gathered from a single Quincy could advance the pathetic sciences here immeasurably. At least even now some few know Quincy can't spread their taint that way."

Shinju was too polite to glare at him. So she glared just to the left of him instead. "I would've certainly done the first two! Or something else." She shuddered. "Did you perform any rites, Hirako-chan?"

I tilted my head at her. "First, why. Second, where am I going to get incense here." I could've lifted my voice for questions. Or I could not, so I didn't.

Shiraishi slid in smoothly, saving my crawling skin from further discomfort. I couldn't even begin to try to plan the conversation I'd probably never have about Shinju's weirdness anyway. "You can find a temple later, I hope. For now, that's good. We can finally name primary suspects. Your source, what was his name?"

Oh, hell. But no, a plan slid into place. "I'm not sure. The one he gave me might've been an assumed name." I frowned as if in contemplation. As long as they didn't ask for more detail... "Minoru, he called himself."

You could've replaced Mira with a stone and I wouldn't have noticed a difference. "Like the boy, what talked ta the potter's ward. 's what the washerwomen said he was called. Fugai Minoru."

Alarm bells clanged in my head. My plan, like all those conjured in desperation, had failed. "I don't-"

Shiraishi's smile was incandescent, his dimples like black holes. "Well, I'm sure we can just have a little talk with the boy and clear things up. Maybe in the bathhouse. I haven't observed the unfortunate child visiting. Friendliness might ease his trepidation. Now, if you'd continue with your knowledge of this Spider leader?"

"Of course," I said flatly, hunching my shoulders to keep them from slumping. I closed the mask around my whole body, locking my knees and clasping my hands behind my back.  Efficiency personified. "She's a Quincy, like I already said. Ambitions of overthrowing Seireitei. She's been running the Spiders in some form for a while. And... very trigger-happy. I don't know what she looks like, so that doesn't help, or what she can do. Just that she thinks there're more Quincy. Dunno what she wants with them."

Shiraishi stepped in to pat me on the shoulder. "Thank you for the information, Hirako-chan. I hope you'll learn from this and be more forthcoming in the future. Despite this little complication, we can be ready if we encounter it now."

I pressed my lips together. Arashi's feathers puffed up, mirroring the distaste curling through me. "Then we can leave, right? There's stuff to do."

Boy, was I in a mood to chop off some heads.

The house Mira led us to was a real house. My family wouldn't have been caught dead building something so rustic, but it was in fact a house. If not for the fact that one of us was going to have to kill the man inside it, I would've liked it. It looked like a big cat, roof thatched with tawny grasses and arched like it meant to scare off intruders. Damp, splintering rafters beneath would have to be replaced soon enough, but I hadn't signed on to be a carpenter. Pointless to worry.

"Should we take along Mira-san, Kurotsuchi-senpai?" I asked as we approached. My cheeks twitched with the effort it took to hold my smile in place.

He huffed, back to me. "Of course, dolt. Letting her run away would waste all our earlier efforts."

I looked down at the girl all-but-clinging to me. "Sorry, Mira-san. You heard him."

She nodded, expression flat and watchful. "If I gotta."

Well, that was easy. But then, I supposed Mira had seen a lot of death here. We'd passed a few unfortunates on our way here who looked close to it. Youths, mostly, who looked far too young and strong to be dying, except that their reiatsu guttered around them while their eyes burned feverishly bright. I couldn't see what lay under their white bandages, but the way the air around them reeked of something bitter and the way they clutched dark flasks suggested it was nothing nice. They'll die soon, I'd told myself as I hurried Mira past their following eyes. It'll be a better life in the LIving World.

"I hope you all won't miss me much," Shiraishi simpered. "It might be best if someone with experience in dealing with crowds kept the rabble off your back." His eyes drifted to Kurotsuchi. "Someone- personable."

"I know how t'tell which way people're gonna jump!" Mira said, turning her big pale eyes up to him. They were creased, I noted with a start. European, or partly so. Casting my eyes about at the populace, Yamato and Ryukyuan almost to a man, I wondered if her ethnic and domestic isolation were connected. "Please don'-"

"It's quite alright, Mira-chan," Shinju reassured her. "We'll let you step into the next room when it has to be done."

As we proceeded up the pebbled path, I wondered whether I should be glad it wasn't my sword hand being squeezed numb. With luck I wouldn't have to do the deed. Yes, of course. I was a Hirako. Luck was always on our side. I'd do- something else. But Arashi wouldn't spill any blood.

Mist curled. We'll speak on that, daoshi. Just keep this short.

Oh, goody. A lecture to dread.

A gilded gong hung by the door, rust betraying the iron beneath. Typical of the lot, yakuza and merchants and burakumin. Downtrodden, they couldn't afford solid gold. My fingers brushed delicate silver at my throat. Of course, not many nobles would be so ostentatious. I bent to grab the mallet when Shinju's reiatsu nudged mine.

"What?" I hissed, straightening. "Shouldn't we be polite?"

"What if he runs?" She whispered, shuffling away from the screen like he was waiting to ambush us. "Or if he has men waiting? Don't chivalrous men usually employ those?"

"Decide," Kurotsuchi ordered. Ashisogi Jizou couldn't have had a creepier face than its master at that moment. Yellow teeth, strings of drool oozing between them, leered in my mind's eye. Wolf teeth, ready to snap on a challenger's throat. "I'll do the job if you're too weak. And tell everyone how utterly inept you two are."

"Let me do something," I said before I knew what to do. "Then we'll go in, whatever happens."

Shinju's eyebrows twitched. Translation: a single raised eyebrow. Translation: the heck are you doing? I was learning to speak Shinjuese.

Shinobu wasn't a Shinigami. I couldn't strain my ears for his Zanpakutou, even if he'd had one. But reiatsu had a particular look to it, didn't it? Colored light, the sort that bled through paper. And if the shape of some reiatsu was based on Shinigami souls, why couldn't I spot the echoes of souls if I squinted?

I breathed deep, drawing a trickle of reiryoku up into my eye seals. Hang back, Arashi, I ordered as I did it. Maybe if she wasn't involved... now I needed a ping. Supremely conscious of how bare my control was, I dipped into the well of power inside and teased a handful up towards the vent at my right wrist. But no, I needed to think like sonar. My palm was so much easier to point at the door. Now- release!

Color bloomed around me. A silver shell around Mira, lavender veiling Shinju, purple oozing from Kurotsuchi, bright yellow on Shiraishi, even aquamarine from me... And a hole for a door. And a thump like someone falling out of bed. And a person-shaped lump outlined in crackling turquoise.

Oops. Too much lightning.

"Move!" Kurotsuchi demanded, and like terror-fueled robots Shinju and I stumbled forward. I barely registered dragging Mira along, hands tingling like they'd fallen asleep. What had I done?

"It might be best to talk about your marks in Kidou," Shinju panted. We skidded to a halt at two corridors. "Which way?"

No noise to guide me. No light to see by, house dim and dusty. Dammit, it's not enough light what if- There. A moving smudge amid fading turquoise. Got you.

Two, four, six strides took me down the hall. Damn Shinju's legs; they caught her up and had her in front of me-

Lavender solidified and shoved and the screen flew off its frame. I stared as she stepped into the room, careful to avoid crushing the paper. Kidou? But- No, it made enough sense. Not everyone was a failure like me. Numbly, I followed her, marveling at how neat it'd popped off. Pretty sure part of the wall had disappeared with my door. And maybe gotten singed.

"Shinigami can do that?" Mira whispered.

"Yes, you dolt," Kurotsuchi snapped, appearing in a whoosh of pointless flash-step. Asshat. "Where is he?"

"Here," Shinju said, bell-like. That is, muffled, pretty, yet vaguely annoying. "Shinobu?"

The moaning lump at her feet squirmed. "Wha-? Who the hell?" Croaked a man's voice. If you could call the reeking mess there a man.

He's a man, I reminded myself, working my fingers free of Mira's. Her slow, stumbling steps said 'too horrified to run.' If I forget that, how human am I?

"Shinobu-san," I said. "You're charged with-"

"Time to die," Kurotsuchi cut in. "Shame you aren't a Quincy, but then dead yakuza look good enough to get me the post to get my hands on one."

"-being part of the yakuza," I finished, buried terror rolling in the grave. I had to take or enable the taking of a man's life. Of a monster's life, someone who killed and cheated others for a living. But a man, too.

"I shouldn'ta let them in," he slurred. Slightly more awake. Not half-asleep, sick. "I' 'urts. Din't do nothin' an' they got me down, worked it in with their little needles. Din't do nothin', please don'-"

"Hirako-chan, would you retrieve him?" Shinju asked, sweet as sugar.

I resisted the urge to mutter something rude at her, crossing the room to do as she asked. Had to get along, or my time at Shin'ou would be miserable. Almost as miserable as the man whose yukata I wrapped both hands in and yanked up. I got him almost sitting up until hemp popped and tore, depositing him on his back. Great, I thought, sarcasm a shield against pained gasps. Now my back hurts and he barely moved.

"I tried," I said to no one. My face warmed, no doubt pink. "Therefore, no one can criticize me."

The face staring up at me was not what I'd expected from a yakuza. Round, a little pudgy, it would've looked like a harmless shopkeeper's face if it hadn't been eggplant purple in parts. Glazed black eyes looked off, somehow.

"Junko-chan?" I said absently, humor going hollow. "Can you and Mira-san get some light in here?" Don't look at me like that. I was not asking Kurotsuchi.

"Noooo," Shinobu groaned as they went about looking. "O'ject if my class goes spreadin'-" His chest heaved, choking out wet breaths like Aizen's. "Who are you? Tell me, damn you! Ain't no one cheats Kin! 's what ya always done said, old man, don't beat me fer takin' advice, shouldn'ta drunk that-"

Tiny fingers caught a latch and opaque screens flew aside. Daylight burst into the room and screams burst out of Shinobu. I nearly joined him. Had I said he was human? Because he sure as fuck didn't look it. The limbs I could see were swollen black and red, yukata half-open to display a pasty chest crisscrossed by thin red lines. One pupil had shrunk to display brown in a sea of broken red, leaving the other to look vacantly ahead, a black hole in a sweaty white face. His untainted skin was barely darker than oozing bandages clinging to his back.

Kurotsuchi slammed a grimy foot into Shinobu's side. Screams broke into weeping gasps.

"Oh, hell," hissed an Osakan-accented voice. Mine. But staring at a living corpse, I couldn't believe I'd strung words together enough to speak.

Shinobu's arms, covering his chest like a mummy, twitched. I flinched. Defenseless, out of it, dying. Was this what it meant to be a Shinigami?

I swallowed hard, cracking knuckles like a firing gun. I'd done it once. Put a crazy, dying man out of his misery, saved my own life. Yes, there. That was it. I was doing the same thing here.

Behind me, I heard the soft rasp of Shinju's sandals. Behind her, the floor squeaked. I caught Mira craning around Shinju, squinting in the light. "Yer reign of terror's over," she squeaked, one of my novel heroines come to life. Amusement thrilled faintly in the back of my mind.

Shinobu made a strangled yelp, throwing himself back. His working eye's pupil dilated, eating the iris again. My hand dropped to Arashi's hilt, if only because it looked a hell of a lot like Hollowfication. "No! Ge' away from me! You an' yours, ya shouldn't be! They're in us, in you, white in black, bugs eating from the inside. I won' lose! You took it, took it all. I won' go the way o' Yuki an' Ichiro!" He scrambled back, black hand seizing a splintered table leg.

Daoshi! Arashi screamed.

Shinobu shrieked wordlessly, an animal cry. His club swung out from the side, at my frozen self-

Shinju stepped in, sword and silk singing free, and Shinobu's club and body fell.

We stared collectively at the blade, shaking in the air. Blood dripped from its edge onto Shinobu's back. Finally Shinju lowered her arm, reaching into her shihakushou for a cloth to clean the metal. She didn't try to wipe away the red soaking into her waraji and socks.

"So you aren't useless," Kurotsuchi said over the trickle of liquid. His smile dimmed slightly. "Shame he wasn't a Quincy. Get his head and you can lead us to the next, brat," he said to Mira.

"I'll get it," I said automatically. Be of service, be needed. Just meat now. I knelt in the blood, gulping back the nausea of the blood stench. Even I who'd dealt with so much blood Before—though with the quirks of Soul reproduction, not anymore—didn't have an iron stomach. I wrapped my hands in greasy hair and lifted. Or tried to. Shinju hadn't cut all the way.

"Junko-chan?" I said, hating myself for my dull voice. "Can I get some help here?"

Footsteps brushed to a stop. She was too delicate to scuff. Finally blood-soaked feet appeared in my peripherals. "Y-yes?"

"I'm sorry," I blurted, too loud for the corpse at my feet. "His head's not all off." I lifted his head to demonstrate the way you still saw gore, not wall. "I'll hold?"

She made a whuffing sound, like a sigh with more air than intended behind it. But she stepped around his body and drew her asauchi again. Ever so gracefully, she laid its edge against the reeking skin holding Shinobu's head in place.

I yanked up, she pressed down, and viscera splattered my face. I gasped, staggering to my feet and back.

"Oh, Kannon take mercy," I stammered, honestly meaning it. I could use any source. Even if it was just a little blood. I spat on the ground, but acid taste remained. It'd fade as long as I didn't think too hard.

With a severed head dangling from my hand, that might be a while.

We left, no words until we hit the threshold. The barrier between ourselves and our personas.

"Shinju," I said. Small. No honorifics, but no presumption. I had to do something.

She stopped, blotchy-pale face caught between a hundred expressions. She had to do something. "Nariko."

"When this is over," I said, threading words together before I could think them, "I'm giving you a hug."

"Why?" Shinju asked, and I realized why it sounded so wrong. There was no artfully sing-song flow. It was dead, toneless. "I did my duty. He was a criminal. Who consorted with Quincies." Worse than nothing, I heard behind her politeness.

Arashi lacing lightning and water behind me into a wall of no, I felt the dam inside that separated me and Hirako Nariko break. "This is wrong. Gods, call me a rebel, I can't be silent. Too damn long silent." Her jaw dropped, remaining color fleeing, but I plowed on in the stupid regrets-later way of someone without enough sleep and with too much stress. The evil rang in my bones. Like it had for a long time. "That was a man. Who fell in with the wrong people. This, this is all built on death. On evil." My throat was tight, even as the floodgates of my eyes began to loosen. "What are we? Monsters? I can't- I can't-"

"Stop talking," she said, edge of her flat voice turned on me. "Stop talking and I'll forget you said any of that. We don't work for ourselves, Nariko. We represent the law. I won't disobey the law. And the law says to execute traitors. Especially deserters."

"I'm not leaving," I said. The words were polished round and tired in my mouth. "Or betraying anything. I have nothing else." And it was the truth, wasn't it? All I had that was mine was my status as an enforcer of the law. And if I didn't enforce it on others, it would be enforced on me. Something niggled deep inside about that. I tucked it away for later. Shinju needed appeasing. "Doing what I'm told is all I'm good at. And I want too much from the law. But if I didn't say something to someone, I'd scream."

"You scare me," she said, shifting her weight to her heels. "If you can't figure out why, that scares me more."

I nodded. "I have a guess," I said, and I did. Someone who bowed to the ultimate good of Soul Society only because it was their nature to obey rules would turn on it all the second they found rules that superseded them. Internal, the splinters of someone whose morals bent so far they snapped, or external, rules that another order imposed. Among the three other orders, the Hollows and humans and Quincies, one held no power. And who could predict whether a rule-follower leaped to rules that opposed their old ones or to the rule of madness? Someone who was short-sighted about all of this would be even more unpredictable. A greater terror. "That person you're scared of, it might be me. I don't want to be her, but I might be someday."

"If you turn coat, you'll have to kill me." There was some surprise now. Whether it was surprise at the realization or that I'd finally gotten it I didn't know. "I won't stop until I've killed you. Unlike you, I can't see anything more than this world. It's harsh, but it's what we need."

"Agreed," I said, and was equally surprised to find I meant it. Her eyes, glittering with water, went wide. I turned to fully face her, pressing my lips together in an approximate smile. "What? I don't have to agree with the law as long as I can follow it. And make sure it's followed."

I stepped across the threshold before she could answer, picking down the path to Kurotsuchi's tapping foot and Shiraishi's painted-on cheer.

The day passed much the same. Eventually I stopped being surprised when we came to a slightly-nicer-than-usual house and found a dying wretch holed up inside. Eventually I got used to carrying the head out to hang it in the nearest square. And to the whispered curses, the muffled cries, the glares, the addicts who relaxed when their eyes lay on the heads, even the makeshift weapons that I seemed to be the only one giving a shit about.

We were almost to the station when Mira stopped. I barely noticed it until we were several paces ahead.

"Mira-san?" I called, turning around myself. "We can give you shelter tonight, you know."

She had gone still. Listening for something, pale eyes lasers trained on a target I couldn't see. Something was wrong. Something we Shinigami couldn't see, but a native could.

"What is-"

She disappeared as the building whine finally pressed on my ears.

Crushing fire and flying stone ate my warning alive.

Chapter Text

Grit in my mouth. Blood and dust on my skin. Somewhere through the hammering pain in my head, an order from Before came to me: Don't breathe.

Obediently, I fought my spasming chest. There had to be a reason. Always a reason. Was it the dirt I was lying in? Or the burning air that had ripped the ground from under me? The seconds before the explosion had been knocked out of my head, but deeper memories lay safe.

I had to get my bearings before I got up.

Arashi was the easiest, a jangle of mist and sparks in my head. I'd get nothing from her for a while. Mira. She'd noticed before I had. We'd been a ways back from the others, farther from the main group of Shinigami returning from the day's work. My reiatsu was drawn too tight under my skin to tell, but something told me the main cadre wasn't leaving Kinsawa. Mira I wasn't so sure about. She didn't know how to shield herself with reiryoku like I did. I hoped she was just biding her time. The rest... Kurotsuchi was damn strong, he'd- I didn't know what he'd do. How long had it been? He couldn't be dead. Shiraishi looked frail, but he had a chance. Shinju... I prayed she was okay. Outright prayed, to anyone who'd listen. Our friendship was rocky, but it was a friendship. A precious tie in this incoherent world.

Running feet. Too fast to be Shinigami, who would've flash-stepped in. Too soft to be waraji. I had two options: pissed-off civilians with no reason to help or gangsters who'd be far more deliberate about killing me.

I took the coward's way out and went limp. It was that or try to fight who-knew-how-many people out for blood while clad in piss-soaked hakama.

Fuck, it was so easy to talk about defending yourself when your own brain hadn't told your body to give up.

A whistle soared over the groans of the dying and the ringing in my ears. "Hoo-wee! That thing really did kill two birds with one stone. Or a ton of 'em, as it done. Ya think if we ran back t'that stash we could scrounge up more bombs? Blast the Shinigami out quicker?"

A huff, a bit closer and deeper than the whistler's voice. "Fair sure we got 'em all. Paint-Face'll have more if we can get more of a read on them Quincies. Fer now, if'n this one is like the rest, won't make a difference."

My chest jerked more frantically. Shit. If these people could breathe, I had to be fine. I let my face slacken, mouth hanging open, and sucked in the smallest breath I could manage. When Whistler and Bass kept talking, I took another. Just until they were gone. I'd wait 'til they left.

More feet skidding to a halt besides Whistler and Bass. At least two more pairs.

"Roku, Kojiro. What's the hold up? Mari-sama said we were all in place. No breaks." A deeper voice still, but more clipped, like he thought an accent made him noble.

A muffled thumping sound, like one had hit the other. Whistler yelped. "We're not dawdlin'! Just checkin' t'see if anyone lived.”

"Hain't been more 'n a few minutes since we got here," Bass grumbled. "Just like the missus, you are."

"Then check," Noble snapped. "When you're done, Roku goes t'the white gates. Kojiro, Mari-sama's newest find-"

"-Ute?" Bass interrupted. "Fuck, Quincy an' crazy... the things we do t'throw the Shinigami off our backs."

"I don't give a shit what y'think of them," Noble said. "It isn't Ute, anyway. This one's a loyalist she's been workin' on. Reichsadler, or some foreign crap like that. Mari-sama's throwing massive numbers behind him. Last-minute, but he wants everyone who isn't already assigned." He huffed. "Fair sure he's got guys workin' t'sabotage the others, but Mari-sama won't hear it. Just a warnin', so y'know who you're workin' for. He's at the big quarry. Now let's check. "

Balls. More than three Quincy, organization...   And they've got the gates that head towards Seireitei, so I can't run. Guess I gotta be brave. Soon as these guys leave.

They walked away, but the crunch of gravel didn't get much quieter. Not far.

"Three dead here," Bass reported. His voice was strangled, like he was bent over. "One of 'em looks real funny. Some kinda red sash around her arm. The hell?"

"Get away from me!" Shinju, terror pouring off of her so strong I felt it. Gravel scattered like an avalanche. Fast, interspersed with dull thuds. Trying to run, to strike. Too soft. Even if they hadn't taunted her, I'd have known she was failing.

I cracked one eye open, just enough to see through my veil of hair. The blood not oozing from my forehead ran cold. They had her on her knees, two holding her in place.

A lock of black hair—Mira's hair, I realized, too long to be a Shinigami's—lay an inch away, a reminder of my potential fate, or Shinju's.

If I helped her, I could die and it'd all be a waste. The sweat and blood and ink, all run away into history. My second chance gone. Maybe painfully. Everything gone, not just Shinju.

If I kept playing dead, I'd live. My powers, my family, my new world, I'd have a better shot at keeping them. My other friends, too.

The correct choice was to play dead, to play it safe. The right choice was to save Shinju. Because dammit, if I wasn't a good enough person to protect my friend, I wasn't a good enough person to protect the rest of the world.

"What, you’re just killing the pretty ones?" I cracked.

Instead of dropping her, they stopped and stared. Shinju did the same through swollen eyes. Struggling to my feet, I didn't give a damn why. The longer I talked, the longer I was breathing.

"Hey, bombs blow your brains out?" I called. If all it takes to set my Hirako blood pumping is an explosion, I should get myself blown up more often. Arashi thrummed in my chest. "Shinigami bad? Quincy good? Kill me already!"

"Quincy?" The word sounded funny in Whistler's mouth, like he wasn't sure how to say it. Because he wasn't.  Dammit, I hadn't reverted to English in years. Fucking headache.

I had told Arashi I wasn't responsible for stupid people. The plan coalescing around the throbbing in my head wasn't perfect, but if these were the guys I had to deal with, I'd be fine.

I grinned. "What, ya think they keep track o’ every blackcoat an’ their uniforms?" I said, lapsing into Japanese with an Osakan accent so thick you could've smeared it on toast. Man, I needed my head checked if I was loopy enough to think that... I jammed a hand on my hip, jerked my chin at Shinju. Hoped to fuck the dirt and blood made my already-dark-for-a-Hirako hair darker. "Ya morons. Quincy an’ proud.” I stabbed my thumb at my chest. “Speakin' o’ messin’ with the Shinigami, we're lucky t'get that one unharmed. Mari-nee, she done said it'd be icin' on the cake if I got anythin' more'n information outta them. Not in those words, 'course," I added when Noble's forehead wrinkled, "but it were a mess when them cadets showed. Even she couldn't hardly know how it'd go down."

Bass's grip tightened on Shinju's shoulders. "If yer a Quincy, where's yer focus?"

Arashi had been buzzing stronger and stronger with every piece of barely-true bullshit I fed them. Spin an out-and-out lie and I'd earn her wrath, but fail to convince them and Shinju'd get it.

I tapped the beads at my throat, fingers ahead of my tongue as usual. "Best thing I ever took from their lot," I said. "Wrap 'em around my neck to play the pissmop's part, then around my wrist t'snipe 'em when they ain't expectin' an attack from behind." To go laughing-mad or cold-blooded from here? I folded my arms and glowered at them. Better to sell it with confidence than just freak them out. "Speakin' of, what the hell were ya thinkin' with that bomb? Ya almost blew me up, stupid! Couldn't even wait 'til I was clear an’ got the dirt on their boozehound boss! Nearly pissed the boss lady off tryin' ta please her." I harrumphed for good measure. "I got half a mind ta march right back ta her and tell her that right when she needs all her family, some morons almost done me in!"

Noble went grey with fear. “Mari-sama did say he needed spiritin’ away... shit, don’ turn us in! She’ll kill us!”

I smirked in response. Problem solved.

Shinju whimpered, sending a trickle of bloody snot down her chin. Her problem wasn't solved. Not so hard now to do it, though. I'd played on their fear of getting pincushioned, on their survival agenda to get them to accept me. The second agenda, as Aizen had said, was fuzzier, but if they'd just blown up headquarters, they probably wanted to twist the knife.

"Now we need t'get her outta the street." I jerked my chin at Shinju, ignoring the way the world spun around me. "We want some money outta the brat's parents, we ought t'bring her somewhere the rest of the Shinigami can't get. This Reichsadler, if he's got that many we can hide her there."

"What are you doing?" Shinju demanded, rallying. She tossed her head, an effect ruined by the ash, stone dust, and dirt caking it. "This is insane! You can't betray Soul Society!"

I scowled at her. Fucking stupid, to think I'd go back on my promise, to think I'd be stupid enough to actually fake being a Quincy. This role was shaky enough without her poking at it. "Shut up an' ya might survive Mari-nee's coup. Play nice an' maybe she won't shootcha on sight." Then, just to make sure I didn't look too friendly, I leered at her. "You're real pretty. It'd be a right shame if ya weren't nice an' I killed ya before we even got there."

Tear-stained cheeks drained of blood. She didn't take my offered hand up.

Last chance, Shinju, I thought as I gestured for the trio to start frog-marching her to Reichsadler's base. Just because I won't kill you like these guys doesn't mean I'll let you backstab me. Nothing in the plan says you stay my friend if I don't like you.

As we headed out, I cast a look back, glanced away as my stomach wrenched. Even with the air reeking of blood and shit, I'd thought it'd be more charcoal than corpse. The body parts strewn around were barely that, closer to bloody chunks of meat and bone than former humans. Once the reiryoku in them had dissipated, they'd be gone, leaving only bloodstains and burn marks where they'd been. Anyone who got here later would probably wince at the rubble of the station before they noticed the human remains.

I swallowed hard and walked on. That was me, if I fucked this up. An anonymous stain on the ground, identified by my stuff, not my face. That was every Shinigami, in the end.

As we proceeded through the streets, I thanked Kannon for letting me bring up the rear. Not because my squeamish expression would've given me away to the Spiders. The exact opposite was true. My stone face would've had Shinju carrying on. That probably would've gotten me, but it was useless to consider. Just like it was useless to consider the carnage around me.

The Spiders had destroyed the shantytown I'd patrolled just... minutes? hours? ago. Fuck, it didn't even feel real, more a collection of scenes than my own memories. The Spiders had made quick work, however long it'd been. Broken, scorched boards lay scattered around me, almost hiding the red staining the pale dust. So many shacks had been leveled that the ones still standing looked like the anomalies instead, jutting into an otherwise unbroken panorama. In black and white, it would've been a beautiful web of light and shadows, sweeping down into the heart of the swamp.

But I wasn't a child peering at a storybook's bland brushstrokes. There were barely any survivors to pity. Stumbling through splinters and glinting eyes, I layered an apathetic shell over my stoic facade, pushing the stone a layer deeper. The empty stares that made it past, the ragged curses at both Shinigami and Quincy, sank into a core too bruised to react. I didn't have time. I couldn't. If I stopped for even a second, so many more people could suffer. I just had to kill Reichsadler and I could go home, back to mind-numbing tests and books to lose myself in.

"Can ya flash-step, little death god?" I asked Shinju, eyes on the horizon in case my new minions looked back. They had to see someone waiting for all the victories to roll in. Funny, considering that even if I succeeded I'd only take out part of the enemy forces. "Ought I t'keep a firm hand on ya, less'n ya run away?"

"Don't touch me," Shinju snapped. She paused a moment, trying to avoid the mud her captors wanted to drag her through. It took all my self-control not to grab her anyway, just for the spite of it. And I’d actually wanted an answer, too.

Heh, spite. I sounded just like my family. They'd grope her or some shit like that. Urahara'd do the same, come to think of it, just excuse it with a goofy grin. Somehow, trudging through the mud behind a seething fake-captive and two gangsters, I couldn't bring myself to play the carefree, unconcerned joker. But if I listened to the part of me that hadn't ossified into apathy, I didn't have to to keep my promise to Arashi. Nonchalance was supposed to be my default mask, but terrifying... oh, I could do that too. Was that the key to being original?

I whistled through my teeth, shrill and familiar to set her on edge. When she finally glanced back, I'd gotten something like a smile on my face. If I ignored, well, everything, we were just on an afternoon stroll. We passed under a half-collapsed roof and I tsked. "Getting jumpy, are ya? Bit smarter than I thought then.”

Shinju turned away, but I saw her lip quiver before her hair-veil fell into place. Why had I hesitated before? This was way more fun than staring into the distance. The dark glee anchoring my smile was just what I needed—a diversion so I didn't have to feel anything I didn't want people to see. Sure, something lurched deep inside, but Arashi's wings were unfurling. A promise beginning to come true, and wasn't it easier than I'd thought?

Enough, daoshi, Arashi whispered. I shut out Shinju's mumbling to understand my spirit through the static. This isn’t kabuki, where exaggeration is the only way to make your point.

"Hmm?" I said, unhooking my thought beads to wrap them around my wrist instead. "Didja say somethin'?"

"You won't get away with this," Shinju repeated. Her shoulders were tight, but her voice wasn't."Look ahead. There's-"

"You'd better hope I do," I interrupted. Too much irritation in my tone. But with what I saw craning my neck around Shinju and our escorts, no one would notice. There was the tiny matter of a battle beneath us. I stepped around my company for a better look. And bit back a curse. Among the knot of Shinigami bobbed a spiky blonde head. As we watched, a Shinigami threw a Spider into a shack and collapsed as two more dogpiled him. When they rejoined the fray, neither Shinigami nor Spider moved.

My eyes flicked out over the swamp. There. The stone scar of the old mines, at the edge of the swamp. Defensible, otherwise useless. The Spiders' base.

Back to the battle. The ring of Shinigami around Hiyori had disintegrated, revealing Minoru at her back. The way they were beginning to literally disintegrate, I doubted they'd been strong to start with. But neither had the Spiders. Only advantage was numbers, if my on-and-off blurry vision was right. They still had it on the pair and the last true Shinigami still with them.

I stepped back behind Shinju, shed 'Quincy' like a cheap kyogen costume, and shoved the Spiders down the hill. The third whirled. Too slow, too late. I lunged in, slammed my forearm into his chest. He tumbled down into the muck with the rest.

Quips later. I drew Arashi, growled her chant, and flung myself after them.

I landed in the middle of the fray, twigs beneath my feet cracking like fireworks. I spun and slashed. Arashi caught somewhere in the ring, but on flesh or cloth I couldn't tell. Momentum carried me through. I pretended my self-made wind drowned out screams of shock. Or pain.

When I stopped, the Spiders had fallen back, gap unmended where the man now straining his blood with his hands had been. Hiyori was gaping openly, while Minoru looked like New Year's had come early. The nameless Shinigami had frozen, lips mid-prayer. When Shinju landed behind me in a swoosh of flash-step and pebbles, I took as a divine cue.

"Don't get so shocked," I drawled. "Didn't someone hire an exterminator?"

Three piles of mud and twigs struggled to their feet, shaking themselves clean enough to be recognizable as my former escorts. "B-But you're a Quincy," one moaned. Woozy, injured.

My grin widened. "Don't be silly. Me?" I flicked a tessen open in front of my mouth, letting them see only smoke-red eyes. "Thanks for showing a lady where to go. Now, who wants to negotiate?"

"Get me out of here!" Gasped the bleeding man, face dead white. "Damn every one o'ya! Back down an' gemme a healer!"

No one moved. Either he had no authority or they were too petrified to listen.

"You can't save him," I said. "My friends can't heal. I won't. You-"

"I can heal," the nameless Shinigami blurted. She wilted at the glance I shot her. Undermining me.

"-can't get him to a healer fast enough," I finished, a bit louder over my internal he’s dying, he’s dying, holy fuck he’s dying . "Leave the White Spiders, leave your weapons, and my subordinate will heal him. And you walk away."

Sweaty brows furrowed, eyes beneath darting to the bleeding man. He spat more orders at them, but no one answered.

Until Hiyori did. "Fuck this!" she barked. "Answer her now or we kill you fuckwits!"

A rail-thin woman laughed. Her eyes gleamed too brightly, lit by a sick flame. With a jolt I realized she was one of the addicts I'd seen in the gutter. Anger coiled in my gut as I recognized a few of her compatriots as 'washerwomen.' Rukongai citizens had the gall to demand good treatment when they helped these people wreak havoc?

"If no one else has the balls t'do it, I'll answer. No. We won't roll over just ta get gutted." She rolled up her sleeves, exposing lines of blue ink. "See? We've suffered, an' come out stronger fer it. We have rights! Y'listen-"

"I don't care," Minoru broke in. "If ya can't see her lot'd be the bloodthirsty tyrants the Shinigami were before they got 'culture' stuck up their asses, you're just as bad." His asauchi sang free of its sheath. "Fuck you."

I lunged for Chatterbox in the next instant, before I could regret it, before she could set the fight's rhythm. She dropped into a crouch under my strike, slamming a palm into the ground. I jerked back just as a wall of blinding blue fire roared into existence.

Too late. My forehead exploded with pain. I threw myself forward, swinging my fans up into the whiteness and screaming the first words that came to mind: "Justo Rayo, bitch!"   The second contact jarred them, I lashed out again. Need space, need to see!

Bone cracked against my left fan and dropped, a shoulder hit.

A fist slammed down into my right elbow. I gasped and dropped my fan, barely dodging the lock my attacker attempted as I grabbed for it. I stomped in the direction of feet. Bone crunched. I popped a kick into the screaming Spider's chest. The second my foot rejoined the ground Chatterbox was there, spitting an arc of blue beams at my head. I threw myself beneath it, coming out of the roll with charged fans.

The shock on Chatterbox's face the instant before I rammed the end of my fan between her legs was almost comical.

Hiyori blurred in and slashed at the two remaining Spiders' ankles. No time to say hi. I swiped the blood out of my eyes, hissing with pain, and launched myself back into the fray.

First to go were the nameless Shinigami's attackers. The taller one walked into it, turning to face me in time to take Nameless's desperate thrust to the stomach. I left her to retrieve her blade and swung for the other's head. He ducked—idiot—and met my Justo Rayo to the crotch. He folded, shrieking. I whirled to hit the next group with Minoru's grunts in my ears.

He was surrounded again, a ring of death held at bay by sputtering Kidou flames. No use being fancy. I shunted reiryoku to my legs and slammed shoulder-first into the one nearest me. He staggered, taking his neighbor down with him. Minoru met him there, stomping the man's throat. I ducked beneath a Spider's club, slashing the second fallen man's throat and my attacker's belly in a fluid motion. When I straightened, Minoru had his hands wrapped around a bloody-faced woman's throat.

"Ain't dead yet, princess?" he gasped. Twilight reiatsu flared and Whistler went flying across the clearing behind him.

"Piss off," I gasped. "Gotta-" He jerked his chin at somewhere over my shoulder. I turned on my heel to find... nothing. The only Spider standing, wrapped in Kido chains, fell to the ground face-first.

Well. I shook my head, twinges of returning pain clearing the adrenaline fog out. The battle had ended and I hadn't even realized it. Dad'd said that if we ever couldn't run from a fight, it wouldn't be longer than a few minutes. Guess it held true for the non-Shinigami enemies, at any rate

"Hey, you," I barked at Nameless when I'd gotten some air in me. "Name, division, skills. Fast!" I snapped when she stared at me like a dead fish.

"What?" she blurted even as she nodded obediently. "I, uh, Yoshinaga Misaki of the Eighth. I heal, I flash-step- King's eyes, don't hurt me, I'm just a scout normally! Everything's all fucked up," she said, covering her face with her hands. Sobs racked her frame.

"It's okay," Shinju soothed, stepping in. She rested one hand on Yoshinaga's shoulder and gently eased the woman's hands down from her face with the other. Her eyes flicked up to me. "Hirako-chan, please don't glare, especially not with your face like that."

Shit, was I? I pasted on the brightest smile I could manage. Not comforting, but surely better. Hiyori, scowling as she wiped away sweat and dirt, took a step back. I ignored her.

"Yoshinaga-san, if you don't mind," I coaxed, stepping closer to her, "we need you to do a couple things. You can leave after, I promise. Just a few things."

Yoshinaga took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at me. "I, um, sure. What?"

I glanced around, taking stock of injuries. Scrapes aside, Minoru was favoring his left leg. Hiyori's eyes were glassy, but the burn staining her neck—clipped by Chatterbox's blaze, no doubt—was a bigger problem. Shinju's bloody nose had started again. I squinted at it. Maybe a little crooked. And my head was hurting something fierce now.

"Heal us up," I said crisply. I fortified my smile with the knowledge that I was being useful. "Only things that are likely to hurt our odds in battle." Her snort said my condescension wasn't appreciated. "I'm just saying, leave enough of your power to-" Shit, she won't know Shinji enough to track him by reiatsu. Torisei's AWOL. Better get her out. "-to get out of this district. You've been here long enough to know where the next command center is?" She nodded. "Go there. We need reinforcements. I don't care what you have to do, do it. Tell them to send a group to the old quarry near the center."

She nodded and set to work.

Who else did I need to solve? Minoru and Hiyori were fine, more or less. I'd had plenty of alone time with Shinju, though.

"Better explain to everyone," I said aloud.

"Damn straight ya better, Princess," Hiyori snapped. "I thought we were dead, then you an' Flower Girl come tumblin' down the hill. The fuck were they talkin' 'bout, 'Quincy'?"

I glanced back at the bodies that hadn't disintegrated. "Talk while we finish off the rest," I said. Rule #1 of doing anything: use names if you want it done. "Minoru-kun, you and me."

He shrugged away Yoshinaga, who glared but dropped her hands. Done enough, I guessed. Together we picked our way through the surviving Spiders.

"Ain't ya gonna offer mercy? Get info?" Minoru asked. The strangled squawk as he stomped on a man's windpipe cut off my reply.

"I figure they had their chance earlier if they want mercy," I said when I'd gotten the tip of my blade where I wanted. I flashed him a smile and stabbed down. The other question was fine unanswered. At least it was if I wanted to look like I knew what I was doing. Damn, should've thought of that. But this is mercy of a sort, right? We don’t have the energy to heal them. Better that they pass to a better life. I retrieved my blade, refusing to look down, and moved on. "I have... a hunch that we need to head out that way." I nodded across the swamp. "Mine seems like the sort of place they'd set up shop."

"I hope you don't mind that 'a hunch' isn't terribly convincing," Shinju piped up. "Especially not with what happened back there. Ah, Yoshinaga-san, that's enough, thank you." Worry pinched her voice. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm concerned for you, you know?"

To my left, the last body jerked and stilled under Minoru's blade. I willed mine clean and sheathed it as Yoshinaga approached. At her insistence I took a seat.

"Fine," I said as the tingle of healing Kidou washed over me. "I'm bilingual. That's the great big secret."

"Huh?" Hiyori said, gingerly stroking her half-healed neck. "You're pretentious, that's what y'are."

I rolled my eyes at her. "It means I speak  Japanese and English, mostly," I said. "English, it's not the same as what the Quincies speak, but it's close enough that the guys who attacked Fujikage-chan thought it was. So they figured I was a Quincy and I played along." I forced myself to giggle, ignoring the way it made my head throb. "Told 'em we were taking her hostage and I was a spy for their leader." A smile. "And it worked!

"Worthy of my old mates," Minoru said smugly at the same time Shinju said, "You speak two languages?" and Hiyori burst out laughing.

I broke free from Yoshinaga enough to glare at them. Easier to see without blood now. "Would you shut it for five seconds so I can answer? I didn't lie. They assumed a lot. Rest assured nothing but the truth falls from these lips. And yes. I did just say that."

Hiyori wiped tears from her eyes. "Princess, you're a nerd through an' through. I can't believe that stupid plan worked! Just 'cause y'can talk like a Quincy!"

"You have no chill," I told her in English. My plastic smile shifted to a real grin then. Damn, I'd missed being a step ahead of everyone else. "Anyway, yeah," I said in Japanese. "Hirako policy's not to let on I've got a brain, so that's my concession."

"What'd y'say?!" she yelled. "Flower Girl, what'd she say?"

Shinju shrugged helplessly, though a smile flickered across her face. "That's... strangely impressive, Hirako-chan. I wouldn't mind learning a little."

Opening my mouth to agree, I stopped. "Yoshinaga-san, I can manage from here. Would you finish up?" She nodded and flashed over to Minoru, ignoring the side-eye he gave her. I turned back to Shinju. "Let's talk about it later, alright? With everything going on..." I trailed off before jealousy could seep into my voice. The second she knows I can do something she can't, she wants to even the odds. Too bad. My language, my past. My power.

Her gaze dropped. "I understand. I-"

"I, um, I think you're good to go," Yoshinaga interrupted. She glanced down at her hands, glow of healing fading. "I've done what I can. Um, Hirako-san, you're going to need to stop by the healers after this. I don't have the reiryoku to fix a concussion. Not that one bad, for sure."

Damn. The moment of levity had been nice. But I couldn't resent it. We had a job to do. And every minute we spent here was one longer Mari lived.

I nodded at her, motion making my head throb. "Thanks for everything. Good luck."

Scanning the horizon, she nodded absently. Then paused, glancing back at our band. "You're too young for this, all of you. Still, the same to you."

With that, she flashed away. We were alone again.

"What's the plan?" Hiyori asked. "You got one, right? That's yer thing. Ain't any of our things, at any rate."

I pointed out towards the swamp. "We're going to the old quarry. That's where Mari's base is, I'm betting. Her and Reichsadler's. We're, well, we're going to kill them."

Minoru nodded. "An assassination? Cold. I'm in."

"I wasn't asking," I retorted. "Fujikage-chan? I know all this has been a strain on you. Sarugaki-san? How're you doing?"

Hiyori tossed her head. "Been better, but I ain't gonna run like a coward. We don't come outta this, at least I got to hit shit."

Shinju bit her lip. "I... at the risk of agreeing with Sarugaki-chan, I'm not leaving to save myself now. We signed up for this. Even if it isn't quite what I expected, we have to do our duty." Her smile trembled, but didn't fall. "I don't suppose there's time to meet up with Shinji-kun and Aizen-san? I'd like their power here, you know?"

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. Clock was ticking. "Likewise, but it's more trouble than it's worth. Mari's got more of those bombs. Any time we took to find them would be more for her to detonate them. If we found them." God, Kannon, whoever these things go to, protect them. Protect us.

Hiyori scuffed her feet. "So that's it? We gonna go off 'em? An' y'think we can do it, Princess?"

I squinted at the dark tangle of muck and trees. Chatterbox hadn't been among the bodies. Was she dying in there, or lying in wait? With others like her... "I think we can try. And that's what matters, y'know?" I nodded briskly, pulling my best 'mock-grand ideas' face. "We have to do it. The people of Kinsawa might've let Mari have her way, but she started it."

Shinju, gaze trained on her blood-stained waraji, nodded slowly. "So we have a strategy. How about tactics?"

Damn. That was tougher, not knowing much of what we were dealing with. "Fugai-kun, if you know anything about this place, I'd appreciate it. So far, I've got staying clear of anyone who looks too starved to be as lively as they are. If I remember right, they should have lines of blue ink on their arms." I shoved up my sleeves to demonstrate the area I meant. "I checked one of their bodies and it looked like there wasn't as much as ink as when we started the fight. Not sure what that means."

Hiyori snapped her fingers. "Yeah, those guys. Look like they should be burnin' up but all the heat's comin' outta their eyes. The druggies."

Minoru's forehead wrinkled. "They ain't druggies. I've seen a fair share, but these guys feel like a mix between regular people an'... they feel wrong. Couldn't put my finger on why they were so off 'til now. Looks like they're borrowin' Quincy powers through their- shit. " He went grey with fear, teeth sinking into his lip.

Hiyori squinted at him. "Whassa problem? Y'got tattoos? They can't just Quincy-magic 'em ta blow up, or they woulda."

Blood trickled down his chin. "Fuck. I guess- hell, we're prob'ly gonna die; I'm gonna if she gets in. No point in hidin' it now." He sucked in a breath, let it out in a hiss. "Spiders might be able to get in my ink. They made it."

Hiyori jerked back. "An' ya haven't said anythin'? Shit, ya coulda blown up when we were back-ta-back! Or told us shit so we coulda beat 'em earlier!"

Minoru scowled. "I ain't in the habit of givin' the law anythin' more t'pick on me for, alright? How's I s'posed ta know ya wouldn't run t'Torisei fer a pat on the head?" He gestured roughly at Shinju. "Or you; I'd wager blackmail's yer bread an' butter growin' up at court."

"I haven't said anything yet, you know," Shinju said coolly, drawing herself up to her full height. "Besides, if Hirako-chan's family and Sarugaki-san's family deal with your kind, you can't lack all redeeming qualities. Not that it much matters when you take the black, or enter the Academy to at any rate. The real problem is that Quincies might have a hold on you."

"I'm so fucked," Minoru groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "But at least Mari's the one fuckin' me over, like usual." He straightened, jaw tight. "Yeah, I ain't got nothin' on the quarry, Nariko-san. They hadn't moved in there when I ran with 'em. Didn't have these fake-Quincies neither. But I might know how the Quincies'll fight. An' how they got bombs."

"All ears," I said. A slurry of reiatsu flared in the distance and died just as abruptly. I thought I felt Aizen's reiatsu sliding through the mess. A gulf of rage and hunger that must’ve been Hollows, too. Dammit. The last thing we needed. "Quick."

He jerked his chin in the direction of the quarry. "They gotta have vantage points, if they're gonna snipe. But if they got a bunch of people like y'think, we won't have t'worry. Mari likes ta make herself look all generous an' that; she won't risk hitting someone if she's got a new partner. Plus she ain't much younger than us. She fronts like she's the best magic archer since ol' Many-Eyes, but she won't risk failin' with that big an audience. Part that freaks me out more is that the junkie borrowin' her power threw up a smokescreen first. Didn't wanna stick around. Some tracks over that way." He gestured at a rough path leading into the trees.

To my surprise, Hiyori was the one to nod at him. "Yeah. Rule number one in bodyguard trainin': somebody attacks yer charge an' it's too easy ta make 'em back down, they ain't the real assassins. If fire-throwin' junkies ain't what we should be scared of, I don't wanna know who they're reportin' ta."

"And the bombs?" I prompted, filing that away.

"No way in hell are they from the Rukongai, not this far out," he said. "That shit's too processed."

Shinju frowned sharply. "Are you suggesting a Shinigami brought them out? Or a sanctioned merchant? More likely to be a chivalrous organization."

Hiyori snorted. "Ha, no way the yakuza'd touch Quincies. We couldn't look the other way then. Princess's lot'd sell that dirt for a fortune. 'Sides, too dirty even for those lowlifes."

Are Minoru and I the only ones who don't hate Quincies? "Go on, Fugai-kun," I urged.

He shrugged. "Y'know how nobody likes that mentor of yers? How his workspace is kinda freaky, ta be honest? I can't really see that face paint bein' from around here. More likely he'd have ta head ta Seireitei ta get some, an' I definitely wouldn't be gettin' in his face ta check what he brought back."

"You know, I don't remember seeing his body after the explosion," I said slowly. What had the Quincies called their supplier? ‘Paint Face’? "It's a good excuse... and he's mentioned wanting more information about the Quincies. I think he had some materials of theirs, too, a bunch of scrolls..." I threw an overdramatic glance at the sky. "Why do I always get the creeps?"

"Because you're super creepy," Hiyori remarked. Before I could protest, she threw her hands up. "Well, what're we waitin' fer? Let's go get ourselves blown up."

We set off into the swamp with my idiot cousin's premonition ringing in our ears.

Swamps aren't forests. Nor are they marshes. Somehow, this one combined the noisiness of the former with the stink of the latter. Or maybe it was just that my head was fucking throbbing and lights were too bright and everything that could be annoying, was.

Shinju was trying to teach us flash-step, too. So there was that.

"You're not making yourself any faster, you know?" she was saying for the umpteenth time. A note of anxiety sang high in her voice, like she thought it'd be the key to survival. Maybe it would, but I couldn't be assed to care. Not when Chatterbox's terror-stricken face floated in front of me every time I blinked. Not when every time I reopened my eyes fury and grief burned low and spiteful in my belly.

Damn her for making me kill her. Damn this whole fucking district, for going along with Mari. They deserved the shit pie she had them eating now. Don't want Shinigami pissed at you? Don't blow us up. Don't want terrorists invading and killing your people and generally wrecking shit? Don't invite them in. Don't want Quincies running the place? Fucking easy. Don't give them the damn keys.

A branch Hiyori'd walked under swiped my tender forehead. I hissed, shoving it away with more force than a scraggly tree required. I'd be so glad to get out of here. Take a shower, that was the first thing. Then write my letters. Apologize to Nanase again, ask Dad for some history on Kuraizumi, maybe see if I could invite my friends to the estate again for summer. Let ink wash away the oceans of blood under my fingernails. Which damn, I needed to stop biting. Couldn't get it out so easily as Shinju did to her perfect nails.

Speaking of which. I tuned back in to her telling us flash-step was about "reducing friction with the world." Huh. Something new.

"It's as though you're sharpening a throwing knife," Shinju continued. She came to a halt. As we clumped around her—I was regretting letting the tallest of us walk in front—she made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "A dull knife doesn't go far. But a sharp knife cuts cleanly. You need to surround yourself with... sharpness."

Minoru snorted as she extricated whatever'd gotten snagged and the party continued on. "Oh, easy as that? Save it for later, Fujikage-san. If we ain't learned it before, we ain't gonna learn it fast enough ta make a difference now."

Hiyori nodded. "What he said. Puddle."

The warning came too late for my socks. I shot daggers at her back. But if she felt it, or the squelching of her own soaked feet, she didn't show it. Pain in the ass or no, I had to respect that. Hiyori was tough as nails, the giant ones they impaled railroad tracks with. She didn't bitch about things she couldn't change.

Roommate duty demanded I stick up for Shinju. "What, you don't cram before a test?" I said, shaping the words with a smirk. "At least one of us knows what they're doing."

"I- thank you, Hirako-chan," she replied. "I suppose we can use all the help we can get, you know?" She stopped in her tracks again. Before I could ask what the holdup was, she raised a hand. "Be careful. There's a clearing ahead," she murmured.

"Then we fan out," Hiyori muttered back. "Bottlenecking'll just make us a bigger target."

We proceeded as much on tiptoe as you could get in a swamp. Open ground was exactly what a Quincy in the trees could use.

But as I brought up the rear into said clearing, it was empty. Apart from a fallen branch being digested by a patch of mud to our right, it was just a clearing. No, wait. The treeline stopped on the far side. The path we'd followed had led right where we needed it to go.

We stood above the quarry. Sure enough, wooden structures crouched in every crack of open space. Shadows and firelight crawled within. And where there was fire, there were people. Where there were people, there were Quincies. Where there were Quincies… Mari.

The dark satisfaction from before spread across my face, tempered by grim purpose. What I was about to do was wrong beyond words. But it was the rightest of the wrong choices in front of me. I had to make it. For the corpses around the burn scar of our headquarters. For the little girl with the lost brother who’d led me through her home. For the people of Kinsawa to make something from the ruin they’d fallen into.

“You wanted a new order, Mari?” I whispered to the sour wind. “Have mine.”

Chapter Text

It'll sound silly, but I didn't have some sophisticated way to descend into the old quarry. Flash-stepping? Not going to try that right now. Sneaking around? With what cover? Hiding from people who were where?

I didn't like variables. Taking on unknown people in unknown terrain was my worst nightmare. But this wasn't about me.

So we walked into the enemies' lair.

Somewhere along the line, the ground had transitioned to gravel glued together by mud. Marginally more secure, it didn't make me feel any better about my chances of falling. It did poke the nest of wasps in my chest. So slow. Every second we waste trying not to fall is a second she can solidify her control. A second she can trap us. Faster, dammit!

Like it could hear me, the gravel parted beneath me. I yelped, seizing Hiyori's shoulder for purchase. She glared, but said nothing. As the stone hemmed us in, it narrowed our focus. Now wasn't the time. I had to do this, before I lost my nerve. Before Mari earned the wrath of the broader Gotei and doomed Kinsawa.

Up ahead, behind a tangle of fallen trees, Shinju tensed. She gestured for us to stop.

As I caught up, I frowned. We couldn't be there already.

I bit back frustration. To solidify the masks I needed to make, I had to apply thin layers. "What's up?" my grinning mouth asked.

"They've got a guy on patrol ahead," Shinju murmured. "What's your plan, Hirako-chan?"

I wet my lips. Here we were. "One guy? Anything else?" I said.

Minoru answered instead. "He don't stand like a Quincy. See, he's not ready to create those creepy bows."

I peered around him. Sure enough, a figure stood below. If we wanted to get into the network of mine tunnels, his was the only path to take. Forget sneaking around him—too narrow. I glanced at the rotting structures above, dark with shadows and mold. Was it my imagination that I felt murky reiatsu from within, or just the general miasma of the place?

"If Nanase-kun were here," I said aloud, "we could use his Hadou skills."

"He ain't," Hiyori snapped. She gave me a long look. "Y'need a second ta 'do yer thing'?"

I blinked at her. So she did have some patience. "I'll be quick."

But I didn't draw up my mental blueprints just then. I turned to Arashi. I needed grounding to 'do my thing,' so far out of my element. Help me, Arashi. Tell me I can do this.

A whisper of fabric and rain. I can't, daoshi. Not honestly.

I looked around me, at Hiyori, young face set in iron lines. At Shinju, redness not yet cleared from hopeful eyes. At Minoru, expression grim but posture loose, in his element. At the horizon, where sweet, fragile Aizen was fighting. Where my brother, my pain-in-the-ass, smart-aleck ray of sunshine of a brother was putting his life on the line. You have to. I need it. I need to do this.

The curl of a wave, like the curl of perfectly painted lips. Then you've given yourself all the assurance you need.

I could do this.

"Fujikage-chan," I said, a little substance behind my smile, "how's your Bakudou?" I would've rather cut the knot, had one person take out the guard with well-placed Hadou. "Sarugaki-san, your iaido?" I would've rather put Shinju in the role of executioner, too, but she was the only one I knew could pull off a binding that'd hold. If we'd had any skill, I would've only needed a second. We didn't. More time for Mari to wreak havoc.

Hiyori answered first, hand dropping to her sword. "How lame d'ya think I am? First rule o' bein' a bodyguard: they don't get the chance ta draw on yer client." She smirked at me. "Can't have lords an' ladies seein' any blood."

I took the jab for what it was, a joke, and rolled my eyes. "Good. When Fujikage-chan binds that guy, you're going to take off his head."

Shinju nodded, hands uncurling in preparation. "I'll do my-"

Stars pierced the stillness.

"Scatter!" I screamed, throwing myself back and up as a bolt of blue light speared my footprint, ozone reeking in its wake. Our cover was in pieces around us, burning.

Hiyori and Shinju were already in motion, darting forward as one. Kidou flared and a sword flashed. One arm fell to the mud; I snarled as the other swept a flamethrower-like arc of fire between them. Minoru zig-zagged around it, moving in spurts of flash-step. My eyes flew up to his destination: a silhouette picked out in blazing blue. Our real problem.

"Fugai and I've got the Quincy!" I shouted, twisting out of the way of a volley of arrows.

I didn't pause for their reply. The Quincy was backing up, ready to flee. Not good enough for Hirenkyaku, but definitely capable of ending me. I drew Arashi and headed for the makeshift ladder.

An X of fire blocked my path. My instincts had been right. Two fake-Quincies stepped from the shadows, blue lines bleeding from sweat-stained skin. Five shots left between them, at a glance. My eyes flicked to Minoru, playing chicken with another for the ladder. Too damn slow.

No time to talk or fight. No time for the Academy focus of the circle. No need. I called to my soul, the cruel force of the sea and the blinding power of lightning. Teal light answered, crashing out, cracking the ground. One fell, two staggering beneath its weight. I growled, wordless and fearless, and bore down on them.

They crumpled bonelessly. Delays removed.

Flowers and armor bloomed at my back. I half-turned to see Shinju and Hiyori between me and a wall of fire. Even one-armed, their attacker was a force to be reckoned with. His remaining limb was more ink than skin, his eyes more blood and fire than windows.

"Go!" Shinju gasped. Her hair was singed, her hand blistered. "Be sharp!"

Not a reminder to stay alert. I pulled my power tight around me and lunged forward, thinking, smooth.

The world blurred past me, too much distance for every step. I jumped onto a rock, onto scaffolding, onto a deck, trusting myself to be fast enough they wouldn't notice I was testing their strength.

There. The Quincy stood halfway to a tunnel, bow drawn. The light around him was guttering, but it stubbornly flared, an arrow manifesting. I'd dodged his scattershot at range, with a second's intuition. One arrow this close, no warning but my increasingly-unfocused eyes?

"S-Stay back!" he shouted. "I'll shoot!" His eyes flicked away, to his escape route.

Wood creaked to my left. A slight, dark form heaved itself onto the deck. "Not both of us," Minoru gasped. He caught his breath with a shudder. " Give it up."

The Quincy nocked his arrow. "You don't understand! She'll kill me if I betray our blood!" he said.

My face was the mask I wore for kata, murderous and implacable. "She'll kill you anyway. If you make a mistake, if you lose, if you object to her plan. If she doesn't care about shedding innocent blood, yours won't be any different. And your soul won't be going anywhere when she does."

Ashen reiatsu soared and crashed down below. Shinju and Hiyori had won.

The Quincy stared us down. His eyes were bloodshot, but not in the way of the fake-Quincies. This was the fatigue of sleepless nights, of someone who thought he'd found acceptance and discovered it was imprisonment. "Oh God. She told me I was special, that I had a destiny."

Shinju and Hiyori's reiatsu was drawing closer. With them came my decision. He was terrified and weak, barely able to keep his bow manifested. Desperation poured off him without a hint of malice. I couldn't in good conscience call him evil. But I couldn't let him go; if there was anything to this 'blood,' he might have to attack regardless of what he wanted. If he was even telling the truth—just because he didn't want to die didn't mean Mari hadn't fed him a sob story to win sympathy from soft-hearted Shinigami.

This was no life for him, a life where the ruling power wanted him hunted down and purged just because he'd dared to be reborn in poverty and starvation. A life where the only people like him were monsters who wanted to use him. But in another life... there was a chance. The Quincy were a shadow of their old empire, but they were alive right now. A baby reborn there could have some respite. One born elsewhere would be odd, out of step, but safe, at least.

I stepped forward. "Extinguish the infernal flames," I whispered, conscious of the embers crackling in the marsh. "Cleanse the unjust"—and the unfortunate—"roar through heaven"—whatever power set you here—"and strike down the moon." Strike me down if I'm doing this for the wrong reasons. "Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!"

The spray of water as Arashi transformed didn't make me feel any cleaner, even as she girded my mind.

I looked the Quincy in the eye as I drew near. Whatever he saw on my face—I switched the kata-mask for one just as sad but more sure than my real face—he didn't back away. "There's a saying," I murmured, "where I'm from, before this. 'See you on the other side.' Whoever you see there, I hope they're better than people here."

The lines of his face were too real, an etching in a world of watercolor. It was a ruddy, round, European face, one I would've once seen commonality in. His clenched jaw was smooth, barely old enough to grow peach fuzz. His eyes, the grey of a winter sky, fluttered shut.

I swallowed hard. "Justo Rayo."

As Shinju crested the ladder, I slammed golden fans into his chest. He screamed, high and strangled, and fell.

I set my face in cheerful lines, the sort I hoped was meeting his next incarnation, and my spine in a straight one. I stepped briskly over his body and continued on.

"C'mon," I called over my shoulder. "Plenty more where that came from."

My little display had ended our chance at stealth. Not ideal, but if the Quincy'd gotten away, we'd have lost it anyway. It evened out.

We ran through the tunnel, saving our reiryoku for the fight. Every step echoed my pounding heart. If my body got used to that, maybe it'd forget how scared I was. Fat chance—countless souls pinged at the edge of perception. Not enough were fleeing. Three were on the move in the wrong direction. The one, a bright, amorphous nebula, made the second dim by comparison, unreadable and murky. The third stung my nose and made my stomach roll, toxic and creeping.

Mari, Reichsadler, and Kurotsuchi. I would've bet my necklace on it, as hard as it was to even sense them. My breath hissed hot with rage and exertion. This wasn't going to be a mercy kill. This was justice. Kinsawa wouldn't burn for their ambition.

We burst into a central courtyard, replete with stone dust and the reek of unwashed bodies. I wished very quickly we could turn back.

Four, five hundred-odd souls there stared at us. We stared back.

With this many people, I couldn't distinguish burned-out from scared. Soon to be panicked, if the shifting at the edges was any indication. A child began to cry.

Shinju slipped past. "Let me-" she muttered.

Steel bristled as Hiyori shoved her way through both of us. "Yer too soft an' yer too happy," she snapped. "That ain't how ya disperse a crowd." Metallic reiatsu crashed out, sending the nearest ones reeling. Even knowing the pair of lungs on her, I flinched at her volume. "Hey, motherfuckers! We ain't here fer ya! All's we care about is the fuckers who bombed children an' burned yer district down. If'n yer human, not Quincy, get outta here an' it stays that way. Ya don't, our friends comin' deal with ya." She glanced back at us. "Walk forward with me, real slow an' in-sync," she said under her breath.

We stepped forward as one. Hiyori's reiatsu snapped in tight around her, her clenched fists threatening readiness to wade into the fray on their level if she had to. I copied her, kata-mask snapping into place. We took another step.

They broke on the third step. For a handful of minutes it was pandemonium, people on the peripheral scattering first while the remainder grabbed tents, packs, and adopted family and scrambled for the exits.

When the dust settled, though, they were gone. Had we been the last straw in a series of abuses by Mari? A reminder of the Shinigami who wouldn't be so selective in who met the sword?

To Hiyori's face, and certainly in my heart of hearts, it was her force of will that'd done it.

You're going to be fucking wasted as a scientist. Maybe I didn't have to beat her out for the lieutenancy after all. Just nudge her into the Eleventh or Ninth, where that hellish stubbornness would guarantee her a seat.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. A vaguely human shape stepped onto the balcony above. The motion was all that distinguished it from shadow. Bitter wind sighed down into the courtyard, ruffling a navy hooded cloak. I gritted my teeth. Here he was, the mystery Quincy. Probably thought as long as we didn't see his face he could run and try this shit again when the heat had passed. I couldn't work out why his reiatsu was still so dim. He couldn't have the freaky tattoos of the fake-Quincies, could he? There was no way he'd need it.

Kurotsuchi joined him, infuriatingly bold in white paint. He'd traded Shinigami black for Rukongai who-knew-what-color, Ashisogi Jizou's purple glinting at his hip. The fury rising in me didn't so much as waver at seeing it. I'd known he was involved and had a guess at why; Kurotsuchi loved power, knowledge, and whoever could offer the most of both. What pissed me off was his boldness. There was no way in hell someone as distinctive as him could hide. Not unless he killed us all.

Odds were good Mayuri'd be our toughest opponent. Scariest, at any rate. My limbs going useless, a single breath being enough to kill me... I shuddered. So taking him out first.

The third enemy didn't walk out as much as she swanned out. Through some perfect fucking Quincy magic, her arrival coincided with a windburst. Black hair whipped wildly about her face, a renegade flag, and finally parted as she draped herself over the railing. Pale, bloodshot eyes crinkled, bizarrely mirthful above a razor grin.

Fire and ice, anger and dread, surged in my veins. But when I blinked hot eyes, water fell. Too many memories came into focus with the world. I'd been blind. Seeing the best, leaping to innocence over obvious guilt, taking problems onto myself when the fault belonged to others. I'd been exactly the kind of idiot I'd told Arashi I wanted to fool, giving grace where none was due and sparing feelings. Why?

Because I am Hirako Nariko, and I am not. Because some part of me wants to belong to a time when I believed in gods of mercy instead of gods of death. Because I don't even belong here, or really understand here, but I have nowhere else to go. Reality isn't waiting when it fades to black. Their world is my world.

Somewhere, a set of scales shifted. Even as the thought settled in me like lead, another weight lifted from my shoulders. There was no separating me from this world. And I was going to make things fucking better. Starting by getting these assholes out of my way.

"Where's your family, Mari-chan?" I called, newfound lightness dancing on my lips. "Only lured the one in?"

Her smile twitched. "So impertinent," she said. I exaggerated my very real smirk for her benefit. She was bluffing hard, even acting openly—her refined accent came out measured, stilted.

Waves hissed in my head, a wordless nudge towards caution.

"That isn't an answer," I pointed out, tempering my grin with sober eyes. "What about you, senpai?"

Kurotsuchi spat to the side. "Brainless brat. Do you think we need all of them to defeat infants like yourselves?" His lips pulled back, displaying a cemetery of teeth. "They'll serve their purpose."

My fists clenched so hard knuckles popped. "I think you're going to regret calling me brainless."

Shinju's voice was soft as falling snow and just as cold. "Does it matter? He's a criminal and a traitor. He could tell us the secret to destroying Hueco Mundo and it would mean nothing." Her asauchi clinked in its sheath. I feathered my reiatsu on hers, the seeds of lightning, a warning. "But I suppose the rules of engagement are to be respected." She lifted her chin. "I name you forsworn, Kurotsuchi Mayuri. I name you, Quincies, rats to be drowned in Seireitei's justice. I name all with you, now and before, condemned." A slight thaw. "Present company excepted. On our swords, on our souls, on my friends, I so swear."

Mari cackled. "Why do you think I care? The nobles and their sycophants"-her gaze fell on Minoru-"ignore the Rukongai when it's useless to them; the same is true for Seireitei's laws and the Quincy. The difference is that the law is truly irrelevant." The light glinted off her manji, revealing the silver symbol as a crooked cross. I huffed a laugh at the ignorance of my 'gifted' eyes. "A Quincy doesn't need a book to tell them right and wrong. Their blood is their guide."

I could practically see Minoru's eyes roll. I could definitely feel his reiatsu buzz with irritation. "Big words, Mari. Ya trade yer 'blood' t'that clown for 'em?"

She simpered. "Minoru-kun. A shame you only took my ink and not my blood. I'll have use of you yet, like I have them." Her reiatsu twinkled smugly. She probably thought she'd cracked us wide open with that one.

Hiyori barked a laugh of her own. "Fuck off!" she retorted. "Yer blood means nothin' ta us until we spill it for what ya done." She spat in Mari's general direction. "Murderin' bitch. Ya should care about the law. Nobody'll complain when ya get what's comin' ta ya."

I pounced on the instant of offense she produced. "So where are they, Mari-chan? Bit early to throw a victory celebration. Unless your 'Quincy' revolution was really just a populist revolution. Did you really find so little support among the Quincy that you had to terrify normal people into submission? That won't last, you know." I tsked.

"You dare?!" Mari snarled, hands tightening on the railing. White snapped into existence around her, tight at first, then swelling. The breath caught in my throat as it continued to grow, well past what I'd felt earlier. Mari's reiatsu flowed thick and wobbly around her head and hands. No, not wobbly. It pulsed irregularly, like a thousand tiny heartbeats. Before twinged at the back of my mind.

I pressed reiryoku into my eyes and brushed it over my ears. Just as quickly I yanked it back. The babble was overwhelming—Ashisogi Jizou, the oldest spirit here, was barely audible. Dozens of voices moaned around Mari. Her reiatsu was a slurry of blues. My stomach heaved at the indistinctness of it all. Too weak to scream, to stand out.

I shook the sludge from my mind. "I dare," I answered, swallowing hard. "Not just for myself and Soul Society. For the 'family' you didn't think anything of cannibalizing for power."

Her shoulders hunched like the wings of a falcon about to stoop. "The power of the Quincy goes to the strongest to wield it," Mari said. Her eyes gleamed wetly, and not with tears. Behind her, her lieutenant stepped forward. "I did what any of them would have done to ensure our triumph."

I didn't even feel his reiatsu flare, it was so foggy. What I did see—and Mari didn't—was the fractal of fire that leaped to his hand, aimed directly at her head. In one fluid motion he nocked an arrow, drew back, and-

Mari turned and shot him in the face.

A gasp. A scream. The splatter of vomit. As Reichsadler staggered back, gore pouring from the remains of his face, I was too numb to know which was mine.

"His face," Shinju croaked. Her voice leaped to a shriek. "Kannon, his face!"

Mari's screech of laughter rose over it all. "C'mon, big brother! I know I taught you to use Blut Vene. Shake it off!"

She'd gone completely nuts. You didn't just recover from that, not without a damn good healer. Kurotsuchi, tapping his foot at the side, wasn't that. But even as I gaped at the gruesome wound, blue fire wreathed it and the trickle of blood cut off. So did the lead curtain over the mystery Quincy's reiatsu. He straightened, hood falling away. 

My hand on Arashi's hilt fell. I knew that blue eye, even swallowed by pupil, and that topknot, not entirely resigned to Edo-esque fashion.

"So that's where Commander AWOL went," Hiyori muttered.

Minoru and Shinju were united in tight-lipped silence. Shinju shook her head, but if she had anything to say on Torisei's true nature, it wouldn't be today.

"I really must get my hands on that concoction of yours, it seems," Kurotsuchi commented, eyes glinting, "if only to ensure that my accusations from that time are vindicated. I wonder if that shill Shiraishi could've gotten me access to the Onmitsukidou for its sale. Pure hypothesis," he sniffed. "You've no choice but to help us bury them now. Rip, Ashisogi Jizou!"

I gagged, flinching away as his acid stench stabbed through my nostrils. I barely had the presence of mind to draw Arashi when a crack of flash-step sounded in front of me. But as I looked up, all I saw was a dark cloak falling away.

Torisei stood there, incongruous in his shihakushou. My gorge rose at the sight of the back of his ruined head, but I managed to not throw up. Before I could ask why, he drew his sword. "There's always a choice, you vile man," he bit out. "Mine is to do my duty as a member of the Gotei 13."

Mari's face as she turned to face him wasn't worried enough for being outnumbered and betrayed. "Like your little man chose to do his duty and report on you?" She fished within her clothes and came out with a badge printed with the interlocking rectangles of the Onmitsukidou. "Please, big brother. The stars never swung in your favor."

Torisei shook his bloody head. "I suppose not. You never lay down your arms."

With that, somehow I felt the door of conversation swing shut.

I went very still, wrapping myself in watchfulness of my clan style. In the few private lessons he'd had time to give me, Himura had told me that faking bravery was about seeing the flow of the situation and taking a slightly different tack. To swim against it would make you look crazy, but showing you could operate both according to your convictions and the context distinguished you.

What context was I operating in? How could I fight so I took them off-guard, but not my allies?

The expected way to handle this situation would be to take out Kurotsuchi, then go for Mari. It was tempting—it was hard to even get to an archer if a swordsman was in your face. But it was too risky with the random dispersals of Kurotsuchi's poison. Bum-rushing Mari first wasn't the answer either. She was acting off. If I pressed her like my dad would've said to, she'd explode. I didn't want to be the one at ground zero while she was drunk on Quincy blood.

Think. They both had abilities that forced you to work around them. We absolutely couldn't face Kurotsuchi's poison, not without healers, so retreating to the tunnels wasn't an option. But in open air, Mari had a clear shot. We couldn't get close. We couldn't. A ranged fighter could.

I grabbed Torisei's wrist and flash-stepped back from the opening volley of Hadou and arrows. "Swap the sword for a bow or we all die," I ordered, yanking him away from a bolt of lightning then relocating when Ashisogi Jizou buried itself in the rock beside us. "Take Mari!"

He snarled wordlessly, orange rope of Kidou barely tugging a massive arrow aside before dissolving. "I am a Shinigami and your commander,  brat!"

I pulled us both behind a rotting tree and slammed him up against it. "You couldn't do your job before and you can't do it now!" I snapped. "So I'm going to do it better. Do your duty and help!"

He tore himself free, nodded shortly, and vanished.

I remained long enough to release Arashi. Tensing to leap back into the fray, I paused. I could hear my friends' shouts of pain and triumph and feel the hurricane of reiatsu. Something niggled at me in between the two senses. An instant of introspection found the source—residual reiryoku in my ear seals.

"-peek-a-boo!" A voice chirped at my back. I hurled myself to the side, narrowly avoiding decapitation as Ashisogi Jizou cleaved through the area my neck had occupied. Pain spiked in my arm as I landed. Too sharp to be anything but a cut. Fuck dammit. An instant later Shinju touched down beside me. Pride and alarm shot through me as I saw her stance buckle—but she held it.

Kurotsuchi was on us like a rabid dog. He broke down my raised fan—oh fuck my arm doesn't work—and buried his foot in Shinju's stomach. I didn't even see her go flying, just heard the thump of flesh on rock. Something burbled close by. My instinctive flare of reiatsu came at just the right time to disperse the toxic cloud spewing forth. It didn't block the invisible column that slammed into me and threw me back. The explosion of pain in my head choked my cry.

I moved to stand and the world rolled under me. I puked, indistinct remnants of food joining the haze my vision had lapsed into. Damn. Grey and white shifted at my side. I had to get up. For Shinju. For the future. I flushed my head with reiryoku and the world solidified slightly. It'd have to do. I heaved myself to my feet one-handed, looked up, and saw that the action had produced something else: a yellow-skinned, winged baby with a halo hovering behind it. Oh, and Kurotsuchi, blade in hand.

It made a wet sound, like spitting up. "Papa, that makes my tummy hurt," it babbled. "Can we take her apart now? I wanna see if her insides are as old as her eyes! I wanna! I wanna!"

Arashi made a disgusted noise amidst the static in my head. ...crossed the line... made it through.

I tightened my grip on the remaining fan. The other was somewhere. Thoughts about where got lost in the static. There was an idea hidden with it, too. A shout of warning from Minoru jolted it free. If I could hear Ashisogi Jizou, could I hear it preparing to attack?

"Ya ain't takin' me serioushly," I slurred. "Level one Hadou? Pleashe." At my side, Shinju still hadn't made it up. Her reiatsu felt defensive, but not defeated. Petrified. Of what?

"'Seriously'? You're every other noble who stood in the way of progress." Right. Kurotsuchi. An attack. From him. "Your weapon is useless. You can barely stand."

I smirked. In the back of my mind I knew it was an inappropriate reaction. He needed to be closer. Needed to think I had something more up my sleeve. He did think I was just a student. To show him something else would set him off. "Just because it don't work don't mean I'm helplesh." I raised my reiryoku and shifted my grip, index finger towards him. "Cold kings of Kamakura, singin' lupine shrouds-"

"Her heart, papa! I wanna see red!" Ashisogi Jizou whined. It was all the warning I got before he lunged in, stabbing towards my chest.

I jerked to the side. In the second between his realization that he'd overcommitted and changing course, I drove my fan into his chest. "Justo Rayo!"

He howled, dropping to one knee. I didn't wait for him to get up. I swung Arashi down like a club, aiming for his head. "Justo-"

"No!" screeched Ashisogi Jizou. "No, no, no!" With every second its voice approached a real baby's wails.

I snapped Arashi shut and bolted, no thought in my mind but not being there. I didn't want to find out what happened when it reached breaking point.

"Terror Magnitude Three!" Kurotsuchi gasped behind me. Infantile screams tore through the air. He couldn't be up! I was almost to a tunnel when my legs locked up, sending me crashing to the ground. 

"-nolent unbelievers! Bakudou #4: Crawling Rope!" Shinju shouted, finally back in action. Cloth tore and Kurotsuchi cursed. Even face-down in blood and grit, trying not to puke again from the jolt, I hissed relief. Not a second later it died. I could feel their reiatsu clashing, poison against shade, and hear metal on metal and flesh on flesh, but I was powerless to help Shinju, whose great iaijutsu didn't help her after the first blow.

Two thuds and the sound of skittering metal in quick succession. Like my foot falling asleep and waking up, my body tingled. I held onto that sensation as I scrambled to my feet, pushing past a tidal wave of vertigo. I almost toppled doing it, but I managed to whirl and head for- Minoru? Thank fuck. From the way Kurotsuchi was shaking off grit, I guessed Minoru had tackled him and kicked away his sword, with enough force that one shoulder had lumps where shoulders didn't. 

"Hirako-chan!" Shinju gasped. She was favoring one leg. "His chest!"

I couldn't help but see it, even without the warning. Scorched by Arashi and torn by Shinju's blade, Kurotsuchi's shihakushou had split to reveal a massive blue bruise. Not blue like healing, brilliant blue like the sky, like the fake-Quincies' tattoos. It vanished as we watched.

He cackled. "Fools! I took the liberty of acquiring the Quincy power of Blut Vene, in case you approached mediocrity." His gaze darted to Ashisogi Jizou, a good distance behind Minoru. "Even with variables, I'll come back from the brink!"

I ran through my memories of Before, stumbled through my memories of Torisei's use of the technique, and crashed to a halt at my assessment of our relative strengths. I completely botched my calculations of how much damage he could take. As Hiyori screamed, raw and panicked, and Torisei's power cut out, the logic centers of my brain collectively went "fuck it."

"Blast him to hell," I told them. "If he can't die, all our worst can do is take him out of the fight."

As one Minoru and I sprinted for Kurotsuchi. Minoru made it first, blade in one hand and Hadou in the other; I tripped halfway there. Kurotsuchi easily disarmed him, flicking a ball of blue light at his sword hand, but the fistful of Kidou—the real attack—dove under Kurotsuchi's guard and buried itself in his crotch.

The resulting scream was satisfyingly high-pitched. I rode that high for a heartbeat.

Then Kurotsuchi whipped out four silver tubes and Minoru went down, impaled by a beam of light. He didn't have the chance to scream.

The ground I'd nearly met fell out from under me. But momentum was at my back, carrying me upright and forward. I crashed into Kurotsuchi, knocking him down and landing on him and screaming incoherently in every language I had for healing and lightning. Again and again I slammed Arashi down sharp-edge first, pouring my power in until all I was doing was drawing from a river, then a trickle, instead of portioning it out.

A hand on my shoulder, patting, then tugging. Numbly, I slid off and looked up to find Shinju, face ashen. The hand she was pulling with was the burned one, the other outstretched in a shaking seal. I followed it to Minoru, who lay under a wash of green Kaidou. As I watched, it faded. She swayed.

"He's alive," she mumbled, releasing me. "It was weak... whatever. He can fill in the rest. He has to. Another hour if he doesn't." Alive, not functional, I read. My vision blurred again. I beat it away with a stomp of the foot. I wouldn't lose this. I would not!

I stood, grabbing her shoulder to steady the both of us. "Shinju! Focus! Forgive me later," I said at her look. "Get pissed now. D'ya have enough juice for a final binding?"

She nodded dully, raising a hand towards Kurotsuchi. I shook my head. "When Minoru says so,'" I improvised.

"But-" she began.

I was already staggering over to an iron bar, rusted by time and twisted by gods knew what. I stooped, picked it up, and dry heaved my way back to Kurotsuchi.

"Center of mass," I gasped, staring down at his prone, twitching form. Ashisogi Jizou was silent, but his reiatsu spasmed weakly. Alive. Gods, I wished I'd killed him. "Eat yer heart out, 'Doctor.'" I stabbed down vertically, just above his bellybutton. Some-fucking-how getting impaled only made him jerk. When he woke, he'd find that moving would dislodge the thing keeping his insides from becoming outsides. Probably. I'd settle for payback.

Over to Minoru. He was sitting up, ignoring the skin flapping loose around his wound. If I squinted—my eyes wouldn't let me—I could've seen amber reiryoku knitting him back together. I could feel it dropping, either way. I helped him up, mindful not to dislodge Arashi where I'd shoved her through my sash. Even concussed I knew where she was, if not where we were.

"Tell Shinju t'bind her an' cut her head off," I told him without preamble. Fuck, when had I gotten so fucking tired? "I'll distract her."

Minoru broke off his stream of curses to nod at Arashi. "Seal her an' ya can do it."

Right. I could do that. So I did, feeling my power stabilize. Had it been draining all this time? "Y'have ta. There's two of ya right now." I scrunched up my face to indicate vision. My left arm was still limp and I didn't trust myself not to stab myself in the face if I used the right.

That was good enough for him. He twitched his chin in a nod and bent, wrapping one arm around his middle as he grabbed his sword. Warmth thrummed through me with the action. I suspected it had something to do with my seals, which I withdrew reiryoku from. I needed every mote, not that Mari had a spirit anyway.

"Around," I said, belatedly realizing a step I'd left out. "She came from somewhere. If a go around to the balcony, ya can get the drop on her."

Shinju shook herself. "Yes. Let's go, Fugai-kun. Bishamonten guard you," she added over her shoulder as they moved past me. Listening to their footsteps behind me and my own beneath me, I wanted to lie down and give up. Minoru needed the reiryoku to live. Shinju needed it to bind Mari. I needed mine to not keel over. Didn't change that running took precious time flash-step wouldn't.

"God, gods," I muttered, "give us speed. She has to die."

 As I arrived at the place I'd heard Hiyori scream—pretty much where I'd left Mari—I wanted to repeat that irreverent prayer. I didn't, because I was scared Mari would hear it. She looked like Tsukuyomi, power leaping from her in bolts of white and leaving craters where it struck. Her grin was so fixed I wasn't even sure she realized it.

The flare of Hiyori's reiatsu brought me back to the real world. White reishi had swamped her up to her shoulders. Her power splattered the upper edge away.

Mari lifted her hand, languid as someone practicing pushing hands, and reishi broke away from a dark shape to replace what Hiyori had destroyed. I swallowed hard. Torisei. She was using her own brother's corpse as fuel for whatever the fuck this was. Was this an extension of the Quincy ability to manipulate reishi? It didn't look like she was hurting Hiyori. I couldn't see why she'd stick around with one foe dead and the rest occupied.

Her head snapped around. I raised Arashi, but all she did was blink at me. My stomach was well past empty, but I wanted to throw up at what I saw. The whites of her eyes had bled indigo. She wasn't even a person who needed killing anymore. Just a monster.

"You came to die too?" she asked. "You'll have to wait. We're almost ready to drain the short one."

"Fuck you!" Hiyori yelled hoarsely. "I ain't Quincy!"

"We're all Quincy," Mari said. Her voice rose and fell, inhumanly chipper, but all emotion was gone. "Just like Soul Society is all reishi. Food is reishi, too." Her bow flickered in and out, taller than she was. "We're so hungry."

"Hollow," I said without thinking.

Her face switched to a scowl as made by someone who didn't know what a face was. I threw myself to the side just in time to avoid an arrow to the chest. The stench of burnt hair followed me as I twitched and pivoted away from the ensuing hail of fire.

"We're free!" she screamed, elated rictus unmoving as her arms worked methodically, firing arrow after arrow. My legs burned, pushing me away from danger the instant my feet touched ground. "They will be too! No laws, no gods, no division!"

I swiped away a stray arrow with a flash of reiatsu and hit the deck as more took its place. I was barely on the ground for an instant when heat rose at my back and the rock quivered. I rolled to the side and was up—or down? head met sky—as molten reishi burst forth.

If I'd had breath, I would've cursed as it followed. Then again, if I'd had working eyes I wouldn't have hit a mass of white head on. I lashed out blindly, blade scoring the form, and met steel.

"Watch it!" a blonde blob yelled. The torrent of reishi parted us, but relief surged within me at reunion. Hiyori was free.

"Don't let it catch you!" she called as we stopped for breath. Mari's reiatsu wavered, torn between us. Maybe the souls she'd eaten were arguing. "It'll slow you down 'til she can pull that cage shit. Heat's new."

Escaping. No, escalating. I filed that away. "Kurotsuchi's down," I said. "Not goin' anywhere."

Stone broke with a deafening crack. I glanced up, thinking Shinju and Minoru had abandoned stealth and flash-stepped in, but my eyes quickly dropped. Mari, stamping her foot like a petulant child. The rubble dissolved, joining the molten reishi weaving in a crazy eight behind her. Globs broke off, clinging to her shoulders like the malformed beginnings of wings.

"Bastards!" she snarled. A husky edge deepened her voice. "Ya sit there in yer fancy city an' hoard all the food an' act like we're nasty insects when we take what we need!" Despite the fury in her words, the reishi behind her settled on her shoulders, filling out skeletal wings. "Now," she continued at a pitch between the two, "don't you think it would be reasonable to give us a helping hand? We stand for what we say, little miss." She inclined her head to Hiyori. It would've been strangely complimentary if not for the fact that her expression was slack, deepening the shadows under colorless eyes and making her mouth look more like an open maw. Her eyes—and only her eyes—turned to me. "Don't you hate this system that sends children to die? Aren't you tired of thanklessly serving others' ambitions?"

Tired? Yes. I was so, so tired. So weak. She knew that. Knew that I just wanted to collapse right there and be brought into the hive mind. Give up on the insane quest I'd set myself. Nothing between me and what I wanted except myself. No one needed me. Just bury Arashi in the dirt...

...necessary...without us... Rain echoed.

Arashi fell from my hand, indigo-wrapped hilt brushing the two fingers that couldn't bear to let her go. I joined her on my knees. Mari's endless eyes shone above, eclipse pupils on moon irises on night sky sclerae. What was one more world to cross?

Heaven and earth split within me as I reached out to her. Even lifting my hand felt like crossing a chasm, a void. It was worth it, to have a bridge. To have connection.

Mari's smile was beatific, wide as the sky. So was mine. It was over. "Love ya, Hiyori."

"No!" Hiyori screamed, starting forward only to be snared by a torrent of reishi. She howled, reiatsu rising higher and higher, sending cracks shuddering down its length.

Her noise almost covered my final whisper.

"Hadou #4: Pale Lightning."

And storms raged across the divide.

A bolt of lightning lanced from my fingers, striking her in the throat. The world revolted, rock rippling and knocking us both back and down like a petulant toddler's dolls.

The noises erupting from Mari were animal, guttural and unending. Blue fire crackled over the hole in her throat, but instead of pausing the wound, it grew, eating through flesh. Mari's hands, palms up in front of her in some demented prayer, hooked into claws. And the screams went on and on.

The quarry exploded, rock melting to white magma, rising like a tsunami behind her. It blotted out the dim sun. My future. All things good. I closed my eyes. I'd tried.

A weight hit me. Hiyori, throwing herself over me, like she could save me. Nothing could save us. My cracked lips parted to tell her that just as Mari brought the wave crashing down.

Bone cracked and thunder roared. I threw my arms around Hiyori as a force like the hand of God plucked us from the ground. For a second-eternity we were aloft, the two of us crossing the world divide.

Impact. Everything was black and numb for two heartbeats-forever.

I opened my eyes to colors without focus. A worried, grateful maybe-face hovered above me. Someone was yelling and crying. My ears rang with the sheer volume.

Then arms heaved and the world turned. I felt one arm drape itself across warm, bony shoulders. The world was still ringing, but the blurs gradually resolved into double vision.

I was alive. Hiyori was alive. And Shinju, though collapsed atop a rotten balcony, was alive. Minoru, swaying on his feet, blade in one hand and a black-haired, white-skinned head in the other, was alive.

Water spilled forth from my eyes. Renewal and rebirth. New growth after a storm.

I don't know how long Hiyori and I stood there, wrapped around each other, sobbing.

I don't know how long it was before we hobbled over to Torisei's fallen form. I don't know what I said over it. 'Memento mori,' maybe. I always liked the sound of that.

I don't know how long it was before a handful of black uniforms appeared in my vision, nor how long it took them to pass healing light over us. I know, relatively, how long it was before they began to ask questions, because they started the second my thoughts snapped back into clarity and completion.

I never saw them patch up Kurotsuchi, but they must've. More Shinigami turned up for that than had come to help against Mari. They led him away with discussion of how to leave Torisei's name in the dust of shame and emblazon Kurotsuchi's in a judge's record. He was screaming. So was the fire they set to cleanse the marsh.

I was silent the whole way back. They took us to the nearest district unaffected by Mari's rampage, to the barracks. It was just a place to let us eat and sleep. Not rest. That was for later. I think they hoped later would be at Shin'ou, where we had to go back anyway for the trials to be graded. We got a day's headstart, as recompense. Never let it be said that the Shinigami aren't merciful.

My head beat a cadence on the back of a Shinigami. I was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Not that I cared.

To my right, Shinji was trying to talk to me, smiling determinedly. I mirrored it. It was more than the blank, bloodshot stares Aizen gave him.

Shinji cared. So I'd care. I would pick myself up, dust myself off, and move on with my life, stronger. I'd get up and do my duty as a Shinigami. Oh, and save the world. Later.

Dawn was breaking behind the teasing clouds as we came to the crossroads that split the path to Shin'ou and the Rukongai. The moon still hung stubbornly above the clouds, a guardian remaining past its time.

As my eyes slid shut again, a soft, genuine smile touched my lips. Wasn't the moon so pretty stained crimson?

Chapter Text

Arc Flower: Laurel

As it happened, a day's headstart was a fairly flexible period of time.

Watching students trickle in from my dorm window, I could only guess that the headstart part was more important than the day. It made sense if I thought about it. Depending on where you'd been sent, your mentors—my arm ached at the word—might not need every hand on deck, not to mention the different travel times. Sure, flash-step was a thing, but its efficiency depended on terrain, the person hauling you back, and how often you could stop to catch your breath and grab a bite. Shinigami got tired too, after all. We were human.

I frowned, tapping my brush on the edge of the inkstone. Were we? Sure, we looked it, with allowance for cosmetic variants like pink hair, Komamura, and the tinkering of the future 12th, but outside of fiction, humans didn't shoot fire from their fingers or run so fast they left afterimages or even live as long as we did.

Humanity in Soul Society was a flexible thing. People still said "I'm only human" and referred to the "human" body. Which, well, fair. The only physical difference between souls, apart from the usual, was between Hollows and Souls-with-a-capital-S, leaving out animals, whose whole thing I wasn't touching, and you didn't exactly need to draw a fine line between Hollows and people. That humanity flew out the window when it came to discussing Quincy was something I chalked up to a mix of racism and common sense. Racism because anyone with eyes could see that apart from a tendency to look Western and thus in the minority, they were nowhere near Hollow-level different, and common sense because Quincy and their powers were nasty and in a world of souls united under a Soul King, theirs were fundamentally broken by loyalty to an emperor.

I was very, very lucky that when my soul had undergone reincarnation, it hadn't broken that way. The Rukongai was rough enough for regular souls.

And yet I felt kinda cheated by how much humanity I'd retained. Kurotsuchi had taken gods knew how many electrocutions, a dislocated shoulder, genital burns, and impalement and lived. That last one was somewhat a function of how impalement worked, granted, but a concussion had wrecked me. I was vulnerable to the same injury as someone who fell out of bed the wrong way.

"Concussion, sprained ankle, first-degree burn, shock, way too many bruises," I mumbled, taking stock of the injuries I could remember. My brain could access those memories as well as any, but it had experienced them concussed. They were never going to be perfect. But I had to be.

Going forward with that in mind…

What narrow abilities we had, barring cool Shikai—which I totally had, I reassured Arashi—or miscellaneous skills like sky-walking, just weren't that versatile, or even fun. Maybe that was why Shin'ou was so serious. We all wanted to be here, wanted to have the power of the Shinigami, but no one wanted to learn what we were here for.

And yet somehow I had to motivate myself to train, because while Soul Society operated on a time scale where a child could be decades old, threats didn't.

I set my brush down entirely, trying to gather my thoughts. The first thing I'd done when we'd returned was bathe. The second thing, the one I felt like I hadn't stopped since, was write. My Before scroll, the only belonging I'd brought to Kinsawa that had made it out, because I hadn't left it in the incinerated barracks, was the unfortunate recipient of my notes, being that my facial seals were in there. It was better than carrying around a library, though.

The first part was some quick ideas for what to do with my friends—guilt stabbed through me at that, but I brushed it away. I wasn't doing this because I wanted to hurt them; quite the opposite.

Nanase I needed to disengage from. I didn't hate him, far from it, but we were two years apart and very different people. Once he went to the Gotei, it'd be hard to maintain our relationship until we graduated, and two years was a long time in such different environments. He needed a social circle of his peers. Minoru, in my opinion, needed a nudge towards expanding his options in combat. He was decently effective and creative with his streetfighting base, but it wouldn't get him a good seat. I wasn't sure what to do with Hiyori—no doubt she already knew how to take on opponents of any size because Hiyori—beyond having her back. Still, she was Sarugaki Hiyori, future badass, but also Sarugaki Hiyori, cousin and current badass who'd almost died protecting me. She got a triple-underlined note to thank her profusely. Shinji needed a talk with me. I'd gathered that he and Aizen had gotten split up, leaving Aizen to fight his way out of a Hollow nest that had already killed a squad while Shinji skewered a Quincy. I didn't know how he'd handled his first kill.

Aizen needed... a lot more help than I could give him, honestly, but I could start with an apology for shutting down on him and work from there.

Where to start with Shinju. She and I... I pinched the bridge of my nose. We needed a reset button or this was going to get untenable. I didn't hate her, despite everything. She was clearly working through some baggage concerning her family and her social standing and I was completely the wrong person to help, given that I was resolved to ignore my own situation. I hesitated to call us incompatible, since we had perfectly civil conversations and we'd worked together fine before, but relying on proximity to get us to click was the wrong tack. There was a good chance we couldn't just click. We had to approach this like a contract, like a business relationship, and see where that took us.

But they would take care of themselves, to a degree. Only I could take care of myself. I just didn't know where to start.

Part of it, I suspected, would come with time. I had plenty of time, and that was the problem. It was hard to motivate yourself without a clear end goal and things like 'good at Zanjutsu' weren't exactly objective. And the time I had to build my skills before they mattered to recruiters was nowhere near the total amount of time I had. I couldn't afford to be lazy, but knowing that in the grand scheme of things, I could afford to put off training one more day, didn't help.

I cast an eye towards Arashi, mounted above my desk. Her silver guard winked at me, as if agreeing.

Thanks, I thought in her direction. Raindrops, like an afterthought, came back. I had a suspicion she was up to something, but what was beyond me. My Zanpakutou was more enigmatic than I would've expected—or wanted—from a Zanpakutou so fond of the truth. But I respected her privacy, like I preferred others to do for me, and didn't ask.

Part of the problem with motivation for training was her. Not my spirit herself, but the existence of my Zanpakutou. News of her had spread fast through Shin'ou. Even non-noble Shinigami of the Gotei 13 had connections to this place, what with friends and recruitment, so no doubt it'd be in Seireitei proper soon enough, if it wasn't already. Here I got stares and whispers and the occasional overly-enthusiastic question that my brain locked up trying to answer. Real Shinigami wouldn't be so impressed with the likes of me, but on paper, Arashi made me damn impressive. With her, I could be called a prodigy. If I was feeling confident, a legend in the making.

Gah. That just sounded wrong. But I had to keep it in mind, if only to gauge how much progress I actually had to make, because just because I could be called that didn't make me one.

Arashi was such a big selling point that I risked tripping over her. No matter how much I wanted to rest on my laurels and coast into a mediocre but respectable seat in the Gotei, I had a very specific destination that the winds of chance were unlikely to carry me to. If recruiters saw Arashi in my file and stamped yes without thinking, why bother working hard? It was a question that'd turn fatal if I listened to it, whether from bad luck or in the course of service.

My lip curled. I was a damn hard worker. To have that fall by the wayside, whether out of human laziness and procrastination or out of strangers being blinded by my lucky accident, was unacceptable. Not to mention I didn't have to be so good people fell over themselves offering positions. I had to be fantastic, so fucking stellar that I could demand whatever spot I wanted. Within reason, of course; I was never going to make captain even if that had been my goal.

So my immediate goals. I had five main areas to improve in: the four Zankensoki and my spirit-sense, as I'd taken to calling it.

Despite my crushing lack of Kidou skills, that entry was the smallest, partly for lack of information from which to work and partly for lack of ambition in it, long-term. I couldn't recall many lieutenants who were that skilled in it, save for Hinamori and Rukia. Of course, they were all competent, so I had to be as well, but I just wanted enough skill to be effective. Some Bakudou to set up bigger strikes and a few Hadou. I flexed my fingers, both to work the kinks out from writing and at the memory of that Byakurai. That'd been exhilarating. Something to work on.

Was I bad for not being enamored with Kidou? It should've entranced me, the power to throw elemental forces around and bind people with pure energy. But somehow, it didn't.

The thing about Shinigami powers was that they were skewed heavily towards fighting. Kidou alone escaped that fate, and then only because you could use it for things like fireworks and not-technology, not that the latter really saw much use outside of the Kidou Corps and a few noble houses' collections. It just wasn't that effective outside of surprise attacks and very limited tech. I couldn't really see myself using something that required long, involved chants in the middle of battle.

I bit my lip, pausing my brush between the 'Kidou' heading and the 'spirit-sense' heading. Did I have any interest in the Kidou branch that let me control my personal powers? Not particularly. This wasn't Naruto, where you could just slap down a seal and make things go boom. Seals here were for binding and restraint only, more a contained system of Bakudou than a real combat tactic. I kinda felt obligated, though, considering they were on my face. I marked it down as a 'after everything else is done' goal.

Now spirit-sense, since that was where I was on the paper. As shaky as any tactic developed while concussed was, tuning into Zanpakutou to predict their strikes didn't seem like a bad idea. Not a great one, since area-of-effect attacks like that poison cloud were still going to get me, as were attacks I just wasn't quick or strong enough to avoid or block. But it was more than nothing. If I could fiddle with the volume so it wasn't distracting, it could work as an auxiliary skill.

Houhou was another heading I didn't have too much under. I wanted it to be one of my strongest skills, just because not getting hit meant fewer wounds to heal and shorter, more conclusive fights. But it was hard to pin down what exactly mastery of Houhou looked like. All I really had there were improving my stamina and the number of steps it took me to get from point A to point B.

Hakuda was actually the bulkiest. On the logical level, it harmonized well with my tessen, which were short enough that a shift in grip would let me use them in hand-to-hand, theoretically, and it was my strongest skill. Emotionally, after getting half-disarmed by Kurotsuchi, I didn't want to be caught flat-footed again. Never mind that I wouldn't have been much better off using Hakuda then. I needed something to soften the edge of helplessness that'd buried itself in my gut, and the art that let me punch mountains in half and take sledgehammer blows without flinching would do. I did have a concrete goal there: to be confirmed as a Shifting Moon master. I had to do it anyway for investiture as hime, as the princess of my clan. Once I did that, I'd have more access to my family's political clout and prestige, as much as we had any, as well as responsibilities.

Zanjutsu expertise went without saying. I couldn't see myself as a master, but you needed excellent Zanjutsu to be a lieutenant, no ifs ands or buts. Certainly good Zanjutsu would be essential to bring Arashi to her full potential. Still, I had the feeling time was the biggest factor in Zanjutsu. Experience would teach me how to see and exploit holes in my opponents' swordfighting, which was half the battle with Zanjutsu anyway.

Heh. Half the battle.

On the side of peacetime... I frowned, returning my gaze to the dribble of returning students. I'd run into a group back from East 7th, Akioka, on my trip to the baths, who hadn't had more than a few scratches, and they'd readily admitted those came from helping clear a river blocked by storms.

I might've glowered a bit at that. They'd scurried away without further comment, at any rate.

They hadn't needed to comment. All I'd had to do—all anyone had to do—was look at their leader. A fair-skinned girl half a head taller than me, she'd been wearing a hairpin whose smoke-and-wings emblem belonged to the Kuchiki. The way she'd ducked her head while mentioning the source of her injuries hinted that she knew just how privileged she was. Her companions, twin boys in Himura red and a girl whose drab look said 'retainer,' wore smirks that said they knew too and they weren't particularly concerned about how everyone else had made out.

That I could begrudge. Privilege was one thing. Every society had it; it was what it was, whether it should've been or not. An "I got mine" outlook was another entirely. That sort of people didn't care about making things better, as long as they were taken care of, and they were vicious when that status was threatened. They weren't assholes, necessarily, just selfish.

I let it go. Even if they knew the facts, even if they knew the despair of staring death in the face again , they couldn't understand . There was no use wasting my energy when ignorance would get them killed.

I wasn't being cynical. Just realistic.

That exchange had kindled a thought in me: I'd been focused on the power of the battlefield and the future, but that wouldn't mean shit when some self-important relative of Momohiko mummified me in red tape. I should've already thought about it, with how much effort my family spent avoiding it and how older students had a class called "Administrative Abilities." Maybe my focus on the part of my history that'd keep me alive here had made me forget the history within my history—the sort that reminded me that you could totally go to war over some guy's ear. Politics and bureaucracy might not hold a sword to your throat, but they could definitely put its wielder there. Theirs was a subtle power.

Not that I wanted power. I swear I didn't. But I very much didn't want to be blindsided by the product of some backroom deal. So I'd have to acquire political clout, one way or another.

A conversation with my parents was probably the best step to take there. It'd have to wait until the school year was over, but they'd definitely have a few tips and tricks. It'd likely thrill them to be asked, or at least alleviate a smidgen of their disappointment in me. Shinju, with her upbringing at court and refined manners, might be able to help me out sooner, but I was going to wait until we established whether we'd be allies or just coexist. It'd be incredibly presumptuous to assume she'd help.

I had to iron out myself, too. What were the masks I wanted- no, needed to wear? I had told Arashi I wanted to scare the shit out of some people so they wouldn't fight me. People were scared of different things at different times; my implacable kata-mask would scare a novice, while inappropriate humor would unnerve people who expected to have the upper hand, for instance. The latter I might easily accomplish with a more general-purpose mask, one I found almost fun: the cloudcuckoolander. More specifically, the zany, eccentric genius who went off on tangents and cracked bad jokes in between exploits. It was the person I wanted to be, not the person I was, and so would fit me better than Shinji's blasé, casual demeanor or Urahara's goofiness.

That that person was more extroverted than me was something I'd have to deal with. But with enough recharge time, I'd be fine.

Needles of pain shot up my legs. I hissed between my teeth, flopping onto my butt to shake them out. One step I had already taken was trying to train myself to sit seiza better by sitting seiza even when I didn't have to. My legs had picked the perfect time to get longer, and the growing pains weren't helping my efforts.

Well, I might as well take a break, see the light of day, all that. I rolled my scroll up, careful not to smudge the ink, and tucked it into my shitagi. Arashi joined it, thrust through my obi.

Together we set out to do battle with our greatest enemy: social interaction.

I'd intended to seek out Nanase first, to get an assessment of how campus had been since our absence and to apologize to him again. It might've been unnecessary, might've even annoyed him to have me falling over myself apologizing, but I still felt guilty. It should've been his choice to tell me. That, and I needed to get started disengaging.  Better to shift over to being cordial acquaintances now, so he could establish a more sustainable social circle among his peers. I was still going to watch over him, like Seinosuke had asked me to, but it was easier on the both of us if I had fewer people to manage.

Back to 'I'd intended.' Because apparently my kid brother had had intentions of his own, and they involved talking to me. Go figure.

"Narin? Ya listenin' ta me?"

And here we were, sitting under a tree in Mizuchi, him cross-legged, me in seiza, and both of us taking full advantage of the sunlight that had graced us today.

"Don’t call me that!" I replied instinctively, twisting the beads of my necklace around my fingers. "There's a lot going on, that's all."

He rolled his eyes. "A.k.a. you're half-listenin'. But I guess ya ain't wrong." He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and shut it again. "I-" he tried. "You-"

"Collect your thoughts," I chided, feeling the necklace's string go taut and deciding my hakama were safer fidgets. "Unless you want me to go first?"

He shook his head sharply, golden mane rasping against the starched kosode. "Not a chance! You'll start ramblin' about how I'm feelin' or somethin' an' we'll never leave. I ain't lettin' that get started."

"Hey, I'm not mushy as all that," I protested, ignoring that that was why I'd wanted to talk to him. "Stop talking and start thinking."

It was a few moments before he began, which took me a bit by surprise. I hadn't thought he'd actually take my advice. Not that he'd taken a while to really collect himself, but that was an improvement over his usual no-filter mouth.

"I gotta become a captain," he said, hands mirroring mine, wrapped in his hakama. "That's the only way anything's gonna change."

I had enough self-control to not let my jaw drop, just barely. That... hadn't been where I'd thought he was going to go with this. Where'd that ambition come from? Where had his devil-may-care attitude gone?

"Change?" I said, because it looked like his loose tongue had so many words rushing to make it out that it'd gotten tangled.

His sunny reiatsu, which usually played over his surroundings, beat against me with scorching heat for an instant. I nudged it back with a sheet of sea spray, a gentle rebuke. "They left it ta us ta pacify Kinsawa," he said. "A bunch of Shin'ou students who barely know which end of a sword goes in the enemy."

"That's a low opinion of yourself," I commented. Clearly I was going to have to tease it out of him. "Especially considering how strong you are."

He scoffed. "Okay, maybe I'm somethin' special, but how in the hell were they supposed ta know that? How were we supposed ta deal with a Quincy rebellion?"

"We did deal with it," I said quietly, remembering Minoru standing tall with Mari's head, stomach caked in gore. "You didn't exactly play a small part in that."

"But what if we hadn't?" he pressed, eyes glinting. "What if we froze up an' all that strength got pissed down the drain when the Quincy killed us?"

I frowned. I didn't particularly want to think about that what-if. Even the suggestion that we hadn't suffered to put Mari down grated, as if trying to undo how hard and right it'd been. "Leave the what-ifs to me, Shin. We did it. We lived. End of story."

"What if it hadn't been us?" he burst out, grip white-knuckled on his knees. "What if it were those girls that about blew themselves up with shitty Kidou a month or two before New Year's? What if they were there, they failed, an' the Quincy hurt more people?" He exhaled, long and hot, peeling each finger off his knees and cracking them. "They shoulda been there, Nari-nee! The folks who didn't get blown ta bits shoulda had their commanders sendin' backup. We shoulda had the guys whose jobs it were ta fight this shit there at our sides! We shouldn't have been left ta deal with that so Ounabara can sleep easier knowin' he ain't feedin' anyone who don't deserve it. That ain't how ya test strength. That's how ya test luck."

I sucked in a breath. It wasn't as 'modern' as my beliefs, but it was a step towards the Shinji I'd known, crafty and out of step with everyone else not because he was stupid, but because he was one step ahead. And as much as I hated to admit it—younger brother and all—he was being surprisingly mature. Being captain wasn't just a powerful position or my parents' dream for him, it was a huge responsibility. Recognizing that was... good.

"You're right," I conceded with a duck of the chin. "I'm never going to say that again, but you're right. They owed us more." I conjured up a stronger smile than the soft one I'd put on with my shoes, tapping my chin with one finger as though I'd just thought of something fun. "Now, that almost sounds like incentive to be a better version of those people. I wonder who might possibly be right for the job."

He tossed his head, reiatsu paradoxically calming. "I am aimin' ta be a captain! Get off my back, ya nag!"

I tsked. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to put just a bit of effort in. Captains don't just have to be good, dear brother, they have to be the best. They have to know the people and places they're protecting, be expert in every art, have Bankai... and have vision." I looked at him side-eyed, face turned towards the courtyard walls. "Does any part of that sound like you?"

He made grumbling noises. "Ya offerin' ta train me? I ain't really seein' any magic catalyst 'round here."

I considered. On the one hand, I wasn't qualified. On the other hand, what we needed was training and my parents had asked me to. That was a yes, then. I filtered it through my dreamy smile. "Is that a request?" I beamed. "Well, I could never refuse my little brother's cry for help." Ignoring his protests, I continued, "I'd be delighted. Only I'm afraid it'll turn into my great brother training me." A theatrical sigh, just sincere enough to avoid accusations of Urahara-silliness. "Zanjutsu, do you think? I at least have been doing pretty well there."

He sputtered for a second. "Who are ya, an' what've ya done with my sister? Actually wantin' ta train fightin'?" But a grin was working its way over his face at the implicit challenge. "Ain't no way you're gonna be better than me!"

It was a good thing I'd provoked that, or I might've slipped. As it was, my mouth twitched. "I was meaning to talk to you," I said abruptly, switching tacks and molding my face into something that I hoped looked compassionate. The only thing that stopped it from being the truth was lingering memory of the last time I'd talked about supporting Shinji. "I heard... you killed one of the Quincy. How are you feeling?"

He tilted his head, looking genuinely puzzled. It was an interesting look for him, given the effect it had on his heavy hair. "I'm fine."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's what you said when Ishiura-san died. You weren't fine, Shin." Talk to me.

“Ya said I didn’t haveta be superhuman too," he shot back.

Okay, point. "There's more to humanity than how many mountains you can level," I said. "Like being mature enough to open up."

He threw up his hands. "I don't know what ta tell ya, then, 'cause I'm fine! He was a criminal an' he wasn't gonna give up hurtin' people any time soon. It sucks, but we had ta put him down, like ya do with the dogs when they get real old. Only he got hardcore Quincy."

Well. That killed every dialogue I'd planned. I guessed I couldn't expect him to react the same way I did, but somehow I had expected him to have that initial conflict. Then again, he had never known anything but the Soul Society dogma that criminals didn't deserve mercy. I thought about calling him on comparing Quincy to dogs, but I couldn't quite find the goodness in my heart after almost getting sucked dry a few days before by one. "Then I'll take your word for it," I said at last. What was I going to do, try to argue my baby brother into being torn up about killing someone who, yeah, probably wouldn't have given up murder and insurrection? "Just know that if you ever aren't fine-"

"-I can come ta ya, I know," he finished. "Will do." He yawned. "Ain't too much ta that, really. I fought a buncha these crazy fire guys with blue lines on their arms, then that guy appeared with arrows. I beat him. Just about passed out doin' it—don't tell any o' our teachers, but they might be onta somethin' with stamina trainin'—but he went all the same. Ran inta Short, Pale, an' Creepy after that. Ya should ask him about it." His lazy smirk flickered and fell along with his gaze. "It really ain't my story. Shouldn'ta been his neither, but ya know I ain't great at comfortin'."

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. "What, I am?" I said, forcing a dry tone to match my suddenly dry mouth. I smirked. "You have such faith in me, dear brother."

Shinji's brow creased. "But ya will talk ta him?" he demanded. His concern was serious, even if he didn't feel up to helping.

I nodded, rising. "Right after we finish up our spar." I rolled my eyes at his groan. "If we wait until tomorrow, we'll both forget. Now c'mon. I heard Matsuoka-sensei's training hall is free."

I headed for Aizen's and my usual haunt when Shinji and I weren't finished. Unlike before, my order of people to talk to wasn't disrupted by someone coming to find me. No, I managed that fine on my own, navigating around the campus notice boards to find Minoru and a gaggle of other students on the other side. Not all of them first-years, by the looks of it, and none of them still-tongued.

"Hey," I waved at him breezily. A few first-years in the group jumped at my appearance. One looked particularly confused, which I had to assume was the result of my smile. Shinju had been right about my face being buried in a scroll all the time. "What's up?"

He pointed at the board. "See fer yerself."

I obliged, wedging myself in between two students to get a good look. What, had Ounabara announced we'd be accepting Hollows next year? I smothered a giggle at the thought of a Menos Grande in a school uniform.

The giggle faded as I read the poster everyone was staring at. Well then. A tournament, open to all comers. I read a bit farther down. All comers 'with discretion,' specifically. Single-elimination knockout style, held off-campus, no art off-limits. Maybe I'd go check it out, see if I could get inspired.

Time to test the 'everyday' mask. I gasped dramatically, turning to Minoru. "Oh, is this one of those secret tournaments Fujikage-chan was telling us about?" I stage-whispered, prompting worried glances around from a youngish girl to my left. The older students chuckled. "Did you wanna go see it?"

He frowned, leaning over to me. "I was tryin' t'read it, actually," he muttered. "Been pickin' up the kanji I don't know from folks talkin'."

"How devious of you," I whispered back. The large picture of two swordsmen in red and blue clashing did help with that. "So did you? I haven't used any of my clan stipend—what's the entrance price?"

His frown only deepened. "Keep readin', Nariko-san. I need t'know if what they're sayin' is true."

I almost elbowed him for being vague, but figured it'd made me look like an idiot for not knowing what he was talking about already. So I hmmed and kept reading. It really was quite the detailed poster.

"'1,000 kan entrance price and 2,000 kan spectating price,'" I read. "'We hope that our honored audience understands the high prices, as we are taking into the consideration the presence of the most esteemed, most powerful... officers of the Gotei 13?" Minoru and I exchanged looks. I read on. "'In past years, our clientele has included Captain Kyouraku-sama of the Eighth, Captain Ukitake of the Thirteenth, and Captain Than Sein of the Ninth.'"

Well, shit. There were going to be captains there. That explained more than it didn't. Like why the administration lets this happen, I thought, noting the 'not sponsored by the Spiritual Arts Academy' seal at the bottom. For all that they were using the formal name for Shin'ou, they'd made a seal to proclaim they weren't affiliated with the school. That implied they'd held this thing enough times to need labels and hadn't been caught. Not to mention getting onto campus, where if the onmitsu track students didn't notice you, their full-fledged teachers would.

No way could we get involved. If this was the year they chose to enforce the rules, our careers would be over. Not to mention that even if they didn't, people from every year would be joining. We weren't ready.

"We've got to do it," I announced to Minoru. In the corner of my sight, our peers did a double-take. I caught a "they what?!" from someone who'd been just about to leave. Then they were gone, probably off to tell the world. Good.

He whirled, not even trying to be subtle about it. "We what?" he echoed. "No way! We're gonna die!"

I knew that. And yet. I didn't have to spend now until Turn Back the Pendulum just watching my brother have all the fun.

"How bad could it be?" I said cheerily, playing the first-year who didn't know what she was getting into. "You lopped off a Quincy's head not a week ago," I said, throwing out some Minoru hype. I felt just the tiniest bit guilty for throwing him under the bus as a diversion from myself, but I reasoned Minoru could use the profile boost. "So did my little brother, I think? Or was it stabbing." I pretended to think on it before tapping my fist to my upturned palm. "It'll be character-building!"

With that, I dragged Minoru free of the crowd, taking satisfaction in the whispers that followed.

When we were a decent distance off—strategically in the direction I'd already been going—I ducked into a free Kidou range. I slumped over, getting my breath, before popping up with a grin.

"So, tournament. Doesn't that seem like a fantastic idea?" I said, taking a page from Shinju's book and bouncing on my toes.

"No!" he blurted, then seemed to reconsider. His face went through a fascinating progression from 'crawl in a hole and die' to 'surprised at himself' to 'resolute.' "No," he repeated, more calmly. "Ya know how we agreed I'd make ya sorry if ya pitied me? Well, yer gonna be sorry if ya do this, an' it won't be 'cause of me. They''ll eatcha alive! They'll eat me alive!"

"No, they won't," I said. Technically, they wouldn't be cannibalizing us. "There's no way they could run a tournament like that without healers. It looks bad to have your moneymakers bleed out and be unable to move on or come back next year. Plus, people from the Gotei show up. Captains show up. No way none of them know how to heal."

"We ain't bankin' on captains healin' us!" Minoru hissed. "They're captains!" He said it in a tone reserved for kami. "We'd be blessed if they spit on us! They don't wanna haveta spoil their entertainment with some dumbass kids gettin' hurt."

My grin took on a sly edge. "Exactly! Glad to see you're catching on. They'll be watching. Watching us. If we can put on a good show, we can get their attention. Our profile goes up, our likelihood of getting good seats after graduation goes up, and if we win, our finances go up." The poster had mentioned a cash prize for the winner. It was extra incentive for us to win—and for our competitors, but why sweat the small stuff?

"An' if we lose or we look like morons, which we're gonna 'cause we're first-years, all that goes down," he retorted, but there was a crease of uncertainty in his brow.

"I'll pay the entrance fees," I said. "Don't worry about that part. And we're not gonna look like morons. Did you look like a moron beating down those fake Quincy? Facing down the Quincy at the mine entrance? Holding Mari's head high?"

"I didn't look so great when clown-face tried ta run me through with that Quincy shit; ya even said so," he said, but it was half-hearted. The glow of victory had entered his eyes.

"I also said you survived pretty nicely," I said. "And with just a few tweaks, you could look pretty great."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm in. Just as long as ya don't try an' pair me up with anyone."

"I'll help you beat the admirers off," I said, laughing.

I left him looking for Nanase—who would hopefully continue to stoke the flames of enthusiasm in Minoru—and continued on my way towards Aizen, or at least where I thought Aizen might be. Okay, I was pretty sure. Mentioning Aizen to anyone outside our social circle tended to garner reactions of "who?" or "that weird kid who always has a cold?" Nobody would've dragged him away from his library haven.

I took a left and found myself at a fork in the road. Well, more of a T, but that didn't really matter when I wasn't super sure where to go.

"Left, left, right, straight, left?" I mused aloud. "Or is it straight then right? Would it kill them to put more signs up?"

I turned left to try my luck and took a zouri to the face.

What. Somewhere between sputtering at the dirt in my mouth and trying to work out whether I was hurt or just surprised, I cleared watering eyes enough to see my assailant. Her blonde pigtails bobbed as she threw her head back, laughing triumphantly.

"That's fer pullin' my hair at New Year's!" Hiyori crowed from a safe distance. "Toldja I'd get ya back when ya weren't expectin' it!"

Was I supposed to be amused at how little some people changed? Annoyed at being on the receiving end of slapstick, which started to look a whole lot more like immaturity away from the screen? I settled for utterly lost. "I never pulled your hair, monkey!" I yelled back. On a whim I flash-stepped to her, coming up about a foot away from her. Whoops.

"Do I look like Shinji to you?" I demanded, looming over her as though I'd meant to stop there. My face was dark and hard. Just to see how quick I could switch personas, I hopped back a foot, simultaneously donning a bright, vague smile. "If you need your eyes checked, we can manage that, you know! I'm sure the Fourth Division member on campus would be happy to assist, or maybe they're just healers?" I tapped my chin. "Do you think the Onmitsukidou does vision tests? Like for assassins who throw knives and stuff?"

Hiyori's face set out on the journey to Horrified, got lost at Baffled, and settled in Defensive. "Princess Dumbass! Y-Ya shouldn'ta gotten in the way of my shoe! I was aimin' fer- the signpost!" She pointed at the middle of the T.

"Sarugaki-kun, there's no signpost. That's why I stopped." I fought giggles. She probably wouldn't appreciate that. "You think that'd be a good spot for one, though? I can see it." I stroked my chin, pretending to envision it.

"S-Stop messin' around!" she snapped, flushing pink. "Where's a moron like ya goin' anyway? It's almost time ta eat!"

Was it? Shit. I'd have to save Aizen for later. "I was going to the library," I said, and left it hanging there while I tried to think of a series I could mention that she'd assume I was looking for.

She interrupted my thinking with a knowing smirk. "Goin' ta look for yer boyfriend? I saw him skulkin' around the mess hall earlier." The gong rang distantly, as if to punctuate her words. She raised a tiny fist. "We're goin' ta lunch! An' if ya insist on hidin' in the library some more I'm gonna sock ya in the nose, Princess Bony! Ya gotta eat some!"

I laughed. "You too, then! Put some inches on those legs." I jumped out of the way of her retaliatory kick. "And look for carrots. You'll have less of a headache if you aren't squinting all the time."

Hiyori scowled, which just so happened to squinch her eyes in her characteristic glare. "Shut up. They ain't that bad besides! 's only distance that ain't perfect." She stuck her tongue out at me as if my vision were somehow something to resent.

I shrugged, steering her by the shoulders back the way I'd come, towards food. "Hey, we can be the Bad Eyes Club!" A thought occurred to me and I spun her back around. "Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

She folded her arms. "We are talkin'. I guess ya mean about somethin' else."

I nodded, readying myself to adopt a serious look, then reconsidering and dropping pretense entirely. My face hardly shifted, but it was a matter of courtesy. Hiyori was Before-special and my cousin. She deserved a more genuine me. "Yeah. Uh, back in Kinsawa." I waved away the stiffness of her stance. "It's nothing bad. I just- you saved me. Or you tried." Usually my past life brought experience to ease this or that 'new' happening. Here, nothing. All I had was gratitude, fresh and deep and so overflowing that I was torn between hugging her and never letting go and running away until I was on solid ground again. "You tried," I repeated, heat pricking my eyes, "when everyone, even me, gave up. You put yourself between me and death. You-you picked us both up and kept moving when it was done. Sarugaki-kun... I can't tell you how much that means. So, thank you. If I can ever do the same, I will."

Flinty amber softened. She stared up at me for a span of seconds. Just as I was wondering if her hearing was as bad as her eyes, she scoffed and turned away. "Stupid. What kind of failed bodyguard would I be if I hadn't?"

I trotted after her as she began to head in the direction of lunch. "You aren't a failure, Sarugaki-kun," I said.

"Shut it, Princess Dumbass," she said over her shoulder. "Pay me back by pickin' up yer pace."

Aizen wasn't at the usual table, but then, neither was Shinju. I hoped without any confidence that Aizen had made new friends to sit with; I was much more sure that Shinju had from her repeated references to people I didn't know in the past. I almost thought Shinji had joined them until he dropped onto the bench across from me and interrupted Nanase's chipper updates on the state of campus.

"When were ya gonna tell me," he said, and it wasn't a statement or a question, but a threat.

"Tell you what?" I asked around a mouthful of rice. A quick check of my mental 'need to know/don't need to know' partition didn't place anything on the former side. Had I planned to tell him about our parents asking me to train him in Zanpakutou, or just to pretend it was my idea all along? Was that it?

"Don't bullshit me, Nariko," he snarled. "Don't keep secrets so ya can take pity on some no-good thug!" He stabbed a finger at Nanase.

Nanase went white. "M-Me?" he yelped. "I didn't do nothing!"

Shinji's head snapped around. He was just as pale, but it was the white mask of adrenaline, not fear. "Don't fuck with me!" he roared, slamming his hand on the table. His reiatsu spiked, sending people around us reeling and dropping dishes. I swayed with it, shielding myself with a shell of cold fire. Nanase wasn't so lucky, tumbling backwards from the bench. Shinji vaulted the table, landing straddling Nanase. It was a familiar scene, except Shinji didn't look like he wanted teachers anywhere near this. "Ya think ya can rough up my sister an' no one'll bat an eye? Ya think 'cause yer just spineless an' yer friends are greedy bastards yer innocent?"

Ah. Somehow Shinji had gotten onto the 'don't need to know' side. And my classmates—and a few teachers—looked very keen on joining him.

"Hey, hey, chill out," I chirped, pinning a peppy smile in place. "Fighting between friends is so lame! Let's save it for the tournament! I saw this one guy-"

"There ain't gonna be a tournament if I kill him now!" Shinji snapped.

"D-Don't kill me! Please, Shinji-sama!" Nanase pleaded, voice soaring into its natural pitch.

"Lookatcha!" Shinji said. "Can't even fess up ta what ya did. Gimme one reason I shouldn't pulverize ya!" He shifted his weight, pressing on Nanase's throat. Would he? He wouldn't really do it. He was a good guy.

"N-Nariko-sama!" Nanase choked out. Reiatsu beaten past the point of resistance fluttered around him. "Help!"

The sun flared and I moved.

None too soon. Shinji's fist shook a centimeter away from Nanase's face, even with both my hands wrapped around his bicep, hauling him back with reiryoku-flooded muscles. His was the blind fury of the sun at noon, searing mercilessly, burning away my water.

Tough. I had lightning.

"I said, that's lame," I bit out. "We're to be shinigami, not white knights."

He strained against my grip. We both knew he could throw me off if he wanted to. I was banking on his respect for his older sister winning out over his anger.

Nanase whimpered beneath us and Shinji tore free. Apparently he cared for me so much he'd rather take revenge on my behalf than listen to me here.

A teacher had approached, though he stood at a distance, sizing us up. Sizing the noble heir about to beat down on the Rukongai dog. My stomach soured. Why the fuck did no one but me care how fucked up this was?

Shinji pulled back his fist again and I lunged, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

"Get off him," I hissed, putting the chill of disappointment into the words, "and stop trying to fight my battles. I never thought I'd have to call you a bully."

Minoru finally stepped forward, helping me pull Shinji back. As we left, ignoring the eyes of our peers, I snuck a glance at his face. As usual, shaded by bangs and lips pressed into a tight line, it was unreadable. Only the flick of his eyes towards me indicated that we were in agreement.

Something had changed. No, Kinsawa had changed us, for good and for ill. It was the end of our beginning.

Chapter Text

"What," I said softly, "was that?"

Shinji glared. "Ya tell me."

We stood in one of the few private areas of Shin'ou, a recess formed by the intersection of a courtyard and two lecture halls. The lighting was absolute shit, but for once I appreciated it. Shinji hurt to look at. I told myself it was because his hair was too bright on such a sunny day.

"Tell you what?" I replied. "That you're getting upset over something that didn't even happen to you?"

"But it did happen," he said flatly, folding his arms, "and ya lied ta me about it."

I clenched my fists and made myself breathe rain instead of thunder. "I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell you. You never asked."

"Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me?" Shinji burst out. Wind kicked up around him, laced with gold. Despite the fact that his back was against the wall, facing Minoru and me, I got the eerie feeling that I was the one on the defensive. Which was ridiculous. I shook it off and shoved back, hard. His eyes narrowed. "Who in their right mind would ask that shit?"

"You could've," I retorted lamely.

"Stop evadin' what ya did!" he said. "Ya lied! I had ta take revenge for ya after the fact!"

My turn to fold my arms, tight like armor across my chest, across my heart. "What I did? I didn't ask to be targeted by some thugs!"

"Thugs?" Minoru said. His voice barely hovered above a whisper, but it was nowhere near as soft.

I half-turned, fixing brown with hazel.  "Shiba Isshin was there. It's nothing to do with where they're from."

"A Great Noble Clan's involved in this? Shit! Was I the only person ya shut out?" Shinji growled.

I whirled, closing the distance between us in a step. "You were never shut out, idiot! You were never part of this, because my business is not your business!" I stabbed a finger at his chest. "You aren't clan head yet. I don't owe you information. And I definitely don't owe you gratitude. Stop picking fights for one second and listen to our parents. They'll be happy to tell you that I'm the only person allowed to get hurt."

I stepped back and looked to the sliver of sky. Was it raining? I felt water on my cheeks. For an instant my spirit soared up to meet the clouds, free of my heavy heart. But there was too much shit to shovel, and Shinji was only one piece of the pile.

I was halfway to the mouth of the recess when I remembered the whole stinking reason we were here.

"Don't lay a hand on Nanase-san," I bit out. "You saw to it that he won't be hanging around us anymore. Fine. You see to any more than that and you're out of the study group."

It was all I could do. Shinji was smart and sociable; losing the study group wouldn't kill his grades or social life. It'd hurt more just to have his big sister shut him out for real.

I turned my back on him, breathing broken there, and left.

Had I hated being on unfamiliar ground before? Well, I needed to be off familiar ground now. I needed whatever the opposite of family was. Business. I needed its cold, impersonal emptiness, not the hot, suffocating ties of blood.

Shinju it was.

My first thought was that she was living it up—as much as one could in the furtive we're-not-dead celebrations that didn't really qualify as parties. But every single huddle of students I wormed my way into gave the same answer: "she said goodbye a while ago."

Goodbye implied she'd had a destination in mind. If she did, it was one I could find. But after searching through now-empty dining halls, dojos, and Kidou ranges—which earned me singed hakama—I couldn't imagine what it had been. Even checking Mizuchi and our bedroom turned up nothing. It was utterly ridiculous and paranoid to assume that she'd meant goodbye permanently, but I was a psychic reincarnation from another world who carried around a scroll centered around the adventures of a Shinigami-Quincy-Hollow hybrid. Forget throwing probable out the window; it had never been in the building.

"Ugh!" I said to no one, though I was surrounded by students getting out of class. "She's not an onmitsu! How can I not find- bleh!" The spring breeze, which had been playing with my hair, batted particularly hard and got my hair ribbon in my mouth. I extracted it and examined the moistened red ribbon with only slightly played-up disgust. Blood was one thing. Spit, from the same mouth that chewed food and probably swallowed spiders in my sleep, was another.

Hey, I was a teenage girl. I was allowed to be grossed out.

A red ribbon... why is that so familiar? I peered at it for a second before the answer came to me. Spirit ribbons. Torisei had tugged on mine and Ishida had used them to demonstrate his knowledge of Ichigo's substitute status. They were good tracking tools, though you'd know if someone grabbed yours. But I had more reiryoku to spare for flash-step than Shinju. If she ran—which I doubted; too unseemly—I'd probably be able to catch her.

I inched free of the flow of traffic. For a second I thought about trying to use my spirit-sight, but it was too risky with everyone around. The onmitsu here weren't even trying to hide, not to mention the sheer number of people would blind me. Ribbons it was.

Reiatsu was all around us, all the time. It was so basic we'd talked about it on the first day of Reiryoku Manipulation. We weren't overwhelmed by it because it was so omnipresent, like air. But that was inaccurate. Reiryoku was air, while reiatsu was wind. It was like breathing—so obvious and simple that you didn't think about it until someone reminded you. Sometimes I wondered if my spirit-sense just an extension of it, like my consciousness of honorifics, the result of all this having once been utterly alien and indescribable. But unlike spirit-sense, unlike honorifics and breathing, mastery of sensing reiatsu only came when you weren't trying. It was tough, trying to not be trying, but in a way it was like meditation. You were aware of everything when you focused on nothing.

I shut my eyes, letting the hubbub of the crowd wash over me. Ever so slowly and slightly I relaxed my death grip on my reiatsu, letting it cloak me. The 'wind' of ambient reiatsu lapped at it, tugging my mind this way and that. I nudged my focus back to my breathing until it stopped. The movement of air lay in many currents, but I only needed one breeze.

Shinju. Once-stranger, then-friend, now-enigma. Ice between us, freezing me out and her in. Shinju clad in river jewels and dyed silks. Shinju who walks through wisteria at twilight. Shinju born under the auspices of tradition and commerce, Shinju treading the path her family laid out for her. Fujikage Shinju. I let the words unfurl in my mind like an incantation. As with Kidou, they didn't really matter. The important part was evoking Shinju. There was no formula for identifying a person's soul, but rationality only took you so far.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

With every word, every recollection of everything that Shinju and no one else was to me, the river of reiatsu dried up until only a trickle remained. I lifted a hand, letting it run through my fingers. Sweet perfume filled my nose, slightly too faint to cloy. Shinju, distant but very much alive.

My eyes snapped open as I seized the current, which drew taut with a crack. A ribbon the color of my family's light plum pink dye was pinched between my index finger and thumb.

There were also eyes on me. A fair few. I tensed, ready to make embarrassed sounds and slip away, and stopped myself. The only way to effectively play a part was to stop playing it and start being it. So I shook the stiffness from my muscles, laughed, and chirped some nonsense about wanting Shinju for a slumber party. That it was true, in a roundabout way, didn't stop me from flash-stepping out of there the second I saw a gap in the crowd. The kernel of me I kept for myself was redder than the maples around Shin'ou.

Shinju's spirit ribbon led to some of those maples, though she was—as was becoming a trend—nowhere to be found beneath their scarlet leaves. Her ribbon, if anything, led up. I followed it to the base of a lone cherry blossom tree, where a pair of tabi and geta lay next to a perfectly folded, expensive-looking kimono. The ribbon had become so vertical I was starting to wonder if my reassessment of her fate had been wrong.

A delicate, ladylike cough sounded from above me.

Shinju sat on one of the lower branches, barefoot and wearing only a nagajuban. Somehow I'd expected to find her sitting seiza, or at least yokozuwari, but she sat the way I would've sat Before, back against the tree and legs outstretched so her body formed an L shape. Though her hair was gathered in an elegant shimada-style bun, her face was plain and tired.

"You know, it's rude to do that to a person outside of a tracking mission or a superior-subordinate context," she said.

Oops. Yet another rule I'd breached without knowing it, even as Shinju was acutely aware. I released it into the ether, scratching the nape of my neck sheepishly. "Sorry. I couldn't find you anywhere, no matter how hard I looked. I got worried."

She blinked. "Worried? You? I had thought you would be too busy."

"You mean with Shinji and stuff?" I huffed a laugh. "I love the boy, but there's only so much I can take of my annoying little brother, you know? Besides, he can be such a hothead. I needed to cool off." A thought tugged at me and I gave voice to it because my mask- because I was the sort of person to say things that crossed my mind. "That's some professional-quality folding you did of the kimono. I remember getting drafted into cloth-folding duty too, but I was never as good as you are at it."

She laughed—a real laugh, not the polished noblewoman's giggle. But it was too real, an aching laugh dredged up from a bitter place deep within. Shinju hugged her sides as if to hold it in. "Too busy for me, I meant." She looked down at me, angle stripping her gaze of its grey veil. "You really are the strangest girl, you know? But I don't think you do."

I beamed because hey, defending people was weird in this world. It might as well be a compliment. "So people keep telling me. I happen to think I make perfect sense." My neck twinged. "Hey, any chance I could join you up there, study buddy?"

She nodded, and after some examination of my options and a half-dozen false starts, I made it up to a branch near hers.

"Tree-climbing! Who knew it was a skill of such an elegant and refined noblewoman as yourself!" I grinned at her.

Shinju pursed her lips, giving me a long and searching look. "Are you making fun of me?"

It was good I was slightly out of breath from the climb, or I would've denied it and lied without meaning to. "A little bit," I said when my sides had stopped heaving. "But I am surprised that you of all people are up a tree. Aren't you going to get dirty?"

"I'm careful," she said primly. "Besides, I've removed my outer layers, as you've managed to notice."

I rolled with the jab, shrugging. "Even so. Didn't you tell me you wouldn't break someone's nose because it was too crude? If someone'd asked me who I thought would be shimmying up trees, I wouldn't say you."

Looking out at the grove, it was obvious why this was the only cherry blossom tree now. A burn scar marred its back side, not readily apparent against dark brown but not the perfection you'd expect from Shin'ou. I could only guess at the story behind it; maybe the rest of the grove had been irreparably damaged and the lone survivor left standing for sentimental reasons.

"Because it was too cruel," Shinju corrected. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be joining me. You don't need me, you know. After what I said to you in Kinsawa, you don't even have sentimental reasons to keep me around."

I gave up trying to break off a piece of bark as a fidget and folded my hands in my lap. "Don't I? We're roommates. Living with an enemy for the next six years would be torture. Even living with someone who couldn't care less would be awkward."

"I'm not on your level, let alone Shinji-san's," she countered. "We're nothing like each other, you know? You pretended to be Quincy and kidnap me. I denigrated you and your family. We haven't understood each other from the day we met."

All perfectly logical. All obstacles to my objective in coming here. "That's common ground," I pointed out. "We've both attacked each other. Not to mention we're both noble, both girls in training to become Shinigami, both interested in cloth, dye and clothing. I'd say we're at least a little like each other."

"All superficial," she said. I waited for her to offer more, but no luck.

So I went with bluntness. Bluntness softened by perkiness, but still. "Yep! Isn't that a little sad, Fujikage-chan? That we mostly know superficial things about each other? That over those, we've mistrusted and fought each other? That you really think I'd leave you behind because you aren't 'on my level'?" I made air quotes around the words with my fingers. It was an appeal to her romantic, sentimental side, one heightened by my irritation at the lack of real information I had on her. Information was power, bargaining power. If I wanted to get something worked out with her, I needed that. "And it all comes back to what you just said: we've never understood each other."

She frowned, twisting a lock of hair around a finger. "I know you're a-a radical," she dropped her voice low. At a normal volume, she added, "I know you have the power to be a great Shinigami, but none of the right attitudes. I know you doubt the very person you want to become."

"No," I said, gaze skittering away, "you don't. I've been rethinking. Considering. But that's not the point. If we were close, I would've told you that. We aren't. And as it stands right now, we can't be. We've already fouled things up, always being on different pages, reading different messages in the same characters."

She inhaled sharply. When she collected herself, she was as composed, as stone-faced and bright-eyed, as I'd ever seen her. "Then you've lost me again. How can you find our situation sad while you don't think it fixable? How can you suddenly be okay with the state of things?"

I clicked my tongue, letting the smile I'd barely been conscious of holding widen. Here it was, the clincher. "That's exactly what I mean by being on different pages. I'm not suddenly okay with anything. I'm just... stepping back. Re-evaluating. That's why I think we can't fix what we have right now. So let's start over. Make something better. Something more open. You tell me what's been eating at you, I tell you what I'm mulling over, and we go from there. Instead of holding on to what we have, give and take. Reciprocity." You can't have English, though, I thought mulishly. The day I give that away is the day I stop being me and start being just a girl who knows too much. "I'll start." I twisted, bending at the waist in a clumsy bow. "Hi. I'm Hirako Nariko. Nice to meet you, roommate."

She sputtered. "Y-You can't just-"

I held up a finger. "Ah-ah. We just met. I don't even know your name."

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. "I'm Fujikage Shinju. Please treat me well."

I spread my arms wide and nearly fell off the branch. "Augh! Um. Ahem." I rebalanced myself and made a smaller gesture. "See, there we go. Something new. So, Fujikage Shinju-san, what's this thing between us going to be? An alliance? Friendship? Or just a 'candles out at this time, here's your side of the room' sort of relationship?"

Shinju bit her lip. "I would prefer a friendship. Logically, with our being under different clans, that opens up more possibilities."

I flowed, water instead of lightning, and took the shape of the situation, because it was what my persona- what I would do. Shinju spoke the language of diplomacy, where every word was important, and every implication more so. Shinju was more sentimental and sensitive than I; logic wasn't necessarily what drove her. Nor, with her hang-ups about family, were her individual preferences, even if the possibilities she spoke of were clearly special political and commercial arrangements eased by genuine closeness. "That's true," I agreed airily. "What are you going to suggest instead?"

Her eyes widened fractionally and settled in the curve of a smile. "An alliance. You have demonstrably more practical skill than I, in Hakuda and Zanjutsu, at least. Not to mention- well." From the way her gaze traced my face, I could guess. Shinji was an asset who'd only stayed out of the spotlight by being a Hirako. "Your academic intelligence has been useful in our study group as well. Perhaps you possess intelligence regarding other matters, as in Kinsawa?"

So that's how it is. She wanted training in the physical zankensoki and some of my knowledge. Whether she meant it in the sense of information from my family or simply wild card knowledge like my English I couldn't tell, but now wasn't the time to come out and ask. "You're rather adept at the manners and rules of high society," I noted. The ones I miss, the ones I need as rungs on the political ladder. "Of course, it was in Kinsawa that you displayed skill at flash-step. We would've been lost without your knowledge of the binding way." Teach me flash-step and Kidou. It was clumsy, childish dancing around what we were offering, but it was something I knew she'd appreciate.

"Then it's sealed," she murmured. "An exchange of skills and knowledge." She glanced over at me, almost shyly. "Perhaps as we continue, we may—what was the word you used? re-evaluate?—our relationship."

I nodded. "I'd like that very much. So, our first transaction. You or me first?"

She sighed, reaching up as if to take her hair down, then letting her hands fall into her lap. "I think it's only right that it be me. As enigmatic as you are, you have a sincerity of spirit, you know?"

"I'll take your word for it," I answered, setting my internal scribe ready. "Whenever you're ready."

She laughed that aching laugh again. "I don't know that I'll ever be 'ready.' And yet... it's only proper."

"Fujikage Akira and Fujikage Sango begat and brought up three children," she began in the methodical lilt of the traditional lineage recitation. "The first, set out and confirmed as heir, was Fujikage Kohaku. The second was Fujikage Keiko and the third Fujikage Shinju. Traced back through the father, back through centuries of splendor and order, clan records recount Fujikage Iwao, Fujikage Takara, Fujikage Naoki, Fujikage Kinsuke, Fujikage Itsuki, and Fujikage Ren." She paused at the expected place, after reaching a lucky seven generations back from the start, but something painful flickered in her eyes. "I am a third child and a second daughter. Or... I was. My sister is no longer with us."

I jerked back, thankful for the tree to hold me there. "I'm so sorry."

She shut her eyes. "It was her choice," she said with the tired certainty of someone who needed to believe what they were saying. "She ended her life for a variety of reasons. I hope you understand why I'd prefer not to be specific. But they amount to putting her passions before the needs of the clan and being distraught when the sword of the Shinigami cut away the rot."

I bowed my head in acknowledgement. I had no wish to carry it back to my family, but clearly whatever it was was so bad for the Fujikage that they didn't just want it forgotten, they wanted it to never have been known.

"My brother will, at some point, marry," Shinju continued. "But it will be against his will, and his bride lonely in bed. As a result, when my parents learned that I possessed a substantial amount of reiryoku, they were thrilled. 'A child entering your house is a pearl on your neck, a Shinigami a black pearl,'" she quoted. "I want to be a Shinigami more than anything, Hirako-san. To help people by upholding the law is my perfect path. My family wants the same thing. But they want it to increase my chances of connecting our clan to a more prestigious house. And the longer my brother goes on without wedding a woman, the more time my family has to decline."

I wanted to interject, to ask if that was why she had seemed so desperate to progress quickly and so dismayed by my 'outshining' her. But it would've been inappropriate. This was a confession, not an interrogation.

Water sank into the bark of her branch. "What you said in Kinsawa, about doing what works for me, about not pretending to be perfect... I considered it. My family doesn't agree, you know? In my earlier letters to them, I may not have given you a glowing description. They filled the gaps there with their opinion of your family, and, well...it infuriates them that while you race ahead, I remain at the pace of my peers. You scare people more than you know, Hirako-san. And you scare them most of all, because you eclipse the person on which they've put all their hopes. Their belief... and until I came to Shin'ou and met you and your brother and Fugai-k- Fugai-san," she corrected herself to the more polite honorific, flushing pink, "and Aizen-san, my belief, was that noble blood ensured progress beyond that which those from the Rukongai could make. It puts a certain level of pressure on a person when they can't measure up."

I couldn't help interrupting this time. "I'm sorry, I'm just confused—Shinji and I are all noble, as far as I know. Where do we fit into that?"

She swallowed hard. The pink deepened to red. "Not all noble blood is equal, they say. Your patron clan's ancestral ties to war-clans don't help."

I frowned slightly. War-clans were vital to Soul Society's history, the product of people of different origins—whether Rukongai or born here—coming together out of necessity or in furtherance of a common goal. So vital, in fact, that the statues governing them were still on the books. All clans were born from them in one way or the other, I suspected, but the ones whose beginnings weren't as polished as the Kuchiki's tended to be looked on with slightly less respect than normal nobles. A lot of the Shihouin clan's strength came from having forged, by marriage, adoption, or contract, ironclad ties with a variety of powerful people who might've been overlooked as little better than rounin. But that wasn't important right now, so I held my tongue.

"I've been considering what you said," Shinju repeated, "and more. Our clans' mottoes. Mine is 'flourish on that which those before you have set forth.' Community and cooperation. Yours is 'see yourself in the flat of the blade, accepting the cruel edge and protective duty.' Pragmatism and awareness. I've been raised to accept that my family knows the right path for me and will carve me into the masterpiece I can be. But here... I think your clan has the right of it. I know myself. My strength is not, and never will be, what yours is, and my family's influence will not aid me here." She lifted her chin. "That does not mean I won't be the best I can for them. But I must walk my own path to that end."

I waited for her to continue, but the only sound in the grove was the sigh of leaves and petals in the wind. It was my turn. But first...

"Lean towards me a bit," I commanded, easing myself to the edge of the branch. She did so uneasily, but it was enough for me to wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze.

When we were settled on our respective branches again, I explained, "I promised to give you a hug after we got out of Kinsawa. Consider that an installment, given our location."

Shinju giggled, still without the noblewoman affectation. "Yes, I'd prefer not to fall out. Though I think I have the edge there, you know?"

I shrugged. "How are you so good at climbing trees, anyway? I'd expected your hidden talents to be more... I dunno, fancy."

She smiled softly. "My brother taught me. We used to run around together all the time, when we weren't being tutored—and sometimes when we should've been being tutored. Even when he came back from Shin'ou on break, he'd make time for it. We'd climb the trees and wisteria trellises, being small and light enough to do so, and laugh at how funny everything looked from up there." Her smile took on a sad edge. "He told me why he won't easily accept betrothal in a tree much like this one. I hated him for it at the time, but now... I think not. I do love my family, Hirako-san. They want the best for us all, even when fear and prejudice color their outlook."

I glanced away. "Me too. Even when it stings, I know they love me." I shrugged, palms up. "Clan life, right? Sometimes someone has to get left out."

Shinju bit her lip. "Your turn," she said after a moment.

I sighed, drumming my fingers on the bark. "Are there bugs in this tree? I hope not. So distracting, and I'm not nearly as focused as I pretend..." I pushed her patience just to the breaking point, then pulled back. "I have faith in people," I said. "More than they deserve. But I don't really... understand them. Systems and rules, those I get. Easier to navigate and process."

Another sigh, this one filled with pent-up frustration instead of distraction. "I won't explain that idealism. I can't." Not when it's tied to Living World values. "So I'll just say that on the clan estate, the only systems and rules I ever had to deal with were academic. The Hirako pride ourselves on only keeping a toehold on the system." I gave her a tiny smile, acknowledging that she had me beat there. "When the only people you encounter regularly are family or friends of family, that faith in people is confirmed. Everyone's friendly; the ones who aren't are civil. Talking it out works more often than not. And when it didn't, I ran to the library and read about people who were better. Tales of noble samurai and brave heroes, people who helped everyone no matter where they came from, people who did the right thing and had it mean something. I thought if I worked hard, if I set out these grand plans and stuck to them, I could be one of them."

Shinju's forehead creased ever so slightly. It was as close as she'd come to interrupting me with a 'but.' So I obliged.

"But I came here. I met teachers who weren't what I thought they were, in good and bad ways. I made friends who were from places and circumstances I can still barely imagine. I fought with Momohiko. I got to know you." At her half-startled, half-taken aback blink, I hastened to reassure her, hands waving, "Not lumping all those people together. I'm just saying you all were... different. More flawed, more real people, not from stories. Training sure wasn't like what I read about." My hands lay palms-up in my lap, calloused evidence of that. "Fighting wasn't either."

A laugh tore free from my throat. "I thought my first kill would be a Hollow. Nice and neat, you know? Dissolves into reishi, souls are free, everything's objectively better for them being gone. Well, I almost got it. A tortured, remorseless monster with a taste for souls, only born from the sword I can't imagine living without and people-shaped. Life is better. I barely even think about it anymore. From there, people." I worked my jaw, ready to clench in anger. In self-defense. "I used to believe the system was unequivocally wrong. I still don't think I deserve the life I've led more than, say, Minoru. But the people I killed in Kinsawa... I don't regret it. The way they went about change was wrong. If that's the sort of people that are going to rise up, the suppressions I used to rail against when no one was around can't all have been wrong. There's no way we did the wrong thing there, no way I can say similar situations in the future are wrong. Not for sure."

My breathing, harder and faster than I would've liked, drowned out the whisper of leaves. I yanked it back under control. My face hadn't slipped yet. I wouldn't let my voice betray that.

"Right and wrong," I mused aloud, since those were my favorite words today. "Black and white. I always knew grey existed. But lately I've been wondering whether I've had some things on the wrong sides." A deliberate shift to a fresher smile, a lighter tone. "I still believe in stories. They're how we understand the world, and how we tell them, how we write them matters. Standing here in the real world, I think my arc's changed."

Cool wind sighed across the back of my neck. I shivered. Looking around us, the sky had gotten darker than I'd realized. It was nearly dinner, nearly night. As I thought it, the gong rang out.

I almost didn't want to hop down. Hidden in the shadows, among the wind and the moonlight, I felt more myself. Among people and lanterns I had to smile wider, laugh louder, act stronger. I had to participate instead of observe.

I slipped off the branch, landing heavily in the grass. What was I thinking? Staying out of the light, uninvolved, that was a relic of my past self, my weaker self who clung to old ground as her 'element.' I was more now. So much more.

With Shinju at my side I set off for crowds and warmth. Far from chilling and shattering me, our business had tempered me, made me stronger.

The results of our test came out tomorrow. Then it would be all confirmed. I would be stronger, surer. Ready to stop running and meet with Aizen.

Tomorrow, in the day, in the sun, in my element.

Chapter Text

Morning—evil, evil morning, shortly after dawn, thanks to evil, evil administration. They'd said something, or I'd been told at my repeated asking, about not wanting to waste the rest of their days, which were dedicated to wrapping things up for the higher years. Hmph. How about wasting the rooms they'd put us in? The ones we could've been sleeping in?

They were certainly wasting the amphitheater they'd gathered us in at the beginning of the year. It had to be hell on Ounabara's voice, which was raised to carry throughout the massive courtyard we stood in instead without the aid of architecture.

My sleep-weighted eyes flicked around the space and sluggishly my brain began to reconsider. What I hadn't noticed, being preoccupied with the teachers organizing us into rows straighter than a Kuchiki's back, were the awnings around it. Multi-colored cloths spanned the structure, too regular to be random. Someone had color-coded them, set up a system I was missing.

There. My family had called me a nerd and told me to stick to my studies instead of trivia when I'd committed it to memory. I'd proven them wrong, raising both to perfection, and now it was benefiting me. Purple, dark orange, spring green, puce... And so it went, down the line from the first to last. Or rather, from the first to thirteenth. One side was reserved for representatives from the Gotei 13, with two smaller tents for the Kidou Corps and Onmitsukidou, though I didn't doubt that the latter had more people than that observing. The other, occupants decked out in varying degrees of finery, was the domain of everyone else. Mostly nobility, with scattered residents of the Rukongai, here to see the results of their children, cousins, and possible future servants. Yeah, they said the Gotei 13 was an incorruptible power, but with nobility populating it, there was a certain degree of favors, networking, and contracting going on within, just as long as the wrong nobles didn't get too uppity. We all knew.

A jolt to my side, more surprise than pain. I glanced over to see Shinji, staring straight ahead with his arms folded behind his back. The way his left hand settled around his bicep—as well as the fact that the unusually-strict rows left no possibility for it to be anyone else—told me he was the culprit. Not that anyone would've guessed. Shinji's features held their usual smug, bored cast, but the lively fluctuations that usually lit them up were locked firmly beneath the surface.

Cold shoulder. Right.

Still, he was looking out for me enough that I tuned in just as Ounabara was finishing his welcome to the assembled crowd.

"-finally, the Spiritual Arts Academy extends welcome to all others, whether from clans of less prominence or from the Rukongai. We come now to the business for which you all have graced us with your presence. The Academy finds it necessary to separate the chaff from the grain, refining the quality of those admitted to the Gotei 13, Onmitsukidou, and Kidou Corps, and allowing us to more diligently train up the remainder. You understood this when you sent your peers and children to our institution, and the Academy will not provide you recompense beyond what we already produce in our successful graduates."

This time around, his speech wasn't vomit-inducing, just tiring, and then because I wanted to get on with my day. Results, give us the results already! We know you only care about the bottom line!

"Those standing before you today are those who have passed through the refining fire. Those who did not have been cast to the side, as impurities must be for society to continue. Make no mistake—this was not their first test, nor will it be their last. But today, the Spiritual Arts Academy recognizes their courage and strength as worthy. They have passed."

Polite applause broke out, more concentrated on the civilian side. They weren't here to know whether we'd passed.

Ounabara inclined his bare head as it died. "Today we recognize those preparing for careers in the Onmitsukidou and the Kidou Corps, the specifics of whose service is not available to the public, not intelligible to the public"-a smattering of laughter sounded-"or too complex to be cleanly assessed by any not in the relevant fields. As a whole, we recognize Feng Gang, Feng Jingyi, Feng Min, Feng Qiu, Feng Zhiqiang, Fujioka Ren, Shihouin Mizuki, Park Deok-Hye, Kobayashi Ami, Takamiya Chihiro, Fukui Chouko, and Liu Bai."

He paused, taking a pull from a flask of water. "We also recognize those who, through the recommendation of their supervising Shinigami, have distinguished themselves above the rest."

"In North 47th, we recognize Hayashi Junko, Maki Akemi, Nakano Hayate, and Himura Hideki. In South 14th, we recognize Sato Hiroki, Sato Hideyoshi, Shiba Suzume, and Shiba Hayato. In South 25th, we recognize Ise Kaede, Tachibana Kaori, Takahashi Keiko, Abe Katsu, and Yamashita Michiko. In East 36th, we recognize Watanabe Miho, Himura Minoru, and Sasaki Mayu. In West 31st, we recognize Kotetsu Kotone, Kotetsu Setsuko, Ukitake Hiroshi, and Inoue Chiyoko. In East 7th, we recognize Kuchiki Ayako, Himura Kenta, Himura Kenshin, and Kato Hanako. Finally, in West 5th, we recognize Wakahisa Momohiko, Hisakawa Asami, and Outoribashi Zinyamaru." My lip curled. Yeah, that was legit. Nice safe locations, accompanied by members of clans known to be very friendly to them... I didn't actually see any evidence of bullshit, but I smelled it. If they'd done anything, it hadn't been anything significant. None of them had even been close to how far out we'd been.

I wanted to spit on the ground, but my mouth was dry with rage and fear. If anyone had deserved the commendation, it was us. Instead it'd gone to those whose blood mattered more than what they'd shed. Had we been passed over because two of our members were from the Rukongai and the rest shadow nobles—those traditionally involved with the Onmitsukidou—or retainers to shadow nobles?

"Now we come to those whose recognition comes not from the mouths of Shinigami currently serving in the Rukongai, but instead from the halls of the Spiritual Arts Academy and even from the opinions of the Shinigami serving in Seireitei who recently graced us with their experience and wisdom. Where we must carefully read through the reports of mentoring Shinigami—all those assembled in some way merited approval there—to determine whose accolades are most deserved, the next students listed were nominated because their deeds were praised in many circles. The Academy feels it is worth noting that these students, in contrast to the groups previously mentioned, do not receive acclaim for actions taken as a group, but for individual deeds."

Hope fluttered in my chest. I quashed it. There was a time and place for hope, and this wasn't it. I'd make a fool of myself if I dared.

"Many students perform admirably while on this trial, but only a few achieved on such a scale that we felt compelled to acknowledge specifically what they did to earn accolades. We recognize Fujikage Shinju for the preservation of her teammate's life with healing Kidou in combat and for skillfully executed Bakudou such that another could execute the source of the recent revolt. We recognize Fugai Minoru for his decapitation of a Quincy in the throes of reishi intoxication and holding the line after experienced Shinigami had fallen. We recognize Sarugaki Hiyori for aiding Fugai in the same." I gritted my teeth at the failure to acknowledge her willingness to sacrifice herself for me, but perhaps it was expected here. Idiots. "We recognize Aizen Sousuke for putting down a Hollow nest that had already slain several older Shinigami. We recognize Hirako Shinji for personally eliminating the Quincy Bardulf and its followers. Finally, we recognize Hirako Nariko for crafting the strategy that saw three Quincy dead, many more abominations ended, and a traitor exposed, all without losing her companions."

Okay, so much of that wasn't down to me. My friends and Shinju had been crucial to that going through, not to mention a heaping of luck. Plus the plan hadn't even been that complicated. And were they really not going to mention that the traitor and one of the Quincy had been my mentors?

Apparently they were. Ounabara moved right on to the pleasantries and formalities required just to dismiss the onlookers. No such luck for us—he had more such things to rattle off so we could start getting our stuff out of the dorms and any other business we had from this year concluded. But finally we were done, released to congratulate each other and, as Ounabara hinted with only a slight tinge of his usual disappointment, attend a festival just outside the walls of Shin'ou. Not organized by the school, of course, but nobles being there lent a certain sheen of officialness.

I was mobbed, to put it nicely. To put it rudely—as was my first inclination—all the people who'd never thought much of me suddenly decided I was worth talking to, even fawning over. But the glow of pride was there to light my eyes and anchor my smile, so I made it through.

"-so then I said to him, 'Did someone call an exterminator?'" I related to a guy from Zanjutsu in my most humorous, conspiratorial voice.

"They were using some cocktail of Quincy blood and Kinsawa sekkiseki," I told a girl I saw often at the library, eyebrows quirked in nothing short of my finest attempt at intellectualism.

"Sure, I'd love to spar sometime," I said to half a dozen people, vaguely hoping that the Shinigami equivalent of getting coffee was just getting coffee.

By the time I could finally extricate myself without making it look like I was extricating myself, my head was spinning. Was this what it was like to be Shinju? Or Shinji? No, definitely Shinju, because Shinji went out looking for friends. Shinju held court.

I headed back to my room to find her occupied in a more mundane pursuit, that of packing. It was technically more accurate to say she was playing Tetris, since everything was already organized and just needed to be slotted into place, but that was too Before to tell her. Instead I joined her, since she'd started on my stuff.

"You work fast," I teased, wedging extra inkstones in between my nagajuban and tabi. "Did you need something to do with yourself, or were you just overawed with gratitude at my 'amazing' plan?"

She chuckled. "Already enamored of your own legend? No, I just wanted to tidy up a bit, you know? The faster you can get your belongings to where they need to be, the faster I can do the same."

"Fair enough," I said. "Thanks, anyway." I cast around for something to say. "The festival looks like it'd be fun to go to. The tournament, too."

She latched her trunk shut. "I'll be at the festival. A good chance to network and see my parents... and also Kohaku-nii told me there's a vendor who comes every year who sells the best ikayaki ever." She licked her lips, slightly dreamy expression crossing her face before blinking back to alertness. "Will your parents be there? I only realized after the fact that I should've given them a hospitality gift since I had to leave early, you know?"

I shrugged. "Dunno. They're the hands-off type, but they might come for Shinji. And me," I hastened to add, so Shinju didn't get the wrong idea about the Hirako. "I just don't know, since all the letters they probably wrote to me burned down with the barracks in Kinsawa."

She tilted her head, considering. "That is true. Now, what's this about the tournament? Are you going? It's not official, you know."

I bent over my belongings, ensuring they were all in the right place and taking the hidden-face time to roll my eyes. When I straightened, I gave her my best sheepish-but-not-swayed grin. "Yeah, but it's the closest thing to being official without a seal. Unless you think the hosts got past the onmitsu to put up posters on campus, poached students for entertainment, and advertised captains showing up without the powers that be shutting them down?" I gave it a moment to sink in before admitting, "I was going to join, actually. I persuaded Minoru-kun to do it with me. He was going to get Nanase-san on board, but..."

Shinju grimaced, as much as her pretty face could grimace. "Yes, I could see where you'd have a problem now." She raised an eyebrow. "You're really going to attempt it? You're going to die!" Pink stained her cheeks. "I mean, um... I'd hate to see our arrangement cut off so soon. And realistically, your odds of success are slim."

I sighed, stooping against to shut my trunk. "Yeah, everyone's been telling me that. But I figure A) there's no way they could run this thing without healers and B) I don't need to win to win."

That won a surprisingly wide smile from her. "You're looking to raise your profile? Well, that's a goal I can support."

"If that's a serious offer, I don't know what I can offer you in return," I replied. "Not to mention I was going to invite Sarugaki-kun... and Aizen-san, if I could find him."

"Not Shinji-kun?" she asked.

I hesitated. "It's a singles tournament. Even if he was willing to listen to anything I had to say, I don't want to fight my brother." I forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'd probably lose anyway."

Shinju's lashes dropped in a considering look, but she nodded. "I'm not sure how much I could do for Aizen-san, but Sarugaki-san could be reasonably pretty if she stopped scowling and Fugai-kun's only rough around the edges. In any event, as long as I was already there tending to your public image, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to include those three, you know?"

"You still haven't said what you want in exchange," I pointed out.

"It's a good excuse to be out there mingling, if you're right about members of the Gotei 13 attending," she answered. "That, and my parents gave me this summer to do what I wanted." A smile played over her lips, making it all the way to her eyes. "If the worst thing that happens is that I'm bored, it'll be a good summer. I'll be able to tell them I stepped out of my comfort zone, at the very least, and the chance to see the technique of more experienced Shinigami is welcome." At my startled blink, she folded her arms. "You aren't the only one who can observe her opponents, you know. And if you must balance the scales, I suppose you can owe me a favor of indeterminate size. We'll have to see how well you do."

Ugh, generic favors. But considering I hadn't even asked for her help and I could always break things off if she got too extreme, it was going to have to be fine. "Deal."

She beamed—outright beamed, instilling me with whatever you called the feeling of d'awww and a newfound fear of bodysnatchers. "Perfect! Then let's get changed and go to the festival!"

"Changed? Into what?" I asked.

"Into some more festive outfits, obviously." She scoffed, clearly in a rare mood. "Don't tell me you already packed everything away."

"...I already packed everything away."

 We made it out far later than even I had expected. Not only had we had to dig through everything to get to the relevant items, Shinju had pored over them, selecting the perfect outfit for me. Okay, it wasn't perfect, but it was acceptable, in her words.

So I minced down the hall in zouri rather than waraji. Shinju had tossed aside the undyed nagajuban I preferred under my kimono, calling it unsuitable, which was Shinju for horrible. Instead, she'd forced me into a baby blue getup, with tiny teal birds at the collar and sleeves. The kimono itself was sky blue, printed with multicolored irises and the waving lines of flowing water. The obi was bolder still, a deep blue-green decorated elaborately with tea green hydrangea to hint at the coming summer. I hadn't even meant to pack that, not expecting this kind of thing during my time at Shin'ou, but it certainly came in handy now. The whole ensemble was tied together—pun intended—with a narrow pink obijime.

I'd thought I'd escaped there. Oh, how foolish I'd been. Shinju had pounced on my head, twisting and stabbing at my hair until it was in an updo, secured with iris kanzashi, which I had intended to bring. Irises were some of my favorite flowers. The trailing silver butterflies were Shinju's addition, since those were some of her favorites and she had enough to make a swarm of butterflies. Or, as she corrected me, a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Never mind that they were monochrome.

Despite pronouncing me acceptable, Shinju had outdone me with her ensemble. A dove-grey nagajuban accented by muted pink butterflies added a subtle undertone to a light blue-purple kimono adorned with lavender and pink flowering dogwood. The obi, a white number painted with wisteria, perfectly complemented the trailing wisteria and butterfly kanzashi in her hair. With her skill at dressing herself—aided by my clumsier fingers—she almost didn't need the silver obijime to hold it together.

My contribution were the fans. Though we had to leave our Zanpakutou in the custody of the jinzen hall, since for some strange reason carrying magic weapons was frowned upon outside of the school year and wartime—why had nobody told me that before? Was it the scary rep? It was probably the scary rep—I brought along a white fan printed with violet clematis. Shinju got a white fan as well, but hers was decorated with intertwined koi and cherry blossoms.

In short, we looked fabulous. Even if my pale, pale neck was probably going to be sunburned by the end of the day and I was already getting a headache from the tight hairstyle. But fabulous. I was going to be happy today, dammit. Even if that bit about wrapping things up for the higher years was total bull, because they were already heading back to their own dorms to pack up. We had a short window of opportunity before the festival was overrun by giant, scary upperclassmen. Whoever started the 'notice me, senpai' thing was way off base, just saying.

Crystal chimed close by. I whirled to catch a familiar olive cloak disappearing into the library. Speaking of opportunities...

"Is there anywhere we can meet up?" I asked Shinju. "I just remembered I have to take care of something real quick."

She blinked, disappointment creasing her forehead. "Well, the wait for that ikayaki stall I mentioned is fairly long. If you look for it, you should see a large squid sign. Do try to hurry, though. I thought we could go get those tournament passes."

I nodded. "If you see Sarugaki-kun, you could try to persuade her to come along. It'd save time."

She bobbed her head in agreement and melted back into the crowd. Taking a big breath of fresh spring air, I headed in after Aizen.

 The library wasn't how I remembered it. Maybe it was just the feeling you got coming back to a familiar place after an intense experience, or maybe it was that someone had pushed aside the shelves and swept away the dust to uncover actual windows. It was a strange juxtaposition, the architecture I usually associated with Europe and Before and the mountain of very Edo scrolls. Still, I appreciated golden beams filtering in, lending the place a soothing air, making it a refuge from the hubbub outside. Even the dust motes dancing in them brought a touch of cheer.

The usual library volunteer, looking a touch better-rested than the last time we'd met, was busily accepting scrolls students had just now decided to return. I almost felt bad for him as he tried to get people to at least form a line, but that wasn't my business. I slipped through them and followed Aizen, who was making a beeline for the back.

He returns to his den, Arashi murmured, flowing voice touched by glints of sunshine.

Do you have no compassion? He was in Kinsawa with us, except he had to fight off Hollows, I scolded her.

His sanctum, then, she said. The place he feels most comfortable, to which he returns to lick his wounds. Perhaps your presence will expedite that. Or set him off. Tread carefully, daoshi.

Always, I replied.

"Nariko-san?"

...or not. I'd tried to be quiet and inoffensive, but somehow he'd noticed me anyway. Not that I would've known without his speaking up—his back was to me, several feet away.

"Aizen-san," I answered. "Do you have a moment?"

He huffed a laugh, turning around. "I have the entire break, Nariko-san."

Well, this was going nowhere. "And are you going to spend it all in here?" I gestured around us. "There's a festival going on, you know. I figure we 'heroes' should make an appearance."

"We aren't heroes," he said, pushing his glasses up. "Least of all me."

"We're survivors," I said, ignoring the fact that I felt pretty heroic, "and we're kids. Personally, I'm happy to have a chance to chow down on street food and walk around in something other than a uniform. You don't want to go?"

He ignored me, adjusting his cloak. "Why are you here, Nariko-san? You made it clear you want me at a safe distance."

I crossed the distance between us and knelt at the low tables. I motioned for him to join me. "Because I wanted to clear things up, for real."

He knelt on the other side, eyeing me wordlessly.

"I was angry, back in Kinsawa, and scared," I said, resting my hands palms-down on the table, where he could see them. "Worried, too. About you. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how. It all kinda... came to a head when you freaked out. My brain froze up and my body ran away."

He frowned into his lap. "You say that, but you're here. You came back. You can't say two things at once."

Did Shin'ou have literature classes? It should've. But when I cleared away the snark, I understood, and my heart broke. "Not everyone who leaves leaves for good. I just needed time to center myself. I didn't want to lash out and hurt you by accident."

He raised his head. "You... didn't want to hurt me?"

I tilted my head. "No. I still don't, I never have, and I don't think I ever will." But I'll do it, if you go Butterflaizen on us. "So this is an apology." I bowed, forehead touching the table. "Aizen-san, I never meant to hurt you, and it is my sincerest hope that you will come to forgive me for having done so, and that I can be a shoulder to lean on for you in the future."

Pretty damn good, for having come up with that on the spot. Not that it was false, but I usually tripped over myself more than that.

"So, um, I heard about what happened in Kinsawa. Did you... want to talk about that?" There, the universe was back in balance. "You know, if you're ready, or comfortable, or anything."

He shifted from foot to foot, or rather from knee to knee. "You don't have to do this, you know. Extend yourself over and over again to me, after I've warned you away."

I smiled, a real smile, slight and bittersweet. "Maybe not"-even though I totally do-"but I want to. We're friends, at least in my estimation, you know? Trying to give you a place to open up isn't a mission. It's just me, knowing how hard it can be to keep secrets." I sighed, casting around for something other than a repeat of the 'you can trust me' speech I'd given him at New Year's. "I get that you're not the type to open up, but I'm not just saying this because I want to have slumber parties. Too many secrets weigh on relationships with others, and on you. Sooner or later it becomes too much to carry alone." I leaned forward, looking him right in the eye, or at least the glasses. "You can stay on the edge of the crowd as much as you want, just as long as you know that we'll always welcome you in."

Aizen leaned forward, giving me a searching look. Sunlight glinted on brown eyes and sent eerie paleness dancing across them for an instant. "And yourself? Whose shoulder do you lean on, Nariko-san? Who adds their strength to yours, when you're too burdened to continue?"

I pulled back, stomach flip-flopping. "You didn't answer the question," I said. "Do you want to talk about Kinsawa?"

He looked at me for a minute before settling back on his heels and pushing his glasses up again. "It was Hollows, as I'm sure you've heard," he said, stilted. That was redundant, really. Aizen was stiffer than Shinji and me acting out snippets of Noh plays as kids, except he was playing himself and still getting it wrong. "I was separated from Shinji-san and heard people shouting in the distance. I assumed that the source was Shinji-san and our mentors. When I arrived, I discovered I was too late. I fought and slew the Hollows. Only afterwards was I able to examine the remains and realize that my assumption of their identities had been incorrect." He wiped absently at his mouth.

Neat, clear, and simple. It was exactly the sort of story I would've put in a report to Torisei, sterile and factual because I refused to give paranoid control freak superiors any enjoyment from my writing. For opening up to me, it was pretty lousy. No hint of how Aizen felt about the whole deal, or even—and I felt slightly guilty for thinking this—some juicy details of an epic battle. Aizen was the first one of us to even see Hollows and that was all he had to say? Really? But I inclined my head, taking it in the spirit it was meant. "Thank you," I murmured. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

He tucked his chin down. "Please don't sympathize with me," he said. "Like I said, I'm not a hero."

A little firmness, to match his, to shake off the icy fingers on my spine at the thought of claws and fangs tearing into me like a gristly piece of steak. "I'll sympathize with whoever I want," I replied. "It's a nasty way to go, getting eaten alive. You avenged them. I don't know if hero is the right word for it, but I respect that."

Aizen's stomach picked that moment to growl, loudly. He doubled over. Guilt, no doubt for the unfortunate timing, flashed over his face, or maybe that was a wince at the volume. Either way, I pounced on the rare show of emotion.

"How about we go to the festival? I'll buy you all the unhealthy street food you can eat," I improvised. "And if you want to do the tournament with me and Minoru-kun while we're at it, all the better."

"I was already planning to attend," he said, stunning me for the second time that day. "As to your second proposal, as much as I dislike crowds, it's been a dangerously long time since I've eaten. I would like to go with you, very much."

"Excellent!" I said, rising. "But you should know, you're going to overheat and die if you hang onto the cloak out there. And they probably won't let you in if you bring your sword."

He paused, but at another rumble, sighed and shucked off the cloak, revealing a plain navy yukata faded almost to a more seasonal cobalt, further brightened by a slate obi. Well, men could get away with more subdued ensembles. I'd take it.

Together we headed out, dropped Aizen's sword off with mine, and set off for the festival.

When Aizen had said it had been a dangerously long time since he'd had anything to eat, he hadn't been kidding. I swear we stopped at every third stall to grab him something. After the first couple of pit stops, I thought he'd need some cool-off time to chow down. But no, no sooner had I handed him the purchase than it disappeared down his gullet.

After the fifth such instance, I planted myself between him and the path to the ikayaki stand, hands on hips.

"Am I going to have to hold your hair when you're sick?" I demanded. "Not that I'm cutting you off; I'm just getting a little bit concerned. This stuff is a ticket to a heart attack."

He gave his usual soft smile. Some color had come back to his cheeks, and he only swayed slightly when we weren't walking. Success. "Don't worry, Nariko-san. I grew up on worse."

And it was time for me to eat my foot. Dumbass. Rukongai, remember? "I'm the biggest idiot in the world," I muttered, shifting my smile—feeling almost natural now—to a sheepish one. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug as we continued on. "Would you prefer that I chalk it up to the change in hairstyle? It's my understanding that such tight buns can cut off circulation," he said, giving me a concerned look.

My hand flew to my temple. "You think so? Oh no. Should I take it down? Should I sit down before I pass out in the middle of the road? I don't want to make a scene. Is it cause a scene or make a scene? I never know."

The smile wobbled. "I was only trying to add to the light mood of the day. Did I say something wrong?"

I laughed, surprised and liking it for the second time that day. "No, no, not at all. You're so serious all the time, I didn't realize you were joking."

"Should I make it more obvious?" he asked. "Like this?" His face made an expression which... just, no. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to slap it off his face—which I was sure passersby would call self-defense—or start asking him stroke test questions. And he held it, without twitching or indicating he knew how wrong it was, while my inner debate raged.

Finally I choked out, "No, please don't. Deadpan humor is good too."

He nodded, dropping the rictus as quickly as he'd called it up. "Well," he said, "it's nice. Your hair, I mean, for being styled. I think natural is the best look."

I glanced away, cheeks burning. Even with my annoyance at someone telling me how I should look, it made the fancy getup a little easier to bear. And so unexpected from Aizen. That was the real thing making me happy, his communicating an iota of emotion. Progress. "I didn't think anyone would notice," I said, unable to keep my hand from plucking at the wispy hairs that escaped the bun. I smacked it with the other and let both fall. Without having Arashi's hilt to rest them on, I didn't know what to do with my hands.

"You have a flower in it," Aizen noted. We sucked in a breath and scooted through a gap no adult could've passed. Young bodies came with a few perks. "How could anyone not notice?"

I shrugged. "Lots of women wear flower ornaments—hana kanzashi, they're called, and the dangling ones are birabira—especially civilians and girls my age. Eventually I'll have to switch it up between ougi and kogai, since I'll be confirmed as hime and be a Shinigami." I made a face, despite the fact that it'd be one less colorful, symbolic headache to coordinate. "Plus Shinji and I aren't the only Hirako—I've seen a couple distant cousins just on our way here. Flowers, Hirako looks—I don't stick out that much, not to most people."

He tilted his head. "They mean something?"

I nodded, squinting around for the sign Shinju had said was above the ikayaki stand. As beautiful and lush as this district was, the intimate little alleys, cherry trees heavy with blossoms, and the choke of stalls for the festival made it tough to get where you were going even when you were tall enough to see above the crowd. "Kogai are named after the bit on some swords that you can maintain your hair with, so, y'know, Shinigami. Ougi are the formal fan ones with the mon and everything, so that's for clan stuff. I like the flower language, personally."

"Language?" Aizen parroted. He was out of his depth here, but I admired his willingness to keep up. "Ah, I see the sign." He pointed—I would feel so shitty about permaglasses having better eyes than me if I didn't know they were fake—and we continued on.

"They all mean something," I told him, squeezing past a stopped cart. "Like the irises in my hair and on my kimono. They represent good news"-I took a chance and threw in some European flower language; he wouldn't know-"hope and loyalty when a civilian wears them, and when a Shinigami wears them, a warrior's spirit and protection from demons."

Aizen eyed them dubiously. "Are you sure they work?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Thanks a lot! Now you've jinxed me again. My necklace, my kanzashi—are there any other accessories of mine you'd like to curse?"

A soft smile, quickly chased away by a burly festival-goer well into his cups almost toppling into him. "How about the rest of what you're wearing?"

I plucked at the obi. Was this going to be a pattern, walking around feeling like food? It wasn't quite as dark as seaweed, but I was basically Nariko sushi. "Hydrangeas mean pride, but really it's just that this was my most seasonal obi. The streams on my kimono are seasonal... what else? The birds and bees!" Something about that was wrong. When I realized, my entire face turned into a tomato. Stupid Aizen, making me mess up my stupid words. "Forget I said that. I meant butterflies. Birds guide the dead, like we do, or will. The butterflies mean eternity, femininity, and, um, love. Those were Fujikage-san's idea, I swear. Even the blue base is supposed to keep away bugs and snakes." I paused for breath after that ramble. "The flowers on my fan are revenge for not being able to bring my Zanpakutou in—yeah, they mean art, but..." I trailed off, throwing him a participation bone.

"...tessen for tessen," he finished, smile growing fractionally. "I'm surprised. You can communicate so much with a single outfit."

I flapped a hand at him. "Ah, it's nothing really. Fujikage-san put most of it together, and luck's the only reason she had anything good to work with. She's the one you want to talk to if you really want to know more." I sighed. "A real lady would have picked it all out months in advance and have a coherent message to send."

His brow wrinkled. "How about... take hope in a Shinigami who, by pride in her arts, forever protects others from demons."

I chuckled. "Y'know, if anyone asks, this was all planned to convey exactly that. You're a genius, Aizen-san."

"Hardly," he said, and with that we came to the long-awaited ikayaki stand. Shinju's prediction was right on the money: a mob, though thinning, had formed around the beleaguered vendor, any attempts to form an orderly line swiftly shot down by the traffic pouring past it. Her request that we make it before she made her purchase hadn't worked out; she stood to the side of the stall, blissfully chowing down on squid.

"Fujikage-san!" I called, trotting over with Aizen in tow. "Is it what you hoped it'd be?"

She swallowed before answering, because of course she did. "Exactly what I'd dreamed of! Quick, go get some before they're sold out!"

I shook my head. "I'm good; I ate a bunch of okonomiyaki on the way over. Aizen-san, did you want any?"

He sized up the remains of Shinju's squid-on-a-stick. "Just one, please. I'm about full."

My purse strings thank you. "Alright, here." I tossed him the appropriate amount of kan and let him go.

"Talking him for a walk and feeding him?" Shinju said.

"If you're going to make a Rukongai dog joke, don't," I warned.

She frowned slightly. "I wasn't," she said, putting us a step back on the path towards maybe-friendship. "Well, a dog joke, but not because he's from the Rukongai, you know? I was just going to say that it's cute, his following you around like a puppy. You know there's a saying that"-I resisted the urge to interrupt the cliche-"the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That and long walks in the moonlight."

I snapped my fan open, both to cool myself and give my mouth a chance to relax. "Please don't start. I don't like seeing people in distress, that's all." My free hand swiped through the air Arashi should've occupied. "Besides, if you seriously think I'm going to jeopardize my academics for a relationship, no. Just no."

Though her eyebrows remained level, I felt her raise one on a spiritual level. "Too much schoolwork for romance? Sounds familiar... every stubborn heroine ever, perhaps? It never lasts, you know."

Or your brother? Because I'd had a bunch of time to do nothing but think today and yeah, it wasn't hard to read between the lines and figure out Fujikage Kohaku was gay. Or some flavor of aro/ace, but intuition said gay, and I was kinda-sorta psychic. Did they even have a concept of sexual orientation here, or was it more 'keep the bloodlines pure and the clan coffers full and no one cares who shares your bed'?

Okay, that was kind of a mean thought. But it was easier to say than 'we're in a shounen manga, not shoujo,' which I thought pretty handily summed up the trifecta of reasons to not even think about romance: the way academics and the future were way more important to me than anyone else, the mountain of secrets I couldn't share with my dearest people, and my more-than-a-few years of a life in another body and another world that put me at a different place than my peers in terms of maturity and perspective. It just wasn't fair to them.

Shinju smiled and polished off the last of her ikayaki, so I supposed my mouth had come up with something appropriate. At that moment, Aizen returned, his own mouth set in a hard line. There was no ikayaki in his hand.

I frowned. "What's up? Didn't feel like standing in that crowd?"

"It's no trouble," he said. "Such a reputable place has the right to be discerning with its clients."

Oh hell no. "That sounds like the exact opposite of no trouble," I said. My smile was back, distinctly sharper than before. "They kicked you out for being from the Rukongai?"

His eyes dropped. "They expressed doubt that I could pay, and when I showed them the money you lent me, doubt that I had acquired it by legitimate means."

"Money that I gave you," I corrected. "Alright, let's go crack some skulls."

"N-Nariko-san! I don't want any trouble," Aizen said.

The skeleton of a plan was forming in my head. "Then go do whatever you needed to at the tournament. Fujikage-san, you can go with him if you'd like. I'm going to get some ikayaki."

Shinju looked between Aizen and me. Finally she seemed to make up her mind, nodding. "Let's go, Aizen-san. Nariko-san, you owe me ikayaki for making me wait so much today." With that, she tossed her head and flounced off, Aizen in tow.

I slipped into the ikayaki mob, throwing a few Hirako-style elbows now and then—with apologies; I wasn't a monster. To avoid the embarrassment of having to get up there and sort through my money, I fished out my kan beforehand. I was going to cause a scene already. No sense in being rude.

When I finally got up there, I dropped my share on the wooden 'counter' and said, "Two, please." As he turned away, I rested my hand next to the payment, palm up, with the rest of the money. When he turned back with the ikayaki, I made a show of pushing the first payment forward with my other hand and leaving the rest.

"What's the problem? You aren't going to cheat a man out of his hard-earned money, are you, Hirako-sama?" he demanded. Despite the honorific, his face was already starting to redden. To my annoyance he looked pretty average, with nothing to mock. Bigots didn't always show their ugliness on the outside, I supposed. But then there were his hands, calloused and dirty-nailed. Perfect.

I smiled widely, a tiger smile. "Oh, you really want it? Here I thought you were arbitrarily refusing to take honest coin. But it's only when there's an obviously common hand holding it, huh?"

A few voices in the crowd stirred, but not many. This was practically Seireitei, after all. I had to make more of a fuss.

"I'm almost tempted to let you give those to someone else. This is my money, after all, and you didn't want to take it before just because my best friend didn't look noble enough for your squid stand." I looked him up and down. "Tell me, how picky can you be when you have fish entrails on your hands? Do you even wash under your nails? Do your customers know the food they put in their mouth has squid crap all over it?"

Now people were shifting from foot to foot and murmuring. But they weren't swayed. What would really piss them off was him acting entitled to something noble. Like our coin, for instance.

His brows snapped down and his mouth snapped open, but the shop owner facade was still in place. "You fancy yourself some kind of crusader? This is the best ikayaki vendor in the whole festival! I can turn away any Rukongai dog with stolen money in its jaws!"

I threw my net. "Are you sure? Even if it is, maybe I don't want the best from a pig who disrespects Shinigami. Shinigami who just got praised by Ounabara-sama himself. You turned away Aizen Sousuke-san, just a few minutes ago, and now you're badmouthing me, Hirako Nariko." The murmurs were growing to conversations among those who knew our names. I added bait. "The best clearly isn't worth your attitude." I closed my upturned hand, finger by finger.

He flushed further, rather than paling. And caught. "You brat! My ikayaki is the best in the whole damn Soul Society! I deserve every penny of your pampered noble stipend!"

"The attitude on this one!" A posh-sounding woman sniffed. "Deserving my money! And having the audacity to call us pampered."

"Such untoward pride," a man who put me vaguely in mind of Hachi grumbled.

"The black erases everything, everyone knows that!" An upperclassman girl I'd seen around campus declared. "No merchant knows better than a Shinigami!"

Above the rising din, a voice that would've been dreamy if it hadn't been edged with irritation said, "I normally dislike having to use time off to settle other people's concerns, but it's so distasteful that someone without the capacity to judge the character of anything higher than a squid carcass produces such discord. I've half a mind to report you to the festival organizers, but that just wouldn't be poetic justice." The ikayaki disappeared from the vendor's hands, and the voice said, at my back this time, "Give the young lady her ikayaki for free, and her friend from the Rukongai as well, since I suspect she's buying him some. You've done enough business for the day, wouldn't you agree?"

Rippling, multilayered reiatsu danced through the air, putting me in mind of an arpeggio, and the shop owner visibly went grey and swayed. When it lifted, he growled, "Fine! Susano'o's Ikayaki is closed for the day! Take your damn food and never come back, Hirako bitch!"

That last one ensured that the outcry at the announcement was largely drowned out by outrage at his language.

I turned to thank my assistant and came face-to-face with a man's chest, wrapped in a thistle-colored kimono. My eyes moved up over a fair, fine-boned figure, past a long, clean-shaven jaw, and crested high cheekbones. They met meticulously-maintained eyebrows with growing dismay and didn't even bother to go upwards to what they knew would be golden, wavy locks, instead dropping to meet amused lavender eyes.

Asami-sensei's lessons on etiquette—the few my parents had deemed appropriate to give me—kicked in at last and I screened the lower half of my face with my fan. "Outoribashi-sama," I forced out, "how unexpected of you to make an appearance. Do I need to introduce myself after all that?"

"No," rumbled a deeper voice, "'cause I already told him who you were." Love ambled out of the crowd, wearing a bamboo-patterned teal kimono that looked like it had seen better days. "'Rose,' I said, 'that's one of my students there, the one who got recognized along with your cousin.' And apparently that tickled Lives-in-an-epic here's fancy, so he went running over to see what all the fuss was about."

"She's so polite, Love!" Rose exclaimed delightedly, making me want to shrivel up and die even more. "You didn't say she was polite!"

"It's very nice to meet you, Outoribashi-sama," I said. "Aikawa-sensei, I didn't know you were attending the festival."

He shrugged. "Usually it's me meeting Rose farther away. Figured I'd take the chance to catch up with an old Academy pal while it was easy." He raised a dark brow. "Surprised you know who this layabout is. Didn't think you were the type to be interested in the Third or high society. Or the teahouses he spends way too much time in."

Rose flapped a hand at him. "Really, Love, she's much too young for the parties I attend." He turned to me. "You're not interested in the Third? I'm wounded."

"Forgive me for saying it, but your expression doesn't match up," I said dryly. "No, the Third isn't first on my list of divisions to serve in."

Love let out a booming laugh. "He thinks it's cool to look like he doesn't care. Good on you for not taking that shit, Hirako. But I guess that's your clan's thing. That and giving others that kinda shit."

I grinned, glancing off in the direction Shinju and Aizen had gone. Heat rose under my collar at the clan stereotype, but I had to be pragmatic. I could use that. "You betcha! I'm not even really here. It's just a trick, like in the high-class Noh plays."

Rose smiled. "That would be a marvelous maneuver to pull off. Much like the scheme you employed in your trial. Congratulations, by the way. Your name's been floated around the Third as that of a hero."

"Thank you," I said, "but Fukurokuju's crows were flying overhead." Wait, back up. "I'm a hero to the Third? That can't be right. I'm antiheroic at best. Also, if you'd like to keep talking, can we head over in that direction?" I nodded in the direction of the tournament registration booth. "I'm supposed to meet a couple people."

Love nodded, starting the journey that way. "Sure. Might as well keep one of my favorite students company."

I blinked, trailing after him. "Favorite?"

"We were talking about the Third and you," Rose interjected. "I am determined to win your loyalty by the end of the conversation, you must understand."

I hid the twist of my mouth with a practiced flick of the fan. Before intruded even into my attempts to enjoy the present. "I'm a Hirako," I chirped. "Our first loyalty is to ourselves. Even so, as much as I like you, Outoribashi-sama, the Third isn't right for what I want to do."

"Nonsense!" he replied with a toss of the head. "You'd like to advance, wouldn't you? I see that ambition in your eyes. Atypical of a Hirako, but then, you've got protagonist syndrome, don't you? You want to go out and right wrongs, change the world, be the greatest you can be?"

"Will you call me foolish if I say yes?" I asked.

Love snorted. "Ain't nothing wrong with that. Puts you a step ahead of most of your classmates, which is what makes you my favorite. Total bookworm, but you wa- hey, what do you wanna do with yourself?"

My eyes dropped to my zouri. "Just keep doing what you're doing and you'll find out," I said. "Outoribashi-sama, you were saying about the Third?"

Love rolled his eyes. "Listen t'you calling him -sama. He ain't even seated; probably skipped out on work early."

I filed that piece of information away with a dash of surprise. "Me? Some people would skin a brat like me, fresh out of her first year, if I referred to any Shinigami without a -sama attached." I thought about it for a second and added, "Anyone above my nebulous position on the social ladder, too."

Rose seemed to have gotten back on track. "Some people take all that too seriously. We're at a festival, Hirako-chan. My patron clan won't descend out of the sky to scold you." He fiddled with the sleeve of his kimono, which was decorated with court scenes. How appropriate for dramatic Rose. "Anyhow, you avenged our 20th seat! He had a bit to say about you in his last letter back, you know."

Another roll of Love's eyes. I was starting to get worried they'd fall out. "You hated that guy. That letter didn't help, I remember you saying." Suddenly the world was warm and muffled. I found a pair of calloused hands over my ears. "Wasn't he the sort who made comments about your bedroom habits?"

Rose lifted a shoulder; unlike Aizen, it came off as more graceful than stiff. "Be that as it may, he was part of the Third. So for that, and Hirako-chan telling him off so spectacularly—won't you take your hands off her ears?—I have reason to appreciate her."

Love's hands lifted. I decided not to tell him they hadn't muffled anything. "You're a bit too effusive for this to just be based on what happened in Kinsawa," I said. A thought occurred to me. "Hey, Aikawa-sensei, what rank are you?"

"Unseated in the 9th," he said over Rose's sputtered protests of sincerity. "Probably not gonna change any time soon, either. My superiors would whoop my ass for sayin' it, but the seated ranks have ossified. You gotta grease the right palms to even have a shot when someone finally gets their ass off a seat."

Rose finally ran out of babble—and breath. "Alright, alright, you've caught me out. That Zanpakutou of yours was at least half of the reason for my curiosity, though I will maintain that your personality and clever remarks have started to edge it out."

My stomach soured. "Pretend that I don't have her, then. It hardly matters, if the organization of things is like Aikawa-sensei described it."

Rose's laugh mingled with flowing water as we passed over a small bridge. "But of course it matters!" He exclaimed. "We are a military organization, Hirako-chan, and the strength of each division counts on the battlefield." He produced a fan of his own, patterned with beach roses, and fanned lustrous gold away from his face. "The captains might bicker amongst themselves to decide who'll send a cohort to what theater, but the results of that decision depend on its composition. I'd take heart in fighting alongside someone who enters the Gotei with years of harmony with her sword under her belt. Besides, most seated officers have Shikai, so if you were fortunate enough-"

"-or took matters into your own hands," Love interjected with a wink. "He's tried this spiel on me before, to get me to transfer."

"-if you were fortunate enough," Rose repeated, casting an I-don't-have-time-for-your-shit look at his friend, "to impress the right people just as a seated officer perishes valiantly in the name of duty, you could acquire a seat. One just opened up, and I'm angling for it. Now, by the time you graduate, where do you happen to have a senior to wax poetic about your impressive skills but at the Third?" His reiatsu, now methodical like a scale, played over mine. "I'm clever, you're clever. I'm noble, you're noble. I'm charming, you're eager to please. We're both strong yet tactful. Most importantly, we see something for ourselves beyond the expected trajectory."

I snapped my fan and lips shut, though the smile remained. I probably could find myself a niche at the Third. I liked Rose. I liked being complimented. But I hated people who thought they knew me, who thought they knew what I wanted. The bland solution was to be polite. The fun solution... "You'll make a good captain, but not for long," I said, making my eyes wide, thoughtful, unfocused. Honoka's eyes. Seers' eyes. "Your lieutenant... someone who won't take this crap. You're an illusionist, so perhaps she'll wield a melee-type Zanpakutou." I let the smile recede from my eyes, which snapped up to meet Rose's. "Either way, it won't be me, nor will I hold any seat below you. No means no, Outoribashi-sama, and it continues to mean no even after you flatter, assume things about, and otherwise manipulate me. Good luck on your bid for 20th Seat." I sketched a bow in his direction and made a real one to Love. "Enjoy the festival and please, consider stopping by the tournament. You can evaluate my skills for yourself if you're that determined."

I didn't leave right that instant, simply because it would've been rude to not give them a chance to say goodbye as well. Rose managed it, matching my bow and murmuring something about my having ice to match his fire. Love simply gave me a long look, evaluating and not entirely disapproving. When I was satisfied that was all they wanted to communicate, I slipped away to the tournament registration, not too far from where we'd stopped.

The stall the organizers had set up only confirmed my suspicions that it was unofficially official, especially since it barely qualified as a stall. No, this was a full-on pavilion, formed of poles with lurid portraits of warriors stretched between them. Mats made packed dirt almost into a floor. Beneath a banner emblazoned with the words 'Spiritual Champions Tournament' sat a low table piled high with papers. Two men sat cross-legged behind it, looking very pleased with their accommodations. I approached the friendlier-looking of the two, greeting the other with a nod.

"I'm here to register for the tournament," I said. "Is this the place to do it?"

He nodded, elbowing the other guy. "Hey, Jirou, you've got the spectators' forms. Fish one out for me, wouldja?"

I flicked the fan down and open into a clematis screen between Jirou's hand and the papers he reached for. "Sorry, but I'm here to register as a competitor," I said, matching my smile with an understanding inclination of the head.

The first guy, who I named Taakoizu for his eye-bleedingly bright turquoise yukata, didn't mirror it, instead chuckling. Did you have to be a certain age to chortle? I mentally corrected to 'chortling.' It had that belly-laugh, snorting quality. "Well, kid, I owe you an apology too, 'cause this is a business, and we've got the right to turn anyone we want away. Looks bad to have a little lady cut up, y'know?"

"Here, in this place where people take centuries to grow a gray hair, you're going to deny me because I look too young?" I folded my arms, still smiling, still playing around. If they really wouldn't let me, I'd back off, but there hadn't been any mention of standards to meet on the posters. And with my Hirako looks, how baby-faced could I really be? "C'mon. I'd make a great upset if I won. And if I lose, you can say whoever it is beat Hirako Nariko. End my five minutes of fame and all."

Taakoizu and Jirou exchanged a look. Finally Jirou smacked him in the shoulder.

"Idiot! I think she's one of the ones who received special honors today!" he said.

Taakoizu scratched his head. "You sure? Anyone can claim to have that name."

Jirou gestured in the direction of my face. "Look at her. She's clearly Hirako. Does it really matter if that kid from earlier was here as their representative? We have someone standing for the Hirako and a hero from Kinsawa in attendance, that's it."

I frowned. Aizen had mentioned I'd be paying for him? Weird, but they knew what a Hirako looked like. They'd probably figured if someone hadn't come by to pay his fee, they'd chase one of us down and get it paid. "Then I'll pay for the both of us." I counted the correct amount of kan and extended it to them.

In sharp contrast to their squid-selling peer, they didn't leap at the double payment. Taakoizu raised an eyebrow at it, even.

"What're you doing, kid? The other kid already paid for himself," he explained. "Just pay for your own and fill out the form."

Curioser and curioser. Maybe he was done taking my charity. But that didn't explain his taking Shinju's charity, which he would've had to do to get admittance. "I guess I'll take that, then."

When I'd filled it all out—an assortment of disclaimers mixed with a questionnaire about my skills and a mini-autobiography—they stamped my hand with a green clover and directed me towards the tournament venue. "Good luck to all competitors," Jirou explained, and even if I didn't believe in luck, I believed in the power of well-wishes to lift your chin a little higher. Though I still felt strange walking in zouri after so long, my strides were longer, my steps surer as I walked into the competition complex.

It was pretty, in the frenetic, cluttered way of a beehive, people flitting from cell to cell, and strange. Clumps of festival-goers and vendors had broken off to surround it, the latter taking advantage of the attraction and the former busying themselves before it actually began. Inside, it bore a resemblance to your standard competition hall, like the rarely-used one back home, a massive rectangular central room with a few smaller rooms branching off for things like equipment. This one, though, was multi-storied, with interior balconies spreading out above to form something like a stadium. Painted screens were being set up above, some with mon or symbols that indicated clans and some just looking nice, presumably to give the more traditional ladies some privacy or hide anything that did get out of hand.

A motley crew had already gathered in the center, mostly older students. None wore their uniforms. Whether that was a rule or due to the festival I couldn't say, but it lent the impression of barely-contained chaos to those assembled. Someone, presumably a festival organizer, stood at a podium, reading instructions. She looked up from them at my entrance, because of course she did.

"Ah, we have a newcomer," she said. "I won't slow us down too much by going over it all again; suffice it to say that due to high numbers of enrollment so far we will most likely be sorting you into pairs to make the duels manageable. Your partner will inform you of the rest."

"Nariko-san!" Shinju—Shinju?!—hissed. "Pair up with me."

Too confused to do much other than agree, I joined her and found my second surprise of the day.

Minoru strained to see above the crowd besides Hiyori. I'd hoped Hiyori would come along, but Minoru hadn't even occurred to me. Well, the more the merrier. They'd make an entertaining pair, both being short and scrappy.

My gaze slid right and found my third, and by far the nastiest, surprise.

Aizen stood at the fringes of the crowd, green clover stamp visible as he scratched the back of his neck. He'd come as a competitor of all things. I had half a mind to force Shinju on him, so they could both see how people who had apparently decided to join on a whim fought together. The shock of seeing the figure next to him I mentally combined into Aizen's surprise, because it subsided so quickly they might as well have been one and the same.

Shinji had joined. Shinji, that underhanded, self-righteous, itching-for-a-fight bastard. When we were done here, I was going to twist his fingers until he couldn't hold a sword or he told me why he was really here, whichever came first.

But we weren't done, so I clasped my hands, touched up the edges of my smile, and waited. All things in due time.

Chapter Text

The luck of the clover stamp held out. Though we were all supposed to pair off, that didn't mean our pairings were set in stone. The breaking of a couple partnerships in front of us sparked a one-sided shouting match with the organizer, who finally shut them down with a snippy reminder that they were here to put on a show, and it was her prerogative to reassign contenders if she didn't think they'd be entertaining enough. Shinju and I made the point that, as roommates and veterans of Kinsawa, we'd be extremely compatible, which won her over, so we were set.

Truth be told, I'd gone with it partially because I hadn't thought I'd work well with anyone else. Hiyori or Minoru could've made a good contrast, with either one having a raw, aggressive element to their fighting that would've complemented my cultivated style in the eyes of observers, but they would've thrown me off in the ring. Shinji and I were a solid no. Aizen didn't come with any obvious reasons for me not to pair up with him, but that was the problem. I hadn't fought beside him and he was too closed-off for me to get a read on his tactics. His unanswered questions earlier had nothing to do with my uncertainty, nor his future Before. I almost would've liked to withdraw and put Hiyori and Shinju together, given their ranged-close techniques, but I did close-quarters about as well as Hiyori. I didn't see Hiyori and Minoru getting too far, given that they were both scrappy, but who knew, maybe Minoru would get devious and Hiyori would tap into the potential I knew she had. Or she'd trash-talk their opponents to death. I had no idea how Shinji and Aizen were going to get through the tournament, but neither was hurting in the reiryoku department, so I wasn't going to worry. The consequences were on their own heads.

As soon as we all had partners, they dismissed us to 'prepare ourselves.' If you asked me, it was a little late for that, which I said to Shinju as we filtered out of the hall.

She shook her head, sending the butterflies in her hair tinkling. "Not gathering our courage, Nariko-san," she replied. "Finding lodging, discussing strategy, that sort of thing, you know?"

Right, logistics. I'd known, but I hadn't really thought about it. "I don't suppose your older brother told you about anywhere we could stay?"

Another graceful shake of the head. I had to learn how to do that without tangling the ornaments up. "Sadly, no. Kohaku-nii always spent his summers with friends." Her slight pause implied something more. "He never attended the tournament. Speaking of Kohaku-nii. thank you for the ikayaki." She plucked a squid-stick from my hand, where I hadn't even realized I was still carrying them. The other wiggled at me pathetically, as if reminding me that I owed Aizen the other.

I suppressed the groan building in my throat and smiled graciously at her. "You're welcome. You know, I think I remember a place we could stay—my family used it while we were waiting for the entrance exam results. Fairly cheap, if a little cramped. It's over that way." I jerked my chin in the rough direction of the ryokan.

Shinju's eyes followed the motion, turning her cheery festival smile to a sly one. "Shall we, then?"

Before I could ask the reason for the shift, she set out for Shin'ou and our belongings. I could only do what I did with Shinji: follow.

By the time we made it to the ryokan, I had enough vitriol built up to solo the tournament. My beautiful clothes chafed, my hip ached for Arashi, and my baggage, perfectly manageable with reiryoku-enhanced strength even if it hadn't had wheels, tried to rip itself from my grip every second step, and it all came down to Aizen. Okay, no it wasn't. But it was due to his wanting the ikayaki I still clutched, wriggling with every step as though still alive, taunting me with the way it rendered my left hand unusable and every single other task more difficult. Such was the steam pouring from my ears that I barely registered splitting the payment for the room with Shinju.

"Would the young lady like paper to wrap around her food?" the attendant asked, side-eyeing the ikayaki. "We would like to make her aware that we lack iceboxes."

"The young lady would," I answered through my teeth. "She would also like to note that she isn't an idiot who doesn't know food needs to be chilled." If anything, I knew better than any of these people.

The attendant's eyes dropped. "Yes, milady." She clicked her tongue at another worker, who scurried off and returned with some paper. "Right this way, miladies."

We were ushered into a room much like the one my parents had rented, but rather smaller. I padded across the tatami to the door to the porch, which I planned to take advantage of this time around. Perhaps if time and wind allowed, I could practice my calligraphy.

"Would you like some tea?" Shinju asked. I turned to see her kneeling at a table I'd passed, where some supplies were set out. "It won't be the formal ceremony, but I think this day's seen plenty of ceremony."

I smiled, joining her and setting down the wrapped-up ikayaki and my fan to the side. "Agreed."

We sat in comfortable, sunny silence as she poured the water and whisked in the powder. As the steam drifted up, I felt some of mine join it. There was something intrinsically satisfying about rituals.

As we unwrapped our sweets, Shinju opened her mouth, but to say something rather than eat hers. "Did you encounter lemon candies on your travels?"

I blinked. The frown that had been creeping onto my forehead was lifting. "No, why? Do you like them?"

She looked at me, grey-veiled over her cup. "You were sour with that attendant, you know. I only wondered if the taste had crept into your words, to change them so."

"Because I'm usually so honey-sweet?" I sighed, gaze falling to my tea. I took a sip. "She acted like I didn't know the first thing about life. What does a ryokan attendant know about life that I don't, anyway?" What did the rabble of Kinsawa think they knew that Mari was a better choice than the Shinigami? Innocent, my ass. "I don't know. This ikayaki, clothes I don't wear much, seeing Shinji sticking his nose in, they bug me. I feel bad, but honestly, she should've had some respect."

She inclined her head. "I quite agree."

I rose, restless lightning in me, and went over to the porch door. "Would you like some fresh air in here? It'll help me focus, if you'd like to discuss the tournament."

She lifted her cup to her lips again. "So long as we both keep our voices down. I wouldn't put it past opponents to use onmitsu, you know?"

I slid the door open, letting in the spring sun. "If they did, would we even notice?"

She finished her cup and set it down. "Possibly. Few Academy students have the clout to turn full onmitsu to their service. We'd be more likely to encounter friends of theirs, currently on the onmitsu track and less trained. Although..."

"That's a fairly large 'although,'" I noted.

"If I were opposing you, I'd expect you or Shinji-kun to borrow your parents' influence for it, if I thought you were motivated enough to win." She stared down into the dregs of her tea, eyes intent rather than avoidant. She wasn't lying, but rather focusing. "Full onmitsu wouldn't be playing fair, or cheap, in favors or money. Would Shinji-kun pay that?" Would you? went unsaid.

I inhaled deep and exhaled long, clearing out the part of me that didn't want to consider Shinji in that light. He had to be a target for now. Besides, it wasn't like I was going to change anything in regards to the future with this tournament. "He was sneaky enough to join without telling me, but that could be his not talking to me right now. Personally, I don't think so. Shinji's only just started considering an end goal of captaincy. He's not thinking on two fronts yet. If he's a step ahead, it'll be in terms of tactics. Besides, neither he nor I want to owe our parents a favor."

She nodded. "That's good. Other than you two, the only one I spotted who could afford to bribe an onmitsu is Wakahisa-sama, and he wouldn't 'stoop' to working with such a Shihouin trade."

Momohiko's here? Shit. I'll have to bury him before he can get in under my guard. I rejoined Shinju at the table, pretending like I'd known he was competing all along. "Not officially," I said, adding a cynical twist to my smile. "But if it were only onmitsu who were involved with shady things for money, we wouldn't need onmitsu."

"I'm pleased," Shinju said quietly, "that you're accepting the nocturnal elements of Soul Society more."

I didn't miss her allusion to Yamamoto's famous saying—as weird as it was that Love and Shinju were referencing the same line—but chose to ignore it. It'd just slipped out, after all. How necessary were onmitsu, really, when I'd done their job just as well in Kinsawa? "Do you have any ideas for our tactics? I know we don't know our opponents yet, but we'd better get thinking. I didn't recognize as many of their faces as I'd hoped."

She bit her lip. "I was hoping you'd have more on that front, you know? Considering what you managed in Kinsawa."

I adjusted my smile to a conciliatory one, one that said that I'd only been asking to be polite. "Sure, but this is a partnership. I'd be remiss if I didn't try and get your input. Hmm." I drummed my fingers on the table. "Two ideas come to mind. The first is that we both have skills which are good for catching the opponent off-guard: your iaijutsu and my Justo Rayo. My Zanpakutou takes longer to get started, but I don't have to return her to her sheath when I'm done." I glanced at the wall, where we'd mounted our swords. "You have a good bit of reach on me, though. If you opened with iaijutsu, could you hold them off long enough for me to get her going?"

"It would be difficult," she answered, which I suspected amounted to 'I'm not invested in you enough to take that risk.' A no, basically.

Arashi, I called, simultaneously across the room and in my head, would you let me unseal you with just your name, like Rukia did?

She sniffed, turning away from whatever plans of her own she was concocting. No, daoshi. Not unless you'd like to make our tempestuous reiryoku even easier to disrupt and our subsequent attacks weaker. I shouldn't have to mention that it disrupts your showmanship.

I had my doubts about that, but her answer was her answer. I can't get you to change your mind on that?

No. You should focus on improving your Kidou before you even attempt such a technique. Now, continue to strategize before I change my mind on the technique I was going to give you.

I sighed, turning my attention back to Shinju. "Troublesome. My Zanpakutou spirit refuses to let me shorten her incantation to just her name."

Shinju's face lit up. In such pastel clothing, her eyes were the pale grey-pink of early morning. "You were talking to her just now? Can you teach me to do that?"

I shrugged, trying to copy Rose's effortless carelessness from earlier. "I think you need to have a well-developed spirit for that. But," I hastened to reassure her as her face fell, "it does help to talk 'at' the sword. You need it to take to you, and to do that it has to know you." I considered a line about asauchi taking to people like puppies and dismissed it. Shinju and I had almost died together. She'd know in a heartbeat that the zaniness was faked, and besides, I didn't need to baffle anyone, let alone her, right now.

My eyes fell on her asauchi, dull compared to Arashi's lovely indigo and silver, and an idea sprang to mind, to please both Arashi and Shinju. "How about this: you help me with Kidou and I help you with hajimezen. Sound like a fair exchange?"

Her diplomatic face appeared just a second too late to hide her eagerness. "Yes, it does. Though I'll register that you stand to benefit more immediately from my aid, you know?"

Again, Rose's effortless shrug on my slighter shoulders, this time more natural. "Maybe. If Shin'ou hasn't been able to teach me in all our time there, I don't think you'll see too much progress. Anyhow. Back to the tournament?"

A breeze purred through the room, ruffling her long sleeves. "Yes, the tournament." But she didn't offer any more ideas. I was starting to regret calling plans 'my thing.'

I sighed with the wind and rubbed the base of my neck. Sore. No doubt the sun had gotten to it. "I liked the idea that you surprised them by, well, being you. Nobody expects the delicate noble flower to lunge in with a wicked opening strike, and even in this clothing, that's not me."

Shinju looked me up and down. "If I can be entirely honest about your appearance?"

My brain stalled. Last time she'd been honest with me, an insecure pit, only now starting to fill, had opened in my chest. But image was important, so I nodded.

"You're not pretty, you know?" Shinju said, and yeah, I'd kinda known, but jeez, harsh. "I'd call you more... striking. There's little delicacy to you, Nariko-san, but you have unusual features, as a Hirako, that catch the eye. A certain sharpness to your face, a lean body, a distinctive smile, the traits that let people pick you out of a crowd as Hirako. That and charisma let relatives like Shinji-kun"-she blushed-"affect handsomeness. Your coloration, though... it's not that it can't work, but that you don't make it work. you know? Warm colors don't suit you, Nariko-san, nor does the- flashiness, I think I'll call it, your relatives like to dress with. Do you know what I mean?" She leaned forward, searching me for understanding, and in that instant I knew that despite her words, a kernel of caring lay at the core of our alliance. It didn't hurt that if I looked good, she did by association, especially given the reason we'd entered the tournament.

Flashiness wasn't quite the word she wanted, anyway, but it was hard to pin down the Hirako style. For all the talk about not following stuffy societal conventions, we still had them, but they were Hirako, not mainstream. Garish, maybe, but not entirely; my wardrobe at the estate held somber mourning clothing and Dad was smart enough to not glam it up too much when he met with the Shihouin, but the rareness of those occasions testified that 'understated' came pretty close to our antonym. With as much noise as we made about being bored, you might've expected 'unique' to fit as well, but c'mon, Shinji and I had the exact same hairstyle.

Maybe the right word was distracting. Half the reason we ignored the usual formalities was because it didn't give our opponents time to catch their breath, and even clan pride wouldn't have kept our dialect around so long if it didn't tie people up in the sound instead of the words. The clothing was another component of that. If you were looking at the unseasonable colors and bare minimum formality, you weren't looking at our hands.

"I know what you mean," I answered at last. "I trust that you have a solution?"

She nodded solemnly, resting her palms on the table. I braced myself for the sophisticated scheme we'd have to follow. "Makeover."

"Makeover," I repeated, officially lost. "Can you... elaborate?"

She folded her hands, as businesslike as merchants trying to buy our family dogs, and it sank in that she was dead serious. If teenage girliness was involved, it was only on the surface. I was dealing with a veteran courtier here. If she said I had to blacken my teeth and shave my eyebrows to achieve respectability, so long eyebrows. "I can only show you," she said. "Let's wash up. Then we can collect our purses and see what the merchants have to offer."

We slipped into simple yukata, grabbed the small towels provided, and headed over. The pre-washing areas were full, so Shinju and I waited outside.

"Do you still need to be carrying the ikayaki?" she asked, nodding at the food I hadn't even meant to bring. It was starting to go limp. Was that a sign of it going bad?

"I guess-" I began when the sun came out from the clouds behind me. "Shinji's here," I said by way of explanation. His reiatsu was shining impersonally a ways back, so I guessed he hadn't seen me, but glass winked and changed to crystal, so Aizen had. If Hiyori was here- armored hide shifted further on in the baths. She was, because of course she was. "The gang's all here," I amended, affecting just a touch of perkiness. "Aizen-san incoming."

"You have the ikayaki still?" Aizen said, way too close. I consciously took a step forward before turning to face him.

"Nice to see you again too, Aizen-san," Shinju said, covering for my flusteredness.

He nodded mechanically, eyes fixed on the ikayaki, and I got the sense that the Aizen I'd strolled around with earlier had retreated behind a wall. His reiatsu wasn't anywhere near what it'd been when I'd freaked out on him, though, so whatever had happened hadn't been major. I handed the ikayaki over as Shinji did an impression of an amble over to us.

"Nari-nee," he said, stiff-legged. "Hangin' around bein' a drag here of all places?"

"Shinji," I answered, nodding to him. "Are you honestly surprised I picked the only spot I know around here?"

He shifted, and I realized he wasn't standoffish, but awkward, irritable. Shinji, who'd never struggled to talk to even the people whose guts he hated, didn't know how to talk to me.

"So!" Shinju said brightly, and I spared a flash of my own irritation for her. She was supposed to be the tranquility to my eccentricity. Thankfully she snapped back to type, adding at a more normal volume, "Shall we go get cleaned up? Nariko-san and I were going to go shopping later. You could come if you want."

I almost snapped, Or they could not, but that would've insulted Aizen as well, and besides, snideness wasn't my thing. I'd just go with it. "We gotta look our best for the tournament, right?" I beamed, throwing the full force of my femininity behind the words, like it would awaken an extra-masculine revulsion in them. "People to impress and all! You know, there's this one saying I love for that... what is it? I can't quite remember the source... 'Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath.'" Which verged on annoying Arashi, because I knew damn well where it was from, but Shakespeare was too much trouble to explain. I didn't know the line number, at least. Not a lie.

"Wise words," Aizen said softly, giving me a tiny heart attack. Maybe we should've paired up after all—I could've used an excuse to keep an eye on him.

"Bull," said Shinji, recovering some of his footing. "If ya want ta calculate yer image, innocent's the last thing anybody'd buy."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," I said dryly, and did an about-face as he protested. Eccentricity, and certainly not my own growing discomfort with his presence. "Alright!" I chirped, convincing enough that no one protested. "Let's go get clean! Wash behind your ears, everyone."

Once we'd washed ourselves enough for the onsen, we gathered towels to cover us between the stalls and the water. I paused as I bent to grab mine. Normally I'd leave it behind, semi-public nudity be damned. Don't look at me like that! I wasn't an exhibitionist, but when you were used to thinking of yourself as a soul that happened to find itself in its current body, you stopped caring about the issues associated with it. My attractiveness and modesty, or lack thereof, belonged to the Hirako, so why bother?

I found myself reaching for the towel anyway. If Shinji was so damn determined to act as clan head, he'd have one less thing to complain about here.

The baths were unremarkable, apart from who wasn't there. Hiyori and Minoru were nowhere to be found, despite the presence of their reiatsu somewhere around here. And Aizen had vanished in some fit of honest-to-God ninja magic—and I said that as someone who knew most onmitsu weren't ninja and Kidou wasn't magic, because there was no other fucking explanation for how he'd disappeared in all of five steps. Steps through a corridor, aka not a place with any cover or unknown exits. Maybe he and Shinji'd do fine, if he could bring that caliber of flash-step to the table. Though, as we emerged to find a dry Aizen waiting dutifully with Hiyori and Minoru, I had my doubts.

"'bout time!" Hiyori groused. "What, y'all drown or somethin'?"

"It's good for your skin," Shinju said airily, "not that you'd know."

I grinned, ready to spring a line that I'd been cooking up in the baths just to make her face go red. Redder, with Shinju's dig. "I saw a kappa and had to trick him into bowing. It was quite the process."

Shinji cut in, lazy as ever, showing up last. "I dozed off," he drawled. "If I'd known ya were waitin' on me, I woulda tried harder ta stay awake." He pretended to think. "Actually, no I wouldn'ta."

"Argh!" Hiyori yelled, drawing the stares of passersby. "Here I thought ya'd save me from Four-Eyes here an' instead ya act just as bad as him! Except not as creepy. Ain't no one who can beat that."

Face inappropriately blank, Aizen gave no indication he'd heard her, save for digging the nails of one hand into the scarred wrist of the other.

"Well," I said jovially, because I was actually kinda excited to have Shinju work her magic on me, "why don't we all go out and get ourselves a makeover? Courtesy of our resident court lady, naturally." At Hiyori's and Minoru's dubious looks—oh yeah, they'd make a fine team—I reassured them, "I promise I didn't bribe her to make you up like pandas. Unless that's what you want, in which case I can't judge, but totally will, because that's weird."

"It's not courtesy," Shinju corrected. "If anyone asks you why you look better than the average thug who stumbles in there, you have to give me credit, you know? Effusive credit. And a cut of your winnings, if a miracle occurs." She paused, thinking. "Why don't we all get changed into street clothes and meet back here, as quickly as possible?"

As we headed back to our respective rooms to do just that, I swear I heard her stage-squee, "Makeover!"

"I sensed you in the baths, but I didn't see you," I said to Minoru as we followed Shinju to the clothiers she swore up and down would have what we needed. I suspected they were also supplied by her family. "What gives?"

He gave a half-smile. "What if I told ya I've been on onmitsu track this entire time?"

"I'd tell you that's a lie," I retorted, but reconsidered. "Wait, have you been?"

"If I had, I wouldn't admit it now," he said, smile blossoming into a grin. "But nah, Sarugaki-san an' I used a private room."

I blinked. "What, really?"

He nodded, scratching his neck. "'Cause of my back, y'know? I can't use the normal baths."

"Ah, I see now." And I did. Minoru wasn't a civilian, to be assumed yakuza because he had tattoos, but Spider ink, with its Quincy motifs, wasn't anything you wanted to be showing off, especially so recently after Mari. Later, maybe, when we were all safely ensconced in the Gotei, but the tournament wasn't the time for that to be coming out.

"Didja see 'em, though?" Hiyori asked. She threw an elbow at Minoru's side in the warped way that passed for a compliment among Shinigami and martial artists; he dodged in the same manner with heartwarming fluidity. "Who knew this punk was a badass?"

"After the ceremony earlier," Shinju put in dryly, "I should think more people know of Fugai-kun's skills than ever."

Shinji rolled his eyes. He walked slightly apart from the rest of us, and occasionally had to trot to catch up when he met an obstacle we didn't. Served him right. "Ya ain't hung with the girls in his Hakuda class, then. He's got his own little fanclub. I'd be jealous, but I got mine."

I thought about piping in with a quip about his shrimp allergy being among his flaws, a complaint about how differently our shared features were perceived, or incredulity at his having a social circle outside us, but I'd resolved not to give him any positive attention. Criticism was allowed. Plus, I knew that last one couldn't be true; apart from having a different class schedule, he'd missed a few study sessions for social occasions.

Minoru filled the silence I'd considered taking. "Ya can have 'em. The guys too, if there're any."

"I already nabbed those," Shinji shot back. "C'mon, ya think yer that good-lookin'?"

Shinju shifted uncomfortably. My offense on Shinji's and her brother's behalf faded when I saw her pink ears; this was jealousy, not squeamishness. "None of you will be looking like much at all until I'm through with you, you know. Except maybe Shinji-san."

"Ya'd better be joinin' us in that, Fujikage-chan," Shinji said. "I'd hate ta miss ya lookin' all cute in a new kimono."

"I hate the color brown," Aizen said. Between the tinted glasses and his straggly bangs, all I could see from this angle was a flash of pale, sweaty forehead.

Silence—as much as you could get silence during a festival in full swing—as we processed that tidbit. I yanked Hiyori back by the collar before she could snark at him.

"Okay," Shinju said. "I wouldn't suggest that you wear brown anyway, with your hair and eye color."

"I hate mirrors, too," he rasped, "but we are what we hate." Without looking down, he withdrew a handkerchief from a beat-up sagemono, coughed wetly into it, and tucked it away once more. He visibly shook himself and, adjusting his glasses, said, "It's a hot day, isn't it?"

I leaped on that. Someone had to ease our hackles back down. "Yes! Yes, it is. Shinji, why don't you take Aizen-san to get a drink of water? I'm sure he's dehydrated; we've all had a long, long day." I laughed, despite the fact that it was only hot if you lived in Antarctica and Arashi buzzed warning, despite that it was barely past noon.

"I'd love ta," Shinji replied, sounding like he would've told anyone but me to fuck right off. "Hey, Fujikage-chan, where'd ya wanna meet?"

"Ask anyone where the Saito clan's establishment is," she answered. "They'll know what you mean."

"They'd better," he grumbled, and vanished with Aizen trailing behind him like leaves in runoff.

Saito Furi was me. Or rather, she was who I wanted to be in middle age: well-dressed, well-off, and capable of freezing the spit in your mouth with a glance. She exercised that last the instant Shinju had finished explaining our purpose there.

"Stand up straight," she ordered as her employees prodded us into a row. "Young people. No appreciation for good clothing or good posture. Three young women and a young man? With two others coming?"

We nodded, too petrified to clarify that Shinji and Aizen were young men. She let us stand there, sweat trickling down our backs, before turning to the pair organizing us like bolts of cloth.

"Some! Fetch the pins and measuring tapes. Kinu! Run ahead and prepare my chambers," she said, accompanying the directions with sweeping gestures. The motion made her namesake long sleeves ripple attractively, almost making the gradated overlapping circles of their seigaiha pattern look like real waves. "You four, come with me. I'll have my people direct the other two along when they arrive—that'd best be soon. I don't tolerate time-wasters, and even if I did, as with every river the flow of inspiration must dry after a time."

"They'll be here soon," I promised, finding my voice before she steamrolled over us and hung our flattened forms up as the latest shipment. "The pattern of your sleeves flows as easily as clients must, yet I imagine the latter is more constant." It was a variation on a phrase I'd heard one of my dad's merchants say once, and it'd stuck with me as the right thing to say to people in this business.

I found myself pulled up to walk beside her. "Fusa! The best stock for the Hirako. Eloquent without that loathsome dialect they use, and sincere besides. Tell me, girl, how much involvement do you have in your family's side businesses?"

I hummed in the polite way Shinju sometimes did. "I'm to manage our textiles when named hime, though my brother and I are set to cooperate in the brewery. I find myself more drawn to the symbolism than the chemistry of it, however."

She huffed, parting the scramble of tailors and clients with a nod. Enclosed in white paper and filled with people eager to work for and buy from the jewel of the Saito, this place was Seireitei in miniature, and Furi was the captain-commander. But as Shinju had told us, while Yamamoto was rigid, Furi was particular. Her everyday business took her to the palaces of the Great Noble Clans, but she'd been known to traverse the Rukongai searching for a street urchin with just the right feature for her latest look. Rumor—and this one I got from my family, but only now connected to her—was that her most beautiful model came from Mattanyama, the impossibly steep hill country of South 80, and had been chosen for hair so lustrous she'd been rescued from a bandit clan who wove it into their hachimaki. "A good answer! Maybe that first line wasn't flattery after all. Fusa! The best stock." A red-gloved woman I assumed was Fusa disappeared into the hubbub, apparently used to her mistress making and discarding pronouncements in rapid succession.

"One of the two coming later is my brother," I put in hurriedly. "It won't confuse things to do that for me and not him?"

She came to a halt in front of sliding screens adorned with tales of Amaterasu, wooden lattice gilded with gold. Clearly we'd reached the sanctum where she worked her magic. "Confuse? Impossible. I am the goddess of this establishment. Every goings-on is part of me, and I of it." She paused. "But I share your appreciation of the deeper meanings of this work. It would be horribly lopsided to garb you in such finery and not the other. Not to mention I find myself delighted by your family's most recent dyes and cannot bring myself to jeopardize future shipments. It's decided." She clapped her hands together, as if in self-referencing prayer. "You in silver and your brother in gold. One child for the day and the other for the night." With that, she flung open the screens and marched us into her workroom.

It was nothing less than a panoply, a sea of fabrics laid out in front of us. Patterns and colors swam throughout. Geta and zouri huddled at the bottom like fine coral while accessories floated like seagulls at the top. A woman waited there, blunt bangs so low and collar so high that the only feature visible were a pair of stunning red eyes. I liked her immediately, just for those.

"Fujikage! You'll be the first," Furi declared, turning to face us. "It's been a while since I accepted a challenge, and I find it appropriate to work my way up to more unusual canvases. But if you think what passes for style enables you to question my choices, you'll find yourself naked on the street. Ito and Some"-I glanced over to find that a woman whose hair hid all but ruby lips had joined who I assumed was Some-"draw the screens."

A painted garden bloomed in front of us, taking the four of them with it. I stared at the privacy screens with more than a little bafflement before deciding that honestly, they were the least bizarre part of this. Now all we had to do was wait.

And wait we did. Apart from the occasional appearance of an attendant to offer us refreshments, a yelp from Shinju or instruction from Furi, and the appearance of Shinji and Aizen several minutes in, we stewed in apprehension. Aizen was just as quiet as when Shinji'd dragged him off, but less sweaty. Victory.

When the screens parted again, Shinju was nowhere to be found. Hiyori was sucked into the vortex of finery before she could protest. A while later, Minoru followed suit.

"The mistress will let you rejoin the others in another room, when their new wardrobe has been gathered and sent on to their residence," explained a woman whose high cheekbones were traced in rouge. "It isn't her way to allow anyone to see her creations before they're fated to debut."

"Fate," Aizen said when she had gone. I bit my lip, anticipating another non sequitur, but he continued, "Perhaps it's here that they attach the red strings of love. After all, they've cloth and red in abundance."

"You'd better be wrong, or my parents got a lot of explainin' ta do," Shinji warned.

"Our parents," I corrected.

"Whatever," Shinji huffed. "I was accountin' fer Aizen-san."

Aizen himself said nothing one way or the other. It wasn't too long before he too disappeared. To an untrained eye—what would've been my eye, Before—we sat in easy silence, siblings who didn't need to talk to feel comfortable. At a spiritual glance, though, tension hummed around us. Shinji's expansive reiatsu veered around me, like I sat in an inexplicable patch of shade. For my part—I'd grown more conscious of what my reiatsu was doing since Kinsawa—I kept my reiatsu close to my skin, tides and lightning pulsing like a heartbeat. We were avoiding each other in the same room.

I refused to cave. He couldn't get away with being a bastard because of my soft heart. And believe me, despite my stony silence, I was soft inside—I'd lain awake last night with his choked breathing in my ears, feeling his outrage and disbelief batter my skin. They didn't cover that Before, how reiatsu connected you to the hearts of people you knew well. It bonded nakama—and broke them. So I could say with confidence that our argument had stranded Shinji on a raft of self-righteousness in a sea of confusion. He assumed he'd done the right thing by posturing for me, like what I wanted didn't matter. More importantly, like he hadn't been punching way the hell down. That anger had barricaded me against the temptation to sneak out and apologize. I'd bolstered it, too, with the image of Shinji astride Nanase, veneer of laid-back, easy-to-forget nobility shredded by rage. It was Shinji at the worst I'd ever seen him- no, that was wrong. The worst I'd ever seen him blazed blackly in a scroll by my heart, in a record of the doom I'd coldly laid out for him centuries in advance.

It was necessary. I'd told myself that almost a year ago, when I'd made up my mind to save the world. It still sounded goofy, but it was still true. But seeing your brother's face twisted into something alien by betrayal, seeing him attack people he'd called friend, it wasn't so easy from here, regardless of the cause.

Fuck. I was letting sentiment drag me down, when I needed to be at my best. Time to poke the bear.

"You into men?" I asked, injecting the smug lightness of someone who wanted to offend while dodging ire. He knew it, I knew it, but he took the bait anyway.

"The fuck kinda question is that?" Shinji asked, forcing his own brand of fake-lightness, where he wanted to pretend he was answering to break his boredom but actually had been invested in the conversation from the start. Amateur. I had so many more sieves to sift my words through. "Ya really that desperate ta have it out that yer gonna whip out baby insults? Here I thought ya were smart enough ta do it in private." He huffed. "C'mon, Nari-nee, use yer eyes. I ain't some doe-eyed guy who hangs around teahouses, an' I ain't some bear neither."

I waded into my homemade conflict with cool deliberation. "Plenty of words. None of them are saying no." I paused, debating whether to get him on the use of stereotypes or taking the insinuation of being gay as an insult. But the moment passed and the words died.

He rolled his eyes. "No, then. Fine." But his moment didn't pass. Finally his shoulders twitched, caught between clan confidence and personal confusion. "Yes. No. Fuck, I dunno. How're ya supposed t'know that kinda shit?"

I almost needled him there. How do you not know? But that would've been stupid. People weren't that simple. I hadn't been that simple at fourteen the first time around. It was a strange and striking reminder that despite four years being more like four minutes when it came to our relative age, he had so much less lived experience than I did. I had to be the older sister I was for him now. "You're asking the wrong person there," I said, affecting continued casualness as I ran my fingers through my ponytail. I was intensely private; volunteering information didn't come naturally to me, much less deeply personal things like that. But damn was I curious about Shinji, and I could only ferret out the truth with my own. "I'm a little like Minoru; I don't have any interest in sex. But I'm more like most people in that kissing and all that is on the table. My concept of that won't be like yours, probably."

Gratifying surprise rippled through his reiatsu. I still wasn't expecting what came out of his mouth, though. "Wait, Narin, do you like girls?"

I shrugged. Rather than rely on my hidden years, I had to push them to the side to keep from recoiling. "More than guys."

"Shit," Shinji said ruefully. "Yer right; ya ain't the right person at all ta ask."

"Ask Fujikage-san," I suggested. "I'm pretty sure she's straight as a board."

His forehead wrinkled at that. Whether at 'straight,' a foreign concept, or at the mention of Shinju I couldn't tell. "Ain't no point. I like women." He squirmed, while I tried to stop the blood draining from my face. I'd thought we had non-straightness in common. Had he been playing me, to get me to admit something he could use against me? "Kinda hate this chat, but I ain't askin' our parents."

"They've never mentioned anything but the usual to me," I said.

He threw up his hands. "That's the point, that there ain't no point! I like chicks fer kissin' an' more, but with guys, it's just more. So it's useless ta go lookin' there. I can get all that from ladies, plus keep the clan goin' an' not haveta worry our parents, who don't even consider the weird shit."

"That's not how the heart works," I said, standing and dusting off my knees. I turned to the door, aiming for the latrine, and said, "Not to knock that side of you, but you're right there. Pragmatic." It was damn hard to say, and I wanted to leave off the first part, to hit him where it'd hurt, but I couldn't in good conscience. I could consign my brother to torture and exile, but doing anything that'd put him in that dark, shame-filled space I'd been once, that I couldn't bring myself to do. Good going, Nariko. I hardened myself again, sharp ceramic smile in place. "Probably best not to mention any of this willy-nilly. That's the sort of thing a person could use in the worst way."

I stepped out of the golden room to relieve myself, thinking of red strings. They were something I could have, if I got over the stabs of discomfort and guilt for my mental age and over my awkwardness. So never, basically.

More intriguing was the advantage Shinji didn't know he'd given me. Your preferences didn't matter too much as long as you were discreet and not the heir. That last bit was key. In a family of onmitsu and almost-onmitsu, it wouldn't be too hard to make any nonstandard dalliances of Shinji's less discreet than he wanted. With private encouragement there, plus his confession, I could press the issue, knowing he wouldn't do the same. It'd take a strong record, a dash of luck, and a personality shift drastic enough to make my parents like me, but I could do it. I could become heir.

It was chilling, how easily that path presented itself. The methods repulsed me, but the goal shone like a dragon's hoard at the end of that murky road. I'd make a great heir.

When I returned, slightly less comfortable in my own skin, Shinji had been cocooned in finery. I was alone.

Chapter Text

Relatives always liked to recount to me how still I'd been as a child. Anecdotes abounded of finding me peering around corners, watching my cousins prepare to spread honey and poison at parties around Soul Society, reading in the library for hours, even sitting enthralled after, mid-terrible twos, I'd sneaked into a banquet to watch the maiko and geisha dance. I didn't have to wonder whether they were reminding me to shape up and smile more—they told me so directly. I'd gotten better about it, watching less and participating more, but I could turn it on if need be. Like now. I stood motionless while Furi evaluated me, Ito and Some flanking her.

She hummed. It was a dry sound, not filler, but its own expression of commencement. "Do your friends tell you you aren't pretty, Hirako? If they do, you should review their standing with you. Only close friends and hidden enemies do that." Shinju was neither a friend nor enemy. I shook my head. "They should. Your family's blood only gilds those who already shine, or those who match the image perfectly. You do not—nor did your cousin Haru."

Not for the first time I wished Haru had never been born. Whether due to proximity in time or scale of his excesses—I'd never gotten the details beyond 'couldn't keep it in his pants' and 'spent more money on booze than he made for the clan'—it often felt like his notoriety eclipsed the things I loved about my clan. What? I often disagreed with them, and they weren't saints, but dozing off under a kotatsu to my cousins' half-true, half-never-entered-reality stories as the dogs barked in the distance was what I thought of when I thought of home. They weren't what I wanted to be, but I'd take them over Haru.

"The Hirako have been called the Golden Foxes," Furi continued. "Those who deviate- well. Perhaps you'll be unlucky. Perhaps you'll be luckier than your brother—certainly less impatient," she sniffed. "Perhaps you'll steal his luck. I place my money on you bolstering it. Whatever dimmed your looks, it meant to distinguish you from him. You shine brighter together than alone."

I beamed to head off my scowl. Was Shinji complaining to strangers now? "That's my job! I reflect him, like a prism. No, wait, that's a mirror. Prisms are for refraction."

"Indeed," Furi said, and I felt her slight exasperation. My persona had passed the tiny test I'd set. "But my concern isn't for your vocabulary. Clothing is more than covering for the body. It sets us up for roles as much as it allows us to play those we choose. My design for you must match my design for your brother, and both of them must complement the roles you seek."

She'd left something out. "What about the roles you're setting up for us?" I asked, recouping the tiny amount of respect my test had cost.

"That is my concern," she said, favoring me with a smile. It dropped as she turned to her servants. "Ito, strip her. Some, select a scent."

They both approached and took hold of my wrists. I was getting some well-needed practice smoothing the confusion from my reiatsu when Some, the red-eyed one, sniffed the wrist she had in hand. Satisfied, she leaned in close for an instant, breath tickling my neck, and slipped away. Ito set to work removing my clothing.

"I may not be Shinigami, but it doesn't take one to know your brother is captain-class," Furi said. She stood in the perfect position for me to see her, whatever Ito was doing. I appreciated that—as much as it had become second nature for me to monitor reiatsu, it was my instinct to watch people's eyes. "Heir to the clan leadership, hero of that unfortunate revolt, admired by his peers. One need not be of my caliber to see that he was born for gold, that most precious metal." I held myself back from asking where she was going with this with an act of will. She noticed, eyes narrowing. "As I thought. You resent being compared to your brother. Perhaps you feel like an accessory to his ensemble."

I forced a chuckle. "I must say, Saito-san, I didn't expect psychoanalysis with my wardrobe."

"Because for all your life you've been dressed by a clan trying to make something else of you, rather than use what they have," Furi replied. Ito removed my nagajuban, leaving me standing there in sarashi and koshimaki. "I would be a fool to dress you as I dressed your brother. A fool I am not. You are a Shinigami of high caliber, true, and word of what you did in the revolt is spreading along with your brother's new fame, but you and he are not the same. Tell me, when you earlier mentioned that you'll take up the textile side of Hirako operations, will you also be his steward? I see they've failed to make you another onmitsu in their employ."

"His seneschal," I corrected, ignoring that they were nearly the same thing. "Shinji and I will work together for the Hirako. His side's more public. Different, as you said. I'll handle the logistics. I don't mind." And I didn't. Logistics were a thousand-piece puzzle; a headache and a half, but so satisfying when every piece fell in place.

"I expect that they dress you with less ostentatious garb, then," Furi said. Some slipped in behind her with an opaque bottle I presumed was perfume. "Clothing to make you fade out further. Bah!" Her arm snapped out, seizing the fabric frame, turning it, and stopping its spin precisely in the greys. "Morons, all of them, to waste a lion's coat on a serpent. Your clan allegiance is already written on your face and woven in your hair. Ito," she ordered, "hakama in this." She bowed and backed out of the room.

"Ooh, new colors!" I exclaimed, amplifying my happiness at just that. Shinju's choice of clothes for me today had delighted me with their departure from clan colors, and the trend seemed set to continue. I paused, tapping my chin in faux-confusion. "Wait, a snake? I was expecting something a little more feline there. Maybe a white tiger, like Byakko," I said, naming the sacred constellation of the west.

She considered it for a moment before dismissing the thought with a shake of the head. "The opponent of dragons? It suits you even less than divinity. Something more clever for you, more careful, less open." She spun the frame again, stopping it this time in the blues. "A lion lazes around and makes an uproar until it finally chooses to enter the fray. I sense venom in you, as yet undispensed, though you've struck back at those who threaten you."

I laughed, genuine this time, but nervous. I glanced away, still hand rubbing the back of my neck. "I'm no traitor. I never will be." Regardless of whether I wore the shihakushou or not, I would always be loyal to my mission.

"Be careful making promises you can't keep, Hirako," Furi warned, selecting a bolt of deep blue fabric. "Some, hakamashita in this." Some took it and left. "Someday you will bloody your hands and be unable to claim they were forced. Such is the nature of ideals, especially those of the Shinigami. Good people do terrible things for great ends." She turned away, vanishing into the accessories and makeup. She emerged, possibly intentionally, just as Some and Ito came back with garments in hand.

Together the three of them descended on me in a flurry of fashion. I gave up tracking their motions when I had to keep my face motionless, hold both arms extended, and step into hakama at the same time. It was tough enough to not topple over.

When I was allowed to open my eyes, I initially thought Furi had dismissed her employees from the room, but soon I felt cool hands pulling at my hair, pulling out the low ponytail. A rebuke leaped to my lips—it had been hard to find a hairstyle I liked that worked with the bangs—but I held my tongue. If Shinju could hold her tongue, so could I, something I often struggled to remember around Shinji. They regathered it, but higher on my head, and I tightened my smile to avoid grimacing as they wrapped ties around it, bunching it up. The annoyance was even harder to hold back, but I smiled, smiled, smiled. They knew what they were doing, and if they didn't, I could fix it. Something thin and metal penetrated the tight bundle of hair and I felt something round and thick slide on with it and come to rest against the back of my head. Soon the ties were removed to let the rest fall freely.

Now I raised a questioning eyebrow at Furi. She beckoned and Ito stepped out from behind a rack with a full-length mirror.

My breath caught in my throat. I tried not to be vain, but I couldn't help staring. I was transformed. The person looking back at me wasn't beautiful, as Furi and Shinju had noted, but striking.

My hakamashita top was cobalt to flatter cool-toned skin, accented by silver brocade. It began at the back of my neck as delicate traces, like moonlight, but thickened as they crossed at my collarbone and circled around my back, re-emerging just below my breasts as snakes, fangs bared. Slate hakama fell in austere, intimidating pleats to my ankles. My fingers rose to my face, resting on lips that curved slyly in deep bluish-red lipstick and moving higher to searing green eyes outlined and elongated in kohl, true hazel color only evident as I tilted my head and the light fell differently. Sidelocks and untouched bangs framed my face, forcing you to keep your eyes there. I dragged mine up to the ponytail, which stood high and proud. An ornament secured it there, a gunmetal tube banded by silver.

I looked like a girl on the threshold of becoming a woman, rather than a girl still eyeing that threshold enviously. I looked not like a Disney princess, but a court lady, sleek, elegant, and carrying knives up her sleeves. I looked like someone who'd long ago quenched the fire in her eyes with the ice in her veins. A girl with venom.

I looked like the person I had spent eighteen years trying not to be.

"How much does all this cost?" I managed, eyes on Furi, shaken free.

"Your future business," she said. "No one will ever dress you like I do."

"My friends?" I asked, moving on because it was true.

"The Fujikage girl and I have clan connections. Her father's been leaning on them a while; I'll invite myself to his court and gain a new contract that way. The little one I'll take as one of my challenges. It's so rare to find a Shinigami of such stature." Her lips twitched, a hair too dignified to be mischievous. "Your brother, feh. He can pay, as I know not whether he'll turn back to the Hirako tailors whose work suits him well enough. I've asked him to pay for the scarred one as well, simply for the trouble of dressing him while seeing so little of him."

I blinked. "Minoru-kun?" It was technically accurate to call his tattoos scars, but weird.

"The one with brown hair," she said. "He resisted Ito's removal of his clothing and demanded that we look at him as little as possible while dressing him."

"Aizen-san, then," I said. I'd spotted the scars on his wrists briefly earlier, but never considered that he might have more. Had he vanished earlier because he was ashamed of them? They couldn't possibly be that extensive, to ask that Furi's people not look at him, and even if they were, there was no shame in scars. Either way, I was pretending I'd known all along. "What about the black-haired boy?"

"Charity," she said, waving away past protests. "He didn't like that answer, but I care not for being liked." She gave me a measuring look. "You and he were the only ones to ask how payment would be arranged. Teach the others to be wary of entitlement in the future and keep him by your side."

I suspected Aizen had kept quiet out of anxiety, not entitlement, but didn't say it. Instead, I picked out a grin and put it on, bowing low. "Thank you, Saito-san. Your inestimable wisdom and impeccable taste have been more valuable than I think even you know."

"Cease your chatter before I reconsider my estimation of your intellect," Furi warned. All at once Some and Ito reappeared. "I know precisely my worth. I'd encourage you to do the same, but in my raiment, you'll soon learn yours."

"Can you replicate the paint on your lips and around your eyes, miss?" Some murmured.

"And your hair?" Ito said, right on her colleague's heels.

I almost told them I'd try, or have Shinju help. Instead, I met Furi's eye. "Yes."

I'd learn.

When Furi's employees had gotten me back into my street clothes, packing away the cosmetics and clothing, they turned me loose with my friends, who looked varying degrees of troubled. Hiyori hid it best, busily trying to dent Shinji's shins, and Aizen worst—or perhaps it was the reverse. Who was to say whether Aizen's perpetual confusion was an act and Hiyori's misbehavior an attempt to deal with her emotions? Not me, that was for sure. I was happy enough to be looking more like myself.

We gathered our trunks, admonished the whole time by the workers. Weren't we smarter than to linger in such a busy environment? Didn't we know better than to chatter when they'd chased suspicious characters away not too long ago? Why were we even there, being so little like their usual clients? I was ready to scream when a feminine voice came out of nowhere, cutting through their remarks.

"They'll be out of here in no time, right?" It cajoled. "There's no need to fuss." I looked up to see a Chinese girl in a yukata of all things standing there, smiling down at us as we tried to get our trunks through the bustle of the store. "Hi! I'm Lin Yanmei. How are you? Can I help there?"

My alarm bells immediately went off. "Splendid!" I chirped, standing and heaving my trunk out of the road. "It's an amazing day to be alive! Why don't you help Aizen-san—that's the one with the brown hair—with his stuff?" As she went to do just that, I 'tripped' over my trunk, falling into her. We tumbled to the ground together, punctuated by the distinctive slap of a breakfall.

"I'm so sorry," I said, scrambling up and extending my arm to her. "Are you okay? Trying to help and here I am, tripping over nothing."

She beamed, taking my hand up. Her hands were well-maintained, with unchipped purple nail polish. I took note of the equally careful maintenance of their calluses. Definite trained martial artist, though whether she was from Shin'ou, or onmitsu or Shinigami if from Shin'ou, was up for debate. "I'm terrific! Just let me get that from your friend."

She bounced over to Aizen, hefting his trunk up, nodding to herself, and carrying it out to the street. We all followed suit. To my surprise, she stuck around as we headed back to the ryokan.

"Are you all going to be attending the tournament then, with such nice clothing?" she asked. With every springy step her hair, shiny and done in that classic odango-pigtails style, bounced. In my peripherals Hiyori touched her pigtails enviously. "I am! I thought about competing, but someone special to me decided to enter and he wanted me to come watch." She blushed. "I was hoping to find some clothes he'd like around here."

"Clothes he'd like?" Hiyori said. "What kinda numbskull are ya? Don't trust a man's sense fer that!"

"Shut yer trap, pipsqueak!" Shinji said. "I look damn good." His eyes fell on Yanmei... then traveled down a bit. "We're competin' in that tournament, actually. Don't suppose ya'd like ta come watch me instead?"

She giggled. "Sorry, Hirako-san, I don't think I'm your type." She glanced at me. Boys.

"What's that supposed ta mean? Yer cute an' sweet, never mind yer family name," he said, preening his golden hair. Yanmei's eyebrows rose.

"Are you dense?" Shinju's voice rose in pitch and volume, perfectly trimmed brows drawn together. "She's taken, you know! Focus on the tournament!" She flounced off, wheels of her trunk clattering.

"What's her deal?" Shinji muttered.

"Ugh, yer so dense it's a miracle ya ain't pavin' the road!" Hiyori shouted, trying valiantly to goose him with her free hand. "Idiot!"

"I wouldn't go that far, but it's kinda true," Minoru said. I nodded.

Laughter spilled out of Yanmei like water. "You're all very sweet." She turned to Aizen as we came to a corner. "I'm sorry, but I have to go meet up with him now. Can you take things from here?"

He looked dubiously at the trunk, which I didn't think was especially heavy, but nodded. "Yes, I-I should be able to."

She smiled, facing the rest of us. "I wish I could wish you all good luck in the tournament, but that'd be betraying my special someone. So instead I'll tell you to do your best. It's been nice talking to you!"

"Wait!" Shinji called as she went to leave. "Don't ya wanna get some clothes?"

She shook her head, pulling out a handkerchief printed with green leaves. "That's alright. I found what was most important to me, and I'm not going to be in the spotlight, after all. Another time!"

When she'd gone, we reconvened in as tight a bubble as we could manage while pulling our trunks.

"Onmitsu?" I said.

"It'd figure," Shinji said glumly.

Minoru rolled his eyes. "You'll get over it next time ya see a pretty face. Anyway, I dunno. She weren't carryin' a sword, but neither are we."

"I believe she was in my Houhou class," Aizen murmured.

"That so?" Shinji yawned. "What's she like fer real, then?"

He frowned, putting a hand to his temple. "I can't quite recall."

"Why'dja bring it up, then?" Hiyori demanded. She wrenched her trunk out of a rut in the road with a grunt. "Yer as useless as yer roommate there!"

"That's fine," I said as Shinji cut his eyes at her. "She said she wasn't competing, just observing. I'm more concerned with who she's there with."

"Who?" Aizen asked. He was starting to lag behind.

"That's the question, dumbass," Shinji said. "I got a look at the list of competitors. There was only one Chinese name on there, an' that was Liang Zhengzheng. This girl I met—friend of a friend—dated her brother a bit. Said she's as Kidou Corps as they come. No way she'd be an onmitsu, hangin' around that chick."

I rolled my eyes. "Shinji, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You and I are Shinigami and our entire family is officially or unofficially onmitsu." Craning my neck around, I spotted Shinju up ahead, evidently less irritated with Shinji. "Not to mention being Chinese doesn't mean they know each other. Even if they did, as long as we're basing our assumptions off ethnicity, the Chinese clans are disproportionately onmitsu."

"I saw her hands when ya helped 'er up," Minoru said as we came abreast of Shinju. He let go of his trunk, turning his own hands palms up. "Calluses, right where I got 'em."

"Who?" Shinju asked, preoccupied with a snarl in her hair.

"Lin Yanmei, the girl back there," I said. Beside me, Aizen's forehead uncreased. "Counterpoint: I had them before I even came to Shin'ou, since I've been training in my clan style so long. The Chinese clans have hung onto their traditional styles longer than a lot of the Japanese clans."

Shinju extended her own hand, palm down. "Her fingernails were painted, like mine. Why, what's this all about?"

"Princess Dumbass is arguin' with everybody else 'bout whether she was an onmitsu," Hiyori explained. "Don'tcha know which way we're goin'?"

Shinju tossed her head. "I know exactly which way we're going. I got us here, you know. I was waiting for you to catch up." As she set off in that direction, she threw a glance over her shoulder at me. "You don't think she's an onmitsu?"

I ignored her. "She broke her fall when I 'tripped' into her," I said. "If she's an onmitsu, she doesn't have the social infiltration part down. Or didn't care enough to put the act on."

"Say what ya mean already!" Hiyori burst out. "Ya bring the possibility up an' tell yer brother she could be, then ya turn around an' start suggestin' she ain't. Pick one or admit ya don't know!"

I laughed. "You shouldn't get so worked up, Sarugaki-kun," I said. "She's an onmitsu. I just wanted your reasoning."

"Really now," Shinji said, calling me on my semi-bullshit. "What's yer reasoning, then?"

"That we can't afford to assume she's not," I answered with a confident grin I didn't feel.

Their jaws dropped. I was having a ball making that happen.

"Seriously?" Minoru said. "All that talk an' yer gut feelin' is what it comes down ta? I thought Shinji-san was the impulsive one."

"It's not about instinct," I said. We were approaching the ryokan. "It's pure reason, since we don't know her or her family. If she's not, no harm done. Next question."

"By that logic, you or Hirako-kun could be onmitsu, since we know your family has many onmitsu," Shinju challenged. She gestured at employees, who trotted over to take our bags.

"Shinji wouldn't be, since I'm supposed to be managing all the less public stuff," I said calmly. "Not to mention my family wants him to become a captain, and that'd be a huge conflict of interest." I shot him a glance. "As if he's got that ambition."

"Lay off," he grumbled, waving me away.

"And you?" Shinju asked. "Not that I think you are, but as long as you're making that argument. you know."

I rested my hand on my hip, where Arashi usually hung. "Shikai. Onmitsu are discouraged from developing Zanpakutou."

"Are we gonna ignore how totally fuckin' crazy it is that Princess Dumbass thinks some random stranger is a knife?" Hiyori snapped. "We ain't done anythin' ta get the onmitsu on us, so they ain't there. Question fuckin' answered. Knives don't come after innocent people."

"Shinju's mentor worked for the Onmitsukidou, and we didn't know until Mari whipped out his badge," I said, leaving aside that onmitsu weren't just secret police,. "Onmitsu can be anyone. Also, look at the people we've fought: an evil sword spirit masquerading as a teacher, who got away with devouring kids for years, drug addicts who were actually borrowing Quincy powers, a mad scientist supplying gangs with bombs on the side, and a Quincy gang leader I met as a girl running from sex traffickers." I paused. Someone was getting left out. "And we fought alongside a Quincy double agent commanding a Shinigami unit. Heck, I hate to single out Minoru-kun, but... Minoru-kun. At this point, it's crazy not to assume everyone we meet has some hidden past or present affiliation."

Hiyori turned to Aizen. "D'ya remember how long they were in the baths fer? Her brain's boiled out her ears."

Looking uneasy, Aizen shook his head. "I for one support Nariko-san," he said. "We should assume that this person is trying to kill us."

"I wouldn't go that far," Shinju said, biting her lip, "but we have experienced a distressing pattern of foes who don't appear to be all they are. I think we should hold off on such decisive categorization until we learn who she's there for." We exchanged glances. Could our earlier conversation be accurate? Yanmei certainly couldn't be Shinji's, from the way they'd interacted.

"Fuck it," Shinji said, yawning. "It's way too dull ta talk about any more. She's an onmitsu 'til we can prove she ain't. Maybe our parents'll know."

I tilted my head. "Our parents? What about them? Our letters won't get to them in time."

"Don't need ta write 'em," he retorted. "They're here. Saw 'em earlier, when I was with Aizen-san gettin' him somethin' ta drink. Said somethin' about wantin' ta see ya as soon as possible. Maybe around dinner or somethin'?"

Of all the vague, inconsiderate- "Thank you," I forced out, because I'd rather know about and dread that conversation than get ambushed. "Fujikage-san, if it's alright with you, I'm going to retire to our room until dinner."

She nodded. "Of course. I think I'll check out some of the musical performances before I join you."

"Hey!" Hiyori blurted out as we turned to go. "What're we supposed ta do?"

"You could always take the time to train," I said. "After all, when the tournament starts, we're rivals." I flashed a grin at them over my shoulder. "Do it or don't—it only works out to my advantage."

So saying, I continued on my way. Jinzen wasn't precisely training, but it was preparation. It, like many things, was necessary.

 "Do it!" My opponent barked. "Mercy has no place on the battlefield!"

I gritted my teeth. "Justo Rayo!" Raiden's fury itself blazed from my fans, pumping voltage into my downed enemy. She gasped and went still. I held my position over her for a minute more, then stood, backing away. She was dead.

"Well done."

Okay, death was a bit subjective for a Zanapakutou spirit with a very much alive wielder. She was as dead as I could make her.

"But," Arashi continued, climbing to her feet, "I shouldn't have had to prompt you. You're soft."

I folded my arms, flaring my reiatsu to clear away the mist she'd brought in. "So is water, until you hit it from two hundred feet up."

She clicked her tongue, dispersing the rest of it with a maiko-like twist of the wrists. "If you're expecting your enemies to fall into you, you'll never win this tournament."

"Win it? Look around, Arashi," I said, gesturing to my inner world. The Buddhist temple was closed today, but the Zen garden, near-cloudless sky, and small forest around the back of the temple were as inviting as ever. "Do I look like I'm competitive?"

She resettled her sakkat on top of her head. "Perhaps I should send you back to your books, rather than urge you out into the world," she retorted. "I do not need eyes to see that you want more than 'image' from this tournament. You should know that."

"You're my soul; you should know I'm honest," I insisted. "I'm not lying about my intentions."

"You are truthful, daoshi," she said, leading me over to a stone bench at the edge of the garden. "Forthrightness is more becoming of people like the fanged girl. Your slip in Kinsawa, concerning the spear boy, was shameful. Only chance, in that everyone present has died or kept quiet, saved him from your mistake."

I reddened. I liked Hiyori well enough, but I had no desire to be like her. And Minoru? I hadn't told him about my slip-up with Shiraishi because I was too ashamed to even say it. "What was I supposed to do, lie? He asked me directly!"

"Say nothing," Arashi pointed out, gesturing for me to take a seat. I did. "Your attempt to cast your answer into doubt failed, but you could simply have not answered." She rested a clawed hand on my shoulder. "If I forbade you from that, you could never shut up, for all the nuances you'd be forced to divulge. Your nature would lie exposed."

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, slick with sweat from our sparring. "That won't always work, you know."

"It won't always work, that's true," she allowed. "You'll have to get very clever with your words. And when those don't work, be prepared for the consequences." She fixed me with indigo eyes. "Power isn't easy, daoshi. If you want to draw strength from and pursue the truth, you have to be committed to wearing its chains."

A cloud crossed the sun, splashing shade across my face for a moment. "I still don't see the connection to what I want out of this tournament. Becoming more prominent and influential is a very useful goal."

"It's not the entire truth," she said. "If you don't embrace all of it, you'll never realize all the success you could've had."

I folded my arms. "Define the entire truth, then."

"And feed you all the answers? I don't think so," she answered, and wow, I hadn't thought my soul was that sassy. Maybe this was her attempt to be cool.

I threw my hands up. "It's just a tournament! I go in, fight people, and look cool doing it. If that's not enough, maybe I'll talk to my parents about how they did it. Parties, probably."

She arched a slim black brow. "So there is another option?"

I frowned. "I guess. But this is an immediate opportunity. Plus I'm not the party animal the rest of my family is."

"So you want that platform now," Arashi continued, "and you prefer fighting to socializing."

I made a noise at her. "If you're going to make this about Shinji, don't. I didn't even know he was entering."

"I didn't," she said. "You did, daoshi."

Despite that my legs burned with exhaustion, I surged to my feet, whirling to face her. "You're twisting everything I say! Making me out to be some- some snake trying to get one over on her brother! Trying to claw her bloody way to power!"

Indigo cloth whispered as Arashi covered her mouth with a sleeve, making it so I could only see her cool blue eyes. I could guess at her expression, though; a smile curved them. "You have to know that others will say the same, daoshi."

"I know they will!" I said. "But they won't be doing it to try and get me to uncover some 'hidden truth!'" I paused, struggling to regain control. Finally I settled on a razor version of what had become my usual smile, thin and not showing too many teeth. "Can't I do something for myself without everyone berating me for it? Something I want to do?"

She spread her hands in the air. I squinted, trying to figure out what she meant, when I realized.

"Oh." My gaze fell to my sandals. "It's not just utilitarian, is it? I'm chasing personal glory. Choosing the arena where I have the edge, knowing Shinji can't catch up in time. Somewhere with clear-cut victories. I'm-" I couldn't finish the sentence. In the off-white gravel of the garden, I saw the pale smirk of the viper from earlier.

"Those are my colors also, daoshi," Arashi said. I tucked the question of how much she could read my thoughts in here into the back of my mind. "Is it so hard to wear them?"

"It's not because of you," I said, taking a seat beside her again. As always, my footprints faded from the carefully-raked gravel. "But it connects to you." I forced my smile wider, purely because the viper's grin was too much like what I wore now. "The person Madame Saito made me was beautiful. I know; everybody says I'm not, but I felt beautiful," I said to the tiny crease that appeared in her forehead. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't like that feeling. It's just that... I looked so cold. Like the perfect onmitsu, who finds strength in detaching herself, who makes people objectives. And they're your colors. The colors of my soul. Of who I was all along."

"You enjoyed terrifying the flower-shadow maiden in Kinsawa," Arashi observed, "and deceiving the Spiders. Even assassinating Mari."

"I didn't-" I stopped, seeing lightning flash in her eyes. "I didn't take pleasure in how I did it," I said carefully, "but I liked the power I had over them. Everything I needed fell into place as soon as people stopped mucking it up."

"So what's the problem?" she asked.

"I thought I got away from that when my parents let me come to Shin'ou," I said. "I thought... if I came here, I couldn't say that people I got killed weren't my fault. That person I saw in the mirror—that's exactly the person they wanted to make me, just in a different palette. If Madame Saito's right, if that's the role I put on with those clothes... if that's the role I'm choosing..."

She wrapped a wing-arm around my shoulders. "Daoshi, you have me. You can never be a true onmitsu, remember?"

"I can be the next best thing," I growled. "My parents encouraged me that way at New Year's."

She lifted a shoulder, an intricate motion that made her feathers and kimono alike shimmer. "Not the next best thing they picture. With your past, with your purpose, with me, you'll never fall entirely into the world of knives and midnight. I wager that you'd do a better job than they ever could." She cast her gaze up to the blue expanse. "Your modern understanding of the law is downright merciful compared to the usual."

"I got into this to save people!" I argued, stabbing a finger at my chest. "What happens when they turn into statistics in my head?"

"You got into this to save lives," she countered gently. "But you know that the lives of the greater whole are worth more than individuals. If you can step back and see the world such that you can maximize the lives saved, even if it's in numbers, is that not saving people?"

Cold, beautiful logic, and I clung to it. "I still won't become a knockoff onmitsu," I said. "The Hirako own me, but they made their choice letting me go to Shin'ou. I'm a Shinigami."

"As you will," Arashi said. Despite her aloof tone, I didn't sense disapproval. "I've told you that your life isn't worth less than any other, and you've started to accept that. I'm very proud of you for pursuing your own goals and not solely the objectives for our greater mission."

The next breeze brought with it the scent of wisteria, masking the aroma of wet stone. Shinju wanted me for something.

"Thank you," I said softly. In eighteen years, had I ever heard that? I shook it off. I didn't need to. I knew my parents were proud of me, somewhere in their hearts. "I'll see you again before the tournament."

With that thought, I willed myself into the chaos of the outer world.

 "Ah, Fujikage-san, the prize flower in the garden of my life," I said, opening my eyes. "I caught your-" I stopped. Not because the cheese factor had gotten too high, but because my audience was larger than I'd anticipated.

"Here I thought we'd haveta go grab a bite without ya," Makoto said from where she reclined on cushions. The particular lazy grin she wore looked joking, so I didn't get too worked up.

"Well met, kit," Kenji said. He stood at Shinju's shoulder and offered her a hand up from where she knelt. Ever polite, she took it. "Even if it is rather eerie seein' one's daughter like that."

I matched my mother's smile. "Just as long as you didn't draw on me," I replied. "I don't usually have guests when I'm meditating." Gingerly, I unfolded, rising to my feet. To my surprise, I came up a bit higher on my father than I remembered.

Shinju inclined her head. "They didn't have as many acts as I expected, so I returned early and found your parents looking for you," Shinju explained. "Hirako-kun did mention that they wanted to see you. I hope I didn't offend."

"Not at all," I said politely. If she really believed they didn't know exactly where I was, she was an idiot. "Thank you."

She took that as her cue to depart, bowing to my parents. "Lord and Lady Hirako, a pleasure. I'm afraid I have to go for dinner with a few friends myself."

When she'd gone, my father flopped onto the cushions beside Makoto. "That shoulda been you," he said, "goin' out ta dinner with friends. Not cooped up in yer room meditatin'."

"It could've been," I said, "if they hadn't all decided to join the tournament. I'm not about to risk showing my hand to them after a few cups." I folded myself back to the floor, legs to the side this time. "Besides, my Zanpakutou is key to this tournament. It'd be like burying kan to neglect her."

Makoto sniffed. "About this tournament..." I clenched my jaw, preparing to tell her that my entrance fee was already paid. "Ya did well ta join. Good job."

"'G-Good job?'" I sputtered, sheer surprise loosening my tongue. "You're kidding."

"That's the way of the Hirako," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "The appearance of kidding, always. Which ya missed, right there."

I reddened, but made up for it with a toss of the head. "That's the way of life. Stumbling and going on. Forward, always."

"Always, forward," Kenji echoed. A smirk crossed his face. "Yer brother an' you did real good in Kinsawa. People are talkin' about the Hirako bein' more than rumormongers. Not that we wanna lose that, mind," he said, "but restin' on yer laurels is a surefire way ta find yer behind the crowd."

"That's the truth," I said. "How do you benefit from our entering the tournament?"

His smirk broadened. Too late I realized he'd set a trap, and I'd fallen right into it. "So ya didn't do it with the clan in mind. Makoto an' I were divided on that one."

The corners of my mother's mouth turned down. "Somehow yer letter made me think ya were startin' ta step up an' get yer brother started on his path. Disappointin'."

What about Shinji stepping up? I reconsidered the thought immediately. With the way he'd been going, Shinji could use more of my input. I discarded it and reached deep into myself for the power of bullshit. "That's not what I said, and you know it. And I know that you and Mom didn't get as good at what you do by reading what you want to hear into what people say, so please don't start now." Flattery pulled it back from the edge of insolence.

"D'ya think we want ta hear our daughter's bein' selfish?" Makoto asked. Her Matsumura heritage was poking through, a dark, personal anger like the shadows of their pine forests.

"I think Dad expected it," I said. Only my smile kept it from blatant irritation.

He shrugged. "I try not ta go all in if I don't have ta. Yer mother had faith in ya; it was my duty ta balance that."

There. In giving them something to react to, I'd bought time to spin something to get myself out of trouble. "Now that I'm an adult with my own Zanpakutou, I decided to start operating more autonomously. I'll have to do the same when Shinji's clan leader, to keep from bothering him with minutiae. That means making my own considerations on how to help the clan, not just taking orders. I entered the tournament with those considerations. Some are mine, some are Hirako." I drummed my fingers on the tatami mat. "If you want those, you could ask. So let me restate my earlier question: how do you benefit from our entering the tournament? People are selfish creatures. You wouldn't be pleased with me for the first time in eighteen years if you weren't personally benefiting from this."

"Not holdin' back, are ya," Kenji said. It wasn't a question. More of an observation, almost surprised at this person sitting before him.

I smiled, more genuinely. "Such are the tides. Sometimes pulling back, sometimes rushing in."

"The tides are predictable," Makoto shot back. Annoyance flashed through me at her following my metaphor, but she did play the game of court ladies, where my father was unwelcome. "They come in on a clock, no holdin' back." Your reasons, now, I heard.

"I don't expect to win," I said. "I don't even expect Shinji to win. I do expect people to be there. Merchants, for instance."

"You don't make contracts for the clan," Kenji said.

"No," I agreed, "but I didn't finish. Nobility will be there too. Enough that the organizers set up sections for them. When I've lost, I go there. I mingle. I bask in their adulation. You said yourself they see us as being more than rumormongers, but that's just a profession. They need to see us as people capable of a greater range than that." I folded my arms. "You know people still bring up Uncle Haru? That's who they see us as. Shinji stands tall in that arena with someone by his side and fights, where everyone can see there's no trickery or luck, and they see us as people who aren't afraid to prove our worth. I lose and laugh it off in the stands, without planning revenge, they see someone who actually has a little impulse control. This isn't the past of all-consuming wars. Everybody isn't plotting to ruin each other at all times. The onmitsu take classes at Shin'ou alongside Shinigami. The Kidou Corps draws its students from Shin'ou instead of hiding in libraries. People haven't changed, but the way they do things has. They're going legitimate. We have, in our business practices. So this is me, saying that we need to show that we as people are adapting." I paused, because wow, that'd become a rant, and what if they needed more reasons? "Not to mention there's a cash prize, and I don't really need it, so it could go to the clan coffers. And the chance to observe more clans' fighting styles. Maybe identify some non-clan fighters who could be good employees, or even add some new blood into the branch families."

They blinked. We sat there for a bit, breeze sighing past the screens, no words exchanged. Finally my stomach growled. As if coming up from underwater, Makoto inhaled sharply.

"There was an assassination attempt," she said. "A cleanin' girl." She pulled aside the collar of her yukata, and I went white. The wound was dressed, but the size of the bandages alone told me it'd been bad. "We don't know fer sure why she did it, but the girl who shared a room with her seemed ta think it was ta do with the girl comin' from a northwestern district the Quincy gang took. She wasn't a Quincy, but our people found a cross in her possession, inscribed with foreign letters. Short—the name, maybe, of a Quincy from her past."

I closed my eyes. "Did she get you too, Dad?"

He coughed, and for the first time I heard a rasp creep into his voice. "Poison, but not nearly as bad as yer mother's. She wasn't a professional. Probably smeared the knife she threw with her own shit an' used the poison fer my food."

Fucking Quincy. A cleaning girl shouldn't have even had access to food. "Well, all's well that ends well," I said brightly, opening my eyes and plastering on a smile. It was all I knew to do, with the perpetrator so far away. "Except for her, I hope. Imprisoned back home?"

"Dead," Makoto said, disappointed. "Buried a blade in her belly an' ripped it around when she failed. Bled out before she could give us anythin'. Anythin' more than 'you'll shed no more Quincy blood on my account,' anyhow."

"So ya see," Kenji said, "it's good that Shinji an' ya joined this tournament. We get an excuse ta leave while the onmitsu pore over our home. As far as anyone knows, we're visitin' our children in a highly-protected area."

"And the truth?" I asked, wrapping my kimono a bit more tightly around myself.

"Elsewhere," he answered. "A safehouse, the home of a trusted friend, Seireitei itself if we can cook up the right excuse. Same thin' we do every time an assassin comes fer us. It ain't any of yer concern."

"It will be." I stared into the smooth-sanded wood of the floor. "It always is."

We took dinner in the room that night. By the time Shinju returned, they had left, and I sat on the veranda alone.

She picked her way across the room, where maids where putting out the futons and clearing away the daytime furniture. "No major upsets? Everything went well?"

I just found out my parents almost died because of something I did. I had no regrets about killing Mari. None. I only regretted that the cleaning girl had died, so I couldn't kill her myself. What had she thought would happen when she'd tried to assassinate them? That it would bring whichever Quincy she'd loved back? That Soul Society would stop thinking the Quincy were the bloodthirsty conquerors they were? That she was serving some greater purpose? Bull. The only one who could see that far was me.

"I got in trouble," I said instead, chuckling, because our relationship was about pursuing goals, not confiding in each other, "but I got out of it. Story of my life. How were your friends?"

She settled beside me, bringing a mist of perfume with her. "Well. Some of them were eager to see us perform. They'll bring their friends, and maybe those friends will bring more friends. It's a great opportunity, you know? But also a lot of pressure. More pressure than I've experienced before."

Appreciation washed over me. "Great multitasking," I said. "But seriously, this feels like more pressure than Kinsawa?"

She laughed nervously. "Kinsawa still doesn't feel completely real to me," she said. "Even then... we would've died if we hadn't stopped Mari. No consequences to face after that, you know? Here, if we fail, people will talk. It won't end for a while."

"If we fail the wrong way," I reminded her. "Even if that happens, we'll get over it. People can only talk for so long. Just don't listen. Or if you have to, talk louder."

"It feels like forever," she moaned, flopping back and reflexively slapping out. We laughed at how ingrained it'd become, even in 'civilian' settings. That was probably the point of teaching it to us. You could get injured anywhere, by anyone, by accident.

But for now, we were safe. The dawn could come with its dangers.

Tonight, nothing could touch us.

Chapter Text

I woke early, when the stars were still pricking the sky and moth-eaten scarves of morning mist were beginning to wreath the grounds. Call it anticipation of the tournament's start, an eighth sense—reiatsu and spirit-sight having taken sixth and seventh—twinging, or chance. My bet was on a side-effect of going from a school schedule to a military one to 'civilian' life. My body just didn't know when it was time to turn off and on anymore.

So, I was awake. I had a few options to occupy myself until breakfast: planning for the tournament, taking a walk, or training. The first made my anxiety subside a bit, but I'd have to light a candle for that. That'd mean dripping wax and light that might wake Shinju, so that was out. Training was equally tempting, but to do it in the real world, I'd have to leave ryokan grounds. If I could avoid that, I wanted to. I could've trained in my inner world, but Arashi was the only person to do it with. Tempting, but it'd only reinforce muscle memory keyed to fights with her, and I wouldn't be fighting bird-women. My inner world was better for conditioning, really.

Also, I was sore. Not so much that it'd impact my performance, and it'd most likely fade by tournament time, but still. I rubbed my sides, remembering Arashi's promise to work me harder than Himura. She had lived up in terms of rigor, but it wasn't quite the same. One of these days Himura and I would have to catch up.

Glass chimed somewhere on the premises, and I added a new task to my to-do list: talk to Aizen. Naturally, it was at the top, as in right now. Ugh.

I padded over to my wardrobe. My hand hesitated on the latch. Would I look too composed, too polished if I met him dressed at this early hour? More importantly, did I really want to get dressed? The answers were yes and no respectively, so I grabbed a heavier haori for warmth and headed out.

Mindful of Shinju's comment on the etiquette of spirit-ribbons, I didn't whip that out to find Aizen. Instead I followed his reiatsu, listening the same way I'd do to find a lost puppy. Okay, that was a bit cruel—the puppies I'd tracked down over the years had the courtesy to whine and make it easy for me. Also, money-wise, they were worth more.

I flushed, coming to a halt right where Aizen should've been. That had been actually cruel. He'd never know and nothing would ever come of the thought, but I still felt bad. It was false to boot. Aizen was worth a million lives. And the effort required to figure out to get on the roof. Was he allergic to doing things the normal way?

Eh, I thought as I cast around for a ladder and found none, what's normal when you're Aizen Sousuke, destroyer of worlds and dweeb extraordinaire?

Terrific. No ladder, no chair tall enough, and no trees with branches low enough to climb. Plenty of people still sleeping, ruling out calling Aizen down here. But Aizen's partnership with Shinji remained, and so did the tournament, so I couldn't afford for Aizen to be in a funk.

An idea came to me. I could try sky-walking. I'd planned to try it later, where getting to a certain height wasn't so critical, but why not now? Men planned and God laughed, or at least Aizen did.

Mind made up, I stepped up onto the veranda facing the courtyard to start with a tiny bit of height. And promptly realized that I had exactly no idea how sky-walking worked.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. I had the general idea down: using power to solidify the reishi under one's feet. But considering I'd scraped by in Kidou solely on my theory and papers, manipulating my power for a specific goal was actually pretty daunting in practice. Not to mention it was getting projected from my feet. Kidou from your hands was one thing, since the reiryoku was already going that way to the pressure vents in our wrists, but feet? My respect only grew for the Kidou Corps.

The glass above shivered, almost fractured. Yeah, not the best time to try this, but not the best time to give up either. I closed my eyes, coaxing reiryoku down my legs to the soles of my feet, and stepped out into the air.

Whump. I rolled onto my back, spitting out dirt. Okay, not the right way to do it. Maybe I had to project the reiryoku into reiatsu, instead of containing it within myself.

That method resulted in more success, if by 'more' you meant 'pretty sure that was right but unable to actually get it right.'

"I can feel it working," I muttered into the dirt for the eighteenth time, "so why isn't it?"

The reishi was cooperating, as far as I could tell. I could feel platforms forming under my feet, but when I put weight on them, they fizzled out or slipped from under my feet, and the more frustrated I got, the more they did the former. Either way I ended up in the dirt.

I sighed, concentrating not on my reiryoku, but on the wood beneath my feet, on the cool breeze ruffling my hair. There wouldn't be progress until I grounded myself. A few heartbeats more and I tried again. This time I ended up on my back, slipping right off the platform.

Still, I didn't grumble as I got up, just thought. My emotional state appeared tied to the success of sky-walking. As long as I was centered, the platforms were there, just hard to walk on. When I wasn't, they were too agitated. It felt almost like the lightning in my fans when I used Justo Rayo. It made sense, given my affinities. Maybe I needed to focus more on the relative stability of my aquatic side.

Once I got the hang of that, sky-walking came much easier. I walked out to the middle of the courtyard and back, just as a test. I fell a few times, but it was a good learning experience. If I kept moving and stayed light on my feet, sky-walking was a breeze. Pun intended.

So I was back on the veranda, feeling very proud of myself for figuring out a technique in all of fifteen minutes, pure trial-and-error. I took a step, then another, and another. Soon the edge of the roof was a little above eye level. I paused to take in my progress and-

"Ah!" I threw myself forward as the platform collapsed, catching the raised edge of the roof by my fingertips. There was no time to wait for him to investigate, so I gasped, "Aizen-san, I know you're up here but I'm not going to be real soon. Help up, please?"

Tile rasped and he scrambled over the peak, sliding down to me. His hands wrapped around my wrists and heaved. I found myself half-on the roof, enough to get myself the rest of the way. When I'd gotten my breath back and we sat side by side, I opened my mouth to ask why he was awake at this hour.

Naturally, he beat me to it. "Why are you up so early, Nariko-san? The sun hasn't even risen."

"Says the guy awake before the sun's up, wearing tinted glasses," I retorted.

He glanced away. "We've both resolved to keep our reasons to ourselves, then?"

I laughed, breath pluming in the chill air. "Well, I haven't, but that's because I don't have any. I just woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I noticed you were up, so..." I shrugged. "It's nice to have company. Shinji takes things easy, so I never really get the chance to appreciate the world like this with someone."

"A strange thing," he said softly, "that we both happen to be in this dark place, alone." A thousand double entendres sprang to mind, but he dispelled them, hacking into his sleeve. "We keep meeting like this, don't we?"

"I guess so," I said when Aizen seemed to expect an answer. An inexplicable trembling had set into my core. "But you don't need me to confirm that." He didn't respond, and I frowned. "Aizen-san? Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," he said. "Were your parents here earlier?"

I accepted the change of topic with a shrug. "Yeah, but only for dinner. They decided to stay elsewhere while they're visiting." Visiting where, I didn't say. I doubted Aizen had any plans concerning them, but poison was coming from the unlikeliest corners these days.

Aizen shifted. "I would've liked to give them my regards. They were very hospitable at New Year's. Will they be around?"

"You could write them," I suggested instead. A thought occurred to me, and I ran with it until I could think of a better way to continue the conversation. "You can read and write, right? I mean, you're a smart guy, and it's awfully hard to get by at Shin'ou if you can't, but I'm sure people have done it. Like the Kenpachi, you know? Or do they go through Shin'ou? The last one we got was before our time, I think; I haven't read much about it." My heart had sped up along with the march of my thoughts, which had become a sprint. I couldn't explain it, but sweat beaded on my upper lip.

He edged away from me. I felt his reiatsu twitch, then diminish. My heart began to slow. "You sound distressed. Is that better?"

I nodded, then realized he probably couldn't see in the dark. "Yes, I'm fine." He could produce fear with his reiatsu? I vaguely remembered Yamamoto doing that to Nanao, but in my reiryoku manipulation class we'd spent an awful lot of time covering how that sort of thing was connected to relative strength, and not only that, how much of it was in use. Aizen was far and away stronger than me, but he usually held it in, and besides, he wasn't attacking. Was this some kind of sick test? "How do you do that?"

His teeth gleamed in the dim light. "As far as I know, it's a gift peculiar to me." He coughed, smile vanishing. "I-I don't recommend the circumstances by which I learned it, though."

Questions, questions. Like how you can learn a 'gift.' "Are you ready for the tournament? I gotta admit, I'm nervous for the first day."

He turned to me, blinking rapidly. "The first day? Is that today?"

I frowned. "Yes. It was all over the posters, and those were all over, well, everything."

"It must have slipped my mind," he said softly, "but thank you for the reminder. You're truly invaluable, Nariko-san." His voice dropped a shade closer to the baritone of Before, and I shivered. It climbed back to his regular pitch when he said, "My mother's name was Kasumi."

I sputtered. Where had that come from? Nice to know, certainly, but... "Were you thinking about her or something?"

Aizen tilted his head, peering at me like an owl trying to triangulate the source of this strange new sound. "Not particularly. Why do you ask?"

I gave him the side-eye, too puzzled and irritated by this back-and-forth of questions to keep my guard up. "Because you brought it up out of the blue, that's why. I'm just trying to follow." Follow the switchback you turned the road of this conversation into, that is. Can we keep on a topic for five seconds?

His head tilted further. "Is that not how it goes? You tell me a secret and I tell you one?" He tapped his index fingers together, almost shyly. "We become a little more vulnerable to each other?"

Did Shin'ou have a class on social skills? It should've. And when had I told him a secret? I couldn't think of any- my nervousness about the tournament. I had prefaced it with 'admit.' "Kinda," I said, unable to help the tone of extremely strained patience I used for Shinji being a dumbass. Aizen probably couldn't tell. "It's not so formal and deliberate." Except when it was, like me and Shinju. I racked my brains for a way to explain better, so we didn't have to do this again. "People don't usually frame it as being vulnerable, either. It's actually a sign of not being vulnerable, because you trust the other person not to use the information to hurt you. Also, it's supposed to be something of similar magnitude and nature. So if I told you I secretly loved strawberries, you could say that you were secretly allergic, but not that you killed your entire family with poisoned strawberries. For example," I added, so he got that you didn't have to coordinate a secret for every one someone shared with you.

Aizen blanched, especially visible as light began to peek over the horizon. After a moment he said, measured, "Nariko-san, I may have told a secret that didn't match."

"Um, okay," I said. Who did he know that would continue a conversation with him beyond the necessary? "Did it hurt someone?"

Another pause, but this one considering, not controlled. "I don't know. Were you or Nanase-san hurt?"

"Were Nanase-san and I-" I snapped, fury lancing through me like a lightning bolt. "Are you kidding? You told Shinji what happened with him? Were we hurt! Shinji almost killed Nanase-san! I almost killed Shinji! We barely talk except to jab at each other and Nanase-san's not welcome around me ever again! Why would you tell him something like that?" Arashi flashed warning at me, but I was under control. The alternative I veered dangerously close to was throwing Aizen bodily off the roof.

"I-I didn't know it would do that!" he stammered. "Shinji-san confessed he was allergic to shrimp and I tried to reciprocate!"

"How?" The dismay eating a hole in my heart edged my voice. "How could you think that was okay?"

He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. "I don't know," he ground out, voice wobbling between depth and shrillness. "I didn't want to- I just wanted to support him like you've supported me."

The heat under my collar was building, not subsiding. I had to go break something. Now. "I'm glad you feel that way, if you really do," I said, "but save it for the tournament. If you don't know how to help him, hurt his enemies."  I stood, picking my way over to the edge.

Aizen stood too, reaching out to me. "N-Nariko-san, please don't go," he said. He sounded on the verge of tears. "Please. This isn't easy for me."

I rounded on him and he shrank back. "What isn't easy for you? Being a decent person? Because if I'm going to be honest, that really seems to vary." I folded my arms. "One second you're offering to help me carry ornaments through the snow, the next you're telling my overprotective little brother who tried to beat me up. You said you want to make the world a better place to live in? Pick a new agenda or figure out what in the hell 'better' means. From here, it looks like you don't even know who you want to be."

He removed his glasses, rubbing his face. Dark circles I hadn't seen before gouged beneath his eyes. "I do know," he said, sounding terribly sad and terribly tired, "and I'm sorry. I know I need to get better, and I'm trying. I need help. There's a lot I can't tell you, even if I wanted to."

"That won't be a sufficient show of trust forever, Aizen-san," I warned. "Sooner or later people are going to decide you've seen too much of them without showing enough in return." Some alien, bittersweet feeling surged in me, and I added, "I can't help you if I don't know how." It occurred to me that he'd never told me why he was up so early. "Aizen-san? Why are you awake so early, if you don't mind my asking?"

He looked off into the distance. The sliver of sun was growing. It softened his closed-off face, behind which lurked thoughts I increasingly couldn't fathom, into something more human. "Sometimes you just need to know that dawn will come," he answered.

"I'll see you later, Aizen-san," I said when he said nothing more. "Good luck today."

I dropped off the roof and headed for Shin'ou's training fields.

The training fields weren't supposed to be open, as it happened, but they kept people out with guards instead of Kidou locks. I convinced the guards, too groggy and surprised by having to actually do their jobs, to let me in to 'look for something I lost.' I hadn't expected that to work, but they recognized me as one of the 'heroes of Kinsawa,' and thus a student. I was in. Never mind that what I was looking for was metaphorical—confidence.

Everything had turned upside down with Aizen's confession. I'd assumed Shinji had found out from someone I didn't know, another one of his friends I hadn't met for fear that they'd hate me when I didn't have the energy to keep our friendship up. But Aizen? Sweet, gentle Aizen, who backed me every time Shinji and I disagreed? Aizen, who I'd known was socially awkward, but had never thought was so awkward he had no grasp of the fact that fights didn't exist in a vacuum? Never. I wanted to cut my beautiful new clothes to ribbons, hack off my bangs, smear my face with mud, anything I could look at to remind me every time I looked in the mirror of how stupid I was. And if I hated anything, it was feeling stupid. That was easily half of why I hated liars. Believe them and you were humiliated; disbelieve them and you looked paranoid, especially if they were honest in the end. Either way everything slipped rapidly out of control.

I told you we couldn't trust him, Arashi murmured, her soothing waves undercut by the cutting buzz of electricity. I'd stopped by the room to change, leave a note for Shinju in case she woke up, and grab my Zanpakutou. No matter what he seems to be, he's a danger.

Stop reminding me, I snapped, heading for a courtyard my Houhou and Hakuda classes had sometimes shared. Hopefully the obstacles were still up. I know what he is. Why do you think I didn't deck him?

So much for self-control, she sniffed.

Am I not allowed to be human? I demanded, nearly stopping and whirling as I would've with a flesh-and-blood person. I continued, feeling like an idiot and knowing she knew I felt like an idiot. Shinji's my brother, and important Before also. I'm allowed to be angry when someone I trusted turns out to have created a rift between us. Even accidentally.

Was it an accident? she murmured, voice soft as the shadows curled in every corner. Remember, we don't know his true agenda, beyond that nonsense about survival.

No, we don't, I admitted as I came to the courtyard I'd been thinking of. The permanent fixtures were still there, luckily. It's just that the only plot I can think of that requires him to separate me and Shinji is if he wanted to attach himself to one of us as a confidant and used that to make inroads to power. I'd do that if I- well, if I was Aizen. Nobles and the Shinigami hierarchy would tear him to shreds without someone to take the heat. In fact, that could explain why Aizen had been lieutenant in Turn Back the Pendulum; with his Shikai he could've undoubtedly faked the captaincy exam to get the position before Shinji. But if I was playing that long of a game, I'd have gotten close to Shinji, not me. I know Aizen knows Shinji's got better prospects. I unsheathed Arashi, frown glinting in her blade. It just didn't make sense. How could Aizen have been strategic enough to drive a wedge between us but not enough to not shoot himself in the foot by bonding with the wrong Hirako? The only explanation was that it really was an accident. But then how did I explain Aizen being so perceptive at New Year's, so brilliant in our Zanpakutou discussions, when he was now so oblivious that he couldn't understand how telling my brother I'd been hurt by someone we knew would be bad until I told him? Why did he seem to be fighting himself?

He's a traitor, Arashi reminded me. That's what he does. I'm sure sometimes it doesn't even make sense to him why he does what he does. He'll never change.

I ground my teeth, throwing her sheath to the side. You are so defeatist. Weren't you just encouraging me to have more ambition than what my parents handed to me?

They don't know what you're truly like, she fired back, while we know what Aizen is. Your ambition here is fine; your rationalization for handling Aizen, whose use is greater, as though he were anyone else is not.

So my ambition is fine as long as it only means something to me, but if it has a greater purpose it's not? I said. I was being contrary and I knew it. As much as I wanted Aizen to be different and everything else work out the same, it couldn't happen. I just couldn't take the resignation everyone seemed to have around here. People resigned themselves to living only for their clans, to being low on the totem pole, to never knowing anything more than what Shin'ou taught them. Stupid.

"Extinguish the infernal flames. Cleanse the unjust, roar through heaven, and strike down the moon. Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!" If the rush of Shikai hadn't awoken me all the way, the spray of water from activating it did. I sputtered. Why was that even a thing? Hey, Arashi, can I get that new technique you mentioned? Maybe something to do with that?

Not when you demand it, she said. Begin.

Whatever. I carefully released the death-grip I had on my reiatsu, trying to keep it down so no one came poking around wondering why someone was using Shikai in an out-of-session school in the early morning. It didn't look so great when you said it like that.

My first task: reinforce myself with reiryoku and reiatsu. The latter was great for no-selling attacks, from simple punches and sword-slashes all the way up to Bankai, if you did it well enough. Plenty of fights came down to a contest between the person with greater reiryoku and the person with greater reiatsu. If the former didn't get the hint, often the person with the stronger aura would win. Reiryoku was more useful internally, for things like reinforcing yourself when wounded or enhancing strength. As I was on the Gotei track, I understood both reasonably well, if not to the degree onmitsu perfected reiryoku use and Kidou Corps members perfected reiatsu use. We walked the middle path between the Kidou Corps' external focus and the Onmitsukidou's internal focus.

I was decent at reiryoku use and shit at reiatsu use, but reiryoku use was easier to train. I'd been doing it at random intervals since Kinsawa, trying to get myself used to doing it unconsciously. It'd been moderately successful, but moderate wasn't good enough. Today I raised the stakes, combining reiryoku and reiatsu manipulation. If I could keep reiryoku enhancing my muscles and bones, the most relevant application, while maintaining a full-body shield of reiatsu, I'd be golden. My smile grew wry at that. Maybe silver was a better standard to strive for.

I was somewhere around copper by the time I decided to move on. My power didn't like being ready to attack and defend at the same time. I could work with that, if I timed my strikes against my opponents' correctly, but it was more thinking than you wanted to do in battle.

Next were Hohou and Hakuda. I had to be careful here. Too drastic a change and Shinju wouldn't be able to see and cover for my gaps, and I'd create more gaps if I tweaked something only for muscle memory to take over and leave me at an exploitable loss. There wasn't really a downside to making not enough change, I supposed, but wasted time didn't help.

The courtyard—more of an outdoor training hall, really—was fairly large, enough that it contained a dense maze of wooden walls, an ancient set of spinning gates, a field of tall poles, and a few rows of training dummies, all boxed in by platforms so teachers could observe for examinations. Mine had involved all but the tall poles, since Shinigami didn't need the extreme balance training of onmitsu. And yet... I kinda wanted to try. I closed Arashi's fans to sketch out a training plan. Soon I'd composed a short exercise, combining the freestyling of randori and the solo nature of kata, with a healthy splash of tournament showiness. 

Kinsawa of all things had taught me to appreciate the seemingly-impractical stylings that marked high-level Shinigami martial artists. If you fought the way people without power did, you gave up all the advantages that power gave you. Ironically, Shin'ou really didn't help there. Sure, it taught foundations well, but it was hampered by its very nature as a school. When the goal was to produce functional soldiers in seven years, subtle or advanced techniques had to be sacrificed. You were better off teaching the basics and letting experience do the rest. It was reliable, but terribly predictable, and unless you took the initiative to experiment and integrate it with the other arts, you were never going to rise beyond an Academy level. The perception that Hakuda was for onmitsu only contributed to the focus on Zanjutsu, and with the greater visibility of Shinigami relative to onmitsu, a culture that favored swordsmanship developed. Not that most were brilliant there, which, c'mon. Even I had been well-ranked in my class. Hopefully the years would teach my peers the danger of laziness.

I picked a training dummy and faced it. "Begin," I whispered.

I stepped towards and past it, turning in a half circle to catch my opponent's own change in direction and raising my left knee for a kick. In my mind, he readied to sweep my right, and I jumped above it, snapping a kick from my back leg into his chin. He staggered back and I chased him down, slamming my palm into his solar plexus. Now he was wheezing, out of air but determined to fight. I spun to the side to dodge his kick. Desperate, he threw a punch.

Here came the fun part. I vaulted over his arm with a boost of reiryoku, slamming Arashi into his shoulder as a lever and shifting grip as I landed, throwing him to the ground. A stomp to the throat—courtesy of the pragmatism of Shifting Moon—finished that. I shot off to the next 'opponent,' chosen at random from the rows. This time I opened with a butterfly kick, inspired by a move of Akane's, whirling as I lashed out with a hook kick, ducking beneath a retaliatory shot, and using my momentum and power to leap and spin mid-air, coming down on his vulnerable side. I threw two jabs to his spine and swept his legs.

On I went, making judicious use of boosts and flash-step to twist, circle, and glide around the battlefield. I whipped an open fan through this guy's temple, slammed a roundhouse kick into another's thigh, backhanded another to the ground, and all the while I was grinning. How did Shinigami not get drunk on this power? It felt like I'd broken chains I hadn't even known I was wearing. Everything was so effortless, so fast, so strong.

But I could be faster. I could be stronger. I sealed Arashi and tossed her aside with a grin.

I leaped up to the observation platforms with a sky-step, dashing across them and lunging down to the spinning gates. It took an instant to ground myself, and I settled into a lower stance than my usual, weight on my back foot, one arm outstretched, the other slightly crooked, and both hands open. To the naked eye it looked like I was feeling the air ahead; a Shinigami would've recognized my reiatsu flowing through the gates, seeing the nuances my eyes couldn't. I snapped a roundhouse kick off my front leg, using the breeze to get them going, and entered.

My exams had only used the spinning gates as a test for strike speed. If you could fire off a kick or punch between the gates and not get hit as they were pushed faster and faster, you passed. But there was another use for them, an older use, and this was the one I attempted. 

I navigated the gates, opening and closing my stance as I pivoted around and through them. They knocked me in the shoulder and heel, leaving the beginnings of bruises, but not so many that they didn't spit me out on the other side anyway. Acceptable, for my first time. I paused for a second to breathe, feeling the eddies in the pool of reiatsu I'd suffused the gates with. Was this how Tousen saw? It was strangely intimate, my soul bridging the divide between me and the world.

I made it out of the maze panting. My muscles shook, enough that I wanted to rest, but I forced myself to stay standing. There was one obstacle left for me to challenge.

I turned to the poles. They were thicker than I had noticed before, and I vaguely recalled onmitsu being trained to climb and later walk up them. My goal wasn't so complex, but success would make me feel damn impressive. I flooded my muscles with reiryoku, breathed deep, and the ground simply... fell away.

The laughter I'd been holding in all morning spilled out as gravity relaxed its hold. The wind of speed rushed past, slowing time, and I reached out to the fading moon. But like the proverbial apple, I had to come down. The last gulp of sweet morning air was knocked out of me as the top of the pole raced to meet my feet with a bone-rattling thud. I yelped, pinwheeling my arms desperately, but no luck. I toppled backwards and hit the ground.

Now I did let myself rest, sides heaving with a mix of laughter and exhaustion. I should've known it was too much to ask that I conquer every obstacle in one go, but I'd had to try. Using my powers, really using them, made it too exhilarating to pass it up. That was fine. The poles could wait for future me. Right now, I felt like a god. I snorted and felt my lungs burn. Actually, make that a demigod. A demigod who needed a bath, I judged as I sniffed. Someone else didn't, though. My hair stood on end as I smelled the faintest whiff of osmanthus, pine, and musk. The breeze stole through, ruffling my hair, and I shook it off. Whoever it was was probably upwind, somewhere distant.

I dragged myself to my feet and collected Arashi. It was time to head back.

As I did, I thought about what I'd managed. Not all of it, mostly the flippy stuff, was useful, though that was mostly because too many in a row disoriented me. Unfortunately, the Hohou-with-sky-walking which I simply named Senpuuho—whirlwind step, because all the originality had gone into figuring it out—was too raw to use. If I messed up and ran into Shinju, our goose was cooked. It needed more practice and refinement until I was satisfied with its efficiency. Not only that, I didn't completely understand what I was doing with it. The slippery, transient nature of my platforms that made sky-walking so delicate just kind of... happened. I wanted to know why they came out that way before I did anything with it.

All was forgotten as I washed up and headed back to the room. There I took out my calligraphy brushes and wrote simple phrases. I was on 'listen' when the gong rang for breakfast. Shinju woke as I was packing my kit away and opening Furi's chest for my clothes. To my surprise, she'd packed in more than the outfit she'd had me try on. Maybe that outfit had been a tool to ensure correct measurements and style. I selected the top ensemble, burnt orange hakama embroidered with camellia, a cream hakamashita, and a thin, gradated dark brown obi, and put them on.

"You dropped something," Shinju said. Her concentration was impressive given that she was talking, yawning, and dressing simultaneously in the early morning. Her ensemble was slightly more elaborate than mine, with plum-pink hakama, an eggplant hakamashita accented with cherry blossoms and tied with a thin green obi, and a branch-patterned comb to secure her shimada updo. Before I could ask where she'd gotten the comb, I read the slip of paper that'd fallen from my hakama and understood.

Small compartments on the side held my hair ornament for the day, a red tube with tiny silver bells hanging from it, and a clear bottle wrapped in light grey handkerchiefs. I put my hair up with a comb and minimal guidance from Shinju and sniffed the bottle. As I'd suspected, it was perfume. The scent was subtle and hard-to-place, but the sweetness with a hint of spice had me suspecting lilies. I watched Shinju apply her rosy scent and copied the places she dabbed it.

"What's this?" she asked as we finished up, waving another piece of paper. My note. "You went out training earlier?"

I shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I went to Shin'ou and tried a few things out. I'd recommend you do the same if we get the chance. The tournament's a good place to show that you're a cut above the average student."

She nodded. "Any last-minute tricks I should know about?"

I considered. "More jumping and fancy kicks. Flash-step. I've been trying to keep myself reinforced with reiryoku too."

A few files shuffled behind grey eyes and she nodded again. "That's good. We should be performing according to our roles. For my part, I think a more classical style will do."

I hummed as we stepped out onto the veranda and slipped on geta. We'd have to change them for waraji at the tournament, but that was no excuse to be rude now. "Just as long as classical doesn't mean 'Shin'ou standard.' I won't have my partner be the reason we lose."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you volunteering to be the reason, then?"

I giggled, sliding open the screen of the dining hall. "I suppose I am. You're welcome to remind me of that later."

"I couldn't," she said, casting about for our friends. "It would be terribly impolite." Her lips twitched. "And yet."

"And yet," I agreed. I led her over to a familiar black head bowed over a bowl. "Good morning, rival."

"Mornin'," Minoru said. "Sarugaki-kun's off naggin' Shinji-san an' Aizen-san about somethin' or other," he said, nodding at the half-eaten bowl next to him. "Wanna go over an' grab her?"

I traced the sound of a loud Osaka dialect with my eyes and found Hiyori. She stood yelling at Shinji and Aizen, who'd wedged themselves onto a bench. Shinji had clearly tuned out long ago. But as I watched, Aizen nodded and made some sort of reply. She was so taken aback that she stopped cold. Aizen rose to his feet, awkwardness of earlier forgotten in the smoothness of his movements, and made his way over to me.

With proximity, I saw why she'd been stunned. Aizen was almost transformed. The circles beneath his eyes were still there, but made less prominent by a soft, sure smile. His disheveled brown hair had been combed for the first time ever into a tousled style that framed his face. The outfit he wore, green-and-white pinstriped hakama and a grey hakamashita, might not have fit quite as well as mine or Shinju's—Furi was a goddess of clothing, but it was hard to size someone you couldn't see—but certainly better than the borrowed clothes or hakama I'd always seen him in. But really, it came down to his body language. Aizen was perpetually stooping, flinching, and shying away; direct eye contact was rare here, but the constant flicking of his eyes and failure to grasp the unspoken rules of personal space made for uncomfortable interactions with most people. I think I was only saved from that by a sort of kinship, born of Western sensibilities. Today he stopped at the threshold of being too close, shoulders pulled back, chin up and eyes—as far as I could tell, being behind glasses—fixed on mine. It didn't erase the spindliness of his form, but it certainly disguised it. What that disguise was, I couldn't quite say, just that it was... welcome.

"Good morning, Nariko-san," he said. He surveyed me with a slow smile. "You look very nice today."

"I like to think I look nice everyday," I retorted. My cheeks betrayed the humor, going red, and I had to avert my eyes for a moment. When I looked back up, he was still staring with that gentle smile. It was strangely reassuring, given Aizen's tendency to do that even when not being abnormally functional. "I mean, good morning, Aizen-san. You're feeling better now?"

He nodded, gesturing for Shinju and I to take a seat. As we did, he followed suit. "Significantly. I was a bit groggy earlier; you'll have to forgive my propensity for emotion. It was untoward. About the matter we discussed: I've made apologies to all relevant parties."

I ducked my head in thanks as a ryokan employee delivered Shinju's and my breakfast. then frowned at Aizen. "Even Nanase-san?"

He waved a hand. "Yes, even Nanase-san. I hunted him down before he left and took care of it. Then he left." He grabbed the employee's arm. "Breakfast, please. Something with meat."

I tucked into my rice to hide my frown. I'd thought they'd gotten along better than that. "He wasn't staying? I thought I might strong-arm Shinji into apologizing too."

"I don't understand why you're so defensive of Nanase-kun," Shinju commented, dabbing at her mouth. "He attacked you."

"Indeed," Aizen said. "He was hardly deserving of your trust."

"I don't like people who think they're owed more than they deserve," I said. Despite my cool tone, my heart pounded as I looked at Aizen. I trained my gaze on the nattou instead. "Some people seem to think they deserve to be able to lay into Rukongai folk without consequences because they're noble. Those people are always going to exist, but I won't have one of them be my brother."

"I fuckin' hate that kinda person," Hiyori spat. I glanced up to find her at my shoulder. She nudged Aizen. "Budge up, creepy. Just 'cause ya prettied yerself up a bit don't mean I'm lettin' ya get away with takin' up more space 'n ya need."

Aizen's face briefly took on an eerie blankness, but it became an indulgent smile so quickly I forgot I'd seen it. He moved over so she could return to her meal, which she consumed with great gusto. "You left Shinji-san by himself then? Well, now I feel guilty."

"Liar," she said. She glared Shinju and me up and down. "Fuck, I feel like a fuckin' baby sittin' next ta the both of ya. What're ya drinkin' ta get that chest, Flowers?"

Shinju blushed. "S-Sarugaki-kun! Don't be so uncouth! Besides, you fit the traditional look so nicely. Give yourself time to grow."

"I do believe that's the first compliment you've ever given Sarugaki-san," Aizen said. "Though we can all agree she's hardly the sort to care what men think."

Shinju looked wounded at that, and Hiyori irritated. I stepped in, tightening my smile in Aizen's direction. "Easy. The tournament's not started yet. Keep the claws to yourself." He seemed to remember himself at that, inclining his head. "Now, I'm gonna say something and you all are going to humor me." I rolled my eyes at Hiyori to head her off. "I'm not saying this because I think you're stupid, even if I do. I'm saying it because it bears repeating, and you'd all have to learn it sometime."

"We'd all?" Shinju said. "What makes you different from us?"

"Plenty," Aizen answered. "Nariko-san, continue."

I smiled. It was nice to have someone act like I was special, even if it was Aizen, this new, sure Aizen. "Not every war is fought to beat an enemy. This isn't a war, but the principle is the same. We're not here to become champions. We can't all be champions, but we can be friends after this, and that'll last us longer than any prize or bragging rights. Serve us better, too. We're here to show off what we know to the people whose recognition matters more than any civilians'. We're here, pardon my French, to be badass. So don't turn this into a slugfest. Don't treat them like enemies—treat them like training dummies with something to prove. And above all, don't be boring." I wore the viper's grin, sharp and thin. "Oh, and don't think I'll go easy on you if we get matched. Fujikage-san neither. You're better than that, and so are we." I rose. I could eat more, but in a few minutes I knew my stomach would let my mind know it was done. There was no point overeating. "Fujikage-san, are you ready to leave? I have to stop back at the room for my Zanpakutou if you aren't."

"In a second," she answered, scarfing down the last mouthful in her bowl. She stood. "Shall we go?"

I nodded, turning to the rest of the table. "Good luck, all of you. Aizen-san, please tell Shinji what I just told you."

We left with steel hearts and sunny smiles.

If I'd thought the tournament venue was a beehive before, it was an anthill now. You could barely breathe without inhaling someone's hair or take a step without knocking over an opportunistic merchant's wares. Maybe it was suppressed nervousness coming to the surface, or Aizen being careless with his 'gift,' or simple dislike for crowds, but I did not have time for this shit.

I stopped, tugging Shinju out of the main current of traffic. I explained to her what I wanted to do, got her approval, and grinned. "Think light thoughts, alright?"

I scooped her up in a bridal carry and jumped above the crowd, loping across the plaza and dropping down to normal elevation at the entrance. The high ponytail was coming in handy already, keeping my hair from mopping up the sweat that'd sprung up on my neck from that little stunt. Really had to work on that reiryoku-reiatsu balance. The organizer at the entrance checked our stamps again and let us in.

The competition hall wasn't as crowded as the world outside, but it was just as frantic. People were everywhere, putting the finishing touches on anything an attendee could conceivably come into contact with. Shinju and I joined the assembled competitors to wait for instructions.

I smelled him before I saw him. More accurately, I saw Shinju inhale and sigh happily, prompting me to do the same and gag. Momohiko appeared beside me a second later, annoyingly resplendent in checked green hakama and a brown kosode printed with the Wakahisa chrysanthemum mon on the right breast. A gold ornament of the same pattern held up his hair.

"Had a falling-out, did you? I can't think of any other reason you wouldn't work with your brother," he said. "You're so very insular, you Hirako."

I'd fought a sword-demon and a Quincy cannibal since the last time he'd tried to get under my skin. It just wasn't the same. "We know our friends, Wakahisa-sama," I said, beaming so brightly he actually took a step back. "And our enemies. Have you met Fujikage Shinju-san?" I gestured to Shinju, who bowed. "I'm sure you've heard of her commendation. I wouldn't want anyone else at my side. How about you? Who's your partner? Any other friends?"

His eyes tightened. Had I hit the mark, or merely his pride? "I entered with Hisakawa Daisuke," he said. A broad-shouldered boy stepped into view, sneering at me. He had a square, profoundly punchable face. "His younger cousin Asami received recognition along with me."

"That's so nice I forgot to care," I said, caring not at all that he probably meant Daisuke was more skilled than Asami. I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. "Well-"

"Wakahisa-sama!" Yanmei appeared in an explosion of pigtails and boom, I'd seen that coming. I noted the position of my valuables—scrolls to the side and just below each breast, for maximum difficulty of pickpocketing—and flattened my smile to let them know I knew their game. She moved in as if to hug him, but thought better of it and clasped her hands in front of herself instead. "I almost missed you! Did you sleep alright? Good morning, Hisakawa-san!" She noticed me, or pretended to, and beamed. "Are these other competitors? Hi! I'm Lin Yanmei! Nice to meet you!" She bobbed her head in a quick bow. Just as quickly I realized her game.

Sorry, Yanmei, I'm not playing. "So quick to forget us, Lin-chan?" I purred. "Best see if they offer summer classes. Onmitsu who forget their objective in a day get retired real fast."

Her smile took on a pained, but not unfriendly cast. "Just trying to cover all my bases, Hirako-chan, Fujikage-chan. Did you see all the people outside? The day hasn't even begun!"

"Lin-chan," Momohiko murmured, "is your seat adequate? Did you bring water? I don't know when they'll schedule our match, and you aren't obligated to stay the entire time waiting if it's late." He sounded almost tender, voice rising in pitch. I stole a glance at his face and had to yank my eyes back from staring. The sneer had flipped into a smile, the level, uncompromising brow lifted in concern. Well. Momohiko had to have some good traits, or he'd have been shunned, station or no.

"It's great! Really!" she hastened to assure him. With every frantic nod those damn distracting pigtails bounced. "But, um, please don't concern yourself with me, Wakahisa-sama. You should focus on your match." She toyed with a tail, purple polish glinting amidst black hair.

"Are you sure? Not a single cloud in the sky?" I shifted and the sneer soured his mouth again. "You're right, of course. Back to your place, if there's nothing else."

"But there is!" she retrieved a small cloth from her inrou. "If you like it, could you wear this? For good luck?" He accepted it and she bounded off. Hisakawa dutifully unfolded it and set to tying it around Momohiko's bicep, where it was revealed as yesterday's handkerchief, pattern recognizable as mint leaves. Go figure.

I giggled. "You look better with a smile, Wakahisa-sama," I said.

"You're hideous as ever," Momohiko snapped, "and friendless besides. Stop reading into nothing and start planning how you'll get out of humiliating defeat this time."

Two sharp claps sounded from the front, stealing my chance to retort. Everyone had made it through the crowd and the announcer was ready to go.

"We do not particularly care about your health," she said, "but recovery makes for drama, while death and permanent injury do not. As a result, we have a longstanding contract with the Fourth Division healers." She gestured to a handful of shihakushou-clad men and women clustered nearby. We bowed. "This tournament will not stop for a bone to set or a cut to scab. If you need anything else than their ministrations, like broth or salves, get out now." She seemed to expect that no one would leave, pausing only briefly before continuing, "As we speak, the order of events is being displayed outside. Kim!" She clapped again and a banner fell open from the next level up. A tiny woman in hanbok threw herself half over the edge securing it. The announcer frowned up, sending Kim scurrying away. Worker safety didn't seem to be the priority here. "When you and your partner have determined your place, line up by my office so we can discuss billing, in the event that you achieve any notoriety in this event." She swept away without fanfare. Saving herself for the real deal, I supposed, not that she had long to wait.

Neither did I, as it turned out. The second she left, we surged forward as one, scrambling to find our names first. Shinju and I barely managed to stay together.

"Third," I said, shouting to be heard over the clamor. "Can you read the names?"

"Kiyokawa Hiroshi and Inoue Taiyou," Shinju answered. "I haven't heard of Inoue-senpai, but Kiyokawa-senpai's supposed to have some Kidou tricks from being under the Takamiya, despite being a Shinigami."

I pursed my lips. Not enough information, and what she'd given was only enough to fill me with dread. My excellent grasp of Kidou theory offset that advantage somewhat, but battle wasn't the time to stop and review the finer points. Damn my incompetence, and damn my lack of Hirako luck. Of course I'd run into a Kidou user my first match. "Tricks, or something to give him a decisive advantage?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I'm sure we'll find out soon. Shall we go?"

"One second," I said, squinting up. "I want to see when our friends are competing."

Minoru and Hiyori's match was the one directly after ours, conveniently enough. I bit my lip upon seeing their opponents' names—Liang Zhengzheng, future Kidou Corps member, and Kobayashi Suzume, whose name told me everything I needed to know about her future career. An onmitsu and Kidou specialist didn't seem to mesh well, leading me to suspect one had joined and dragged the other in out of friendship. Not that that'd help much—blunt Hiyori wasn't exactly in a position to estimate the subtle tactics of an onmitsu and neither she nor Minoru had more than passing skill in Kidou. Scanning the roster for Shinji and Aizen and not finding them, my eyes stopped at the second-to-last spot, Momohiko and Hisakawa against Takahashi Yukari and Hokutan Ichiro. A high noble and his lackey vs. two Rukongai souls? No way that wasn't intentional, and I consciously decided not to grind my teeth at the expected outcome. It was out of my hands.  Shinji and Aizen, by process of elimination, were last. They stood to fight Himura Mizuiro and Kotetsu Nobune; the former was from a clan too large and varied to guess at, the latter from such a small clan that I only remembered the name because it was that of a few characters. The Fourth's lieutenant, and the annoying girl in the Thirteenth. What were their names again? Not important now. I couldn't predict the outcome, though a part of me hoped he'd meet people he couldn't power through.

With that locked down, we headed in the direction the announcer had gone. There was a small line built up. Accordingly, we had to wait. But at last we were admitted into the small room set up as her office.

It wasn't a terribly interesting conversation. I learned she was an Ukitake, a family resemblance I saw as soon as she said it but not before, and that she was so intensely professional that that was all the information she'd give about herself. On the flip side, she demanded to know everything about us. Skills, achievements, major life events, etc. She took a look at Arashi, raised an eyebrow, and moved right into asking Shinju if she had any titles. I was surprised and a little dismayed to learn that Shinju had already been pronounced hime in the Fujikage clan. She hadn't had reason to tell me, but it annoyed me to be learning that now, especially since she had a cool title: Tamahime, Jeweled or Beaded Princess, from the second character in her name. I consoled myself with the thought that without a clan style, it wasn't as hard as what I'd have to endure. All that was forgotten at her other feat: foiling three separate attempts on her father's life in one night, solely through the conspirators' clothing. The family textile business sounded a lot more exciting all of a sudden.

She dismissed us to wait our turn. And wait we did, because that crowd? Not getting in quickly. The butterflies in my stomach fell asleep pretty soon, people-watching. I spotted entire sections emblazoned with the Great Noble Houses' emblems, with other sections divvied up between lesser-but-still-prominent clans. The absence of a Hirako screen was unsurprising. From what I'd gathered over dinner with my parents, the most involvement we had with this event was collecting bets through proxies beforehand and gleaning information afterwards. Most space was general admissions.

When I got bored watching spectators enter, I turned to the other contestants entering the section reserved for those not currently competing or on deck. We had an okay view, nothing spectacular. Shinju pointed out Kiyokawa and Inoue to me when they came in. Neither had Shikai, but one look at Inoue told me his fighting style. He was compact, short-haired, and had fucked-up shoulders and a fucked-up face. Okay, that was exaggerating a bit. Inoue's face wasn't utterly mangled, but his eyebrows were interrupted by hairline scars and the kinks in his nose spoke of many unhealed breaks. He put me in mind of Himura-sensei, mostly in the austerity of his black kimono and the vivid dragon tattoos that wound down his forearms. Ballsy, given his Rukongai origins. Less obvious was his similarity to Kensei. Both, in this culture of deference, looked everyone right in the eye, and both had shoulders that jutted forward. It wasn't down to a shared temperament or spine defect—they were boxers. Kensei was by far the smarter of the two, though. Inoue's tattoos terminated in roaring dragon heads on each fist, which told me he wanted to show them off. He wouldn't be wrapping his hands. It was a recipe for long-term damage. I smirked to myself. Someone had to tell him that eventually. Why not make it me, after an object lesson in the dangers of forgoing protection? I related my observations to Shinju quickly, in case I didn't get the chance before our bout.

"Fucking nobles," muttered a raspy female voice to my right. I looked over to see a broad-shouldered girl drop into her seat alongside a wiry brunet boy. She flushed upon catching my eye. "Shit, I'm never gonna get through this thing if I can't even look around." She chuckled, rubbing her forehead and wincing. "Well, I coulda picked worse to offend. Takahashi Yukari, nice to meet you," she introduced herself. "This knucklehead's Hokutan Ichiro," she added, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at the guy.

"Yeah, I read the matchups," I said, straining out the snark. She laughed again, so I supposed I hadn't offended in return. "I'm Hirako Nariko, and this is my partner, Fujikage Shinju." Shinju nodded politely. "What, did you have to wait for some procession to get up here? Those things last so long you have to bring rations."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't they just? Nah, some lady in the crowd tried to buy me as a servant. Buy me, right outta the blue! I ignored her, so she grabbed my arm—the bare arm, so hard it left marks." Pulling up one sleeve, she showed me her forearm, where tiny crescents glared in the angry red of broken skin. "Top it all off, I'm thirsty as fuck all of a sudden, and my head's pounding."

Hokutan sighed gustily. "I told you not to party last night. Did you listen? Of course not. Stop complaining."

"I barely had a drop," she groused. "You stop caring so much about what nobles think. They'll never change." But she seemed satisfied enough, and settled in with no more reference to the slight than rubbing her arm.

Impatient, I turned back to the arena. The stands were packed and the flow of people had become a trickle through which hawkers navigated. Surely it'd start soon.

Sure enough, before long the doors slammed shut. The announcer, now in eye-catching red and gold brocade, stepped into the ring—actually an oval—and clapped twice. Though the sound was barely a raindrop in the ocean of noise, silence fell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, common folk, officers of the Gotei 13, Onmitsukidou, and Kidou Corps, patrons of the Great Noble Houses, we welcome you today to the 107th Annual Spiritual Arts Tournament!" she boomed, flinging both arms out and snapping open a bronze fan. Its clack resounded in the hall. "This year, as every year, we will give you the best fighters of this generation! In this hall, merit alone will save our contestants. No one may intercede to save a losing fighter from defeat. There are no rules and there is no pity."

I buried a snicker in my collar at that. Of course there were rules, merely the unstated ones. No groin shots, no fighting outside the ring or people you weren't assigned to fight, so on and so forth. Couldn't have civilians thinking we were uncivilized.

"This year we have a special treat for you," she continued. "Contestants have been paired together, making for a more engaging arena as four contestants face off at once. We hope you understand that this deviation has been undertaken with your entertainment in mind." There were few murmurs of discontent, so presumably they did. "Let it be known that this change will not be permanent—after the third round, partners will be forced to choose one member to advance. Of 128 contestants, only one can be victorious!" The stands cheered, including our section. I pressed my lips together. How stupid could they be, to all think they'd be the one?

"Yes, honored guests, the fighting in these six rounds will be ferocious," she said, "so much so that you are at risk of harm simply by being here. We applaud your bravery. For your safety, the tournament organizers have contracted with noble members of the Kidou Corps to maintain barriers." As civilians murmured appreciatively, we contestants snorted. One of the first myths dispelled in Kidou 1 was that of noble-made barriers being unbreakable by commoners. All nobles could do is know some tricks for stability. The organizers had to know that, but they also had to pander to the crowd. As if you could tell who was who in those uniforms. "Witness as they prepare their techniques!" Five Kidou Corps members shuffled out to surround the oval. As one, they began to chant, proceeding along the perimeter clockwise, then counterclockwise. Multicolored light rose in sheets from them, meeting in the center as a dome. Despite the lightshow, the spiritual pressure was so mild you had to focus to notice it. At last they dropped into horse stances, hands snapping into an array of seals as sparks burst from the dome. It shimmered, briefly rainbow glass, before fading away. Applause went up from the crowd, including me. Kidou experts indeed.

The announcer snapped her fan shut, restoring silence. "In the next eleven days, you will cheer. You will weep. You will scream. All that begins now!" She turned, fan and sleeves flaring open. "I give you the first match!" The crowd roared as four contestants were admitted into the dome, and this time, I with it. Competition! Power! Glamour and panache! This was everything I'd dreamed life as a Shinigami would be.

"For this year's very first bout, we have Tsukino Akiko and Abe Keiko!" The announcer had somehow gotten up to a booth overlooking the ring, which gave her a prime view of the battle. The pair took stances, and my stomach sank. Playing to the crowd wasn't an indication of ability to fight, but it didn't make me feel great about their readiness for the tournament. Abe even seemed to be muttering to herself. "Facing them, Kosen Ki and Shouron Asahiya of the True Hearts!" The thunderous applause from the crowd almost drowned out Shinju's gasp. I turned to ask her about it, but she waved me away, mouthing 'later.'

I could see why she'd want to save it for later. Despite the double-edged tsurugi he carried, blue-handled with a gold tassel, Kosen simply proceeded into the arena; his obvious achievement of Shikai hadn't come with much confidence. Shouron, on the other hand, swaggered in, flashing a grin to every side of the hall. She pulled her Zanpakutou, a massive nodachi with a red-wrapped handle and a gold hilt shaped like flames, from her back and raised it above her head like a trophy, tossing a mane of golden hair. Between the shouts from the stands and her black haori printed with a burning heart, it wasn't hard to tell she was both a fan favorite and an accredited fighter. She and her partner took their stances.

"My money's on Kosen and Shouron," I muttered to Shinju.

"I won't take that bet," she murmured back, "as much as I wish I could. Shouron-senpai's a showoff, but she's far from a slouch in combat—that haori indicates she's the leader of the True Hearts, the main Zanjutsu club on campus. Kosen-senpai has a position in it too, but she has all the power." She scoffed. "She's insufferable about it, too."

I was about to ask what their beef was when the gong rang and the arena exploded.

Abe opened with a volley of Kidou—far from nervous, she'd been prepping her incantation—that burst spectacularly against the dome and their opponents. The crowd oohed and aahed, but they hadn't been meant to. That much was clear as Tsukino was distracted by the hubbub just long enough to miss the window Abe'd given her. Shouron made her own window and batted aside the Kidou with her sheathed sword, punting Kosen into the fray. Though stumbling from the literal kick in the pants, he unsheathed his tsurugi in time to block and push through Abe's cannon of blue fire. She flash-stepped away too late. I hissed between my teeth, recognizing the miscalculation just as he scored her side with the tip of the blade. Abe'd planned on avoiding a katana, but tsurugi were just a bit longer. She shrieked and he flinched, giving her time to draw her sword and begin an assault. I tsked at the soft-heartedness and left them to their Zanjutsu bout.

I laughed the second my eyes fell on Shouron. She was enjoying the battle, and Tsukino was very much not. All that stood between them was Tsukino's sword, as she tried to find a way to get around Shouron and put some distance between them. It wasn't working—Shouron advanced on her whatever way she turned, whaling on the blade. With every blow the amount of nodachi exposed and her grin widened. Finally she brought the naked blade down like a sledgehammer, casting both her sheath and Tsukino's sword to the ground. Tsukino didn't even try Hakuda. Too exhausted for Houhou, she just turned tail towards Abe. For a second, it looked like Shouron would let her go.

For a second.

"Burn, Ten'okibi!" Shouron yelled, spinning her nodachi above her head like a deadly staff. As she did, it dissolved, spilling down each arm as molten gold. The meaty reek of burned flesh carried even to me, but the audience shouted with joy. When the weapon reformed, it was as a katar in her right hand and a glove on her left. Both gleamed gold. Tsukino was almost to Abe, who was only barely on the losing side. If she made it, they'd probably down Kosen.

Shouron took a stance, left palm extended towards Tsukino, right back in a fist. I frowned. Kidou for a Zanjutsu specialist? Then she snapped her left arm back, inferno exploding from her glove and rocketing her towards Tsukino. With a sweep of the glove she raised a wall of fire between Tsukino and Abe. At the same time, Kosen disarmed Abe with a wrench of his sword guard and kicked her towards the fire. Tsukino turned, finally registering the screaming golden fury. Too late. Shouron plowed into Tsukino, plunging her katar into the girl's back and launching her into Abe. The two hit the dome and fell limp.

"Winner, Shouron Asahiya and Kosen Ki!" the announcer proclaimed, and the stands exploded, this time in the sense of noise, not Kidou. The Kidou Corps members surreptitiously allowed the medics in to take Tsukino and Abe away. "Next, prepare yourselves for Hara Akifumi and Shimada Genji vs. Hayashi Hideyuki and Matsuda Hanako!" That was Shinju's and my cue, as well as our opponents', to head down. We had to be on deck.

As we did, I watched Inoue's back. My reiatsu pushed against his, gently. He pushed back, a bit less gently. The reiatsu difference was significant, though that was the case for most people I tried that with. I wasn't agreeing with what Shinji'd said many months ago—reiatsu was far from the only measure of strength—but it was a fact. Just because I knew how he'd fight didn't mean I could counter it. I was reasonably sure, however, that knowing his fighting style and our relative reiatsu levels would allow me to shield myself from the worst of the blows. I bounced a little as we descended the steps. My legs would be my most important weapon and they felt ready.

Kiyokawa I was both less certain and less worried about. He was fingering his Zanpakutou's handle, which at a stretch implied he favored Zanjutsu. Shinju could handle that for sure. But to really play to the crowd, we needed to keep this a fight between pairs, not two duels that happened to be in the same arena. Shinju could ensure that, too, with her Bakudou. I caught her sleeve as we entered the hallway to the on-deck room and murmured my idea to her. She nodded. We'd make it happen.

The next match took somewhat longer than the first. When the doors opened to clear out the two teams, all four walked out under their own power. Less of a landslide victory than Shouron's and Kosen's, then. A tournament worker extended his arm to bar our path as we went to enter the ring.

"Wait," he murmured. "Timing is key in these events."

"Every year, ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to bring you contestants who have received great acclaim outside of the ring," the announcer boomed. "We present to you now two such combatants: Fujikage ShinjIu and Hirako Nariko, slayers of Quincy and champions of the Kinsawa Uprising!"

Beneath the crowd's cheer, I heard Kiyokawa blurt, "Shit, that was you two? No way!"

I gave him my sweetest smile as the worker let us past. "Little ol' us, killing Quincy?" My voice turned cool. "Sure did. Don't get too quick with your hands, now."

As we strode out into the ring, we bowed to every side. I included a flourish or two, both for pizzazz and for time to paste on a sly Hirako smile. The applause we got wasn't as much as Shouron had, but it was something.

"Against them will be Kiyokawa Hiroshi and Inoue Masanori!" the announcer called. The lack of epithets they received was absurdly satisfying, but I pushed that down as they took stances. Despite my smile, this was serious business. "Begin!"

They led. Of course they did, big tough upperclassmen against upstart firsties. Inoue charged Shinju, fists at the ready. Mistake. I met him head-on, seizing his wrist. Swords clashed at my back; Kiyokawa'd tried to take me from behind.

"Fuckin' moron, Hirako!" Inoue taunted. "I got another fist!" His muscles jumped, but he made no move to attack. This, too, was part of the show. Audiences liked drama with their fights.

I laughed, pitching it to carry. "Sorry, not hungry."

He frowned, thrown off guard. Behind me I felt Shinju's and Kiyokawa's reiatsu flair. I had a few minutes until I could bring the battle back together, I estimated. "Hungry?"

"You know, for a knuckle sandwich?" I said. Laughter broke out in the crowd. His face, already red with the confusion of my comment, tightened. Too easy. He threw a punch, fast but not enough. I wrenched his other wrist to the side, flipping over it and throwing him to the ground. The air went out of him. I bolted past. I wasn't fool enough to turn my back on an opponent. I turned on a dime once out of arm's reach. A moment, to take in the scene—Inoue inhaling, about to kip up, Kiyokawa trading elegant strikes with Shinju—and I flash-stepped back, half-drawing Arashi to slam her pommel into Inoue as he leaped up. He saw it and threw himself back, joining his comrade. Understanding passed between them and as I lunged in, Kiyokawa's blade met my handle.

Now it was me who wasn't fast enough. Before I could unsheath Arashi and get distance, his sword flashed out. Cloth tore and a line of fire opened up on my side. The ice of adrenaline froze it and my scream. I feinted a kick, then snapped a kick with the other leg into his sword hand. He swore, but didn't drop it, and I pulled back and out, circling him. Back in. I unleashed a flurry of slashes, boosted enough to make every strike hurt. We went back and forth like that, blades clanging. It ran long enough that something snapped.

"Don't you know how to fight?" he shouted. "I'm here to win, not waste time! Hey! Keep your eye on me!"

Energy crashed from Inoue's palm, crude enough that Shinju slapped it aside with a basic Bakudou. Easy, but not the point. His follow-up punch burst her nose. She reeled, blood pouring from her nose, but had just enough presence of mind to shout, "Hadou #24: Driving Bull!" Green light barreled into him, sending him stumbling back, and I finally met Kiyokawa's eye.

"Funny," I quipped, "I can do both." I jumped above his blade, coming down an inch in front of him. Pure luck, but I covered it with a smirk. I buried my foot in his gut, sending him flying. His arms wheeled, searching for balance.

Activate Operation Libra.

"Bakudou #35: Steel Chains!" Shinju shouted. I disengaged as her Kidou manifested, whirling toward them and binding their arms together like a bola. They sputtered, staggering as they tried to find a new position.

"Extinguish the infernal flames! Cleanse the unjust, roar through heaven, and strike down the moon! Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!" I declared. The practical choice would've been to finish them then and there. Instead, I added to the display, snapping open both fans in full indigo glory. I gave them a second to take it all in—and avoid soaking myself in the spray—before charging. "Justo Rayo!" I slammed my fans into the helpless pair. They twitched once, twice, and dropped.

"Winners: Fujikage Shinju and Hirako Nariko!" the announcer proclaimed. Cheers rose from the crowd, and with them my spirits. On impulse, I dropped into a deep stance, fans closed. I stepped forward, crossing my arms and pivoting. Now standing tall, I raised my closed fan for all to see and snapped it open. I fluttered it once, then sealed and sheathed Arashi as I turned and left.

And because I said I would—alright, a bit because I could, and a bit because he'd called me a moron—I paused by Inoue's prone form and dropped an axe kick on the hand not crushed by Shinju's binding. Really, he had to learn sometime.

"Rather dramatic of you," Shinju said as we entered the lower corridors.

I harrumphed. "I thought it looked cool, thanks very much."

She lifted a shoulder and winced. "It did. That doesn't make it less dramatic."

I glanced over. She was bleeding from a cut just below her collarbone, and a few more on her thigh and shoulder. That last sat slightly wrong—dislocated by Kiyokawa straining against the Kidou, maybe. "Here's a suggestion: we go to the Shinigami before you bleed out."

She managed a nod, but looked me up and down as well. "You also, I'd think."

I followed her gaze and bit my lip. The thought was nice, but my only wounds were the cut in my side and reiatsu abrasions on my left hand. While I knew next to nothing about healing Kidou, I could feel the reiatsu lingering on it, stinging like a desert storm. Some attempt at resistance when I'd thrown Inoue, most likely. "Just flesh wounds!" I declared. "Shall we?"

When we located the Fourth Division members, who were quartered on the lowest level, they jumped into action. Our wounds weren't severe, but from the way one man stashed away a deck of hanafuda at seeing us, I imagined they wanted something to do. Two women set to work on Shinju, while an older man examined me.

I suppressed my twitches as he ran Kaidou over my side. I hated getting healed—it prickled something nasty, and I invariably felt woozy afterwards. Because of that, however, I couldn't suppress my sigh of relief when the prickling stopped. He frowned at me.

"Has the Academy gotten so bad about training its students that you leave excess manipulated reiryoku in your system?" he grumbled. "It's simply unsafe! Cast your Kidou and disperse the rest; everyone knows that."

I cocked my head. "Maybe I got concussed and didn't realize, but I don't understand, sir. I haven't been doing any Kidou."

His hand lifted entirely. He folded his arms. "You mean to tell me that you're so special you have lightning reiryoku floating around among water reiryoku, just like that?"

When he put it like that... "Yeah. That's kind of my thing."

"I thought plans were your thing, Hirako-san?" Shinju called over. I poked my tongue out at her. She glanced at my medic. "Her Zanpakutou, Shinigami-sama. It produces water and lightning." Still, she mirrored his frown. "I thought the water was cosmetic, though, even in your reiatsu, Hirako-san."

I shrugged, starting to feel my various cuts and bruises. "Well, it's not." I touched up my smile pointedly. "The only cosmetics I have any dealing with are on my face, Shinigami-sama. Would you heal me up, please?"

He did, muttering about how each soul only got one affinity. I stomped on my urge to point to Rose and Hitsugaya and the weird shit going on with Yumichika and Suzumushi and the Ise clan and why wouldn't he stop making it out like I was weird? Ass. When he finished, I borrowed a needle and thread to make some careful—and conspicuous, though I was kinda proud of them, like battle scars—repairs to my clothing. It wasn't long before Shinju was done as well.

We booked it back to the stands for Hiyori's and Minoru's match at my insistence. Shinju reminded me that my observation wouldn't change anything, but I didn't care. It was still my cousin and a close friend fighting. I wanted to see them succeed, and I wanted to see as much of that success as possible.

We got there just in time, pushing past Takahashi, even further hungover despite the lack of obvious alcohol. Hiyori brought her sword down, biting into Kobayashi's shoulder, and punted her into her own partner's pillar of red fire. I grinned, recognizing it. Red Flame Cannon might've been the standard Academy Hadou, but it worked damn well. Kobayashi went down smoking, wound actually cauterized by the blast. Liang put up a good fight after that, keeping Minoru and Hiyori at bay with a different spell in each hand, but eventually Minoru got past her defenses and caught her in a triangle choke. From there, she was too weak to get out and soon sagged. As the announcer declared their victory, I screamed so loud my voice rasped for a few minutes after.

With eleven matches until the one I cared about—Shinji's and Aizen's—there wasn't too much to do. Shinju and I caught up with Hiyori and Minoru and we decided to go out for lunch. We checked in with Shinji and Aizen, whose timeliness in regards to the match was rather more important than ours. Aizen declined, riveted by the battles, but his stomach disagreed. Shinji, perfectly happy to go, dragged him along anyway. The gang was back together.

Once outside, we made our way to the exit. We could've gotten food from the vendors, but I had two agendas here: food and peace and quiet. Mm, quiet. Despite contributing to it, the noise of the crowd grated. You could barely hear yourself think in there, and I needed to think. Talking to my friends wouldn't hurt. Pinned between the rush of battle and power use and an adrenaline crash and post-healing nausea, I needed to tug on my tethers, shore myself up a bit.

Ugh. I could swear I hadn't felt like this before Kinsawa- before Mari, really, even having fought and been patched up throughout my first year. I chalked it up to a maturing soul and body. Attributing it to my epiphany, to realizing I was part of this world and had the right to deny attempts to snuff me and my ambitions out, was too corny, too woo-woo. Never mind that I was living proof of the very woo-woo idea of reincarnation.

I'll confess I dithered a bit getting out of there, though. People were stopping me, congratulating me—Shinju, Minoru, and Hiyori, too, but I tuned their admirers out. They heaped tokens on me, kan and sweets and other small gifts. I took them with a smile and as good a quip as I could whip up, but my ears were eager, not my hands. They gave me names: 'Blue Butterfly,' 'Nightshade,' 'Thunder Viper,' even—with an eye on Shinji—'Eclipse.' I fought to keep my glowing expression from becoming literal, pushing down the reiatsu that wanted to bleed through. Names meant something. They were a sign of power, of recognition, of expectation. These were early, and given by easily-impressed people, but given enough repetitions, they'd spread to other lips.

Shinji had a funny expression through it all, stiff, like his thoughts were dammed up somewhere in his blond head. My stomach soured spitefully. He couldn't let me have anything, could he? It wasn't enough that he got to be clan head, that he had our parents' overt approval and our clan's adulation, charisma enough to make more friends than I'd even heard the names of, captain-class power, comfort in his own skin—I could've gone on. In my irritation and illness, I wanted to. When had he started thinking so highly of himself, and so lowly of me? When had my little brother become a little lord? When had my resentment of his accolades, always carefully separated from Shinji, who couldn't help them, become resentment of Shinji himself?

I dismissed the thought and a final cloud of tournament attendees. My stomach growled. I didn't care about when unless it was when I got to eat.

We found a cute yakai a few blocks from the tournament. A small open-air restaurant with a tent to sit in, it occupied the perfect spot between big enough to avoid sardine syndrome and small enough to not allow crowding. After ordering yakitori, hot pot, and yakisoba to share, we took a second to breathe.

"I don't think," Minoru sighed, "I've ever had ta be that light on my feet. When she weren't tryin' ta wrap me up like a sushi roll, she was tryin' ta scorch the hair off my toes."

Hiyori barked a laugh. "Least ya weren't fightin' Blondie. She wouldn't eat ya raw, she'd barbecue ya."

"Who, Shouron-senpai?" Shinju asked. At Hiyori's nod, she rolled her eyes. "She's half-oni, that one. Even when she's not fighting, she wields her position like an iron club. If you don't kowtow, she makes you regret it. Gets in your face, rams into you in the halls, tells people you put earwax in their miso soup and spit in their rice..."

I raised a brow at that, because it was way too specific to be hearsay. "That's awfully impolite, for you."

"I am being polite!" Shinju protested. "I could've said she was full-oni!"

The food arrived amidst our laughter. We tucked in without hesitation. I especially kept my chopsticks moving. If my mouth was full, I didn't have to talk, and if I wasn't talking, I could think.

I was proud of myself. It wasn't solely because I'd received praise. Like most people, I liked winning, and I really liked that I was one step closer to rounds where important people might actually attend. But if I was objective, our opponents had been pathetic. They'd been decent, but their strikes were so textbook I could've written another textbook on them. The only blows they'd even landed had been ones I'd walked into trying to attack them. They'd only considered tactics, fighting methods, without a thought spared for strategy, the direction of the battle and progress beyond the match. Abe and Tsukino, from the first match, had been pathetic, and while Liang's Kidou and multitasking had been impressive, her partner's stunning lack of battlefield awareness and her own inability to pull back had done them in.

Contextually, as first-years with few notable skills, we deserved to be proud. Objectively, we didn't. It was like winning a race with a professional swimmer who only swam the doggy-paddle, while wearing weights on their ankles. Sure, they nominally outclassed us, but not only did our abilities outstrip theirs, they were too dim to remove what held them back and really try. I itched to march into Seireitei, tear off the nearest lieutenant's badge, and start whipping them into shape. Morons. They were what cannon fodder was made of. I could honestly say that my head wasn't getting big—my respect for my peers and seniors was dropping.

"Your face is content, but your eyes are thunderous," Aizen commented. His eyes were hidden, so I couldn't return the favor. Dick.

"Living in the future too much, I'm afraid," I said, chuckling. With some food in and good company around me, I felt more myself. "Are you worried about your bout, Aizen-san?"

The surety he'd worn the entire day faltered, letting uncertainty through, but he recovered. The attempt at invulnerability tugged at my heartstrings. His countenance was benign and steady as he said, "Not at all. Judging by your matches"-he nodded at those of us who'd competed already-"Shinji-san and I will take care of them with ease."

"Good to hear," Shinju said, though her eyes were on Shinji. "It would be such a shame if you and Hirako-kun didn't make it through the first round."

Shinji shrugged. "We all gotta lose sometime. 's why ya joined, right? Raise yer profile an' go out with style?"

I pursed my lips. "Picked up on that, hmm?"

He took a long gulp of tea. "Didn't have ta pick up on anythin'. Yer jewel of a roommate told me when she invited me ta the tournament."

Shinju looked like she didn't know whether to be mortified at the compliment or at the revelation. Her jaw dropped and her cheeks flushed. "H-Hirako-kun, I was hoping you'd keep that to yourself."

"Shoulda told me that, then," he said, yawning. His eyes flicked to me. "Nariko, ya don't look as happy as ya ought ta. Fujikage-san's a doll fer doin' that."

"I'm smiling," I replied, fooling no one. "I'm surprised, is all. Secret agreements I'm supposed to go along with seem to be a trend." I ignored his confusion, sipping my tea. "Well, the more's the merrier. Especially for the Fourth Division members working the tournament; they were bored out of their minds when Fujikage-san and I paid them a visit earlier."

The tide of conversation turned to our experience there, and then to how exactly a private group hired members of the military, and so on. I trained my eyes on the position of the sun throughout. When it'd moved as much as I was comfortable with, I called the waitress over. Between the gifts given to Minoru, Hiyori, Shinju, and me, we had enough to pay the bill. Time to face the music.

We arrived early, as I liked to do and as Shinji'd never done in his life. The match before the match before Shinji's was just starting. I stopped to fix my hair and waved my friends on. My vanity was no reason they should miss the entertainment.

I frowned as I tried and failed to slick back my baby hairs. I needed them out of my face all the time, not just when I was sweating enough that it happened naturally. Speaking of my face, I should touch up my makeup. The eyeliner's bound to have gotten smudged, and I don't want to risk sweat overpowering my perfume. So thinking, I turned to find a bathroom. Failing that, I cast around for someone I felt comfortable asking.

There. Some people in burnt orange uniforms were clustered across the hall. One of them would know, if only so their charge wouldn't be inconvenienced. Who is it? I wondered as I wove through the traffic. That shade of orange looked rather like the Shihouin colors, but from here I couldn't see the accompanying gold. A high-ranking envoy, maybe, in town and checking out the festivities while here. Or maybe I was completely wrong about the color.

"'Scuse me!" I chirped. I'd never see these people again, so why bother being dignified? "Do you know-"

"Finally! Someone who can tell this dumbass white rice is objectively better than brown!" A lithe figure shoved its way out from the huddle of bodyguards. "You, tell him so he'll stop bugging me!" She peered at me with honey-colored eyes. "Oh hey, you're a Hirako. I can actually order you to do that. Tell him!"

"Um, I do believe you may have broken her," said her companion. He brushed blond hair out of his eyes. "Young miss Hirako? Are you quite okay?"

No, I wasn't quite okay. But despite my mouth flapping open and closed like a goldfish's, I couldn't make myself say that. My brain had jolted to a stop so fast its gears had fallen out of place, and were now being frantically replaced by the monkey that lived there. Finally enough of them were restored that it caught up, processing just who was standing in front of me: Shihouin Yoruichi and Urahara Kisuke. Another gear clunked into place and it hit me that I was obliged to do more than just stand there gaping.

I dropped to my knees, folding myself into a bow so deep my forehead met the floor. Pressing my palms to the floor, I readied myself to straighten and repeat the gesture. Holy fuck, the Shihouin heiress is here?  Yoruichi and Urahara are here? What do I say to this honor?

"Urp!" I squawked as I was yanked to my feet.

"Knock it off!" Yoruichi snapped. "Is white rice better than brown or not?"

So much for maximum respect. I smoothed my face into a suitably catlike smile. "Brown is better," I said with a shrug. Yoruichi'd see right through me if I lied, and besides, she didn't go for people treating her special because she was a Great Noble. Of course I'd remember that after kowtowing. "Sorry, but I'm partial to genmaicha."

She groaned. "You and him both." She fished a pouch out of her gorgeous amber kimono and dumped half its contents into Urahara's hand and half into mine. I suppressed a surprised blink at the kan. "Fine, you win the bet," she told him. She stuck her tongue out at the bodyguards. "And you all win nothing, 'cause none of you were man enough to tell me what you liked."

The guards, some of whom were female, despite her choice of words, inclined their heads helplessly. Mischievous as a kitten indeed. Speaking of which. I let my reiatsu, restrained after discovering Shinju's ploy, out to play against Yoruichi's and Urahara's. Urahara's was sticky and sweet, almost like candy or nectar, and it glittered ever so slightly. Silly, if you didn't notice the tang of iron and salt amidst the sweetness, and the unfettered curiosity that provided the glitter. Yoruichi's I couldn't quite place. It was like a campfire, warm and bright with a dash of exciting sparks. Something else lingered in it, though; another presence woven through, subtle as smoke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said. Reaching up to touch my seals under the guise of adjusting my hair, I added, "Who's your friend? I know, I know; lots of names flying around this thing, but it's only fair that I know his name if he knows mine." I pressed a spark of reiryoku into the seals and let my hands fall.

Interesting. For all the healer's talk earlier about my soul being an anomaly, Yoruichi's was no better. A cat's ears, tail, and eyes shimmered in front of me, solid yet transparent like a reflection in a window. But rather than float behind her, attached to a spirit as usual, they belonged to her. The ears pricked forward and the tail waved back and forth, content but trying to suss me out. The feline eyes, more unnervingly, stared out of her umber face. Dark they were, and golden-eyed...

Speaking of science fiction, I turned my attention to Urahara, nodding absently as Yoruichi pointed to him, confirming I was asking after him. No spirit hovered behind him, but wine-colored reiatsu wreathed him. As he raised his hand, rubbing the nape of his neck self-consciously, its deep red echo didn't quite sync up. Spotting the corona it formed, just a hair too luxurious to be mirroring his silhouette, my lips quirked. If Benihime hadn't manifested yet, she would soon. I closed the seals and let it fade.

Urahara gave me a funny look, as if trying to match my name with the person standing in front of him. It vanished as the last of his reiatsu did, replaced by a sheepish smile. "Ah, that's right! Sorry, sorry, I confess I'm a bit overwhelmed by all these people. Not quite remembering my manners." He glanced at Yoruichi, as if expecting scolding. She rolled her eyes. "Koizumi Nyoirin, at your service."

I hid the twitch of my smile as I inclined my head. With an act of will, I wiped away the tarnish of the lie from his character Before. "At her service, I'd hope," I replied, nodding at Yoruichi.

"Clever as a fox, you and your family," Yoruichi said, laughing. "Hey, did you-" She stopped, sniffing the air. Her gaze landed accusingly on me. "Lily perfume? Ugh, I hate lilies."

"Poisonous, right? Maybe you'd prefer catnip?" I said without thinking.

I didn't get a chance to backpedal before they froze. Gold and storm-grey were trained on me. Slowly, ever so slowly, Yoruichi's smile thawed, broadening. If she'd been smiling out of a good mood and a general appreciation of my family before, it was genuine now, reserved for me.

"Maybe," she answered. Turning abruptly to the bodyguard nearest her, she demanded, "Suyin! Brush and paper!" When the woman, who bore a strong resemblance to Sui-Feng, had dutifully produced paper and wet a brush for her, Yoruichi seized both and scribbled out something with Urahara as a writing board. She thrust the result at me. I took it with a raised eyebrow.

"So it's true what they say about you," she said.

"Who?" I asked.

"My mother," she answered with a casual lift of the eyebrows that sent my head spinning. The head of the Shihouin clan, talking about me? Why? "Or rather, your father to my aunt to my mother." She nodded at the paper in my hand. "Enough about those old geezers. I take it back, about you and your family being clever like foxes," she said. "You're something different. Give me a chance to pry it out of you over dinner with my parents tomorrow."

I barely managed to reverse my jaw-drop into a clenched jaw to keep the smile. Dinner with the head of the Shihouin clan? I'd be using all my rest time tomorrow to find a suitable hospitality gift. I'd have to make another trip to Furi's, too, for a suitable outfit. Just- a Shihouin taking an interest in me! My clan wasn't even involved! The Soul King himself could've appeared and floored me just the same. "I expect Koizumi-san will be in attendance as well?" I said, proud of myself for fighting off a stammer.

"Well, I could never presume-" Urahara began, only to be slapped upside the head.

"Moron! Like we haven't sat at the same table since childhood!" she barked. Turning back to me, she said, "Yeah, it'll be him, my parents, and us." She grinned wickedly. "Don't pay any attention to them. Dress how you want, don't empty your purse on some stupid token, and show up on time. It's gonna be all you and me." She turned back to probably-a-Feng. "Suyin, you go get her when it's time."

"Shihouin-sama!" Suyin admonished. "I'm your personal guard! You can't dismiss me like that!"

"Only 'til I graduate and get someone more my speed assigned," she retorted. "Just make it happen."

The crowd roared distantly. Yoruichi followed my glance in its direction and winked at me. "Sounds like your cue. See you around, Hirako." With that, she turned on her heel and dragged Urahara toward the Shihouin box.

It was only as I settled into the stands that I realized she hadn't included Shinji in the invitation.

"Did I miss anything good?" I asked, watching them cart out the losers of the previous match. I didn't remember the other pair, but I caught a flash of pale skin and dark hair exiting.

"Clearly not good enough ta drag yer ass away from a mirror," Shinji huffed as he passed me on his way to get on deck. I cut my eyes at his back. If he was worried enough about his match to get snippy with me, he shouldn't have been cutting it so close. Granted, the odds of Momohiko's bout taking longer than the time required to get down there were low.

"What took so long?" Hiyori asked. "Princess or no, I didn't take ya fer a borderline narcissist like Flowers over here." She nudged Shinju.

"Big words," Shinju huffed. "Soon you'll work up to phrases like personal grooming."

There wasn't any venom in either's words, so I let it slide. "I met someone," I said vaguely. "We're going to have dinner together tomorrow night."

Shinju perked up. "Oh? Did your parents start you on omiai? You didn't mention that!"

"Marry all this off so quickly?" I grinned. "There'll be more suitors than that vying for my hand. Nah, I would've told you if that was the case. All that's years off," I said to her indulgent smile. Years enough for me to plan a way out of an arranged marriage, if needed. It wouldn't be the worst thing, but far from the best. I debated telling her I was meeting 'Koizumi,' but it was pointless. Truthful, yes, but it only saved me from having to field Shinju's questions about Yoruichi and required a lot of lies to justify. "I ran into Shihouin Yoruichi-sama. We talked and she invited me to dinner. Can't really say no to the heiress to your patron clan, right?" Just a touch of nervousness creeping in at the edges. Humanity, remember, so they don't doubt when you need to conceal something.

"What?!" Hiyori burst out, whipping around. They were finishing introductions of the combatants. "The princess of a Great Noble House asked ya ta supper?" Heads turned. Nice, if unexpected fringe benefit to Hiyori's loudness. Minoru's eyes were round, and he looked about to say something if not for the start of the match. I mouthed Later at him.

I ducked my head. "Yeah, me, her, and her parents. Now quiet down. As long as we're here, I wanna watch this bout."

As fights went, it wasn't half-bad. Only three-quarters bad, really. Hisakawa took Hokutan in an eye-catching flurry of Zanjutsu and Hohou, disappearing and reappearing around the ring as they went. At that speed, spectacle though it was, it was tough to follow. I didn't pay too much attention, save for the wicked sweep Hokutan downed Hisakawa with. They were stationary enough to catch Hokutan burying his blade next to—nearly through, if not for a quick twist—Hisakawa's head and the retaliatory stomp to the toes, which also missed, then they were gone again. Fine. They clearly weren't supposed to be the main attraction.

I leaned in, intrigued. Momohiko, thinking not only of the fight, but the broader tournament? This was a level of subtlety I hadn't known he possessed. In fact, his fighting was on a whole 'nother level too.

Momohiko kicked Takahashi like her stomach was a particularly upstart peasant. She staggered back, and he chased it like he held not a sword but a battle-axe. She barely blocked in time, turning a swipe that would've ripped open her stomach into a swipe that only... gouged her stomach. I frowned. Despite my earlier comments, I'd expected a little better. Probably getting sentimental, after talking to her. Takahashi dodged his follow-up punch with even less precision and my frown deepened. Disappointing. I supposed we couldn't get the victory we wanted all the time.

Still, she recovered enough to leap above his blade and hurtle forwards. My smile reappeared. I could see her path—duck under his elbow with a bit of flash-step and open his back up with her sword. Sure enough, Takahashi ducked-

-and crashed. The crowd shouted in disappointment, and I was gaping inside. Momohiko stood on her back, smirking. He'd rocketed into the air and twisted to land feet-first on her. Cool, I had to admit, but how could she have been so slow? Aerials took skill and luck to pull off, and Momohiko had about half as much skill as he needed, the rest replaced by more luck than he deserved. She struggled, tearing free, but his blade was there, stabbing down like a particularly vicious heron.

There! The scraps of hope remaining surged as she kipped up. She threw a rearward elbow and pivoted, catching Momohiko in the shoulder and forcing him back. A grin tore across her face. She lashed out with her blade at his chest. Just a bit too far—incomplete recovery, but boy was it fun to watch as the tip shredded cloth and put the first expression of fear on that bastard's face. He yelled, flash-stepping in and roundhouse kicking her in the shoulder. It popped, dislocated.

Takahashi had no response to that but doubling over and vomiting. Damn. Don't drink before tournaments, kids. As Hokutan finally lost the battle of attrition and collapsed, raising a shaking hand in the seal of surrender, I expected Momohiko to follow suit. A pommel-strike to the head, one whose worst outcome, a KO and concussion, could easily be headed off by medics yards away, or if he wanted to be dickish, demanding surrender. I should try that. Maybe at the start, to piss them off and get them to underestimate such an upstart, then at the end, for drama.

Instead he fucking stabbed her. And by fucking stabbed, I meant raising his sword point-down and impaling her through the back, like she was a stone and he King Arthur.

The cheers were mixed with confused mumbling this time. As he removed and flicked the blood off his blade to the announcer's proclamation of victory, I knew they'd forget the cruelty soon enough. He'd made his mark, as I had mine.

Mark. Something about that niggled me. I stood, making my excuses to Shinju, and slipped out of the box.

Excalibur had come from the Lady of the Lake. Momohiko's victory, too, had another hand in it.

Time to find which cesspool it'd reached out of.

"I need to see Takahashi-san," I said.

"Not a chance!" the crabby healer from earlier snapped. He sat across the room, so I didn't know why he felt he had to be the one denying me entry. "With that messed-up reiryoku, you aren't getting anywhere near our patients!"

"Like I said, my reiryoku's fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Please let me through, Shinigami-sama."

The Shinigami actually at the door folded his arms. "Why should I let you through when one of my team members has a concern about your presence? I don't see a reason for someone I know we healed to be coming back."

"Because," I said, "if you have such faith in your healing of me, you should have that much faith in the ability of your team members to not draw on the reiryoku of someone who happens to be in the same room as them. Also," I said, pulling out a tiny flask of sake, one of my admirers' gifts, "she told me she was hungover earlier. I've got hair of the dog." I glanced at Takahashi, who lay unconscious on a stretcher. "If you think it'll be easier to treat someone who can't cooperate with instructions, be my guest."

"I should smack you," he grumbled. "You're practically a civilian, to talk to me like that." But he allowed me past.

I darted over to Takahashi, opening the flask. Her mouth, hanging open, was easy enough to dribble the sake in. Slowly, as it and the Shinigami worked, she began to stir.

"M'arm," she croaked.

"An in-and-out stab wound and she's concerned about her shoulder?" a woman tending Takahashi said in disbelief. I ignored her.

"M'arm," Takahashi repeated. She tried to sit up, prompting the second Shinigami on duty to snap at the third to help.

"I'll help," I said, seizing her left arm, the one nearest me and without the dislocated shoulder, and easing her to a sitting position. As I did, I pushed up her sleeve. The crescent wounds of nails remained. If anything, they were more livid than before.

I could only wait as they healed her then. Hokutan, still being healed, watched in sullen silence.

"Does the Fourth Division use anything besides Kaidou?" I asked.

"Bandages, splints, casts, anything to help wounds heal more naturally," the Shinigami who'd played gatekeeper answered. "It's not healthy to use Kaidou for everything, unless time is of the essence."

"What if it's not a wound?" I asked. "A sickness?"

He considered it, seeming to warm to my curiosity. "We have a few medications. Most are herbal, and they all have side-effects, so we sometimes treat the symptoms—lots of fluids for a fever, say—and let the patient fight it off. Oh!" He snapped his fingers. "There's shinten, a spiritual medication. We get Shinigami asking for it as a sedative all the time, to help them sleep. Sadly, it's not allowed. It subdues the connection between body and soul, you see, so we can use it to prevent an unruly patient from using his powers. More kindly, we use it to shock the system and knock someone out so we can perform an operation that upsets them in peace." He narrowed his eyes at me. "Don't go thinking we do that for just anyone, though."

I nodded. "Noted. Does it leave a trace in the patient's reiryoku? I just thought maybe it'd make healing a bit trickier," I explained.

He shook his head. "We can detect most drugs, if we know what to look for, but that's not why personal use is banned. Repeated or large enough jolts can mess a person up."

My eyes traveled to Takahashi. "So you'd know if something like that was in her system?"

"We would," he said. "Kibune-chan, was she doing drugs?"

I frowned. "Hang on, that's not-"

Kibune washed green light over Takahashi's ribs, around the location of the liver. "She was."

Hokutan broke his silence, swearing. "No fuckin' way she was!" he protested. "I told her, don't drink too much and don't try anythin' more than that."

"Are you questioning my expertise?" Kibune demanded. "There're traces of an unknown drug in there, altering her reiryoku." She sneered. "More than one, even; the shinten ripoff's tainted."

"She wasn't partying!" Hokutan insisted. "She's boneheaded sometimes, but she knows I'm looking out for her!"

"Academy brats are being taught such contempt for the Fourth that they're claiming to know more than we do, is that it?" the grump said. "Or is it because you don't want to admit she's a Rukongai dog, returning to her roots?"

"Even I know that's unfair," I broke in. "Common souls aren't all bad people."

He scoffed. "Oh, aren't you the high-minded one." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Don't lecture me, girlie! I'm from the Rukongai; I know exactly what people from there are like! Wash-outs from my own district, even, licking up the vomit of their addled pasts!"

"So you can paint them all with one brush?" I said. I was losing this battle, but damned if I wasn't going down swinging.

"Only sake," Takahashi slurred. "Came on this mornin'."

The second Shinigami healing her popped her shoulder into place with a little more gusto than necessary. "Sure, keep insisting. I've been a medic longer than you've been alive. We've heard it all before, the denials. They don't help us take care of you, you know. You can admit you fell back into old habits."

I'd heard enough. I surged to my feet. "I've done what I came here to do," I announced, not for the Shinigami's benefit, but for Hokutan's, and Takahashi's if she was in shape enough to listen. "I guess I'll head back to the ryokan between here and Saito Furi-san's establishment, try and rest before I train tomorrow afternoon and have dinner with Shihouin Yoruichi-sama. Morning, who knows." That had the side effect of making the Shinigami flinch. A few even mumbled apologies.

I headed to the door, pausing on the threshold. "I'm sorry you lost, Hokutan-san," I said over my shoulder. "I was rooting for you."

As condolences went, it was pretty shitty. But I'd left him an opening to get into contact with me tomorrow, so it balanced out.

I didn't know whether or not Takahashi'd been sucking down more than alcohol last night. She wouldn't have been the first to lie, nor the last, even to friends. The Shinigami's read on her didn't look too good, either. What did I know about medicine they didn't? Odds were pretty good that she just didn't want to admit to doing drugs. To be perfectly honest—and cynical—I was ready to let it lie that way.

But if I was really being cynical, I wasn't going to trust what they said either. As tainted as the mock-shinten in Takahashi was, the Shinigami's perception of her was no purer.

And I was really, really ready to find Momohiko with not his finger, but his whole hand in this pie. When I did, I'd kick his ass for it.

Chapter Text

We celebrated that night. The general consensus was that we deserved it. I was grim throughout, but not mean enough to disagree, so I went along. I did steer it to the place my family'd gone the night before entrance exam results had come out, though. The less time we spent in public, the better.

I confess I wasn't great company. I covered by claiming fatigue, but that was only part of it. Takahashi's ordeal had sobered me. My optimistic pessimism had taken a hit, hearing the medics, some Rukongai-born themselves, accuse her of lying about a drug addiction. I expected classism like that, but somehow I'd held higher hopes.

Shinigami black did not, in reality, cover our pasts, neither noble nor common.

Worse than that—as much as I fought it, I bore my own classist stains—someone was tampering with the tournament. Meritocracy at Shin'ou was an illusion, whatever Ounabara said, but in the arena, only strength mattered. It was imperfect, especially with the need for teamwork and partnership this year. Still, your blood didn't matter as much as how well you shed it.

Someone didn't like that. Someone wanted to win so badly they'd stoop to subterfuge. Shinju would've needled me for my choice of words, for implicitly dissing onmitsu and the 'Shihouin' trades, but fuck that. It had no place here. If the actual onmitsu competing could hold their own without that, poison shouldn't have even entered the realm of possibility.

It's probably Momohiko and Yanmei, I mused. It was the morning after the first round. I sat under a tree in the central courtyard of the ryokan, listening to koi circle their pond and considering a suitable phrase for calligraphy. Occam's Razor: the simplest explanation is the most likely one. But that was lazy reasoning. Yes, the only match I suspected interference in was Momohiko's, but I hadn't watched all of them. Moreover, if I suspected Yanmei just because she wore nail lacquer and was an onmitsu, I had to investigate a whole lot of people. I didn't even know whether hers was toxic. The culprit could be outside-context, for all I knew—someone who wanted Momohiko and/or Hisakawa to win, unbeknownst to him, or someone who really wanted Takahashi and/or Hokutan to lose. Hell, if Yanmei was involved, Momohiko might not be. The way she'd interacted with him, I highly suspected a crush. She wouldn't be the first yandere.

Maybe Occam's Razor carved in another direction entirely. Maybe Takahashi really had ignored Hokutan and dabbled in something she shouldn't have. Maybe she was a drug addict who hadn't been able to shake the habit at Shin'ou. Maybe she thought she had and had had a run-in with a crowd who proved otherwise.

I settled on 'moonlight,' in the cursive style. But as I picked up the brush, I saw those crescents on her arm. They burned red in my mind's eye, chasing out calm black ink. Those I couldn't explain, if Takahashi was at fault. They were left-handed, impossible to do to oneself, even if her nails hadn't been trimmed almost to the quick, and too inflamed to be only broken skin.

I felt Minoru before I saw him. His presence was reassuring, like sun-heated brick, unpretentious, warm, and a potential improvised weapon. Ah, Soul Society.

"Someday I wanna be able ta do that," he said, coming up beside me as I made the first stroke.

"What, draw a crooked line?" I teased. "I have faith that you could manage that now."

He dropped onto the bench beside me. "Ya always gotta poke fun at me, don'tcha?"

I sighed, setting down my brush. "Does it bother you? I'm trying to do this whole 'friends' thing. Not real good at it." I made some weird gesture in the air that I guessed meant 'friends.'

He ran a hand through his hair. "Nah. Just an observation."

Ah, I knew I was forgetting something. "You had an observation yesterday, didn't you? Before Wakahisa-sama and Hisakawa-senpai's match?"

"Yeah," he said. His brow furrowed. "Yer havin' dinner with the Shihouin princess tonight. That's awfully highbrow of ya."

"You're too smart for that to be all you're thinking," I said, dipping my brush and completing another stroke.

He huffed. "An' yer too smart fer that ta be anythin' but drawin' information outta me." He didn't seem too bothered, though. "Ya ain't wrong. D'ya remember what we talked about in Kinsawa?"

"I do," I said, shuffling through the filing cabinets of my memories. "What part are you thinking of?"

"Yer goin' inta this with intent," he said. "Reminds me of when ya said ya want power, an' not just the Shinigami sort. An' when I called ya on not knowin' whether yer my friend Nariko or the Hirako princess."

"You also accepted it when I answered that you were my friend, not a tool," I shot back. "That I have a goal, and lines I won't cross."

His mouth twitched. We were both playing the 'reference a past conversation to have an indirection conversation' game. "An' ya didn't deny it when I said ya wanted ta change the Seireitei. Makin' friendly with a Great Noble heir seems awfully establishment of ya."

"I am pretty establishment," I said. "I could live in a shack in Inuzuri and still be part of it, just because of the blood in my veins." I turned my palm up, eyes tracing the blue-green ghosts of my wrist. "Really, though? Most progress comes through working within the system, compromising, even if more radical action galvanizes that work. I'm not good at shocking people, so I'll be on the other end of that."

He shook his head, laughing quietly. "That's not as true as ya think. Anyway. How does gettin' in good with the Shihouin serve that?"

He was too smart to have been only thinking my dinner engagement was highbrow. Too smart to genuinely wonder how forming ties with Great Nobles helped. "I'm not foolish enough to think I'll convert her," I said. "That's not my intent. Not with her, not with anyone." I tapped my nails on the bench, signaling that I was saying that very much for any onmitsu who might be listening. The ryokan didn't protect me that well. But I was also saying that for me. I wasn't starting a grassroots movement. For one thing, the chances of a mid-tier noble doing that without getting accused of sour grapes or grabbing for power in the Rukongai were low. For another, you needed the charisma I didn't have for that. Most of all, this wasn't a democracy. Grassroots movements became violent movements in feudalism, and Shinigami who joined militias weren't even rounin. They were traitors. Onmitsu—my own family, even—would shut it down before it even started. Or worse, turn me inside out, and the movement with me.

"So?" he prompted. I jumped. I'd been thinking too long.

"So she likes me, for some reason," I said. "Maybe she'll like an idea or two. Maybe not. Maybe she'll help me make inroads with the sort of people who can effect lasting change. Maybe she'll look more favorably on my clan, and by extension Shinji. I've got my differences with my brother, but he wouldn't be the worst clan leader to gain prominence. Maybe she'll dole out some information I can use." Ugh, why did I spend so much time explaining myself? "But, uh, Minoru-kun?"

"Yeah?"

I gave a sheepish smile, a completely genuine one. "Maybe I'm doing it because she's the heiress to my patron clan, and a billion times more powerful than I could ever be. I don't really have a choice, especially when she's sending her personal guard to bring me there." I added another stroke. "It doesn't hurt that she seems cool and the food's definitely going to be good." Good was an understatement. With the Shihouin's coffers and Yoruichi's love of food, it'd be fantastic.

He laughed. "That doesn't hurt at all. Don't suppose she said ya could bring a friend?"

I shook my head. "I wish. I'm gonna be so out of my element." I cast a look at the sky. The clouds were clearing, which promised a beautiful evening. "The sad thing is, I'd be way more in my element if I'd gone into the family business like my parents wanted. They were going to apprentice me to Shihouin Miyako-sama, skip Shin'ou entirely."

He whistled. "Damn. But ya wouldn'ta met all of us, would ya?"

I smiled. "No, I wouldn't have."

He clapped his hands to his thighs decisively. "Well, that settles it. I'd say we're worth way more than a single dinner with a Shihouin."

I finished my piece. "And I'd agree with you."

"Hirako Nariko-san?" An employee of the ryokan approached across the grass. She bowed to me, then Minoru. "Someone's at the gate for you. He says his name's Hokutan Ichiro and you and he have an appointment."

I rose, brushing off my kimono. "We do." I handed the piece to Minoru. "You want this?"

"I'll put it in yer room," he said, taking it. "Want company meetin' this guy?" The grim set of his mouth said he remembered what had happened with Hokutan's match yesterday.

I shook my head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."

He headed off and I turned to the employee.

"Take me to him, please," I said. "This is important."

"Have you ever considered a style name?" I asked. "They soften interactions with nobility, or so I hear."

Hokutan's eyes glinted. We stood outside the ryokan, under one of the ubiquitous red maples. He'd been relating to me the matches before his, which he'd stayed for. I'd invited him to sit, but he wouldn't have it, wound tightly by recent events.

"Considered," he said, "but rejected. I'm not interested in being soft. The nobility can take me as I am. If the black's not good enough for them, nothing is. No point in another name, or adoption into one of those servant-clans." Servant-clans were the solution for the Rukongai-born who couldn't or wouldn't marry into a noble clan, but wanted some kind of official connection. There weren't many, and those that did exist were heavily scrutinized. A whole book of laws governed everything from their size to the style of their mons—because of course it did. At least there weren't any awkward moments where one copied another's mon. Or violent moments where a noble clan raised a private army.

"I like your perspective," I said. "The opportunity to rename oneself sounds nice, though. Names have power."

He shifted a bit more out of the sun. "You didn't call me here to talk about names."

I hummed. "Technically, I didn't call you here at all." He grimaced, and my smile grew wider. "Semantics, really. You came. And I did want to talk about names. Specifically, the names of anyone who would've wanted to hurt Takahashi-san."

His eyes narrowed. "Since when do you care? Your question was what got those most honorable Shinigami tearing her a new one."

"My question wasn't to get them to do that," I said, folding my arms. "My question was because I already suspected someone had poisoned her. And I care because despite my cool facade"-I pressed a hand to my chest-"I'm quite sentimental. Notably, the sentiments of anger and disgust. I'm rather displeased that someone took it upon themselves to make this most honorable competition more fair for themselves. That's cheating, you know."

"Poison?" Hokutan said. "I figured someone had slipped something into her drink night before last." He spat on the ground. "Some folk try to make it easier to satisfy their entitlement to others' bodies. I got a whole list of those I've chased off Takahashi."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'd think Takahashi-san could chase them off herself. Her performance was impressive, for dealing with that cocktail in her system."

"She can, sober," he said, "but you heard her the other day, running her mouth without looking around to see if any nobles were in earshot. Cautious, she's not, and sometimes she's downright careless. Sometimes we've caught 'em trying to do it, though, and I've written their names down while she jams the cups down their throats." A grin cracked his grave face. "It started when some of them, the ones who weren't sober themselves or the particularly stupid and forgetful ones, tried the same trick again."

"I'd like that list," I said. "If my theory's wrong, and she was feeling the effects of a spiked drink very late for some reason, that could help."

He nodded. "I'll get it to you. But what's this about poison?"

"Here." I dug some of the spare paper I carried out of my kimono, along with some charcoal that was good for taking notes quickly, if sloppily. "Do it now." As he knelt to use the tree as a writing surface, I took the opportunity to sit and explain. "Takahashi-san mentioned someone trying to grab her in the crowd before the tournament started. I won't pretend to know how often that happens to the Rukongai-born, but that's weird, even for some of the ruder nobles. Then when she was getting healed, the marks of that person's fingernails—which shouldn't have been so prominent to begin with—were inflamed. Infection doesn't set in that quick, but poison might."

"But who- shit," he whispered, paling. "I really don't want to cross the first people that just came to mind."

"Peaches and rivers, right?" I said, referencing Momohiko's and Hisakawa's names. "Their hands were clean—unadorned, at least. There's at least one more person involved. I have an idea of who. I'm guessing you don't want to know?"

"You think I'm a coward," he growled, glancing up from his writing to glare at me.

"I don't," I said before he could get going with the defensiveness. "They could bury you. Literally, if what they did to Takahashi-san is any indication, and the threat of them getting more lethal with their toxins isn't one to take lightly. You've already helped plenty with this list"-I jerked my chin at the paper-"and filling me in on the fights I missed. I'm even more sure I'm right now."

"If you don't," he challenged, "why doesn't it sound like you're letting this lie?"

"Probably because I'm not," I said, yawning as though a serious face-off with a Great Noble was all in a day's work. "Their behavior is unacceptable. It's best that they learn before they try it on someone who can really make them regret it." Outrage was a convenient excuse, if a weak one. The rest of the truth was that my future knowledge didn't apply to the near future. I could get matched with Momohiko, or if I had the poisoner's identity wrong, another combatant who'd be happy to poison me and Shinju. My goals would go down the drain without warning—maybe permanently. "Thank you, Hokutan-san. If I took this to the authorities, would you back me up?"

He bit his lip. "They wouldn't do anything to him. They couldn't. And why would they listen to the Rukongai-born friend o"f a lying, drug-addicted party girl?"

"I didn't say if they did anything about it," I pointed out with a wink. "I didn't even say I'd be able to build a case for sure. Would you?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why the hell not. You manage that, I'll bear witness."

"Then thanks again," I said, taking the list he'd made and tucking it away. "Is there anything I can do for you before you go?"

"Got sweets?" he asked, blushing slightly at the silly request. "Takahashi could use the comfort."

"I do," I said. "Wagashi sound good?"

Wagashi did, as it happened, sound good to him. I piled his hands full of it—I had no sweet tooth—and bid him farewell.

"Guess I'm going bar-hopping," I said, reading over the list he'd given me. Names had power, indeed, but it helped to put them in the right ears. Since Takahashi had met these creeps at bars, it made sense to chase down the lead there.

I squinted up at the sun. Shinju and I had agreed to worm our way into Shin'ou after lunch. From the looks of it, I had a few hours.

I went back to the room and got changed. Against Furi's advice, I selected the most Hirako outfit I could find—a seal-brown kimono patterned with pink taiko drums and a creamy yellow obi. I put a few gold pins in my hair and headed out.

The bars Hokutan had mentioned to me were my first destination. Some were more reputable than others; some had been the sites of more creep-encounters than others. The two overlapped more often than you'd think.

"-so one o' the things we're lookin' fer is people doctorin' our sake," I said to the bartender. I was leaning on the counter, trying to ignore how sticky it was and hide how I wasn't drinking the cup I'd bought. "The point ain't fer people t'go all limp like some kinda fish. Yer supposed ta enjoy it, an' come back an' drink more. Ideally at one o' our parties. Drugs mixed in sour people's impressions, y'know?" I grinned at him. "We've had a coupla complaints about these folks." I passed him the list.

He looked it over. "Can't say I know most of them. The ones I do, half of them are harmless. Just guys who are a little insecure about who they're taking home, looking for a little help. Unorthodox aphrodisiacs, you could say."

My grin was very sharp and very thin. If they were scumbags for what they did, he was nearly as bad for excusing it. "The Hirako'd still like ta know. When yer stock in trade's rumors, ya like ta quash 'em before they get goin', and- an' the ladies drinkin' might get ta complainin'."

If he noticed the slip out of dialect, he didn't comment. "Alright then. Well, I've carted some home before, when they're too drunk to walk. The rest I've heard bragging, to their friends or the women they're picking up. I can tell you where they're at."

"Thanks a bunch," I purred. "Just write it by their names."

When he'd gone through all the ones he knew, I moved on to the next izakaya. Most brought similar success—it turned out that the bars a young woman, even a careless, superpowered one, felt comfortable drinking at were usually popular enough to attract more than a few creeps. I chased down the rest at nearby dives with time enough to start interviewing the bastards. In an age before cars, in an age where even horses were out of reach for many people, that wasn't as hard as you'd expect. All were in reasonable walking distance of their favorite haunts. With flash-step, it was even more convenient.

I ducked into an alley and changed into my other outfit. This one was as similar as I could get to the ensemble Furi'd dressed me in a couple days back: a royal blue kimono with ember-orange peonies and an obi of palest green. I removed the gold pins and put up my hair in the gunmetal ornament borrowed from that very ensemble. I didn't need or want to emphasize my Hirako-ness to these men. I had to look like an inquisitor.

First up: Sagawa Shouta, an ikayaki vendor. Familiarity nagged me all the way to his apartment. There I found his wife, a stout woman who didn't look terribly happy to see me. She readily admitted that he was tending his stall, though, so she could look as unhappy as she liked. I flash-stepped there with her description of her husband ringing in my ears.

The nagging familiarity became a pit when I caught sight of the man who matched that description. Not only was he standing behind the stall that'd denied Aizen ikayaki, he was the very same man.

"Find someone to take care of business for a little while," I said, coming up behind him, "or I'll tell everyone that not only are you drugging women at izakaya, you're drugging their food." True, if you stretched the definition of drug to include vinegar.

He whirled, in the middle of preparing a tentacle. "You! Come back to steal my livelihood again, have you?"

"Did you hear me?" I said. "I'll give you a five-count. One, two, three-"

"Hush up!" he hissed. "Gimme a second to grab someone." He pulled off his apron and threw it at a youth cleaning octopus. "Issei! Take charge, you worthless runt! Fine, you little oyabun," he said to me. "Let's go."

Glee surged in me as I led him to a relatively secluded part of the festival. Intimidating people was fun, but intimidating dirtbags was even better. Justice. Justice was better.

"Do you know Takahashi Yukari?" I asked. "Tall, short hair, broad shoulders, narrow oval face with a cat-scratch scar on her chin?" I tapped the left side of my chin, where Yukari had her scar.

"I know the barfly you're talking about," he said. "Thinks she can drink wherever she wants because she's Shinigami."

I smiled coolly. "I'm Shinigami. Have you tried to put some 'liquid encouragement' in her drink before?"

His eyes darted about. "Maybe. Why should I tell you?"

"Because I'm not above tipping your stall upside-down and telling people about your 'encouragement,'" I said, folding my arms. "You know as a Shinigami I'll be quick."

He growled, spitting at a particularly unfortunate rock. "Yeah, I did. Her white-knight boyfriend dumped it over my head when he saw."

Interesting. Anger towards both Takahashi and Hokutan. "How annoying that must've been," I said, sugary sympathy dripping between my teeth. "You hold onto that annoyance? Maybe enough to humiliate them, show the world they're not as powerful as they're cracked up to be?"

He frowned, lined forehead wrinkling further. "What's this- oh, that's right." He laughed, face clearing. "That bitch and her asshole boyfriend ate dirt at the tournament yesterday. Serves 'em right. Dunno how a lowly ikayaki cook'd have had a hand in it." His expression settled smugly. He was convinced I'd have no evidence to connect him to a diabolical plot.

"I'm sure you'd think of something," I chirped, just as smug. "Anybody can scrounge up some money and pay a shinobi to mix something up. Slip it in her drink, like you did before, and she'll never connect it to you when it hits halfway through the next day."

He snorted. "Maybe the likes of you could. Everybody knows shinobi are knife traps, to ferret out anybody who gets restless. I hate the bitch's guts, but no way am I getting flayed alive to inconvenience her." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the stall. "Can I get back to my job now? Don't think I don't know this ain't yours. You got no authority to keep me here."

He didn't seem to be lying, and if he was, he'd get his. Shinobi usually were decoys, designed to tell the onmitsu who wasn't so happy with the order of things. "Sure!" I waved as he went to leave. "Take care now. Serve all your customers."

I really don't have any authority other than 'I can beat your ass,' I mused as I went in search of the next creep. But there's no law against asking average people questions. Or is there? There either aren't any against what they're pulling or nobody's called whoever deals with this on ignoring them. Here, very close to Seireitei, Shinigami would act as non-secret police for a civilian magistrate's court. Either or both of those groups could be brushing the problem under the rug.

I blazed through most of the rest of the interrogations, only having to flash-step between the last few to keep from running late. A few presented... resistance.

"How many fingers do you need, rapist-san?" I asked, conversational. I pressed a little harder on his back, grinding his face into the mahjong table. "If you answer quickly, I'll leave you the other hand to jerk off your limp dick."

He raised his head, spitting out tiles. "Slut! Don't fucking touch me or I'll ram my cock through your empty skull!"

I slammed his head back down. "None, then. How impressive you are, Matsuda-san! I certainly couldn't pull off your izakaya sleight-of-hands with only one hand!" I shifted positions, holding him in place with my foot while I picked up a metal chopstick from a nearby table. The sound of dragging it over my metal hair ornament was close enough to the popular idea of unsheathing a knife. I moved it close to the hand I still held, twisted so the palm faced me.

"Alright!" he gasped. "Fine! I didn't touch her! I've been here the whole week, betting and drinking! Don't turn me into the authorities!"

I smiled. "I wouldn't worry about that, Matsuda-san. I have bigger fish to fry. Right now, at least." I kicked him in the back, upending the mahjong table and dropping him to the floor in a shower of tiles. "Stay dry. I might be tempted to come back and give you what you deserve."

Careful not to become a thug, daoshi, Arashi murmured as I booked it back to the ryokan. Doing things the right way, remember?

I scowled, coming up short as a knot of people formed in the street. The right way would be clapping them in irons. Since the law's failed their victims already, this is the best I can do. Gathering my strength, I got a running start and vaulted over the crowd. A few heads turned as I did, but whatever. This wasn't far from Seireitei; they'd seen Shinigami before.

To my surprise, inner waves curled, like an inclining of the head. And yet, ineffective. I never thought I'd see you taking initiative so well.

I rolled my eyes. I never thought you'd let me clean the place up a bit. We'd come to the ryokan. I gave them my name, hardly waiting for confirmation as I swept past. I'd likely arrive before Shinju, but I hated being the late one.

Just as long as you don't throw yourself on a pyre to warm those around you, my chimera, she said as I ducked into the room. Within your capabilities, always. That's all I've ever cared about.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. The time'd come to perform my third outfit change of the day, into a seasonal hakamashita-hakama number in turquoise, appropriate for lunch and training. I'd barely knotted the last tie when Shinju herself walked in.

"Having fun out there?" she asked, diving into her own wardrobe. Currently she had the 'appropriate for lunch and season' part down, but not the 'practical for training' bit.

"So much fun," I agreed. "What've you been doing all day?"

"Catching up on some reading," she said with a yawn. "Kohaku-nii sends me his old copies of the Seirietei Bulletin, but with Kinsawa, I hadn't received any for a while."

The Seireitei Bulletin? If nothing else, it'd be a good window into some of the key players in the Gotei 13, if a bit outdated. "Mind if I snag those when you're done? I'm a pretty fast reader."

"Not at all," she said, tying her hakama. "You ready to go? I heard there's a nice cafe about halfway between here and the Academy."

We left with hunger in our bellies and fire in our hearts.

"I really don't understand why you wouldn't take a bite of my umeboshi cakes, you know," Shinju said as we circled Shin'ou. "You gave me a bite of your nikuman."

I lifted a shoulder. We stopped at a particularly tall maple. It wouldn't get us all the way over the wall, but better than nothing. "Don't worry about it, Fujikage-san!" I said. "Can't a girl be nice once in a while? Give something without expecting something in return? Besides, I don't like umeboshi."

"I'm familiar with the concept of generosity, thank you," she said. "Need a boost?"

I shook my head. Carefully but without hesitating, I generated a platform beneath my foot and sky-walked up to the lower branches. Hooking my legs around a branch, I leaned down, extending my hand. "Then what's the problem?"

She took my hand, scrambling up the trunk to a nearby branch. "A partnership revolves around reciprocity, not generosity. I should be reciprocating, even if it's in a different way," she said, panting.

I pursed my lips, climbing ahead so she couldn't see my face. "You gave up on reciprocity when you went behind my back to invite Shinji to the tournament. What'd I do to deserve that?"

"What?" Shinju said from below. "I... you led us to victory in Kinsawa?"

Despite having climbed very close to the point of branches becoming twigs, I spun to face her. Look down on her. Whichever. "That's your idea of repaying me for saving our collective bacon? Are you kidding?"

She threw up her hand, clinging to a branch with the other. "Am I kidding? What did you expect, the clothes off my back?"

My head was spinning—or maybe that was the height. "I didn't expect anything from you! But I really didn't expect you to sucker-punch me!"

It was her turn to purse her lips. "Level heads are easier on level ground, you know. Let's get into Shin'ou first."

Easier for me to do than her. I dashed through the air to the top of Shin'ou's wall and turned to face her, sitting cross-legged on it. "Do you want me to tell you how I do it, or do you want me to come get you?"

"Shiraishi-san taught me how," she said, edging her way towards the wall. "I'm not very fast, but I can manage, you know?" She stepped out into thin air, picking her way towards me. It was painful, how slow she was, but every platform shimmered beneath her feet, readily visible. I wondered if I looked reckless to her, bounding through the sky, and resolved not to get annoyed. We all used the methods we needed. "Why was he working for the Onmitsukidou as a member of the Gotei 13, anyway? How?"

I'd wondered myself, in this time when the command of the Onmitsukidou and the captaincy of the Second weren't one and the same.  "Money?" I said. "I wouldn't know. He couldn't have had their training. Anyone can sell anyone else out, really." Did everybody assume I was the same? If I could figure out how to use that, it'd be nice, but minus the information onmitsu had access to, it wouldn't be convincing with anyone I didn't know from Before.

Shinju didn't miss my barb, glaring as she landed atop the wall. "Is that what you think, that I sold you out? I was trying to help you, you know! It's so miserable watching you and him tear into each other and go back to moping when the other's not around!" She threw her hands up and stumbled, windmilling frantically.

I lunged, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close. "So you dragged him into another, bigger fight, when I said I didn't want to fight him! Shinji beats up Nanase-kun for having the gall to get pressured into something and regret it, Aizen tells Shinji about it, and now you're plotting to get us to 'bond' again?" I released her to form air quotes. "What about me makes everything think they know what's best for me better than I do?"

She flushed crimson. "Maybe if you ever asked for help we wouldn't have to guess!" she yelled.

"I don't need help!" I yelled back. I jumped from the wall, landing in one of Shin'ou's many convenient courtyards. Shinju landed beside me a heartbeat later. I sat down, hard, swiping at my face. To my credit, no tears were budding there; to my discredit, I wished there were. Anything would be easier than explaining why I hated relying on others.

For once, my emotions and logic were on the same side. The former was pissed that all these people, all these arrogant, myopic, overbearing people were trying to control me. I had my own plans, greater in scope than any of them could imagine, and they had no right to assume what I did or didn't need. The latter reasoned that those plans were too important and delicate to risk disturbing. Moreover, if I asked Shinju's advice on the problems that weren't tied to the plan, like my tiff with Shinji and Aizen's fuckery, who was to say she wouldn't take it upon herself to solve them again? With our history, I really couldn't justify it. Better to keep our partnership strictly business.

"I don't need help," I repeated, standing. When I turned to face her, my features were bright as copper, but cast in iron. "I'd like to keep what we have strictly professional for the time being. Let's try and be upfront with one another, hmm?"

Her expression shuttered. It was a moment before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was carefully controlled. "I apologize. Is there anything you want to bring up before we start training, then?"

I opened my mouth to say no and reconsidered. If it'd just been me competing in the tournament, I would've kept the poisoning to myself, but she was at risk of running afoul of Momohiko too. "Someone almost certainly poisoned Takahashi-san yesterday," I said, folding my arms. "My suspects? Wakahisa-sama and our mutual friend Lin Yanmei."

She gasped. "Hirako-san! Do you know what you're saying? You can't just make accusations like that about a Great Noble!"

"But Great Nobles can do that kind of thing and remain immune to suspicion?" I replied, folding them tighter. "Takahashi-san was grabbed by someone with extremely sharp fingernails and came down with odd symptoms afterwards, which the Shinigami healers identified as a cocktail of drugs. Lin-san was wearing nail polish and is an onmitsu known to have attended yesterday."

"That's crazy!" she protested. "I'm wearing nail polish too!"

"You don't have such easy access to the poisoned types," I pointed out, "and you aren't close to Takahashi-san's opponents, the ones who would most clearly benefit from her loss."

"How?" she asked, mirroring my posture. "The Wakahisa don't need the money from betting, even if they did the opposite of what they're known for and got involved with that illegal nonsense. Was Takahashi-san even favored to win?"

"Yes," I said, ignoring that I didn't know that for sure. It made sense, given her and Hokutan's participation the year before and year at Shin'ou relative to Momohiko's. "I talked to Hokutan-san today and ran down all the leads he gave me, on anyone else who would've poisoned her while she was drinking the night before. None of them were credible threats, even if it'd taken that long for the effects to set in. Besides, not every motive is rational, like money. I wouldn't put it past a Great Noble who's never faced a challenge to make sure he didn't get publicly embarrassed."

She clenched her fists. "Why are you so focused on this idea that he's behind it? Why do you care so much?"

"Why don't you care?" I fired back. "Why are you so ready to believe the most likely culprit didn't do it?"

"We can't explain everything away," she said. "Sometimes unfortunate things happen, and you only make everything more unfortunate by obsessing. Sometimes it's better to be sad and move on in peace."

"You yourself acknowledge that that's only sometimes," I said. "Sometimes unfortunate things happen and you have to do something, because fortune has nothing to do with it." I pitched my voice lower, but harder. "Do you really think he'll stop as the fights get harder? Do you really trust an incompletely-trained onmitsu to administer a nonlethal dose?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm not concerned with that. I'd just like to get through this and graduate, thank you very much. The law can handle any mishaps and the tournament organizers can handle any cheating. It's not our job."

I swallowed back the heat of my fury. "No, it's not. Just answer this question: are the tournament organizers going to handle our matchups, too?"

She blinked. "Of course, that's their job."

"Then why," I asked, "do you seem to know we aren't going to face him? Unless we will," I added, faux-conspiratorial, "and you know how to handle an unknown poison at unknown doses. And you're comfortable with the law making no investigation into it, because he's a Great Noble. If we live."

Her gaze fell. Shinju, I'd realized, had a security-based agenda. She was happy not having a high rank, happy in a group, happy taking the expected steps at the expected time, as long as she reached a perch no one would push her from. The key was to make it look as though someone would. "You don't know that," she said weakly. "The law doesn't fail."

It failed enough that I chased down a whole list of date-rapists, I almost said. But that touched on her ideals, and those I couldn't push too far. "I wouldn't call it failure. Just turning a blind eye. Can't fail if it never becomes a problem. right?" I shrugged.

"What do you want me to do about it?" she asked. I waited for her to go on, to make it clear she was throwing up her hands, but it didn't come. Shinju was in.

"You have friends who are spectating, right?" I said. At her nod, I continued, "Ask them to keep an eye on Lin-san. And Wakahisa-sama, while we're at it. She's more likely to be able to get places he can't, but he's more likely to use his position to bully his way into some places. How well do you think you'd do at talking to the tournament employees?"

She bit her lip. "Poorly, I confess. A lot of them are- they're not-"

"The same as us, ethnically?" I guessed, because I'd noticed it too.

She blinked. "What? No! They're common. I can do it, but your clan has a reputation for being down-to-earth that might work better. What else can I do?"

"I'll handle that, then," I said. "I suppose I should check with the bookies, too, to make sure there's nothing more to learn there." Who else could I have Shinju handle? It was important that this not look like I was asking for her help after telling her I didn't need it. We had to split this. Reciprocity. "How about a small collection of people? The tournament organizers, the Fourth Division Shinigami, and the police. We need confirmation of the consequences for this sort of thing. Even if it doesn't stick, we should get it so we can call them on failing to take care of the problem. The Shinigami you should ask about shinten. They're the only ones who use it, and I wouldn't be surprised if they had a little go missing right before Takahashi-san was poisoned."

She nodded, more resolute with the concrete goals provided. "I can take care of that." She glanced towards the sky. "Anything else, before we start training? I'd prefer if the Shihouin didn't get mad at me for holding you up."

I shook my head, removing a sheathed Arashi from my sash. "Not at this point. With only one instance, the most we can do is gather information before we focus on Wakahisa-sama. We should avoid tipping him off as long as possible."

She nodded again, copying me. "As you say. Are you helping me with hajimezen first, then?"

I sat cross-legged and watched her follow. "You bet. First step: unsheathe the sword." I did just that, laying Arashi bare across my lap. "Your Zanpakutou is the sword, not the sheath. You'll never get a good connection to them—most likely your spirit will be female, but there are exceptions—with something between you. It's like trying to talk to someone through a door."

"You can do that, though," Shinju objected.

"But it doesn't feel as personal as a face-to-face conversation, does it?" I asked. "Open the door."

She unsheathed her asauchi and lay it across her lap. "Now what?"

"It's like they taught us," I said, "more or less. Call reiryoku to your hands and generate reiatsu. You should be exerting pressure on it." I held up my hands, palms out, and teal light flickered. Too often my classmates had only done the first part. It was a nice gesture, but useless, like standing there without breathing and expecting air to enter your lungs. When I was satisfied her violet light was steady enough, I continued, "Lay your hands on the blade. Be careful—it can cut you, as an asauchi." I'd even nicked myself a few times, forgetting and grabbing the edge. Now Arashi didn't hurt me unless I willed it. "Now... be you, I guess. What's your typical mood?"

She paused. "Anxious, I suppose."

"You hide it well," I said, and she did. If you looked at her face and not her actions, anyway. "Think about what's important to you. Who do you want people to see you as? What would you do for the people you love—really do, not just think you'll do? What do you believe as hard as you believe the sun will rise in the morning?"

"Those aren't the questions the teachers had us think about," she said, grey eyes dubious.

I'd deliberately ignored those. But Shinju wasn't me, and if her soul required the approval of authority, so be it. "No, they aren't. Do you trust me on this?"

"Against my better judgement," she said, eyes crinkling. Such was Shinju, a rosebush with a prickly-thorned, sweet-scented embrace. Well after she'd said it, I believed it, that she felt bad about what she'd done with Shinji, that she'd try to respect my wishes in the future.

"You don't have to use the questions I suggested," I said. "You don't have to use the questions the teachers gave us, either. Ask yourself what you want to know."

She laughed, faintly humorless. "Does my soul know where Hirako-kun's heart lies?"

Dammit, she still had a thing for Shinji? I'd hoped that'd fade, or that at least she'd be able to focus on herself before a man. A boy, really; both were old enough, but neither mature enough for a serious relationship if they couldn't get straight whether anything more than teenage winks and quips lay between them. "If you want to know," I said, "you should talk to him. But first, you need to talk to yourself."

She sighed, eyes fluttering shut. "Yes. I need peace. Peace in my heart, to find peace elsewhere." At the edge of hearing, a note chimed softly, like a celesta. I allowed myself a measure of genuineness in my smile. Give it time, but I had a feeling Shinju would work her way through her love of safety and find her Zanpakutou.

In the meantime, I opened an old copy of the Seireitei Bulletin that Shinju'd given me. I didn't get through it as quickly as usual, having to stop to encourage or answer a question from Shinju. It was an informative read. I filled in the names of captains I hadn't heard much of: Shimizu Katsumi in the Fifth, Kuchiki Ginrei in the Sixth, Mori Junji in the Seventh, and Shiba Takaro in the Tenth. Of note were Kenpachi Tora, one of the rare female Kenpachi, and Tachibana Issei, whose specialty in Kidou had spread to his division and resulted in a working relationship with the Onmitsukidou, whose scouting capabilities were necessary for Kidou-fueled ambushes, all they were good at these days, to be effective. The articles were okay, but none even close to the quirky personal sections I vaguely recalled. Most were notices related to the division's duties, though Kenpachi Tora had none—illiterate, maybe? The Ninth's, a police blotter of sorts, was unintentionally the best. Shinju glared at me as I cracked up reading, but come on. Who could resist laughing at what amounted to public shaming of random Shinigami, most of whom had committed the mortal sin of getting drunk and pissing on the Third's flowers? Kohaku had actually scribbled a notice next to that part: "stop spreading this around!" I didn't know what his problem was; it was hilarious, but I supposed not everybody liked dirty laundry being aired. The Gotei 13 had an image to maintain, after all.

When Shinju stirred from her trance, it was to attempt to stand and promptly fall over. I helped her work out the kinks until she declared it time to work on my Kidou skills.

"Just cast a Hadou," she said, rolling her neck. "Red Flame Cannon, maybe; that's the Academy standard after all."

We'd landed in one of the Kidou ranges. They tried to put those toward the outside so the only casualties were civilians if someone put a hole in a wall, I think. I took my stance, all the steps clear in my head. Square your shoulders. Extend both hands, palms out. Gather the energy within yourself, aspect it towards fire, and form it according to its mold.

"Ye lord!" I called. Internally, I grabbed a handful of power and pulled it through memories of lighters, of flamethrowers, of crowning forest fires. That elemental wire I looped through the pattern I remembered with the incantation. "Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south!"

Almost immediately my arms exploded in pain. Despite the fact that it'd happened every time I'd tried this, I cried out, dropping to my knees. My veins burned as though I'd cast the Hadou on myself; my muscles twitched like I'd been shocked.

Shinju ran to my side. "Hirako-san!" she said. "Are you okay?"

I gritted my teeth. "Just hurts," I ground out. "Happens every time." I forced a smile. "You should see me with Bakudou. Feels like my insides are the ones getting bound up."

She frowned. "I'd rather not ask this of you, but could you try that again? This time I want to have Kaidou on you—healing Kidou lets me see what's going on in your reiryoku, if not in great detail, you know."

"Sure, why not," I said. As I stood, she laid her hands on my shoulders. The annoying prickling began, but as I cast Red Flame Cannon, it paled in comparison to the blazing pain.

"Crap," I gasped, deeply tempted to go for something stronger. "Crap, crap, crap. Every time, and it never gets better. Like Kaidou isn't bad enough."

Her frown deepened. "I'm no Fourth Division Shinigami, but I'm not that bad, am I?"

I shook my head. "It's not you. Even when the tournament healers were working on me, it felt like ants were biting everywhere they touched."

"That... should not be happening," she said, ignoring my huffed 'duh.' "Oh, don't you start. It's not always comfortable when I get healed, either, but usually that's only when I've been doing Kidou and forgotten to disperse the remnants of my converted energy."

"That grouchy Shinigami was talking about that too," I said. "He insisted I had it going on, but I don't. It's always like that, especially since I earned Shikai."

She tapped her chin. "I remember. The problem when people do that is that it's harder for Kaidou to restore the reiryoku, because it doesn't mesh completely with the normal reiryoku. Well enough that people don't always notice the difference, and you won't get reiryoku poisoning, but it affects your reiatsu, and the interaction with the healer's and your reiatsu is what causes that feeling."

I threw up my hands and winced. Pain wasn't entirely gone. "It's all mine! There shouldn't be any problem!"

"Let me try Kaidou again?" she asked. I grudgingly agreed and she laid her hands on my shoulders. After a few minutes, she released me. "Just as I thought. Your lightning-aspected and water-aspected reiryoku don't entirely blend. I can't tell which is the more natural, but somehow they clash."

Externally, I was nervously cheerful. Internally, I was just nervous. Was there something wrong with me? "The only Kidou I've ever pulled off is Pale Lightning," I said, "back in Kinsawa. It went off without a hitch."

"You'd have to be building lightning-aspected reiryoku frequently to keep up the reserves you have," she said, "and I can't imagine that you'd be doing that unconsciously." At the shake of my head, she continued, "My guess is that you managed Pale Lightning because of your lightning affinity."

I tilted my head. "Even then, wouldn't I have had to work with my reiryoku? I definitely wasn't thinking that hard at the time."

She frowned, hands running through seals in thought. "You have very strongly aspected reiryoku, you know? Maybe that came so easily to you because it's constantly 'built' that way."

A light bulb went off in my head. "Yours isn't?"

She shook her head. "No. Unless they have an elemental Shikai, most people don't have a noticeable affinity, and even then it only appears as a 'flavor.' It's hard to explain if you haven't used Kaidou."

"So if it's like that," I said slowly, "maybe the problem isn't that I'm doing something wrong. Maybe it's that I'm not doing something. Maybe I'm trying to turn reiryoku that's already infused with one element into another, and it's misshapen because, well, reiryoku doesn't do that. The Kidou can't function, and so it backfires." I flexed, muscles jumping. "That'd be consistent with how it feels. A lightning storm in the muscles, fire in my blood."

"Try Pale Lightning, then," she said. "See if Kinsawa was one-off."

"I hope Kinsawa was a one-off," I said, rising. "The Kidou, no."

Ignoring her roll of the eyes, I took my stance, steady and low. It was supposed to protect against backlash—fat lot of good that'd done. My forehead creased. Hadn't I been extolling the virtues of making Shin'ou teaching one's own just yesterday? All I had to do was look at Urahara, with that modified Pale Lightning of his, to see how effective that could be. I shifted, weight on a straight back leg, ball of the front foot barely touching the ground. It was an unstable posture. Yet somehow, it felt right. I was at once grounded and light, an earthly conduit for heaven's wrath.

Easy, Nariko. Emphasis on the cold-blooded part of 'cold-blooded fire,' okay? I made my back ramrod straight and pointed with index and middle fingers at the target. I stared down my arm like a rifle sight.

"Cold kings of Kamakura," I said, "singing lupine shrouds." I dragged handfuls of lightning down my arm, just shy of my fingertips. Belatedly I remembered the Kidou's pattern, but it hadn't made a difference in Kinsawa. I went through the chant anyway, using the time to compress the lightning into a cord. Power leashed only by my say-so. "A falcon falls truly, wild blossoms, the naga's fang. O exile whose honor yet flees! Diminish! Return and redeem! Hadou #4: Pale Lightning!"

Energy lanced from my fingertips, colliding with the target. Blinking away afterimages, I discovered it hadn't punched a hole in it as intended. It'd done one better. The grim focus on my face gave way to a slow smile as I surveyed my handiwork. The lightning had hit the target and kept going, blasting straight through the wall behind.

"In the interests of our continued enrollment," Shinju said at my shoulder, "I suggest we leave. The guards might not find your vandalism as impressive."

"What about Red Flame Cannon?" I said as I bounded up and over the wall, Shinju in a bridal carry. Guards' reiatsu was incoming below. "I never got to try it!"

"And you never will if they catch us!" she yelped, squeezing my neck so hard I saw spots. "Get us out of here!"

"It's a little hard to hear you with all this wind, Fujikage-san!" I shouted as we dropped. "Try and keep it down, okay? You don't want me slipping and dropping you five hundred feet up!"

As I broke our fall, hopping from platform to platform, I wondered if maybe the instability of my sky-walking came from the instability of my reiryoku. Was the lightning and water in me perpetually caught in a storm, warring with itself? Why? More importantly, could I fix it? I barely registered landing and setting Shinju down, instinctively reaching across the space between my mind and soul for Arashi. She stayed silent. If anything came back, it was cold rain.

One step forward, two steps back. I shook my head. No, two steps forward, one step back. Forward, always. I won't be held back by self-doubt.

"Come on!" Shinju tugged on my sleeve. The guards had figured out we weren't in the courtyard anymore, and were on the move. "We're the only Shinigami around! They'll suspect us, you know!"

I went with her, ducking through alleys until she was satisfied they weren't on our trail. We wound up in a section of the festival selling trinkets and jewelry. Casting a glance around and finding it less picked-over than the souvenirs, I turned to Shinju.

"Do you mind if we find hospitality gifts for my dinner tonight?" I asked, pointedly not looking at the vendors. If they heard who I was meeting with, odds were they'd start trying to sell me stuff at ridiculously marked-up prices.

She took the hint, shaking her head. "Let's do it. I don't think it'd be wise to continue training, you know?"

We strolled through the stalls, inspecting their wares. Some were nice, but simply not nice enough—I pointed to such a bauble, a glass deer, only to have it shot down by Shinju for its lack of coloration or detail. Others were nice, but thematically unsuitable, like the hairpin Shinju suggested for Yoruichi, which resembled a mouse clinging to a twig. Just a bit too on the nose, I thought. Eventually, I settled on a sake cup for Shizuya, Yoruichi's mother, whose surface was not only decorated with starflowers that bore great resemblance to their mon but also had been repaired according to kintsugi, cracks inlaid with gold dust, and a carved calligraphy brush for her husband, made with bamboo and rabbit hair. For Urahara I got a finely-made bath towel, embroidered with snapdragon. The reference to his hot springs was too good to pass up, combined with the symbolic acknowledgement of his deception at our meeting. Yoruichi herself received a golden choker embedded with an onyx teardrop. Hers I put the most practical consideration into—I didn't expect her parents to use my gifts and Urahara's was coded. I figured it'd be good considering her level of activity, since chokers were hard to snag or grab. I threw in gifts for her little brother Yuushirou and Tessai, to show them I'd done my homework on their social circles and family. Yuushirou, whose age I could estimate as reasonably close to Yoruichi's since nobles tended to have kids in a close timeframe to ensure succession, got high-quality bandages for use as handwraps in Hakuda, and Tessai I picked another calligraphy brush for. Sealing Kidou involved writing, right?

"It's a good thing I save most of my clan stipend," I told Shinju as we made our way back to the ryokan. "As it is, that wiped out most of my savings."

"Even though your family'd back you up if you got into trouble?" she asked. "Don't get me wrong, I don't go throwing around money, but you don't need to worry that much."

"I don't worry," I defended myself, turning the corner. "I just don't like depending on my family. I wouldn't be very responsible if it came to that."

"It's not dependence," Shinju said, trotting to catch up. I tended to assume that I would be the one catching up, given her height, but as we came side by side, I saw that we were nearly the same. I slowed my step for her. "They're your family, you know? They support you, and you, them. Don't you think it hurts them to have you be so aloof?"

"Why Fujikage-san," I said with a wink, "are we still talking about family?"

She reddened, toying with the sunflower kanzashi she'd bought herself. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"And I wouldn't let on if I did," I said, noticing and sidestepping a falling bucket of dirty water at the last second. It splashed my feet and I tsked. Case in point. "Need I remind you of our agreement to be upfront with one another?"

"No, you don't," she said.

The gate of the ryokan was in sight. I approached the guard and gave my name, entering. A few steps in, I realized she hadn't done the same. I turned to find her standing there, shuffling her feet.

"What's the problem?" I said, rejoining her outside the gate. "Did you drop something?"

She caught my sleeve and guided me around the corner. She wet her lips.

"I don't... want this," Shinju said at last. "An alliance, instead of friendship."

I blinked, sour anger already eating into my throat. It was irrational, an instinctive reaction against unforeseen change, and I bit it back. "You suggested it, and you're going to change now, after only a few days?"

"A few days is long enough!" she said, nostrils flaring. "Long enough to see what this means to you. Long enough to realize I just can't pretend there isn't still a gap between us."

I folded my arms. "Please, Fujikage-san, do go on about what our partnership means to me. I'm sure you know much more about my feelings than I do."

She shook her head and met my eyes. Hers were on the precipice of tears. Mine watched the water shimmer in them dispassionately. "You know, I think I do."

"Stop right there," I said. "You don't know me well enough to say that."

"Whose fault is that?" she asked.

"Mine," I said. "I won't pretend otherwise. But you're the one inventing problems where they don't exist. I could say something similar about you, you know." I leaned back against the wall. "Desperate to fix people after people close to you couldn't be fixed. I won't, because I don't believe in assigning people sentiments when I don't know anything about where they're coming from."

She flushed, glancing away. But just as quickly her eyes jumped back to me, and anger joined the sorrow. "Get over yourself! Maturity isn't denying vulnerability, and even if it were, you're not more enlightened than the rest of us. You'll only hurt yourself trying to be! Are we supposed to be monsters for wanting you not to self-destruct?" She took a deep breath and something like pity chased the anger and sadness away. "You know, I don't think you know anything about feelings. I think you don't understand them, and you've burned yourself trying to in the past, and now you're scared of them and trying not to have anything to do with them, yours or anyone else's. You can't handle Hirako-kun getting upset over his big sister being hurt, so you push him away. You can't handle me, someone who's almost died with and for you, trying to share this mysterious burden on your shoulders and help you open up, so you hold me at arm's length. You run away over and over again from your emotions. Are you a socio-"

"Stop." The smug smile anchoring my lips shook. I was a child again, stinging palms and berating words raining down on me, and I couldn't raise a hand to defend. There was no Shinji to walk in and save me. I swallowed hard and looked away. "Enough."

She was right. I wasn't an automaton. I was a very scared and very lost girl. A girl who didn't know how to reach out to people and find her way. A girl crushed by the knowledge that she couldn't.

Too often I caught myself opening my mouth, ready to ask for help, and closed it. All the places I couldn't afford to stumble were the stations of canon. What was the point, anyway? My canon friends couldn't know, lest they shift and disturb it all. At best the rest would fade away, out of focus. At worst, they'd die, killed in conflicts they didn't have the plot armor to survive. They couldn't help me, not really, and doing so would invite death early—mine or theirs.

I didn't want to die. Most of all, I didn't want the person I was to die. Telling them about anything, even my bilingualism, risked pulling the thread. With how much of a fraud that person was, I wouldn't be pulling the thread on a single sweater, I'd be pulling it on an entire wardrobe. They'd see me standing naked.

The cliche went that characters expected to be hated for a trait, for hidden ancestry or powers or orientation, faultless things that the audience always knew other characters would accept. But I knew they'd hate me—for what I'd done. I'd taken my knowledge of the future and coolly doomed- how many thousands was it now, between the Quincy-Shinigami War, Aizen, and the Thousand-Year Blood War? I didn't even know if the filler arcs were canon. I'd befriended most of them not for friendship, but to selfishly ensure I could complete my plan. In Shinji's eyes, I'd heartlessly lied about who I was to him, my oldest friend, my family. But hey, maybe they'd never confront me, because Aizen would kill me first. Aizen, who seemed as lost and scared as I was, who I realized with a start I didn't want to be evil, but who had to be for the greater good.

You're right for the wrong reasons, Shinju, I thought, meeting grey with hazel. I'm not wiser than you, no matter how much I pretend I am. No matter how much I want to believe it, and no matter how much I don't want to believe I fuck up navigating other people's emotions every time. But it's not because I don't care about people. It's because I care too much. Because I want to protect you from myself, because I want to protect myself from you, because I want to protect as many people as I can and my guilt now is bad enough without the potential death of worlds on my shoulders.

I nailed a smile to my face, spearing through my weakness and into my core. "Enough of this," I said, eyes dry as I met hers. I turned to face her and bowed, unshaking hands flat on my thighs. "I'm sorry, Fujikage-san, for giving you the impression that I don't care. I do care, and I'm trying to be as good a friend as I can to you, in my own way." My smile didn't so much as quiver as I said, "Please accept that I'm not lying to you about any burden. But please know that if you ever face such a burden, I will help you carry it. And as far as being vulnerable goes—that's what friendships are made of, right?—thank you." I bowed again, deeper than I'd ever imagined myself bowing to Shinju. "You aren't entirely right about me, but more than I could've anticipated, and you've made me confront parts of myself that I need to deal with. And I will. Truly, thank you." I went to give her a more genuine smile, if a shaky one, and felt a pang, like a wound threatening to open. I flinched away from it and shaded the one I already wore with sincerity.

She studied me for a span of moments. Finally she smiled, creasing tear-stained cheeks. "People love you, you know? If you keep this up, not running away, you'll see that more."

I blinked, taken aback by the unflinching, caring patience she extended. Another realization dawned on me: there was someone to whom I'd never extended that patience.

We went into the ryokan, and this time, I didn't go to my room. I went to Aizen's.

"Aizen-san?" I said, knocking. There came the sound of things being shoved in drawers and under beds and the door slid open to reveal Aizen.

"N-Nariko-san," he mumbled, quicksilver smile flashing across his face. "Good morning. You look nice today. It's a rest day, right?"

"It is," I said, "and it's afternoon, not morning. But thank you." I scuffed my feet. "I wanted to talk. Can I come in, or would you prefer somewhere else?"

"I-" He glanced around, taking in the sunny central courtyard, then back into the shadow of the room. I caught sight of several lanterns lined up on one side and guessed that Shinji and Aizen had different opinions on lighting. "Somewhere else. Somewhere more open?"

I considered. "How about the roof of the tournament venue? We can people-watch!"

"Not there, please," he said. "I reserve a certain mindset for the tournament. Shinji-san's tense enough without my jinxing it by going there without intent to fight."

I chuckled. "Well, you've jinxed me enough, why not use him for a change?" I filed Shinji's tension away for a later question. "How about over there?" I pointed across the district, towards a building that poked above the rest. I was in a mood to sit on tall things today. "If you can't sky-walk, I can carry you. I'd wager you're lighter than Fujikage-san."

He blushed, fiddling with his glasses. "I know how. Shall we?"

I nodded, stepping back to allow him out on the veranda. A flight of whimsy shot through me and I sky-hopped onto the roof. "Race you!"

I rocketed off, bounding from roof to roof. A whoop tore out of me as brown blurred past. I upped the speed and leaped, aiming for a roof with a wavelike gable. Right before my sandals connected, I projected a platform beneath my feet, sliding up and over the curve. I applied the same technique to the next roof, and the next, dashing across glazed clay like I was on figure skates. I vaulted from the crest of one and came down on another in a shower of tiles. Oops. Not a thick enough platform on that one. But glancing back and not finding Aizen in sight, I grinned and sped on ahead. Score one for Nariko!

I loved this, feeling like something I'd done mattered. Like this past year hadn't been for nothing, like the years going forward wouldn't be for nothing. I kicked off the corner of a house and soared over a full block before gravity reclaimed me. The building I'd pointed to was coming up, and boy, was it taller than I'd thought. I steeled myself and jumped again. This time my feet met a platform. I raced out into the air.

"That was awesome!" I declared to no one in particular, stepping onto the roof.

"Quite," Aizen said. Okay, someone in particular.

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Is your goal in life to show me up at every turn?"

He smiled softly. "Not quite. Why, is your goal to surpass me? You seem to be doing a fine job of that in most regards."

I parked my butt on the tile and gestured for him to join me. "Trust me, Aizen-san, you're not my metric for progress. I wouldn't use a friend that way. Fosters ugly feelings, you see."

"Family, then?" he asked, following my lead. "Shinji-san?"

I sighed. I wanted to get mad at him, but I pictured Shinju instead. Patience. "No. Can we leave him out of this, please? My goal isn't to get stronger."

"What is it, then?" he asked.

I considered the old classic, 'wouldn't you like to know?' But I had an honest answer, and grudgingly, I gave it. Keep your friends close and all that. "Become lieutenant of the Twelfth," I said.

"Lieutenant?" Aizen parroted, frowning. "That seems difficult." He visibly recalculated his reply. "In general, I mean. Weren't you the one saying just the other day that all the seated positions were taken?"

"They'll open up," I said with the confidence of someone who did, in fact, know they'd open up. For the first time I wondered what exactly had prompted that, if my time's roster was so clogged. I glanced at him sidelong. "You're going to climb the ranks too, you know."

Aizen looked at his hands. "Me?"

I bobbed a nod. "Yeah, you. With all that spiritual pressure? With your speed? With your-" I fluttered my hands. "Sorry. I didn't exactly watch your match the other day."

"Shinji-sa-" He stopped. "I shouldn't say. He didn't ask me to keep it a secret, but I can't- I won't make that mistake again."

I drew my knees up to my chin. This new patience thing was working out, but Aizen was still pretty frustrating. "I take it I should talk to him? Great. That's two topics tabled." It'd have to be tomorrow at the earliest. Best not to risk my dinner tonight. Which reminded me to bring up the reason I'd wanted to see Aizen in the first place. "Aizen-san? What does the world look like to you?"

He studied me. "A girl with eyes like the forest and hair like its ashes, who has the world at her feet." His gaze fell to his hands again. "Fresh stains under the nails." The skin around his eyes tightened as they surveyed the streets. "Confusion and rot."

Not quite what I'd expected, but it was a start. "There's more to it than that, right?" I said. "Something to be redeemed?"

"Is there?" he said distantly. He shook himself. "You're right. But lately, it seems there's more confusion than anything else."

"That's the way of the world, isn't it?" I said, drumming my fingers on the fired clay. "You think you know how the story goes, then the twist comes and you find out you're in a whole other genre."

He pressed a hand to his chest. "I remember that chapter well," he said softly. He sighed. "Do you ever want to just... close the book? So you don't have to wade through a thousand lines of nonsense, only to reach a tragic ending?'

"Sometimes," I admitted. "But the way I see it, I've got a brush too. I'll cross the pain out and make good things in the margins."

"The margins are in the same book as the nonsense," he said, running a hand through tangled hair. His multifaceted reiatsu cut to a pane. "Write as much as you want, the number of pages allotted is the same."

"This is the part where I tell you I've lost track of the metaphor," I said, running my fingers over gritty tile, "and say it isn't hopeless. But that was the point of my original question. What does the world look like to you, Aizen-san?" I repeated. "To me, you're an enigma of smoked glass and iron. I can never quite tell if you're delicate or strong, and what little I can make out of the inside changes with every shift of light. I want to know what makes it through to you."

"You'll run away," he said, hand falling to his side, "you, who believes in change and hope."

Like they belonged to someone else, someone who was all lightning instead of only half, my fingers brushed his. "I always run back to you, Aizen-san."

His fingers hovered beneath mine, slightly damp and warm. "Yes, you do," he murmured, strangely sad. But he didn't pull away. "Indigo and black. Both night colors, but black is starless midnight, and indigo is the night just before light returns. I thought when I came to Shin'ou Academy that I could shed the dark waters of Kuraizumi by changing my name." He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "The truth is that some part of me, some voice in my head, will always belong to it. Until I shake it off, I'll forever be staring up from beneath its surface, from beneath the smoked glass you see, at your chaotic world." Bare brown settled on hazel. "As I said, I wish to make the world a better place to live in. You made me realize that I still have a foot in that place."

I held his gaze, not wanting to let this rare exposed moment go. "If this world is such a mess, why do you want to help it?"

"Why do you?" he asked, wetting his lips. "Something in the places we come from drives us both."

I swallowed, feeling like I hadn't in a long time, like Before peering out from behind the face of Now. "Was Kuraizumi that different?"

He broke the connection, pulling away and hacking into his sleeve. When he recovered, he inhaled deeply, and said, "It's very difficult for me to think back to that time. I believe it would be more accurate to say that the person it made me was that different. This path I've walked at Shin'ou, with you and the others, is one away from that person." A hint of a smile, as he lay back against the tile and stared up at the sky. "As impossible as it is, I hope to reach the end."

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. Words hovered on my tongue. Did I dare say them? I did. "Fujikage-san told me today that I'm running from myself, and that it's not healthy," I said, paraphrasing. "I don't know what demons you're fighting, Aizen-san, but maybe- maybe you should turn around and face them, so they don't drag you off it." Because if you take a detour, we're all boned, long run. "And when you continue on, we'll be waiting," I said, so I didn't look like a complete ass telling a traumatized kid whose problems I knew fuck all about to deal with it without support.

"In time," he said, so soft I could barely hear it. "For now, I'll muddle my way forward." As quickly as he'd laid down on the tile, he sat up, replacing his glasses. "We should get going, Nariko-san. I'm hungry, and you should prepare yourself for your dinner with- who was it, again?"

I blushed. "Shihouin Yoruichi-sama, a friend of hers, and her parents," I said. "You going to start clinging to me for invites?"

"Unlikely," he said. "Parties are hardly my environment of choice."

I sighed, standing. "I know, just teasing. Race back?"

He hesitated and at last shook his head. "Sorry, Nariko-san. I'm not feeling well. You go back at your pace, and I at mine. Such is the way of things—you leave others trailing in your wake."

I smirked. "Sounds like others aren't trying to keep up. See you later, Aizen-san." I waved and dropped off the edge. Just for his comment, I took the journey at a walk. I had everything ready back at the ryokan, and it wouldn't hurt me to have some energy left for the Shihouin.

"Thank you for this," I blurted. "Really, it's appreciated."

My escort didn't so much as break stride. "I am following orders. It is inappropriate to thank me, unless you are the sort of simpleton who thanks the sun for rising every morning." She flipped her grey-streaked braid over her shoulder. "I have greater faith in Yoruichi-sama than that. I will assume it a slip of the tongue."

I flushed, but heeded her words and kept quiet. We were approaching the gate. I didn't want to get distracted from my first sight of the great city.

It was a common misconception that Seireitei's sekkiseki walls were in place all the time. For those who understood that the white walls that surrounded the city day-to-day were simple stone, another misconception served to explain the more famous barriers' absence: they were the result of an immensely powerful Kidou. While I was sure Kidou was used to contact the Royal Realm and borrow them, it must've been a nice ego boost for the Kidou Corps. Not to say the regular walls were ugly—my jaw dropped at the expanse of stone before me.

The gates were.... less lovely. Hewn of wood planks and bound with iron, they weren't winning any aesthetics awards any time soon. I could only assume Seireitei nobles were content with beautiful gates on their estates within. As we approached, I shivered. Was it an omen that the gate was divided into four parts?

My trepidation only grew as I spotted the gatekeeper. Giant already, his nose looked sharp enough to cut and his thick mustache and beard, combined with a dark, wild mane, gave the impression that he'd emerged from the wilderness, not a gatehouse.

"Daiwan," Yoruichi's guard greeted. "A guest of Shihouin Yoruichi-sama."

He sneered down at me. "A Hirako, eh? A cousin of yours tricked me out of my last kan. If it weren't a Shihouin inviting you in, I'd beat you to a pulp, just for that grin plastered on your face."

"Sorry to hear it, sir," I said cheerfully. "If it weren't a Shihouin inviting me in, I'd tell you not to get to the point where you've only got one kan left."

"Why, you-" He reared up to his full height, unhooking a meteor hammer from his sash.

"Idiots, both of you," my escort said, stepping forward. She pointedly slipped a hand into her sleeve. "Do you wish to see my lady's token, or are you truly so brain-dead that you wish to see mine?"

Daiwan paled, folding into a bow impressive for someone of his bulk. "Neither will be necessary, Feng-dono! Please forgive me! Wizards!" he barked over his shoulder.

Two Kidou Corps members emerged from the gatehouse. One carried a black, white-studded choker; the other's hands were folded into his sleeves.

"Your name?" Hidden-Hands asked. I spotted amorphous blobs of black on each stud, and realized they were name tags.

"Hirako Nariko," I answered. "My given name uses the character for 'honest.'"

His sleeves rustled and my name appeared on the studs, one character at a time. They rustled again and the collar leaped from his partner's hand, lashing around my neck. I gasped, hands instinctively flying to my throat as it tied itself.

"Please don't," Hidden-Hands said. "Any violation of the law, including attempted removal or disarming, will be met with detonation."

I let my hands fall. "Alright," I said, wondering how I'd reached the point where that was an honest response. Getting blown up without such polite warning, probably.

Daiwan lumbered over to the gate. He grunted and heaved. Watching his muscles shake as the gate rose, I could only imagine how many tons it weighed.

"Come," Yoruichi's guard ordered, marching in.

I trotted after her, grinning from ear to ear. Seireitei at last!

This was the part where I got a huge let-down, where I found Seireitei to be much the same as the Rukongai, just with more shihakushou. And yet- I didn't. Was it night and day? No. Collared merchants hawked their wares on every corner and the multitudes of Shinigami bustled around izakaya and tile-roofed buildings so familiar I got deja vu. Such was the splendor of Seireitei that I was still blown away. Every street—and there were a ton, in a city this big—was paved with immaculate white stone, even with trees and flowers brimming with leaves and petals everywhere. We walked past just as many training fields and warehouses as we did lush parks and theaters. My escort took us through a more residential area as well, lined with reasonably well-maintained apartments. I presumed they were for Shinigami who didn't have estates in Seireitei or the money to buy a place, but didn't want to live in the barracks.

It suddenly made perfect sense why souls from mixed or affluent districts would enlist. Seireitei was flawless.

"Stop gawking," my escort snapped. "You are a guest of Yoruichi-sama, and it would behoove you to act it."

I nodded, swallowing hard. The choker rasped against my throat with the motion. Not completely flawless.

We came to a new district, one mysteriously fenced off from the rest. Maybe this was where Seireitei nobles lived. It certainly seemed to be as Yoruichi's guard snapped her fingers and a man scurried out from a gatehouse-like structure.

"Feng-dono!" he said, bowing from the waist. He seemed about to say something, but bit it back. Probably dealt with her enough to know she didn't go for pleasantries. "Two norimono, for you and Hirako-dono?" I started at the use of my name.

She nodded. "To the Beckoning Cat banquet hall."

He scurried off. Soon eight people in Shihouin orange, split into two teams of four, appeared. Each team bore a palanquin, which they lowered to the ground. Feng—only now did I remember her given name, Suyin—proceeded to hers and gestured for me to do the same. I squirmed, but did as asked. Something about the thought of sitting pretty as other people did all the work made my gut clench.

Talking without acknowledging their presence was similar. But as we set off, curiosity gnawed at me. "The Beckoning Cat banquet hall?"

"Of course," Feng said coolly. "The Shihouin estate features a building for every function. This one is a less formal, more intimate venue for the main family to have a meal with a less prestigious guest. Were you of significant standing, we would go to the Hou-ou hall. Were there to be more guests, the August Pine hall. So on and so forth, for different factors."

I didn't mind the disparagement of my status. It was true, after all, and I felt it the further we progressed into the district. Small forests coexisted with parks that put Seireitei's to shame, and dozens of people were running around doing everything from trimming topiaries to herding peacocks. "Do they not eat at the main house if they have a large number of guests?" It was what we did, after all. The estate proper wasn't big enough to have free-standing banquet halls of any great size.

She huffed. "What need have they for that? Look around you. Do you truly think the Shihouin are lacking in space?"

My eyes about popped out of my skull. I clamped my mouth shut before I could blurt out what was running through my head. All this is theirs?! This is big enough enough to be a small district of the Rukongai! All these people! All the luxury! They have rivers, for heaven's sake! And bridges over the rivers! And boats to float on the rivers!

Well. It wasn't so bizarre. The Shihouin clan was a Great Noble House, after all, and had quite a few members, to say nothing of servants. The scope of their wealth was staggering even so.

I spent the rest of the journey checking, double-checking, and triple-checking my gifts. As we approached a building whose single story gleamed with jade and lanterns, I moved on to checking myself. My smile hadn't slipped. My outfit—a navy ofurisode with a pattern of overlapping white circles, bound with a silver brocade maru obi and secured with a silver-threaded white cord—remained uncreased. That such a formal obi made it tough to move had to be ignored. I'd been nervous about borrowing from one of my tournament's ensembles, but I was really starting to like the high ponytail, so I'd put my hair up in the viper outfit's gunmetal ornament. It hadn't frizzed too much and wasn't tangled, so I let it be. I'd also left the lily perfume in the room. Nice as it was, I wasn't about to offend Yoruichi again.

We came to a halt. I felt the palanquin settle on the ground. Climbing out with the aid of a carrier, I thanked them and followed Feng up the steps. She slid the door open and stepped in and to the side, allowing me entrance.

"The Children of the Flatlands's daughter of the Lords of the Just Pines's first daughter, the Lady Nariko," she declared. I took that as my cue and stepped inside.

It was... opulent. There was no getting around that. A few musicians were playing off to the side, some traditional instrumental music that fit not any mathematical rhythm but the pace of human breathing. Low tables were laid out in the shape of a rectangle with a smaller side knocked out. At the remaining smaller side of the rectangle sat a man and woman in kimono probably worth my family's estate. Yoruichi sat to their left, Urahara by her side.

"Hey, Nariko!" she called, waving her chopsticks at me. I wasn't quite rude enough to call out her rudeness, which earned only a Look from her parents. "Come sit down across from me!"

I nodded. First I had to greet her parents, though. I stepped forward and dropped to the ground, bowing the requisite amount of times. "Lord and Lady Shihouin," I said from that position. "The splendor of your estate is beyond compare."

The rustle of cloth. I chanced a look up to find Lady Shihouin gesturing for me to rise. I obeyed.

"Your presence honors us," she said. "Your dress also." She nodded at my outfit. "So rarely does a member of the Hirako live up to the season or formality of the occasion." Her painted lips twitched. "Both are refreshing, you in comparison to your clan, and they in comparison to our usual guests."

Ah, so we were going through the pleasantries. "The honor done to me by your invitation is inexpressibly greater," I said. "Unless you'd like me to try to put words to it."

"Oh, do try," Lord Shihouin broke in. The umber of his skin tone, darker than his wife's and even Yoruichi's, glowed against the celadon of his kimono, though it was brightened by yellow bamboo. "Yoruichi seems to think you're quite clever."

"She flatters me," I said dryly with a glance at Yoruichi herself. Urahara's eyes were bright. "Who am I to refuse a command from one such as yourself, though?" I coughed. "Ahem. Any honor I could bring to you this evening is like the light of a firefly, joyous in its own right, yet dim in comparison to the honor you do me, which may best be seen as the galaxies arraying the heavens. Long after we part will I marvel at its grandeur."

He applauded. "Truly, my daughter has the right of it."

"They're all like that," Lady Shihouin said. "We clans descended from youkai have such quick tongues, perhaps a remnant from our people-eating days." A true smile crossed her face, and it wasn't entirely benevolent. "I am Shizuya," she said. "My husband is Konekomaru. This dinner will be a lot less confusing if you use our given names. With the honorifics, of course." Another look at Yoruichi, who grinned. "If you have no other formalities to conduct, perhaps you should take your place where my daughter indicated."

"As lamentable as it is that I have to keep you from this feast," I said, "I do. I brought gifts, as tokens of my esteem and gratitude."

Feng clapped her hands and a manservant stepped forward bearing my gifts.

"You're so uptight!" Yoruichi giggled. "I said you didn't have to bring stuff or dress nice!"

I ignored her. "Shizuya-sama," I began, "for you I bring a sake cup adorned with starflowers. It's my hope that you will find a use for it in your meetings with usual guests, and so it bears a 'refreshing' feature." I gestured to the cup. "The strength of the Shihouin lies in being able and willing to take the ordinary and make it shining and useful, as pottery shards rejoined by gold."

Amber eyes flicked to it, then me. "Sometimes old must be repaired with new," she agreed. "Do you see a greater kintsugi in the making, Hirako?"

My blood ran chill, like my family's nigorizake. This was an important question. "I do," I said. "The order of things may remain, but the hands that guard it will soon change." Soon was a terrific word, I decided. In Soul Society's reckoning, I could be referring to tomorrow or in a decade.

She gestured for me to continue, so I did, motioning towards the brush for her husband. "Konekomaru-sama, for you I bring a calligraphy brush. All too often the consort of the clan leader is assumed soft, but wise words may come from the most delicate instruments." He beamed, and I wondered if maybe the assumption was true. "Yoruichi-sama, I know your level of training and skill is tremendous, but that such strength doesn't make you less of a woman. To you I give this choker, an ornament that cannot be used against you."

She raised an eyebrow at it, but smiled. "As long as you're going to be that way, thanks."

"Koizumi-san," I said, "a towel, embroidered finely with snapdragon." He and Yoruichi smirked. "Perhaps you might bring it to a favorite set of hot springs." Urahara was too good to freak out, but I imagined the thin line of his lips was as close as he got.. "Though I don't see their faces tonight," I continued, "I also bear gifts for Yuushirou-sama and Tsukabishi-san. To the former I would present bandages with threads of windflower silk"-not that many; I was on a budget here-"and to the latter, a calligraphy brush, for use in seals."

"Kind of you," Urahara choked out. "Truly, truly kind, to concern yourself with one such as me."

"You have our appreciation," Shizuya said. "Please, take a seat."

I complied, proceeding to a place set across from Yoruichi.

"Suyin, sit down and take a load off!" Yoruichi called to her guard, who stood with behind her with her back to the wall.

"I've eaten, Yoruichi-sama," Feng said, "even if it weren't highly improper." Yoruichi pouted, but didn't persist.

"Chef, the appetizers!" Konekomaru clapped his hands and a screen slid open. A handful of men appeared, bowing and scraping to a ridiculous degree for people carrying food and sake. Not a drop spilled as they set it in front of me, though. Professionals.

"Itadakimasu!" We chorused, pressing our palms together and tucking in. It was a very short tuck-in, since we were dealing with small plates. Drinking the sake took longer to do politely.

"Do you recognize your family's brewery?" Shizuya asked as I took my first sip. "The Hirako tithe some to us as a matter of course, and we included it tonight."

"That's very kind of you," I replied, setting my cup down, "but the truth is that I haven't consumed much in a while. The distance from Shin'ou Academy to home is enough that I've only been home at New Year's." My grin was sly. "Everyone knows not to drink at a Hirako New Year."

"Every outsider," Yoruichi objected. "Shouldn't you have an iron liver?"

I sipped my sake. "I live to serve my family, and they to disapprove of me."

"Disapprove?" Shizuya said. An elegant eyebrow disappeared into gleaming violet hair, worn loose. "My sister has gained rather a different impression."

My turn to raise an eyebrow. "I would never doubt Tsukiko-sama." My father, trying to pretend the clan was greater than it was, yes.

"But?" Urahara prompted, head cocked in feigned confusion.

"But nothing," I said, taking a longer sip. "I couldn't presume to know what either of my parents says when they meet with her, nor what Tsukiko-sama would say to Shizuya-sama."

Shizuya's eyes crinkled. "I'm almost tempted to relate her comments to you." She finished her sake in a gulp. "Almost. Tell me, Hirako, how is it that you stumbled across your Zanpakutou before finishing your first trimester?"

"You do me a discredit, Shizuya-sama," I said, finishing mine and setting it down with more of a click than I'd intended. "The process is far more deliberate and involved than that. As for the speed with which I did it, who can say? The God of the Sword himself? Perhaps I'm an old soul. Or perhaps I don't need seven years to figure out who I am."

Yoruichi yawned. "Yeah, I'm calling bull on that. You can't say it's deliberate and then go flinging around maybes and invoking legends. Also, everybody here knows your parents." She gestured around the room. "You're not an old soul."

I smiled as the next course came out. "Say what you like; it only works to my benefit to have rumors flying around. Maybe we could say a little less about me, though? I'd hate to keep you all from pursuing more interesting topics."

"Have you seen the crater district, Hirako?" Konekomaru asked. "It's really quite the spectacle—alas, those Shinigami are making so little progress on reconstruction." He pouted. "I keep telling them they should build a walkway, so people can see the explosion that destroyed a tenth of Seireitei for themselves, but they haven't. Something about Seireitei not hosting parades. I even offered to pay for it! Perhaps you and my daughter could take a stroll through tomorrow. Spider climbing is so inconvenient if you don't have to do it, but that rubble is something."

"Daaaad." Yoruichi rolled her eyes. "She's in the tournament, remember? She can't stay for the night."

"Maybe, ah, we could do it tonight?" Urahara said, tapping his index fingers together. He frowned. "No, wait, that won't work. Hirako-san isn't trained as an onmitsu."

"Ah, yes," Shizuya said. "I've heard the story. Miyako was quite disappointed to learn she'd have to break tradition in the Onmitsukidou."

"I'd be more than happy to apologize to her, and to you as well," I said politely, picking at my sushi.

Shizuya waved it off. "Kintsugi, Hirako. The Onmitsukidou will repair the crack more beautiful than before. Besides, I've been quite entertained hearing tales of your exploits, in between the usual."

It took everything I had not to squirm. Swallowing my piece, I said, "And what is the usual, for the empress of the Onmitsukidou?"

"Boring stuff," Yoruichi said before her mother could answer. I cringed as she stuffed a piece in and continued talking. "Eliminations, dead drops, which idiot missed check-in and became the mask."

"Now, young lady," Konekomaru said, "that 'boring stuff' is your birthright. Your brother would love to sit in on the briefings you do."

She rolled her eyes. "So I'm getting trained as a Shinigami why again?"

"Kintsugi," I said without thinking. All eyes fell on me and I gulped. "Cracks are coming. You don't replace those with more porcelain, do you?" It was an imperfect analogy. There was no way Yoruichi'd be allowed to take over the Onmitsukidou with only her heritage to recommend her; she'd have as much onmitsu training as possible, conducted in the privacy of her home.

"Keep this up and my voice might join Yoruichi's and your parents' in recommending you," Shizuya said.

Heat crept up my neck. "You're too kind, Shizuya-sama," I murmured. More loudly, I said, "I must say, it's quite tantalizing, for you to mention what my parents have said about me without giving details."

"I am the empress of the Onmitsukidou," she said, eyes crinkling. "The dispensation of information is my purview." The servants re-emerged to clear our settings and deliver a dish of simmered vegetables and fish. She nodded at Urahara. "Is the selection to your liking?"

His eyes flicked to me. "It is, Shizuya-sama," he mumbled. "Es-Exquisite."

Yeah, I believed that stumble. I crammed a vegetable into my mouth and tried to think of conversation topics. What did one talk about with the Shihouin? "Yoruichi-sama," I said at last, swallowing, "I don't believe I've seen you around campus. Is there a reason for that, or have I been spending too much time in the library?"

She yawned. "They try to keep first-years away from older kids in classes so we don't scare you off or something. But yeah, you probably just spend too much time in the library. You're so pale."

I touched a hand to my face. I wasn't that pale; the Hirako were notably not eggshell-light, but the sun hadn't had the chance to make my complexion a warm gold. "Well, that's what summer break is for. I'm sure I'll be spending plenty of time in the sun."

Konekomaru perked up. "Oh, that's it! When my daughter mentioned that you're in that fascinating tournament, I thought for sure she was mistaken. But then another informant confirmed it! What on earth possessed you to do that? And your brother as well?"

"It's so difficult to have a conversation with you, Konekomaru-sama," I said dryly, "given that I'm not sure if I'm telling you what you already know." I paused to eat my last piece of fish. It was so easy to eat, but so expensive, this kaiseki style of dining. "I entered to raise my profile in the eyes of recruiters and future superiors. As meritocratic as the Gotei 13 purports to be—all respect to them, of course—its members are only human. They treat people they know and like better, and with promotions as hard to come by as they are, well." There was a little more iron than I intended as I said, "I'm not going to sit around for centuries and pay my dues hoping for a lucky break."

Urahara frowned. "I must've missed you saying it, but what about your brother? Shunji-san, is it?"

I didn't correct him, not bothering to play this move of the game. "I'm pretty sure my roommate suckered him into it," I said with a grin. "He's young, you know, does anything for a pretty face. I'm sure he thinks he's copying his big sister, though. We were each other's best friends since he could walk."

"Just like me and this idiot!" Yoruichi piped up, jabbing a thumb at Urahara. "I was already doing cartwheels around him. It was so funny; he tried to copy me and fell into the pond."

"Y-Yoruichi-sama!" Urahara blurted, pressing a hand to his chest. "Do you have to tell Hirako-san about my embarrassing childhood?"

"Yeah, or you'll get a big head," Yoruichi said. She glanced at me. "He's stumbled into the best grades of the class. Total idiot savant, am I right?"

"I could never insult a friend of my esteemed lady," I said virtuously, sparking laughter. As it petered out into chuckles, the servants cleared the setting and brought out thinly sliced mackerel garnished with water pepper sprouts. I carefully didn't wrinkle my nose at it. Sashimi wasn't my favorite, but I could deal with it.

And deal with it I did—yet somehow, it wasn't that hard. The Shihouin themselves, once you got used to the super-respectful honorifics and casual opulence—I quickly learned to not let my jaw drop every time they referred to crazy prices without batting an eyelash—were easy to be around. Between Konekomaru's dadly goofiness, Shizuya's firm but kind demeanor, Yoruichi's down to earth personality, and Urahara's affected shyness, they felt like a family, the way families should be. I blinked back the water in my eyes, taking a mouthful of the final savory dish of barley and rice to disguise it. I wasn't knocking my own family—they were all the family I had. It was just... different.

"Can everyone manage dessert?" Shizuya asked, interrupting the banter with a raised hand. We all nodded enthusiastically and the servants swept out a final time. I couldn't restrain the childlike smile that spread over my face at seeing what they had.

"You enjoy Hakuto jelly?" Shizuya asked, gesturing to the peach gelatin cubes.

"I've only had it a few times," I admitted, trying to figure out how to pick them up, "and only on special occasions. I love peaches." I inclined my head. "You could not have chosen better, Shizuya-sama."

"The credit is my husband's," she said, looking over to where Konekomaru sat gobbling his. That was where Yoruichi got her table habits, then. "He enjoys it greatly, as you can see."

Yoruichi struck when we'd finished and were sitting around chatting to stave off the food comas. "Can we three go hang out in that garden? The one Auntie Hazuki had built? It's so boring just sitting around here."

Shizuya examined her nails. "As though you'll do something so much more active there? Fine." As we stood, she raised a hand. "Wait. Phailin, do you know the garden my daughter's talking about?"

"Yes, Shihouin-sama," a voice said at my shoulder. I jumped and Yoruichi snickered. I shot her a look, then turned my attention to the voice's owner, a woman so nondescript her most notable feature was a slight frame.

"Jingmei, take the unit to the peacock fountain," Shizuya ordered. "When I direct Hirako there, Phailin is to escort her to the garden."

"I cannot leave you alone with her," said a nasal voice from the entrance. I didn't jump this time, but damn, how many people were in the room? "The risk posed is immense."

"Have you no faith in your sister?" Shizuya asked. "Suyin checked Hirako the moment they met. She would not have allowed her into our presence otherwise."

"No," Jingmei said. "Faith is unbecoming of an onmitsu. Reason alone is satisfactory."

I shrugged, reaching for my obijime. "Don't take her word for it, then. I'll show you I'm not hiding anything."

"Oh, for- This is stupid!" Yoruichi burst out. "There's no poison nail lacquer she could get that any decent onmitsu isn't immune to, she doesn't have her Zanpakutou, and she'd never be able to touch my mother in hand-to-hand." She pointed at my furisode. "Also, you try fighting in that thing."

"Don't discount Jingmei's opinion," Shizuya said. "Any onmitsu could." She raised her voice. "That said, Yoruichi is correct. Hirako is not a credible threat, especially given that the collar would detonate before she could fail. Jingmei, as ordered. Konekomaru, leave us also."

Ice froze me in place as six more onmitsu materialized from the shadows. It was an illusion or camouflage or something, I knew rationally, but blank-faced killers appearing out of nowhere was a profoundly unnerving image. They filed out of the room, taking everyone but Shizuya and me with them. She rose and walked to the opposite end of the room, sliding a screen open and stepping out onto the veranda. I followed suit.

"I won't bore you with an elliptical conversation calling you ambitious," she said as I shut the door behind me. "You know you are and you know I know you are. The question is: who are you going to throw under the wagon-wheels on that journey? The urchin from the Rukongai, Fugai? The unseemly Aizen? The girl under another clan, Fujikage? Sooner or later you will come to a hill that cannot be surmounted unless you do so."

"None of them! I mean, none of them," I added more quietly. "There are plenty of people who aren't precious to me; it doesn't have to be one of them."

"So sacrifice of others only matters to you when you know the people involved?" Her amber eyes glinted in the lanterns' light.

"No," I bit out. "I'm better than that."

"I'm not," she said. The blood drained from my face and I opened my mouth to start backpedaling, but she continued, "No onmitsu is. The defeat of our comrades is an opportunity to strike, and failing that, to flee. Don't misunderstand my earlier comment. All of society is built on sacrifice. The laborer sacrifices her time and energy for the noble's table, the noble sacrifices her coin and capital to enrich the land she governs, and the Shinigami sacrifices her innocence to protect them all. You cannot know all who sacrifice for you. It is human. True strength, however, is being willing to sacrifice those you love."

I stepped to the edge of the veranda, leaning on the railing. "Then let me be weak," I said "I want to save, not destroy."

Shizuya tsked. "Come, Hirako. You're more clever than that. If you kill a murderer, are you not saving her future victims? If you eliminate a conspirator, are you not mercifully protecting her from the pain and consequences of what she plans to do? And if you leave behind a companion who drags you down, are you not saving them the hardships of companionship with you in a place they cannot remain?"

My stomach flip-flopped, thinking of Mari, of the baby-faced Quincy, of Nanase. "Beg pardon, Shizuya-sama, but it's not that simple," I insisted.

"No," she agreed. "Green things do not always grow from ashes. That is the wisdom of the onmitsu, deciding which tree must burn. Perhaps I should say my wisdom. It is not the place of the rank and file to choose their targets."

So why haven't you dealt with the date-rapists I talked to today? I wanted to ask. Didn't, because it was one thing to argue with the Shihouin empress and another to challenge her in her area of expertise. "Indeed," I said, "but I'm not an onmitsu."

"Neither is my Yoruichi," she said. "You could have some of the training, if you wanted it."

My hand fell to where Arashi usually was with a nasty speed. I settled for digging my nails into the railing. "I begged my parents to let me become a member of the Gotei 13. I'm not crawling back to them, looking like I'm having second thoughts."

"No?" she asked, mild as milk, strong as steel. A breeze ruffled our hair. "Is it so difficult for you to trust them?"

I laughed, dark as the evening shadows. "Why would I do that? They've never put any trust in me. Unless you count being trusted to be a glorified nanny to my messiah of a younger brother, cleaning up his messes." Jealousy, new and yet so old, coiled around my heart. It was true, what I insisted to others about loving logistics and organization, but I realized in that moment that I didn't love the prospect of doing it my whole life.

Shizuya turned to me, a specter of embers in her red-gold kimono. "Two things I say to you: first, go home and ask your parents about Hirako Haru. There is far more to the story of how your brother came to be heir than you know."

I blinked. Haru? The way Shizuya said it, his name wasn't an insult, but instead a memory of darker times. I pushed off the railing to face her. "And the second?"

"Do you want to be heiress?" she asked.

I searched her smooth tan face, her luminous amber eyes, her lean, powerful frame barely hidden by the layers of fabric for any sign that she was joking. She held my stare, unflinching, as though she could do so all night.

"It's a question, Hirako," she said. "I am the head of the Shihouin clan, the ruler of so many more, the Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidou, the Guardian of the Imperial Soldier Garments, the Caretaker of the Treasured Tools and Armaments. If I will the moon to replace the sun, heaven and earth will make it so." She folded her hands. "There will be consequences—but I have done and will do far worse things than appoint a brilliant, ambitious, farsighted prodigy to a position some may not like her having."

"But Shinji-" I started.

"What about your brother?" Shizuya asked. "Yes, I know of his potential, but you've done far more with less. If I were you, I'd throw him under the wagon-wheels first."

Was this a test? Or was she really that cold-hearted? I couldn't say yes, either way. And as pretty as that offer sounded, as tempting as it was to take it and as much as I knew I'd kick myself for refusing it later, it wasn't the path to what I wanted. "I'm sorry, Shizuya-sama," I said. "Your generosity is unexpected and unfathomable, but I can't accept."

"Very well," she said, lifting a shoulder as if already forgetting the conversation. She turned away, and I realized I'd been dismissed.

Well, I thought as I returned the way I'd come, no use disappointing two Shihouin in one night. Wonder what Yoruichi's got in store?

"So, the collar. Was that a cat thing?"

"I just arrived, Yoruichi-sama," I said, closing the gap between us. She and Urahara sat under a sprawling maple, smoking. My nose wrinkled, confirming the smell as tobacco, and I took a seat across from her, back to a rock framing the entrance to a Zen garden. "Thank you- oh. She's gone."

Phailin had vanished into the darkness without so much as a rustle of leaves. Onmitsu. So annoying.

"Suyin'll tell her," Yoruichi said, blowing a plume of smoke in my direction. "She's hanging around here somewhere, all stealthy." She extended the jade cigarette holder in my direction. "Take a drag?"

"Only if you order me," I said, keeping my hands to myself. "I'm not a fan of toxins."

Urahara chuckled. "Ah, Yoruichi-sama? You forgot she isn't an onmitsu again. No synthesis techniques."

"Cut the crap, Urahara-san," I said, taking my hair down to rest my head against the stone comfortably. "Neither of you forgot, especially not you."

Yoruichi burst out laughing and stuck her free hand out, palm up. "Pay up, Kisuke. Told you she'd discover your real name."

He laughed, still self-effacing, but more naturally this time. "Ah, I'm found out. If you don't mind, how'd you do it, Hirako-san?"

I smiled, sphinx-like. "I might not be an onmitsu, but I know the first rule: don't tell anyone how you know something. Nice try."

Yoruichi cut in over Urahara's groan. "So back to the collar. Cat thing?"

"Not a cat thing, actually," I corrected her. "I picked it for the reasons I gave at the start of dinner." I yawned. "I'm a very truthful person; it's one of my greatest flaws. So where's Tsukabishi-san tonight?"

"Classified," Yoruichi sing-songed, smirking like, well, a cat that got the cream. "The Kidou Corps borrows him for most of the summer to pick his brain and do whatever other boring things they do. If you want to meet him, stop by a week or so before school starts."

"Of course," I said, playing with the dapple of shadows on my skin. I wished I could come back here in daylight and see the magnificence of the Shihouin estate in full color. "I'll just stroll in like I didn't need a Shihouin vouching for me and a bomb collar last time."

Urahara winced. "That, ah, is an obstacle." He plucked the cigarette holder from Yoruichi's hand and blew a smoke ring. "But let's not concern ourselves with Tessai. Hirako-san's a rarer treat, don't you think?"

Yoruichi grinned. It wasn't an entirely nice grin. In fact, it bore more of a resemblance to the look of a tiger that couldn't wait to locate the goodies in its prey's intestines. "I do think. So, Hirako, what makes you tick? How do you know things you shouldn't know?" She leaned back against the tree. "Or are you just a lucky guesser?"

I'd been around long enough to recognize someone trying to bait me, and I wasn't worked up enough to take it. I tsked. "I told you, I'm an old soul. One who doesn't believe in luck."

"Stop giving me that!" she said. "I know your parents! Kinda. My parents know your parents."

Urahara's eyes glinted. "No, let's entertain this. Suppose you are an old soul. Do you have the ability to shapeshift? Are you a Quincy, if so?"

"No to both," I said, eyes crinkling at the dejection on his face. A bit mean, maybe, but determination chased it away soon enough.

"Then you're a body-snatcher," he said. "It's the only logical option, given that you share the Hirako phenotype. Unless you mean to say you're a bastard child of a Hirako and a Rukongai soul, and you emphasize the latter?"

"Or maybe I'm wise beyond my years," I said, smirking. "C'mon, Urahara-san. Sometimes a metaphor really is a metaphor."

"Is it this time?" he asked, passing the cigarette holder to Yoruichi as he leaned forward with bright grey eyes. "Because personally, I like the sound of body-snatching much more."

"More than catnip and bath towels?" I teased.

"More than people who answer every question with maybes and more questions," Yoruichi said, sigh more smoke than air. "You're starting to get boring, Hirako. I don't like being bored."

I raised an eyebrow to cover my disappointment. Gotta give and take sometimes, Nariko, I reminded myself. "Sorry, Yoruichi-sama," I said, ducking my head. "I'm an exceptionally boring person, especially to you. I mean, you know everything about me, right? That I have two elemental affinities? That I'm just the tiniest bit psychic?" My grin as I raised my head to look at her was wicked.

"That isn't cosmetic?" Urahara asked at the same time Yoruichi said, "Psychic?" Funnily enough, Yoruichi sounded like the less skeptical of the two.

"One person at a time," I said automatically, turning to and pointing at Urahara. "No, the water's not cosmetic. No, I'm not really sure why. I've been chalking it up to philosophy, but a weirdly high number of people have been giving me flak about it lately."

His eyes shone in the moonlight. "After you're done with the tournament, let me borrow-"

"No," Yoruichi interrupted. She shot me an 'if you know what's best for you' look. "If he ever tells you he can help you if you'll just go somewhere secluded with him, say no."

"Yoruichi-sama!" he whined. "P-Please don't make me out to be some kind of pervert!"

She smacked him upside the head. "You are a pervert! Not a monster, though," she added less cartoonishly to me. "He gets it in his head to do things, then curiosity takes over and all reason and limits go out the window. Genius, but not an evil genius."

"That's how the cat thing got started?" I guessed. Frowned. "Wait, how are we talking about this with Feng-san around?"

"I had her give us some privacy," she said. "Apart from when Phailin broke it to bring you in here, Suyin's put up some silence. If Kisuke or I say a certain word, she'll storm the place, but we're good otherwise. Anyway." She traced circles around each eye. "You're psychic? You see dead people?" She laughed uproariously at that.

I chuckled. "I see things," I said vaguely. "Flashes of the future. Bits of the past. When people are lying to me, sometimes. Zanpakutou spirits. If I shove someone with my reiatsu, I can see theirs for a little bit, but it's kind of pointless as a tracking tool since they feel it too. Kinda like spirit-ribbons."

Urahara's fists clenched and unclenched, as though he was this close to dragging me away for tests. "You realize barely anyone can do that? Those last three, I mean; the literature is far too varied in method for me to say anything about the first two. It's strongly associated with tragedy but nowadays- well." He eyed me with a boyish grin. "You'd be an amazing specimen- client, I should say. We could gather the first objective data!"

"No," I said. "I'm not stupid, Urahara-san. You're not just Yoruichi-sama's loyal retainer, even if you do prefer to hide in her shadow. I won't become your pawn."

"Pawn?" he said, sounding genuinely confused. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You understand more than you let on," I said, folding my arms, though I believed him this time. Probably hadn't gotten started plotting yet. Maybe I should introduce him to Aizen, just to kickstart that. "And you'll understand more than that in time."

"Spooky," said Yoruichi, chuckling and glancing away as she rubbed her arms. She returned her gaze to me determinedly. "Do you see my future?"

"I can try," I said, externally cool but internally frantically trying to decide how much to tell them. I didn't remember too much being compromising, so I relented. Not without frowning for a few seconds, then going stiff and staring off above Yoruichi's head. Theatrics, you know. "I see... bright light? Lightning, I see lightning, you're blazing with it, it's your armor. You're a goddess. You make him a demigod"-I pointed in Urahara's direction-"but it can't last, because you two are a summer storm, and the season changes." I hyperventilated, breath harsh through my teeth. "I- a wanderer, a teacher, a warrior. Sorry," I said, blinking and 'coming back to myself.' "Looking drains me."

There was a pause, broken only by the whisper of leaves and the rich perfume of flowers in bloom.

"Jeez," Yoruichi said, exhaling in a rush. "I can see why you don't make that a party trick. You look pale. Gonna be okay?"

"Y-Yeah," I said, forcing a stutter. I hadn't meant to be pale, but the stress of being around such important people was probably getting to me. "Just... distract me. Tell me about the cat thing. I saw earlier, it looks like you have the ears and tail and eyes of one, but all mirage-y."

"Not too much to tell," she said, leaning back. Urahara mirrored her, almost disappointed, as if he'd wanted more from me. "Not too much I'm willing to tell, anyway. You and my mother were talking about how all this can't last, right?" She gestured around us. "No matter what people think, that's correct. The swamp that's infested the leadership has to drain. So there's a lot of pressure on the Great Noble heirs, 'cause we're going to be expected to step up when it all turns into solid ground. 's why Soujun and Momohiko are in the tournament, I bet."

I had to stop her. Kuchiki Soujun? What in the hell? "Kuchiki Soujun-sama? You're kidding."

She shook her head, ponytail swishing. "Nope. Shame, too, 'cause he really isn't the type you want going into the Gotei. But someone's gotta take over the Sixth when his dad steps down, so here he goes, proving he's got what it takes, and by extension that the Kuchiki clan's strong. Can I get back to the story?"

I sneaked a glance at Urahara, whose gaze had fallen to his hands. "Sure. I'm riveted."

She rolled her eyes and continued, "We act laid-back, but the Shihouin are just as bad. If mother bites it, I'll probably ascend, but my cutthroat cousins might just take advantage of a fresh, isolated heiress. I would. So I got this idiot"-she jabbed Urahara in the ribs-"to help me stand out. We forced my Zanpakutou. You know how bad that is?"

I sucked my teeth, thinking of Oshiro. "Yeah. Secondhand experience with a guy who did it to himself."

She winced. "Yeah. It sucked, to put it lightly. So now my spirit and I, we're one and the same. Sort of. I can make myself more like him. A cat." She grinned, but it faded. "No Bankai. Not much of anything, really, except the shapeshifting, and if there's lightning involved, you can bet I'm the thundercloud. It's great for an onmitsu, but for the Gotei? Not so much."

I waved a hand. "Please. For someone of your strength, who can pop off a lightning Kidou like that?" I snapped my fingers.

She snapped back, but in my face. "You think captain-class is really a handful-in-a-generation thing like they say? Sure, it's rare as hell, but the real rarity is someone who A) lasts long enough and B) actually uses their power effectively. Raw strength isn't the only job requirement."

"It's going to be," I said, thinking of Kenpachi Kiganjou, of Rose, of Isshin and Mayuri, all temperamentally unsuited for captaincy, yet all captains. "Besides, you're hardly incompetent, and the Gotei isn't without dirty laundry that no one would think twice about airing around a cat."

"You know," Urahara said, breaking his silence, "I can't imagine why you have such a narrow social circle."

"Hey!" I glared. I was content with my social circle, but that wasn't exactly flattering.

He raised his hands, palms out. "No, really! A bit intense, maybe, but people should be flocking to that wit and accomplishment."

"People drain me," I said flatly. "I'm happy with them admiring me from a distance."

"You should hang onto them better, then," Yoruichi said. Her eyes had fluttered shut. "I heard you're in a fight with your brother."

I looked up, letting the light of the moon pour unfiltered into my eyes. "Yeah, I am, and yeah, I should."

We sat there for a while longer, talking about nothing, until finally I felt sleep tugging at me.

"Suyin!" Yoruichi called. "Wanna take Hirako home?"

"Apologies, Yoruichi-sama," the onmitsu said, stepping out from between two rays of moonlight, "but I have instructions for Urahara-dono to do so. The Eleventh is running amok tonight and I'm to ensure you don't come to harm."

"I'll do it," Urahara said, standing and brushing off his kimono. "They do have a knack for turning up against all odds, don't they?" He smiled. "Hirako-san, if I may?" He extended his arm.

"Yoruichi-sama, thank you for your hospitality." I bowed from the waist to her. "Please extend my gratitude again to your parents." I walked past Urahara, in the direction we'd come from. He stopped for a moment to talk to Feng—to complain about my coldness to her uncaring ears, most likely—then trotted after me.

Much of the walk was uneventful. We made small talk about our surroundings and the weather, as acquaintances did, and discussed the tournament; he wished me good luck and I made noises about not believing in it but appreciating the well-wishes anyway. Finally we came to the gates, where the most bored Shinigami on the planet were waiting.

Urahara stopped me several yards away. "Hirako-san, could I trouble you for a moment?"

"You could," I said, Hirako blood pumping strong. "No, really. What's up?"

"In the Shihouin household, I'd heard about your ability to perceive Zanpakutou spirits. It's not knowledge available to the Onmitsukidou," he reassured me, "but your father has a close relationship with Tsukiko-sama, and well, one thing led to another, and Shizuya-sama took an interest in you. It's not coincidence that she authorized Yoruichi to give you an invitation if she ran into you at the tournament," he said.

I shifted from foot to foot. "Why are you telling me this?"

"First, I have a request for you, if that's acceptable," he said. The unassuming mask cracked and for a moment I saw an Urahara profoundly uncomfortable. "Can you- would you look into my future?"

I sighed, directing something in my brain to pull some convincing gibberish together. "I'm very tired, Urahara-san."

"Please," he said, mask yet unrepaired. "I didn't believe you could see Zanpakutou spirits at first, but I believe now. I believe that you see the future. I need to know—do hungry ghosts devour me? Do I remain with Yoruichi-sama and Tessai?"

I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, my expression was pained, my gaze unfocused. "I see threads. They're red, but not from love. They're blood-red. They bind you to her, to your friend, but also to me, to others you don't know, and even as they repair the wounds of the jaws of your enemies, they damn you. Somewhere in there- white." I left out that he'd lose the captaincy. No use panicking him. I made my face crease and my attention return to him. "That's it."

He seemed to take heart from that, nodding. The humble calmness returned to his face. "Your compassion is inestimable, Hirako-san," he murmured. He gestured for me to extend my hands, and when I did, pressed a paper-wrapped package into them. "A gift from Shizuya-sama."

I dared not look, but I did dare to ask, "What is it?"

He led me over to the Shinigami, one of whom called over a Kidou Corps member to remove my collar. As the Shinigami went to activate the gate-opening mechanism, Urahara turned and winked at me. "A ring. Put it on your left little finger and don't scream." When I hesitated, he added, "Sorry, it's Shizuya-sama's orders."

It had the unfakeable Shihouin seal, so I unwrapped the package. It was indeed a ring, a small white gold band shaped to look like a serpent eating its tail. "Ouroboros," I murmured, and slipped it on.

Pain flashed through my finger, like a pinprick, and I hissed. My instincts screamed at me to remove it, but logic held me back. Urahara couldn't have gotten this thing from nowhere, or replicated the highly-exclusive Shihouin seal, which made it most likely genuinely Shizuya's, and therefore a very bad idea to show I was unworthy of whatever purpose she'd invested into it. I held still, eyes locked on Urahara's.

"Please understand, Hirako-san," he apologized as the gates creaked open, "I'm only the messenger. Shizuya-sama told me to tell you this: wear it at all times, even when you sleep, and when it burns, switch it to the opposing thumb. Sleep lightly."

As the Shinigami led me out into the Rukongai, I threw a glance over my shoulder. The last I saw of him, and the image that stayed with me as I made my way back, was a pair of grey eyes, utterly serene, and utterly fascinated.

Chapter Text

The sun rose blazing the morning of the second round, and my eyes with it. I was going to kick ass today, Momohiko's and my opponents'. My mask, though, was cool as Seireitei's walls. I had to talk to my friends, and they had to listen.

"Guys," I said, clustering them a block away from the tournament, "I gotta tell you something."

Hiyori scowled. "If this is another reminder ta show off, I'm gonna black yer eye, Princess," she threatened. "Hell, maybe we'll get paired an' I can do it an' get cheered fer it!" She rolled up her sleeve and started towards me.

I raised my hands, both to calm her down and to grab her fists if she didn't calm down. "It's not that." I glanced at Shinju, whose creased forehead belied her slight nod. "Fujikage-chan"-we were back to that address, a small concession I'd made to her-"and I think someone's cheating, in the worst way."

"Don't suppose ya happen ta know who?" Shinji asked. A tiny bit of goodwill rose in me at his immediate trust. Just as quickly my brain presented me with the image of Shinji straddling Nanase, only this time, it was Momohiko beneath him. I shook my head to keep from following the scene to its logical conclusion.

"It's not clear," I admitted. "Could be someone looking to make some money off betting. Could be someone with a vendetta against a participant, though if that's the case they're likely done. Could be-"

"-a fellow competitor," Minoru said grimly. "That's who ya really think it is, right?" I nodded after a moment, and he said, "I'm bettin' we all know who the biggest upset was, too. Shit. Fuck. Why are we even showin' up today?"

"'Cause we're gonna kick their asses so hard they can't even say 'cheat'!" Hiyori snapped, slugging him in the arm. She continued, ignoring the way he rubbed it, "I don't care who's from where or has how many names on their pedigree! They're stupid! Stupid!"

Shinji, cleaning his ear out with a finger, rolled his eyes. "Who gives a shit? So Minty's getting creative. We get creative too."

"Hirako-kun!" Shinju scolded. "Do you want to drag us all down?"

I silenced his protesting with a look. I'd made a statement to my parents about why we were in this thing and I wasn't about to undermine it. "Fujikage-chan's right. If we cheat, or even one of us cheats, they'll nail us all for it, and unlike that person, no one's going to protect us. You especially need to keep our name clean."

He threw up his hands. "Why bother tellin' us?"

"Because it's not just cheating," I said, "it's poison." Minoru, ever cynical, didn't bat an eyelash. "Fujikage-chan and I are investigating, but what you all need to worry about is making sure you don't become a victim. Don't leave the competitors' box for food unless you have to, and if you do, send the weaker person. Don't roll up your sleeves." I reached over and tugged Hiyori's sleeve down. "Try not to drink anything before your bout—it's not that hot, so you shouldn't get dehydrated. If it's a competitor, I suspect the person helping them is Lin Yanmei-san, so stay away from her."

"I ain't leavin' ya ta do this yerself!" Hiyori protested. "Why can't I help?"

"Agreed," Aizen said, speaking up for the first time since breakfast. "Why shouldn't we hunt down this worm with our combined strength?"

"Well, of the people in our little group," I said, "two are from the Rukongai, which he has a hate-on for, one's as subtle as a brick to the face, and Shinji can't afford to spark inter-clan warfare." I smirked. "Besides, we don't want to use our strength to take care of this. We want to get enough evidence together that bigger powers can't ignore it."

"This is stupid," Shinji grumbled, folding his arms and looking very much his age. He glowered at me. "Ya really think the law's gonna come down on the likes of him?"

I flapped a hand at him. "Cross that bridge when we come to it. At the very least, the tournament organizers should know, so until then, don't confront them directly. Understood?" I fixed them with kohl-lined eyes.

"Hell no!" Shinji said, slashing a hand through the air. "If you won't let me help, I'm not letting you do this! It ain't safe!"

My smile was as thin as the ice he was walking on. "No, you're not letting me do anything. I'm doing it anyway. If you want to help, stay out of it so he doesn't take it as an excuse to attack the clan."

I didn't wait for his reply. We continued on, me at the front with their unease at my back.

The spirit of the tournament hit me in the face as I walked in, quite literally. I peeled a flyer off my face. If it was even possible, the number of people in attendance had doubled. The number of vendors had probably tripled. A troupe of musicians were playing across the square, accompanying a puppet show. Despite the early hour, the smell of something fried and delicious joined laughter and singing in the air.

I smiled. In that I was alone among the competitors. We filed in through the boisterous throngs without jostling each other or exchanging words above a whisper, collectively acknowledging that the easiest part was behind us. My smile slid to a smirk at the looks of on some of the less-than-impressive participants' faces. They knew—we all knew—that one round wasn't enough to sweep out the chaff. At the rate my heart was beating, I didn't know if I wanted to meet them in the arena or not. It'd be a surefire ticket to the next round, but the satisfaction just wasn't there.

I wanted a challenge, I decided as the doors swung open to admit us. On the one hand, it introduced an element of risk. But on the other, people didn't remember lame fights, so an easy one wouldn't get me what I wanted. And on a third hand... there was no third hand, because it was all out of my hands.

Mint. Just a whiff. My smirk faltered. Without turning my head, I swept my gaze over the assembly. It landed on Momohiko, looking slightly pained and out-of-breath as he adjusted his top. Fantasies of punching him in his smug little face crossed my mind. I dismissed them. My attention slid up to the rafters above him. Funny, how some shadows were darker than others.

"Nariko!" Shinji again, at the worst moment. I spun, frowning at him, but he grabbed my arm to prevent me walking away. "This ain't over!"

"Let. Go," I bit out. What was it with men thinking they could use their strength to trap women in conversations, even with reiryoku to even the odds? "Like I said, if you care about the clan, you'll do your thing and let me do mine."

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes. "This ain't about the clan. This is about my big sister." Something strangely earnest entered him, and he leaned in. "Fuck the clan. There's plenty of 'em an' only one of ya."

I gathered air to retort, but green flashed in my peripherals. I glanced over to see Momohiko leering at me. Spite oozed from him.

"Fine," I said, turning back to Shinji. "If you believe what you're saying so much, come with me. We'll see how much it's not about the clan."

We made our way over to Momohiko, whose smirk only widened as we approached.

"Hirako Nariko-san, Hirako Shinji-san," he purred. "How was your off day?"

Shinji scratched his face. "Well, y'know. Actually, ya don't, an' I'm pretty sure ya don't care either."

"You're correct," he said, yawning. Despite the rudeness, he covered his mouth as he did it, which only made me hate him more. "Any fun activities?" He gestured at Shinji as I opened my mouth to make an equally snide answer. "Ah, that question's only for the important Hirako. You're not as subtle as you think. Does your brother know what you did, I wonder?"

Shinji's eyes flicked to me, then determinedly settled on Momohiko again. "I ain't my sister's keeper; if anythin' it's the other way 'round. I trust her ta behave herself."

"Mmm." Shinji hadn't taken the bait, but Momohiko's smile grew. My stomach lurched. "Well, let me make a guess. You"-he nodded at me-"spent it spreading your legs for any man that'd have you and debasing yourself with women to get the attention of those who wouldn't. And you"-he looked down his nose at Shinji-"were wrapping your mouth around some geezer's cock. Disgusting, both of you. Fag-"

I laughed my inner-world laugh, the body-shaking, side-hugging laugh I usually crammed into something more appropriate to my body. Once he looked as off-balance as Shinji, I beamed so hard my face hurt. "I am never going to forget this, the day you proved you're as stupid as you act. Why-"

"Show me the respect my name deserves," Momohiko snarled, interrupting my back. Red splotched cheeks that I spitefully noted weren't able to grow a beard. "Don't presume everyone as depraved-"

I laughed again, as obnoxiously as possible. People were staring now. Perfect. What better way to establish that the Hirako siblings were not to be fucked with? Better, that we were unable to be fucked with? "Do we let him in on it, Shin?" I turned to Shinji, Hirako grin willing him to play along. "I think we do. Which part first, I wonder? I mean, far be it from the likes of me to speculate on Wakahisa-sama's knowledge of politics, so maybe the part about what happens when you assume?"

"Oh, do the assumin' one," Shinji said, recovering with a smirk so sly I could've bear-hugged him right then and there. Maybe fox-hugged was the better word. "Way more fun."

"I will!" The sugar in my voice sent Momohiko a step back. "See, Wakahisa-sama, eavesdropping really only works when you're actually good at it."

"I know what I heard," he snapped back, eyes narrow. Momohiko might not have known how to handle a Hirako tag-team, but he knew how to defend his pride.

"Do ya, though?" Shinji inspected his nails, white knuckles turned away from Momohiko. "'Cause ya clearly didn't know we smelled your stink. Ya know a real good way ta find a leak is ta tell somebody somethin' they never woulda made up on their own?"

I jumped on that. "And it looks like we just found it. So, first part: didn't anyone ever tell you one of the rules of gathering information is to not show your cards? Awfully easy to figure out how you know." My eyes went conspicuously to the rafters above his head.

"Cuts both ways, doesn't it?" Momohiko's lips were a thin line in a white face. "They know you peeked." He forgot his perfect manners for an instant, stabbing a finger at my chest. "You're not clever, Hirako. You're threats." He stalked off as the announcer entered the hall. Two could play at that, so I dragged Shinji away.

"Welp, I'm fucked," Shinji breathed once we were out of earshot. My hand around his wrist was as much to move him as to hold him up, despite his casual tone. His every muscle stretched taut beneath clammy skin. "He's gonna ruin me. Ya were right."

"Easy," I hissed, smile not reaching my eyes. "I should've said back then, there's nothing wrong with you. Only with scum like him. And you're going to do better in this round than some pissant who needs family friends to make it, so buck up. Leave the little bastard to me."

He huffed a laugh. Good. His breathing got slower and deeper. "Wouldn't that be great, if he actually was one?"

"Yeah," I said as we rejoined our friends. Something bothered me about Momohiko, but I couldn't put my finger on it, other than to say that illegitimacy didn't feel right. All was forgotten as the announcer gave her trademark two claps.

"Today begins the second round!" she said as what little conversation there was died. "I trust you have all rested sufficiently? Never mind; I don't care. You will perform today, and some of you will inch closer to the prize. Kim, the matches!" She called up. There was no response, and she tsked. "Can't the ethnic- Tengku!"

A dark-skinned woman scrambled to the railing and unfurled the banner. I watched her retreat with a pitying eye before turning to the match-ups.

"Kannon, it's not them," Shinju breathed. I grunted appreciatively. We weren't pitted against Momohiko and Hisakawa this round—that misfortune fell to Iba Ryuudamon and Himura Hanako. As I read who we were slated to fight- "Her?!"

Right, Shinju didn't like Shouron. "Incentive to win, right?" I said lightly. I'd wanted a challenge, and Shouron Asahiya and Kosen Ki were it. Well, Shouron was at least, though Kosen's True Hearts membership- wait. Two Zanpakutou-reliant fighters against me? This wasn't a challenge, this was a test. Time to see what my soul-sense could do. "Nothing to worry about," I said, chuckling. "Keep circling Kosen-senpai and don't let him lock you up. I'll handle Shouron-senpai." I didn't have any worries about our friends' matchups—Shinji and Aizen against a couple kids from my Hakuda class who I remembered being decent but unimaginative, with Hiyori and Minoru set to take on a gorilla-like pair whose brute strength would be tricky, but whose lack of brains and surplus of physicality made them a great match. Shinju, on the other hand, needed a briefing. "Fujikage-chan, let's go find a bathroom, alright?"

She complied at my meaningful look and we set out. I kept my eye out for any shadows that didn't quite match the light level. A few times we took a sharp turn to avoid some suspicious corners.

"Any updates?" she said when we'd found a spot to relieve ourselves. I really did have to pee.

"You could say that," I said, temporizing. "That person is definitely cheating, and I know how he got the onmitsu in. Or how she got herself in, anyway," I amended. "She's camouflaged, but not very good at it yet, so keep an eye out for shadows and stuff that doesn't look right."

Shinju's grades weren't on par with mine, but she was remarkably smart when it came to people. She zeroed in on what I hadn't said. "And the bad news?"

"He knows we know," I admitted, "and he's got it out for Shinji and me especially."

She frowned. "Why? The odds that he'll fight both our teams are low."

"Shinji likes men and women, men only sexually," I muttered, cheeks red. I suddenly understood Shinji's aversion to thinking about the imaginary couple of me and Aizen. I did not want to talk about sex, except that after Shinju's outburst yesterday I had to feed her something personal. "I like both, but neither sexually. I guess it's good I'm not heir." I chanced a look at her and winced. Her porcelain face had turned to lead. "Fujikage-chan? Say something?"

"You knew and you didn't tell me why he didn't feel anything for me?" she said after a moment. Her hands worked at her side. "You- you-!"

Not this bullshit again. "That's not why, and neither of us knows that to begin with," I said, rolling my eyes. "Fujikage-chan, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but stop making it all about you. Talk to Shinji. Only he can explain what he feels, and that's all the involvement I want to have in your love life." I narrowed my eyes at her, fully aware that right now, wearing the viper's skin, I didn't look particularly nice. "Any problems with either of us?"

She flushed, glancing away. If she had any, she'd be working on them, I was sure. "No, not at all. So, Wakahisa-sama's got some fixation on- that?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah. I think we convinced him we knew he was eavesdropping and made something up to see if he'd let it slip, but we weren't as polite as we could've been in doing it." I frowned. "Actually, he was way more vulgar than he usually is too. I've never gotten a hint of anything like that from him, but it felt personal." That I liked saying even less than coming out to Shinju. The 'gay people are to blame for persecution of gay people' thing never had sat well with me.

"Personal," Shinju murmured. "Do you think we might be able to blackmail him, then?"

"It's possible," I hedged. "But what concrete proof would we be able to find?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know. But I'll talk to my friends, see if they've heard anything about any omiai he's been on or any illicit encounters." Noise poured down the corridors. The public had been admitted. "We should go."

I nodded and followed her to the exit. "Ask them if they know where he's staying, will you?" I wasn't going to break in, but maybe my new onmitsu friends might want to. I slid open the door and stepped out.

Almost immediately I found myself dragged aside, a sword at my throat. Shinju's eep from behind said she'd met the same fate. I held back the sucker punch I'd readied. Momohiko's mint was nowhere near, and the sword was sheathed. This was a threat, not an attack. I muttered that to Shinju, who'd begun to protest, and met lilac eyes.

"Hi!" I chirped, as though this greeting was only to be expected. "Did you know ice is less dense than water?" While her mouth was too busy shaping 'what the fuck' for her to maintain pressure on my throat, I ducked under the sword and twirled around her, reappearing at her back. With a quick twist of the hands I turned her to face me, beaming. "It really is! Isn't science just the best?"

Shouron shoved her blade through her obi, which was tied in the front, and growled. I nearly re-evaluated my opinion of her threat level—you didn't make it so easy to get to your sword unless you planned to use it—but her hands fell to her sides.

"No one will reward you for attacking us now, Shouron-senpai," Shinju said. "Please tell Kosen-senpai to stand down." Her captor peered through blond bangs at Shouron, who nodded. He stepped back and replaced his Zanpakutou.

"Just testing your mettle," Shouron said. Her voice was deep, the verbal equivalent of a swagger. "Well, not yours. I've seen what passes for that myself." She barely gave me a glance, smirking at Shinju. "I dunno if you're stupid or impatient, challenging as a first-year with your roommate of all people. Bad plan, kiddo. I'm the leader of the True Hearts, not some underfed Quincy spawn."

"Actually, plans are my thing," I interjected with a wink. One of the principles onmitsu, and the Hirako, lived by: act like you have a plan, especially when you don't. "The current one's long-term—you should try that, thinking past graduation, when flaunting your extracurriculars looks kinda sad."

Shouron's fists clenched. Her partner saved our hides, grabbing her shoulder. "Let's not get too worked up, okay, Shouron-san? There's actual Shinigami around here and I don't know if they can give out demerits but I really kinda don't wanna find out." He smiled at me, a bit shakily. "So the True Hearts were going to offer you a position in the leadership next year if this meeting went well. But, uh, it doesn't look like you'd serve under Shouron-san too well, so we can't do that. Please don't electric-shock me."

I smiled. Some impulse flashed through me like sparks. "You're correct. But how about a bet? If we lose to you two, I won't even join the True Hearts. If we win, I take Shouron-senpai's position."

"You're fucking on!" Shouron grinned, tossing her golden hair. "I'm gonna crush you! See what else you cough up when you're on the ground!"

Kosen's forehead wrinkled. "What about Fujikage-san?"

I injected scorn into my voice. Of course I've thought this through. My pride isn't even remotely involved. "How would I know? I'm not her."

"If we lose, I tell Shouron-senpai the hair products I use, the ones she's been demanding since we met," Shinju said, measured. "If we win, she gives me her sister's notes on Bakudou 1."

"Sure," he said quickly. "We'll, uh, we'll be seeing you, okay? When you go down. Yeah." With that awkward retort, he dragged Shouron, foaming at the mouth, away.

To my surprise, it was Shinju who spoke first. "Oh, we have got to win this thing," she said gleefully. "I happen to know that if you get an edge early in Bakudou 1, the teacher adores you and gets his proteges to pull strings in any division you want. And she's been driving me crazy with that smugness of hers ever since we met at a get-together at the start of the year. I can't wait to-" She paused, flushing. "Well. I'd like to show her the error of her ways. Gently. But how did you know she'd agree?"

I shrugged. "If she didn't, no skin off my back. But I had a feeling someone who introduced herself and her precious club by putting a sword to someone's throat wasn't going to think too hard about incentive to further dominate them. She's here to fight. All she needed was a challenge and her bloodlust did all the talking. I suspect my not joining was plenty of incentive, even if that wasn't so; she's insecure as all hell. It's kinda sad for someone near graduating to be doing that to a first-year." I glanced at Shinju, who nodded, confirming that Shouron was a sixth-year. "Again, threatening someone she just met, and offering me a position under her, which is either trying to appease me so I didn't go for her spot or getting me under her thumb," I said, noting each on my fingers. My forehead wrinkled, as close a concession to puzzlement as I'd let my face get. "But you were completely right. She's aggressive and cocky. I'm not that worried about her Zanpakutou, but anger makes for a dangerous fight."

Shinju bit her lip. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's go find seats."

As we waited in the section meant for competitors between matches, I thought. Despite her disparaging our partnership, Shouron had made a sentimental choice herself. That, or Kosen was more than met the eye. Either way, he was still the weak link; power only meant something in the right hands. We should go for him first, to get a body out of the fray quickly and allow us to focus on the stronger Shouron. Defeating her first and then having the two of us gang up on the less-than-imposing Kosen wouldn't look great, anyhow. We had to use Zanjutsu, to beat her at her own game, but relying on it would be foolish. Hakuda as a secondary method for me and Kidou for Shinju. I told Shinju that as we proceeded to the competitors' box.

"Mmm," she murmured. "We should avoid being pigeonholed, though. Try your new Kidou and I'll try that lock you showed me the other day."

"Good- ow!" I stumbled on the stairs and glanced down to find my waraji untied. "Go on ahead, Fujikage-chan," I said. "I'll only be a second." She nodded and trotted ahead.

"Can I be of any help?" A familiar voice chimed as I bent to retie them.

"You could save my nerves and stop pretending to be friendly," I said without looking up. "My shoes were tied this morning, Lin-san."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said earnestly. Zouri-clad feet appeared in view. "There's no pretense going on. You and Wakahisa-sama should make up, so we can all be friends. Nobody has to get in anybody's way."

"I have principles, Lin-san," I said, finishing one foot and moving to the other. "Why should I compromise them and let cheating go on? To kiss the hand of someone who hates me as much as I hate him?"

Manicured hands flashed out, pushing mine aside and setting to tying my other shoe. When she was done, we both stood. Yanmei met my eye with a smile. "There aren't too many of us who tend gardens of violets."

I raised an eyebrow. Had our speculation been correct, if not the subject? It confirmed she'd been the one listening, not Momohiko himself, to know the specifics of my sexuality. "Here I thought you liked Wakahisa-sama. And I don't see why I should like him any better, considering he likes you."

Another smile, more enigmatic than the first. "You're clever, Hirako-chan. But I'm not telling you any more unless you agree to put this silly feud behind us." All at once she had her arms wrapped around me, pressing my arms against her, lips at my ear. Her fingertips found their way to my wrists. "I hear you don't lie, Hirako-chan. But if you do, I'll know. What do you say?"

My heart pounded. She was so soft, so delicate, like the underbelly of a venomous snake. "W-Will you poison me if I say no?"

An instant of hesitation that ended in the tickle of a sigh. "No."

I scraped my foot down her shin and shoved, forcing her off and back with a yelp of pain. "No. I tend a garden of coltsfoot before all else. This isn't over. Don't think you can outsmart a descendant of Inari's servants."

"I won't hurt you unless I have to," Yanmei said, smile now lopsided. "Please don't hate Wakahisa-sama and me."

"Mercy stops where evil begins," I snapped back. I raised my voice, loud enough that any tournament employee nearby could hear it. "Lin Yanmei-san, you're not allowed to be in the competitors' section. You should go back to general viewing, Lin Yanmei-san. Lin-"

She was gone, soft and quick as smoke. The scent of wild violets lingered in her wake.

"I'm bored!" Hiyori groused, barely into the first match. "I'm gonna take a walk around. No way in hell am I sittin' here watchin' dumbasses almost drop their swords!"

"Sarugaki-san!" Minoru pulled her back into her seat. "That's a real bad idea, remember?" He jerked his chin at Momohiko and Hisakawa, who sat near the railing. "Just 'cause we ain't facin' them don't mean we can risk it."

To be fair, this match wasn't the most exciting. One of the combatants had indeed almost dropped his sword and gotten his elbow broken for it. "Minoru-kun's right. I had a run-in with their onmitsu earlier. It was... weird. I wouldn't put my money on them not going after you."

"Ya an' Flowers went ta the bathroom," she accused, stabbing a finger at me.

"And we were assaulted by Shouron-senpai and Kosen-senpai," Shinju huffed. "Don't even think about it."

"Ya don't tell me what ta do!" Hiyori flared. She surged to her feet again, dragging Minoru up with her. He looked at the iron grip he had on her and shrugged, releasing it. Probably figured she'd drag him wherever she wanted to go.

I shot a glance at the match below. The fighter with the broken elbow was a wily one; they'd be on a while yet. "I'll go with you," I said, touching Shinju's shoulder. "There're some people I need to talk to."

To my surprise, she stood with me. "Me too. Hirako-kun, would you accompany me?"

"Huh?" He looked up, brushing hair from his face. "Uh, sure." He forced a grin. "Maybe there'll be some cute girls! Yeah, with soft necks an' nice figures!"

"I regret this already," Shinju muttered. Even softer, so only I could hear, she said, "I'm taking your advice, Hirako-chan. Wish me luck."

"Luck," I said automatically, following Hiyori to the stairs. I only made it a few steps before Aizen stopped me, rising from his seat.

"Nariko-san, be safe," he said, almost commanded. "I don't know what I'd do if you came to harm."

"I'm sure you'd figure something out," I said, gesturing for him to stay put. "See you all later."

"Who the fuck d'ya gotta talk ta, anyway?" Hiyori said as we headed down the stairs.

"People," I said vaguely, putting it together in my head. "Staff, bookies, some nobles." I'd told Shinju to talk to her friends, but the run-in with Momohiko had reminded me that I'd told my parents I'd be spreading the new Hirako image in the stands.

She pulled a face. "Ugh. I guess ya want me comin' with?"

I shrugged while I tried to figure out where bookies would be. "It's that or head back."

Another face, even more grotesque than the first. She ran her fingers over the walls as we went. "Why d'ya even care? Ya wanna win this thing, right? It serves ya better if I get nabbed."

"You don't have a very high opinion of yourself, do you, Sarugaki-kun?" I asked, settling on a course. I didn't know people too well, but I did know that illicit activity was the sort of thing that lurked in the shadows, away from the scrutiny of the law. We'd go down, near where people came in, but not too near. Probably near an exit, too. Accessible yet private with an escape route.

"More like I don't got a high opinion of ya," she scoffed, jabbing a thumb at her chest. "I know I'm the best! Brains, brawn, beauty—I ain't some creepy cold-blooded princess!"

I chuckled. "Gee, I wonder who that could be describing."

She shrugged, a gesture that, as with many things about Hiyori, made her look bigger than she was. "Eh, 's a tossup really. Could be ya, especially lookin' like that, or Flowers. She's so hoity-toity, all 'I'm more grown-up than ya an' look I'll prove it by lookin' perfect an' collected all the time.'"

"People don't always show what they're feeling," I reminded her, starting down the stairs to the ground level. "I wouldn't assume Fujikage-chan thinks she's any better than the rest of us, or that she believes she is."

She grunted. "Whatever. Where's yer fanclub today, dumbass?"

"The stands, I'd imagine," I said, shrugging. A fanclub that'd existed for only a day wasn't my priority right now. "How about yours?"

"Fuck if I know," she said, somehow making a shrug look like a threat. "There was this guy yesterday, did I tell ya? If I got a fanclub, he's the head."

I didn't know this guy. I didn't know how he'd acted, or what he'd said, or how Hiyori felt about it. Nevertheless, my creep senses went off. Better to be too paranoid than not enough. He was probably perfectly nice anyway. "Yeah?" I said noncommittally. The barest hint of sweet smoke wound up my nostrils. Nothing inherently connected smoking and illicit gambling, but in an indoor venue with some very highborn guests, the two tended to squirrel themselves away in the same place.

She stared at her sandals. "Yeah. Y'know the tall, funny-lookin' guy who works in the library? Him. He-he gave me flowers an' said what I did out there was really cool. Asked when I'd be fightin' next. Dumbass, thinkin' I know." She scoffed, pink cheeks giving her away. My hackles went down, and I smirked. Someone was embarrassed, and happy, and embarrassed to be happy. Not that I knew library dude anyway, but he'd never been anything but pleasant. Worse people in the world to hit on my cousin.

"Well, that's nice of him," I said, leading her in the direction of the smoke. "Let's see how he reacts when you crush it today, huh?"

Another scoff, one more affectionate than pleased. "Sometimes ya ain't so bad, dumbass. Where we goin', anyway?"

"Just talking to a couple people," I said. "Asking them questions. I want to be absolutely sure that I'm not missing anything."

"We're gonna go talk ta a couple of thugs, ain't we," she grumbled. "I swear, any of 'em try leerin' at me an' I'll cut their dicks off!" She punctuated it with a crack of the neck.

"Let's avoid cutting anything off," I suggested. "But speaking of your tendency towards graphic threats, could I persuade you to wait outside? I- ow!" The wind went out of me as she buried an elbow in my side. "Sarugaki-kun!"

"No way in hell!" she snapped. "Y'know what'd happen ta me if ya came ta harm? Especially with a bunch of yakuza bastards! I ain't waitin'-"

"Shhh," I hissed, pulling her close. "That's why I need you there. I'm trying to keep my nose out of this stuff."

"Uh-uh." She shook her head, pigtails flying, and shoved me back. "I ain't acceptin' that, dumbass! Maybe ya coulda sneaked it by me if ya said ya didn't want me gettin' hurt, but I ain't takin' denial."

I stopped, cocking my head. "What do you mean, denial? All I want is to avoid people thinking I'm in with the yakuza. Which I'm not," I stressed, for once not for a listening onmitsu. My cheeks burned. When had my cousin gotten onto the small list of people whose opinions of me mattered? "But I have to talk to- oof!" I doubled over as she buried her first in my gut. Catching my breath, I glared at her. "Knock it off!'

"No way!" she fired back, stomping her foot. "That's even stupider! 's yer job ta deal with shit that looks bad fer yer brother, an' my job ta keep yer ass safe while ya do it. Just 'cause ya don't like the shit ya gotta do don't mean ya can avoid its stink!"

I set my jaw. "You don't tell me what to do," I said, sharp as Arashi's edge. "I want to know if someone important comes knocking."

"No!" She folded her arms. "Don't be a fuckin' coward! Either ya admit yer dealin' with yakuza, just this once, an' I make sure goons don't show up, which is a billion times more important than nobles, or I walk away an' risk my ass gettin' poisoned." In the distance, people cheered, and I flinched. Damn my soft heart, and me for letting Hiyori know I had one. Negotiation was so much easier from a position of power.

"Look," I said, "I promised my parents I'd make the Hirako look more legitimate with our participation in this thing. Show that we can stand our ground without subterfuge and all that. I promised my Zanpakutou that I'd do things the right way. I promised myself that I'd be more than my family."

"Ya are more than yer family," she answered, folding her arms like that dismissed all my hang-ups. "This is what ya want ta do, ain't it? Ain't none of that backstabbing, slimy onmitsu crap either. This is fer ya, an' if yer really that worked up about promises here an' there, yer makin' everythin' more legitimate by stoppin' that punk." She rolled her eyes. "Shit, I can't believe ya need this explained. I hate those bastards too, but if I gotta be dragged inta this, it gets done right."

Arashi's approval washed away the prick of guilt as I twisted my ring. "Then let's go in there. I'm going to deal with yakuza, just this once, and you're going to have my back."

We hardened our expressions, straightened our spines, and strode in like the soldiers we were.

The room was tamer than I'd imagined. A few guys sprawled at low tables, smoking, while others sat around looking over some books, talking with clients in low but relaxed voices. Sake dribbled into a cup. Kan clinked as a client dropped payment onto worn wood. At first glance, it was just some guys shooting the shit. Hiyori grunted in disgust and I shook the cobwebs from my head. Maybe at my first glance it was an ordinary scene, but not to people in this Edo-era world. Taking another look, the fangs of tigers and dragons threatened from beneath collars and sleeves. These were yakuza. Corruption swaggered around in view of Seireitei's white walls, in the same building as Great Noble princelings.

"Hey, fuckfaces!" Hiyori hollered, shoving straight over to the bookies' table. "Get yer slimy asses outta here! We got some words fer the show-runners!"

I could've told her to play nice. These were, after all, criminals who ruled chunks of the Rukongai by way of spectacular violence, strangling webs of connections, and all-around nastiness. They had us outnumbered. On the other hand, Kinsawa had proved that we were capable of some pretty spectacular violence ourselves, and we had Shinigami powers on our side. Besides, Hiyori was most effective at her Hiyori-est. Her coarse, brash behavior made my smooth politeness all the more appealing.

"If you wouldn't mind, gentlemen," I slid in as they surged to their feet, cracking knuckles and sputtering threats, "I have a few questions to ask you. To do with matters of fox and bracken." I fixed the most opulently-dressed one with a Hirako smile and a phrase I'd heard Makoto use years ago, when discussing the yakuza. The disappointment and shame of realizing the rumors about my clan were true had to be shoved aside for now. "My associate will stand by the door."

Like a bottle being unstopped, the words sent a smile seeping across the man's face. "For one of the Hirako, we can excuse a few ill-chosen words. Seki, Shinoda, Tsukasa, clear everybody out."

"We're customers!" protested the lowlifes we'd displaced. "You can't take our money without our bets!"

"And I won't," Ringleader soothed. His fingers twitched and a knife began to trace a path through the air. Still smiling, he jerked it towards the door. "You'll just have to cool your heels for a bit. Show me the courtesy of respecting my other business and I'll do you the courtesy of pretending I believe you'd complain to your cousin about me stiffing you."

"He's right upstairs!" the man said, digging his heels in against the thug dragging him away. A lock of wavy brown hair fell over his face. He blew it away, which didn't make me take him any more seriously. "I could!"

"And he'd leave the booze and chicks and entertainment to bail out a distant cousin too damned stupid to find anything but gambling to blow his stipend on?" Ringleader's voice was cool and greasy as butter. "Yeah, right. Get out. We both know whatever I do you'll be clinging to the threshold 'til you scratch that itch."

"Anything fishy goes down, yell," Hiyori warned as she followed them out. I nodded.

Ringleader laughed as the screen slid shut. "You're new to having someone with you, huh? Taoka Kiyoshi, by the way. Pleasure to make the acquaintance of another Hirako. I'm right about that, right?" He gestured to a stubbly, barely-lined face with the knifeless hand. "You got that look, even if there's plenty going on there I'm not used to seeing. Night colors usually look plain wrong on you people. You a bastard? In the best way, I mean."

I smiled, balancing on the coin's edge between pleasant-if-odd and glacial reserve. His name was vaguely familiar; whether from class or clan I couldn't tell. "You know, I'm not quite sure there is a best way, even if you were correct. Hirako Nariko, pleased to meet you." I eyed the knife. "How about you put that down and pick up a cup of tea?"

Taoka obliged, setting the knife on the table and plucking a teapot from the next table over. As he did, his kimono fell aside, displaying a greying chest hair and a tattoo of a leering red hannya mask. I set aside the books and kan, careful to let him see the lack of sabotage, to make room for the cups and pot. He poured. Together we lifted the cups to our lips and drank.

"Why do you say that I'm new to having a bodyguard?" I asked as I set the cup down. "Is it Sarugaki-kun's appearance? She's fearsome despite her size, I assure you."

"I believe it," he said, chuckling and repositioning his kimono. "The reason's more subtle, though. If you and she had more experience in those roles, she wouldn't tell you simply to yell. You'd have a code word, so as not to alert the person with whom you were dealing. I'll go so far as to assume you're not accustomed to being in the role of treating with a chivalrous organization. There's far more ritual to sharing sake with us than a simple drink."

"Right for the wrong reasons," I admitted, inclining my head. I'd been hoping he wouldn't notice my inexperience, but nothing made someone look more green than pretending to have experience they obviously didn't have. "I prefer the taste of tea. A good cup of tea clears the mind, while a good cup of sake does rather the opposite."

He refilled our cups. "I prefer to think of it as opening the mind, and I suspect those of your clan who staff the brewery feel much the same. I enjoy their brew from time to time." Over the smooth green liquid, he continued, "But then, we aren't here for me to inquire after you or discuss drinks. What can I do for you, Hirako-sama?"

I took a sip, letting the bitter taste chase away the sweetness of having my ego stroked. People like the yakuza survived as long as they did in large part because of their affable front—it brainwashed some, appeased others, and made it that much harder for everyone else to nail them. That in this case they were an unofficial tool of control in the Rukongai didn't help. "A matter of curiosity, first," I said, making a mental note to do away with that to the degree I could. "Who's that man's cousin?"

Taoka smirked. "You'll know it when I tell you the asswipe's name: Kyouraku Arata. Dog of a man, but he's a paying dog, so we let him slink down here every tournament. Didn't bet on your pair, though, I'm sorry to say."

And he wanted to go appeal to his cousin... Shunsui's upstairs watching. "Oh?" I said, vague smile playing across my lips. "Who'd he put money on, if you're able to say? Oh! I know!" I tapped my palm with a fist. "Hisakawa-senpai and Wakahisa-sama! They had quite the upset the other day, didn't they? Almost like a kami at work, borrowing skill from one team and giving to the other."

Taoka was too concerned with his image to spit, but his expression curdled with the same disgust. "That mess? One of the biggest upsets I've ever had to preside over, and on the first day too. I'll have to have a word with the organizers about not allowing junkies in next year. Must be something to do with the district; another Academy brat from its third ward disappeared a couple days ago. " His mouth curved in a sly smile. "Funny you should mention that, though. I heard from a client that you headed down to the medics with her. Know something I don't?"

I chuckled, flapping a hand at him, tossing out my bait. "Oh, you know what they say: everyone you meet knows something you don't."

He leaned in. "What, you've got reason to believe she was out partying? I can buy it. You're out trying to calm your nerves, then you run into her and mention that you know what the good stuff is, and you know how it is when some Rukongai souls get uppity. No impulse control. Makes 'em easier to pimp, anyway." He watched me for a couple seconds, then shook his head. "No, you didn't start laughing immediately after I said it. Sure you're not a bastard? Total Hirako thing, giggling when the threads of fate tangle around you. Takenaka would've said something if he thought one of his unitmates was involved. C'mon, Hirako-sama, don't be a tease."

I gave him a crimson smirk. "It's only teasing if I don't want something too."

"Either way I get blue balls," he shot back. "So what's stopping your lips? Don't tell me you had something to do with that." Something dark and ugly, more fitting of the person he really was, slithered through his voice. He pointed at me, unarmed yet more threatening than his interaction with Kyouraku's cousin. "That shit cost me money. With the way your family isn't hanging around this year, it's starting to look an awful lot like this isn't a social call or business meeting. I wouldn't even call it a confession. At this level, it's a declaration of war. Now, I'm a nice man, but I've gotta protect my own. The Yamata-kai don't often extend a laurel-"

I had an instant to go no, it's an olive branch before the door exploded in a shower of shredding paper and wood. Hiyori and Taoka's trio burst in, crashing to the ground. Yelping in surprise, I almost missed that all of a sudden Taoka was pointing with a knife and coiling to slash. Almost. I lunged across the table, and seized his wrist, wrenching his arm over in a way it didn't want to go. The knife clattered to the ground. Our hands darted for it as one, but my other hand was holding his. I ground his finger bones together against his screaming and seized the knife. Raising it high, rage blazing in my eyes, I plunged it down.

Thunk. Taoka's shout of pain died on his lips as he stared at the blade, buried in the table. His eyes flicked to me, then back to it, then back to me again. For my part, I tossed a glance over my shoulder. "Alright there, Sarugaki-kun?"

"Ya didn't yell," she grunted, straddling one thug's back as he whimpered with the pain of an obviously fractured, still-locked wrist. Another lay nearby, nose busted. From the way she favored her back leg and the blood on one sock, I suspected that kick had cost her some too, if less. The third was out cold in the doorway. I could've gone to see if that one was okay, but he was yakuza, and adrenaline currently lay like a blanket of molten lead over all concerns that weren't me and Hiyori. And regarding those two things, cold-blooded fire burned within me. My questions might have spiraled into negotiations against my will, but I'd dispelled any doubts about who held the real power here.

"You might be nice, Taoka-san," I said coolly, turning to face him once more, "but I'm not."

"Y-You could've stabbed me," he spluttered, every feature of his face twitching as it tried to figure out, quite independently of the rest, how to regain its owner's dignity. All failed. "You're still smiling, for fuck's sake! If you're not soft, what are you?"

I considered reminding him that good was neither nice nor soft, and settled for reminding him that good was not dumb. He'd have time to reflect on the rest. "Effective. Another difference between you and me: I can keep more than the jangle of a coin purse in my head." Behind us, Hiyori was working over the lowlifes. I appreciated the thoroughness, born of orneriness though it was. "See, I didn't forget my standing when I thought I'd been cheated."

"You've been cheated?" Taoka quavered. The gears of his brain visibly started to turn, oil pouring back over them. "I can fix that! Just forget this ever happened and-"

I cut him off, picking up the teapot. I made a show of looking around for the cups and finding them spilled on the floor. "Oh, look, one more thing you messed up. Threatening and attacking me, having your men assault my friend here, insulting the Hirako, spilling my tea—you owe me a great deal, Taoka-san. But let's table talk of debts for a moment, if you can manage that." I set the teapot down. "It's very interesting that you jumped so quickly to assuming betrayal on the Hirako end. Why, I didn't even think anything was wrong with our relationship. But clearly you do. You're very concerned with money and everything going how you want. And yet you're not too worried about attacking a member of the main family of the clan that's kept a steady stream of kan going to you for decades." I didn't know that, but it was a safe bet that there'd been a working relationship for a while. The Hirako weren't ones to fix what wasn't broken. "Sarugaki-kun, that sound a bit fishy to you?"

"Sounds like the Yamata-kai got somethin' or someone else linin' their pockets," she grunted, stunning me. I'd been expecting something more along the lines of 'fuck, sure' or some other expletive-laced affirmation. I mean, sure, cursing was the majority of what came out of her mouth, but Hiyori was fairly perceptive when she bothered to listen. I wondered if she knew that.

"Just what I was going to say," I agreed. I drummed my fingers on the table, calling Taoka's attention back to me. "How informed are you, Taoka-san? Were you aware someone tried to assassinate my parents recently? Now that I've said it you sure are. Really, what I want to know is whether you're quick enough to figure out where I'm going with this before I get there."

His expression said even if he was, he didn't want to be. He was putting the pieces of his pride back together. "You'll have to enlighten me."

I beamed. "I'm so glad you said that. See, I agree with Sarugaki-kun. Someone or something is giving you the confidence to think you'll break away from us." I really wish I could let you do that, too. Not while I'm under my parents' and the elders' thumbs. "I'd like to know who that is, if it's a who. And a lot of people, not just me, and not just civilians, would really like to know who tried to kill my parents. Wouldn't it be funny if I traced the paths back and they intersected?"

The blood drained from his face. Now the color of sour milk, all the yakuza glamour was gone. "It wasn't the Yamata-kai! I swear! Please, Hirako-sama, you have to believe me!" He pulled back and went to kowtow.

I yanked him up by the hair on his head, making him yelp. "Oh, it's back to 'Hirako-sama' now? Well, Hirako-sama didn't say you could move. Please sit up, Taoka-san. Gotta brush up on those manners!" I winked and released him.

"Yes'm," he muttered, "of course, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

"Excellent," I purred. I'd had a feeling I'd find a way to use my outrage over that. It was a pity I actually believed the assassin had been a lone wolf. Taoka didn't need to know that, though. Our interactions would be more effective if he thought he needed to do more to wiggle out of the grasp of suspicion. "Lucky for you, I think we've reached the point where I can believe whatever answers you give me. So let's table that, too, and bring back the questions I came in to ask. I'll make it easy on you and make the first one related: what's this source of revenue that's so lucrative you'd risk our anger for it?"

"Princess here might give a shit about respectability, but I don't," Hiyori warned. She sat atop a thug's chest, picking at her nails. "I ain't above cuttin' yer balls off if ya lie ta her."

Taoka swallowed hard. To his credit—or maybe mine—his eyes didn't drop to his endangered gonads. "We've been lending money. Pretty standard deal—you lend a guy down on his luck some money, charge him interest you know he can't pay, and do what you want with him when the time rolls around to collect. Your cousin Etsuko-sama, the one who usually deals with us Yamata-kai and a couple other small organizations, she knows about it."

My smile was thin and patronizing. "You're wasting my time. I don't care what my clan already knows about."

"I'm not done!" he snapped, flinching when I glared. "Well, we started using written contracts a decade back, as insurance against Shinigami cracking down. Sometimes they take it, sometimes they don't. Recently, our wakagashira Shouta came up with the idea-"

"Again, Taoka-san, you're wasting my time," I chastised. "I know you're oyabun. Shouta is your man. Don't try to wiggle out of this."

"We've started using the contracts for more than that, and giving them to different people," he continued. "Poor noble clans. Oh, don't get me wrong, none of them are about to go bankrupt, or even lose much of anything, but they aren't keeping up with high society as well as they used to. Their patron clan's not using them for their original purpose anymore, maybe, like the Lin-"

I held up a hand. "Stop. The Lin?"

He waved a hand. "An example."

"No, I mean it," I insisted. "What's the Lin's trouble?"

He scoffed. "Same trouble as all the other tiny clans who got founded for one reason and one reason only: being barely more than landowners with antiques rattling around. They've been clerks to some Wakahisa courthouse for ages. Surprise, right? Chinese clan who aren't onmitsu or beholden to the Shihouin. Anyway, the way the recent leaders have been consolidating their power lately, the courthouse isn't as popular as it used to be, even if there were enough Lin to staff it. So we lent 'em some cash, and that's been enough. But that's where the real trick comes in, right?" He grinned, rubbing his thumb and index fingers together. "Even your clan likes leaving its connection to yakuza mostly rumor. Imagine how embarrassing it'd be for proof to come out that a clan trying to get its old luster back owes it to a chivalrous organization." The euphemism marred the contrast in the sentence, but it worked.

"They'd do anything to hush it up," I murmured. Some part of me, the bit that mostly whispered temptations to cheat on tests, but had also complained the most when I'd turned down Shizuya, appreciated the diabolical genius of it all. I dredged up that small social part of me that was endlessly fascinated by people and their networks of truth and lies and promises and let it be angry. "Burn those contracts. Every one of them." He stared back at me, stony, with the flint of greed in his eyes, and opened his mouth to refuse. "Sarugaki-kun! Cut off his topknot!" I ordered. She was there in a flash, clumsily holding the edge of her asauchi to the base of the tail. She could be as awkward as she liked, with how much of Taoka's regained color fled at that. Hair tore and fell. "Sarugaki-"

"Alright, alright!" he blurted. "I'll do it as soon as I leave!"

You could've started a clan war! I yelled inside. Didn't say outside, because Taoka was short-sighed enough, if not stupid enough that he'd gotten all this started, and he wouldn't much care. And there was only one solution, I realized, because unchecked, idiots did as much, if not more than the malicious. "Last question, and then I'm going to tell you something," I ground out. "What do you know about Wakahisa Momohiko? And Hisakawa Daisuke," I added as an afterthought, though honestly Hisakawa struck me as bored out of his skull and unlikely to make trouble.

"No more than anyone else," Taoka said, looking stupidly hopeful. Not if he knew what I was about to say. "Great Noble heir apparent to the Wakahisa and retainer, both at Shinigami Academy. Not much more to it. Really, there isn't. Wakahisa's so completely noble that they confirmed him at seven. Too young to even do the manhood ceremonies, but I always figured they thought he'd die and fuck things up if they waited. Sickly kid, you know? Difficult birth, hidden away as a kid. It was big news for us when he came to Academy. Some of the other oyabun thought security'd go up around here."

It should. I nodded, rolling my eyes as though I'd known all that already. "Now for my statement," I said, signaling Hiyori to step away and stand behind me. I paused for a second to breathe, to gird myself with Arashi's deepest, darkest waters, and put on my kata-mask. "You work for me now."

He laughed outright, fear forgotten. Something to work on. Fighting him on this took energy I wanted to save for beating Shouron. "You're shitting me, right? I work for your clan. Sometimes."

Hiyori's knuckles popped behind my head. "She says ya work fer her, ya work fer her, 'less ya wanna risk Kinsawa bein' a one-off."

"Not a chance," Taoka said, rather smugly. "You kill me, even if the law doesn't care, the Hirako are going make them care."

I chuckled. "Oh, that's cute. You think I'd settle for killing you. No. When have you ever known the Hirako to have any ambition? When has working with them ever helped you? And keeping your head above water doesn't count. The Yamata-kai are nothing. Neutered. You know what happens to lame dogs that bite people? They get put down." I slammed my hands on the table, wood cracking beneath my palms. "I am the next generation of the Golden Foxes," I snarled. "I am the left hand of Inari, who wields and forges blades. Work for me and I will remake you into a tool with meaning. Refuse again and I will see you broken. The Hirako have no use for a dog that bites the feeding hand." Without breaking eye contact, I plucked the cups from the floor, restored them to their place on the table, and filled both. I pushed one in Taoka's direction. "So what's your choice?"

The last scraps of resistance gathered themselves into a harlequin mask, prepared to refuse again. As I watched, they shredded beneath the tide of self-interest. He took the cup with a trembling hand and raised it to his lips.

I did the same. "The first of many wise choices," I said sweetly, and drank.

"That was the stupidest thing you've ever done in yer life! 'Just this once'?! How in the fuck, at least one time durin' that clusterfuck, didn't some part of yer brain go 'I'm a fuckin' Shinigami, maybe I shouldn't be takin' over a fuckin' yakuza group'?"

"Oh my god, I just took over a yakuza group," I breathed. A frenzy of activity whirled in my brain, pieces flying back into place after combat-readiness had torn through it to get to the front. I found a toehold and righted myself into annoyance. "Hey, don't give me that! You were the one going on about it being my responsibility as Shinji's second! And who was backing me up? Oh yeah, still you!"

"Because we were in there with an oyabun!" she snapped back. "And not that you'd know, but it feels fuckin' great ta beat up those thugs!"

"Hiyori," I said, whipping out the yobisute, "shut up. I really don't care if you've been exercising more self-control than you ever have in your life." And to her credit, she had been. We'd put a few questions to the staff, the answers to which didn't indicate any complicity with Momohiko, and then gone and chatted up some spectators I vaguely knew. Probably from class, but a few were friends of Shinji and Shinju and maybe Minoru. One of them had known Minoru at any rate. We'd also run into Yoruichi and Urahara, who'd made noises about how cute Hiyori was. I was only mostly sure I'd extracted a promise to meet me at the ryokan tomorrow from them. The whole time Hiyori had managed to bite out a few sentences that weren't any more unpleasant than she usually was with strangers, which I counted as a win on par with Aizen's defeat. Now we were heading back to the stands, hopefully in time for Shinji's and Aizen's match. "The real question is how I'm going to explain to cousin Etsuko what happened to the Yamata-kai. Someone's got to fill their niche here, and it'd be a mess for them to 'desert.' I don't think I want her knowing I poached them. Actually, does it count as poaching if they're not working for the clan anymore? I'm not taking over management here."

"Do I look like I give a flyin' fuck?" Hiyori asked. She didn't. "Fuck are ya gonna do with 'em anyway? I vote fer killin' 'em an' squashin' the problem right then an' there."

"Well, I'm thinking about killing someone now," I muttered as we ascended the stairs and stepped back into the competitors' section.

We were right on time. Shinji and Aizen were nowhere to be found, probably on deck. As we returned to our seats, a Kidou blast threw the surviving half of a pair from the ring and the match was called. I surveyed the stands as the crowd roared. There. In what was probably one of the nicest non-Great Noble boxes, a few levels up, stood a familiar pair. Interestingly, Kyouraku and Ukitake were, as far as my mildly nearsighted eyes could tell, the most similar to current canon of anyone I'd met. Kyouraku's ridiculous ensemble was certainly unchanged, and apart from being drawn back into a loose ponytail, Ukitake's distinctive white hair didn't give me pause. I rolled my eyes at Kyouraku's current lieutenant, a bespectacled woman with dark hair drawn into a low, tight bun; evidently his tenure was enough that using appearance as a criterion wasn't a problem. In a nearby box, unmoved, stood an amber-skinned, clean-shaven man whose tawny orange-accented haori marked him as Captain Than Sein of the Ninth. His companion, a woman in the pale green-lined haori of the Third, was the opposite, clapping so hard I thought her hands would fall off.

Not the worst audience to have, daoshi, Arashi murmured. The demigod and drunkard are important in the future. The Third, perhaps not, but the bird-man indicated you're esteemed within that division. Given her proximity to the leader of a division in which you're interested, she may put in a few good words for you if you perform adequately today.

I snickered at her calling Rose 'bird-man.' Minoru raised an eyebrow at me and I shut up, turning my attention to the match.

It was... snooze-inducing. Probably the only good thing I could say about it was that Shinji and Aizen didn't look like they were working too hard. It wasn't too difficult to interpret them as playing with and thus being stronger than their opponents, who were dutifully giving it a go. Dutifully! I shouldn't even have been able to use that word. It was a fight, for fuck's sake. But there they were, pulling out all the Academy stops and being matched by my brother and his roommate. Even the thrill of bare hands vs. blades was lacking. Don't get me wrong, it was all very well-done, very polished. I'd congratulate them later genuinely. But it was so far beneath what I knew future captains were capable of. If this was how they'd performed yesterday, good but so utterly, terribly bland, no wonder Shizuya had had such a low opinion of my brother.

And you want to challenge the Soul King? I mused, standing. My legs found their way idly forward. And you, my brother, you're going to be Visored? Yeah, right. You'd wash out of the Onmitsukidou. All that potential and the most you have to show for it is a dead Quincy and a few Hollows between you? Maybe I should've taken Shizuya's offer. Except that wouldn't prove to Aizen that you can't sit around and expect to reach greatness, only Shinji. Now what's he doing? Himura would've rolled his eyes at that punch! You could've opened his torso up, Shinji! This is pathetic!

My hands slammed into the railing, startling me and the other competitors alike. A shout tore from my throat: "Try! For once in your lives, try! You're better than me, so do better, you idiots!"

My face went red as spectators turned to stare, but I didn't regret it. For one, Aizen's grip steadied and his blade sang in a technique Shin'ou never would've taught, biting into his opponent's throat with iron control I'd never seen from him. The boy gasped and fell to his knees, clutching at crimson. Shinji faltered at my voice, stopping in his tracks and looking up. It was hard to tell from up here, but I imagined a measure of ease returned to his Hirako grin. Then the remaining contestant's sword opened up his shoulder and he swore. In a few flashes of steel, Shinji's opponent joined Aizen's on the ground. For another, amid the thunderous applause that arose, I felt eyes on me. I looked up to meet cool grey. As I watched, warm green joined them. Kyouraku tipped his sakkat, wearing a secret smile, and he and Ukitake returned to clapping.

"Did someone piss in yer tea or somethin'?" Minoru asked as I returned to my seat, hushed half by disbelief, half by awe. Maybe three-quarters by disbelief.

"Or something," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. It was starting to hit me what I'd done with Taoka, really hit me. What was I going to do with the Yamata-kai? How did I get them away from Etsuko without triggering even more conflict? How was I going to keep this from biting me in the ass when I started doing diplomacy with less stab-happy people? Or hell, when I joined the Gotei, the enforcers of the law? Was it too late to take it back and kill them all, like Hiyori'd suggested?

Yes, it was, I decided as they dragged Shinji's and Aizen's victims from the ring. The Yamata-kai had threatened me and taken revenue from my family, but if threats were an automatic death sentence, I would've been Soukyoku barbecue already. And revenue? My family might've been fine with taking dirty money, but I wasn't. I could barely stomach using my stipend, and then only for other people. I had no legitimate reason to kill them, and to do so to save myself embarrassment was hardly better than being a serial killer. No better, I corrected myself as the next match started. If I got dinged for taking over the Yamata-kai later on, it'd be fines at most. And I wouldn't. I was smarter than that, and if it looked like I would, I'd ask Yoruichi for help. If she wouldn't or couldn't give it, well, it was only money and my reputation, and I deserved it at that point. Not for doing anything wrong, though. I wasn't doing anything wrong. In fact, this was the only right choice.

I would very much like to hear you defend this, daoshi, Arashi said. Her tone was strange, as opaque as a midnight ocean. I cringed. She'd been holding off all this time, and I'd been dreading it. My soul was no chatterbox, like me, but even in this current period of preparing whatever she had going, she usually put in a few words here and there—comments, criticisms, the odd compliment. Silence chilled me to the bone. I had to hope that this opacity was the result of a cloud, one I had a chance to push aside.

I didn't hear you complaining when I threatened to cut that rapist's fingers off yesterday, I retorted, gathering my arguments. The barrier between our thoughts was a nebulous thing, but I was fairly confident I could multitask.

You're not going to bait me into justifying or qualifying myself, so you can poke holes in me further, she said simply. Talk.

I stepped back mentally to focus on her, eyes open but not really seeing in that way you got when zoned out. It was on impulse initially, I admitted. I- there was this pull in me, at first. A hunger. I had him the way I wanted him, and he had no hope of saying no. Not really. I could've killed him—I was already running circles around him, mentally—or thrown him to my family. It was such an easy problem to solve, unlike this clusterfuck with Momohiko. So satisfying. An exchange with this one guy and all these other little problems came to heel. It's even what my parents want of me, in a twisted sort of way.

But I know now, it wasn't really about any hunger or making my parents happy or making me feel like I did something useful. It was useful. The way these bastards were running amok, they would've started a clan war. A clan war, Arashi! Consider it, really consider it. They go into blackmail full-time and our clan fights to get them back, and the clans they were blackmailing fight back so we don't find out about the contracts. Or they get traced back to the Hirako and treated like a sneak attack, and war breaks out. Or the little clans take it up the chain and the big clans get involved. Hell, the Great Nobles probably would've gotten involved anyway, and then there's all-out war. That's Shinji and me pulled from Shin'ou. Yoruichi fighting! Soujun! Urahara and Tessai'd follow Yoruichi, and Soujun doesn't even need to die to negate Byakuya's conception! And shit, even if they'd never tried to break off, the Yamata-kai run brothels and extort people. By pulling them out of that, I save those people! All more humanely than locking the Yamata-kai up.

...adequate. Surprise rolled through me, hers and mine. I won't withdraw my power after all.

Adequate? I parroted.

You believe that you're doing the right thing, she said, without the patronizing, doubtful tone 'you believe' usually carried. I sensed belief was important to Zanpakutou. There's no conflict with the initial state of your soul, daoshi, but I may have taken back my power anyhow, if you could not defend your actions. Righteousness undertaken for selfish reasons is not truly right, and undertaken for no reason at all, blind and likely to lead to evil. And while we are lightning and water, we are the mindless chaos of neither. Our mission is preserved, and so are we.

Arashi, I said, letting the veneer of confidence fall for the first time that day, I've been meaning to ask you about that.

The mission? Nothing's changed there, insofar as I can see, she replied.

Not that. I scratched the back of my neck, despite that it didn't communicate any emotion to her that she didn't already know. Our elemental nature. Us. I'm remembering questions I asked long ago, that I never thought anyone could answer, and discovering new ones. I need the truth.

I'll give you what I can, she said. Come to our inner world when you have a chance. This is a conversation to have face-to-face.

Agreed. I blinked watering eyes, beginning to disengage to focus on the tournament again. I'll try to do it tonight.

"You know we're totally going to beat you, right?" Kosen said as we shifted from foot to foot, on deck. "Boom, bang, pow!" He punctuated the noises with pantomimed strikes, like some sort of action figure. "Over before you know it."

"What he said," Shouron said, with a grin that made her echo more convincing than his statement. She tossed her hair, violet eyes glinting in the low light. "I can't believe you actually showed. You never stood a chance."

"The match isn't over yet, Shouron-senpai," Shinju said quietly. "Maybe you should set aside the fantasies of beating first-years until they become reality." She was bent over checking her waraji, making sure they were tied. Loss was embarrassing enough; losing because we'd tripped over our own feet would be the worst.

I nodded and reached up to check my hair. Or at least, that was what it looked like. My fingers tucked hair behind my ears, brushing them with a ghost of power. As though tired, I rubbed my eyes and did the same to them. When I blinked again, a golden figure, glowing so bright it almost hurt to look at, stood at Shouron's back. It turned with her, and not for the first time I wondered how Zanpakutou perception of the real world worked. I made a note to study that, when I had the resources of Urahara's Twelfth at my disposal. I blinked at the scaly tail that stretched behind it, and realized that while Shouron was quite the monster in battle, her Zanpakutou was more so. I studied its flowing mane and whiskers and filed away another question: did my soul-sight filter Zanpakutou into something more compact, something more human?

Kosen—I almost felt bad for him, he was so much less imposing, so much less attention-grabbing—stepped forward to murmur something to his partner. I stifled a laugh as his spirit followed. Utterly incongruous with its Shinigami, it was a massive chevalier in armor, complete with plumed helmet and emblazoned shield, yet lacking a sword. I didn't expect too much trouble out of him.

"Is it really wise to go all-out so soon, mistress?" the dragon-man asked. Seemed he was Shouron's voice of reason. "While I can't deny it'd put a satisfying end to the potential of a challenge, you look hot-headed." A pause, likely filled by Shouron's reply. "Rash, then. The Eleventh doesn't take Kidou-type Zanpakutou." Another pause. "No, this isn't the moment of truth. I'm simply urging you to be more cautious."

I slipped over to Shinju as we waited. Kosen's Zanpakutou was silent, perhaps the calm to his wielder's neuroticism. "She'll be pulling out her Shikai as soon as possible," I whispered.

"How do you know?" Shinju murmured back. Simple curiosity, not doubt. I took heart in that.

"I can feel it," I said vaguely. "There's this volatility to her reiatsu. Embers hungry to burn. And look at her hands." I nudged her and jerked my chin towards Shouron, whose grip was tight on her hilt. "The skin over the knuckles is scarred—she's no pushover in hand-to-hand. But she's ready to draw, instead of leading with her fists."

"You're sure our strategy from earlier will work?" Shinju asked. "Are you going to bring out yours?"

I stretched, testing the pull of my muscles. Nothing had gotten pulled, either in sleep or in my haste to defend myself earlier. "Yes, on both counts. Simultaneously, I don't know. I can make it work, but she's taller than me. She has reach."

"Not much," Shinju objected quietly. "You didn't think her Zanpakutou would be a problem earlier."

I hummed. I had no reason to fear Shouron's Zanpakutou, but sometimes reason didn't enter into the equation. My anxiety was a pyramid, with my fear of fire at the bottom, the bet in the middle, and proximity to the match's beginning capping it all off.

Warm waves curled around me. And how well did the pyramids of old hold up to the ravages of time? We will win, daoshi.

I shuffled my feet. Her Zanpakutou's telling her the same exact thing. Kosen's, too, but his is more hopes than definitive statements. Realistic.

We will. There was no doubt in her voice, nor would she brook it in me. Simply remember what you did the other day, in the courtyard at dawn, when you and the battle flowed as one. If you listen for her soul, all her secrets will be laid bare, and you will be as a warrior from legend.

Legend. I liked that. I put on my showman's smile, checking the corners of my mouth to ensure I could hold it. When it didn't falter, I nodded, for myself as much for Shinju. We were going to be legendary, whether we won or not.

The double door to the arena swung open, and the Shinigami brought the losers through the door. The victors followed a heartbeat later, chattering as though their victims weren't right there listening.

"Showtime!" Shouron declared to those assembled, and she strode into the ring with Kosen at her side. I let her. She could be the overeager one, dragging a reluctant partner into the fight. Shinju and I would be truly confident and connected. In appearance, at least. We followed after a moment, approaching the center just as they finished playing to the crowd. But instead of doing the same, we crossed to the other side. Shinju knelt. I simply stood in front of her, arms folded behind my back. They were unusual poses for a tournament, chosen to draw attention and throw the other team off-balance.

"You're making a mistake, playing around like that," Shouron said in an undertone as she and Kosen readied themselves. "Fighter-to-fighter, that's putting us at an advantage."

"Um, maybe we could not give our enemies tips?" Kosen said, Zanpakutou spirit nodding emphatically. "Just a suggestion."

"He's right, you know," Shouron's Zanpakutou spirit said. "As much as you respect her abilities, this is a bad time." A pause. "That is why they're called mixed feelings, Asahiya."

I smirked, ready to snark back, just as the announcer began.

"Ladies and gentleman, I present to you today a battle of the soul itself!" she boomed. "On one side, we have the Burning Hand herself, Pulse of the True Hearts Shouron Asahiya! Shouron-san has been a repeat contender with her spectacular flames! On the other, the Blue Butterfly, Hirako Nariko! Hirako-san is the youngest Shinigami in history to achieve Shikai! Who will win, experience or talent? Find out for yourself!" She paused dramatically and we tensed. "Begin!"

Shinju went for Kidou. Of course she did. We'd planned it, and Shouron and Kosen would've known going in she would. She'd done it the first round, and besides Kidou was a good opener, before panic ate your time and focus. "Hadou Thirty-Three: Blue Fire, Crash Down!"

Kosen came in first, dodging Shinju's smaller follow-ups as Shouron sprang back. I bit my lip watching her avoid the fire. We can only keep her out of Shikai so long. My sleeve fluttered and I bit off a curse. Fuck, Shinju! But Kosen was to blame. I lunged low as his sword came down, slamming crossed arms into his and twisting forward. He yelped and disengaged away from my knee to the gut, 'slipping past' me to get to Shinju, who was 'losing' Shouron.

Only a matter of time before they lost the quotation marks. I ran ahead, throwing in a dash of sky-step. Six syllables, six seconds!

Too late, thrown off by my unpredictable approach, Shouron opened her mouth. "Burn, Ten'o-" she began.

"Slow!" I bellowed, swooping in low with a sweep to the legs. She leaped over it, but the moment was gone. With a shout she threw a jab at my jaw. I knocked it aside, letting her push me back but giving as good as I got, keeping her hands busy. Metal clashed behind us and I growled. Kosen'd countered Shinju's iaijutsu. Shouron noticed my hesitation, laughing and snapping two kicks right past my guard. Pain exploded in my chest and I staggered back.

"You're not the only one who can use their entire body!" she taunted. She threw a right cross with the full force of her dragon soul. I flash-stepped back again. But this time the breath whooshed from me as I came up against a body.

Kosen and I realized simultaneously that the other's figure was all wrong. We whirled as one. I came around with a spinning crescent kick to drive him back, but he was intent on proving he'd earned his position on the True Hearts. I pulled my strike as his tsurugi slashed where my knee would've been and abandoned the clash to flash-step away again. Shinju's blade sang in where I'd been, vindicating me as she tore into Kosen's ribs.

"Now who's slow?" Shouron shouted. As I righted myself I saw she stood at the edge of the ring, just too far to reach in six seconds. "Burn, Ten'okibi!" She brought her crossed arms up and pulled them to her sides with a yell of triumph, burning gold. The crowd gasped loud enough to break through my focus, appalled that I'd forgotten her.

Please. I didn't forget anyone. Kosen's Zanpakutou had been chattering away the whole time, evidently more neurotic than its exterior suggested, calling to its wielder when he'd gone for me and for Shinju. And Shouron I'd given time to get her blood pumping, lulling her into overconfidence. I looked good if I kept her from releasing Shikai, but better if I showed I could not only think of that tack, I could counter her trump card.

I breathed deep, reiatsu washing out, and relaxed into my skin, into the tide of battle. Then I lunged forward, Ten'okibi's voice ringing in my ears.

"There!" he yelled. I stepped to the side of a jet of fire, pivoting in a circle and continuing on. "Again!" I dropped low, sliding under the next blaze and came up to a shout of "overwhelm her with a flurry!" Simultaneously Shouron shouted, "Firestorm!" I stopped dead. She grinned triumphantly and threw a rapid-fire series of punches, fire raining from each fist. If I were anyone else, I would've gone down, overwhelmed by the onslaught of flames. As it was I almost broke seeing all that pain coming for me.

I am water, and this is too easy. Rather than retreat or step aside, I launched forward, feet coming off the ground in a butterfly kick. The second I felt solid ground beneath them, I twisted around and bent back—not a second too soon. The first wave of fire seared where my head'd been. I gritted my teeth, slapped my palms to the ground, and vaulted into the sky with a jolt of reiryoku. It was only an instant of freedom, but I took it to gulp a breath. The next heartbeat my feet met ground—behind Shouron. Before she could turn I pummeled her back with half-moon punches. She'd only just gotten to face me when I whipped around with a roundhouse kick and brought my instep into her torso. Bone crunched and she went flying.

Shinju cried out and I spun to find her clutching her arm, blood pouring around her fingers. As I watched she pulled it together and gestured in Kosen's direction, forcing him back. Before he could recover her hands flashed again. He yelped as yellow rope twisted his arms and legs together, wobbling. I seized the moment and flash-stepped over, springing into the air to do what I'd done to Shouron and capitalize on the instability. I smirked as I fell, winding up-

-and leaping back. "Knock her off her feet! Do something!" Kosen's spirit blurted. Kosen dropped his sword, calling out, "Safeguard, Koushi!" He kicked it back, sliding where my feet would've been as a shield. I grunted in frustration, hearing Ten'okibi exclaim as his wielder leaped to her feet, mind racing. Kosen's binds were rapidly fraying. Then it came to me. I stomped on the shield's edge, catapulting it into the air. The very second it came down between us, I kicked it into its wielder. Kosen staggered forward with the sound of a ringing bell.

I barely had time to register Shinju blasting him from the ring with Twin Lotus, Blue Fire Crash Down and collapsing. I had no time at all to think up a strategy when I whirled to see Shouron, rocketing towards me on a wave of flame. I did what I would've done for anyone not on fire, seizing her by the wrists and wrenching katar and gauntlet away from my flammable self.

"Can't take the heat, Hirako?" she taunted as the metal seared my palms. "Why don't you bring that precious Zanpakutou out to play? I can feel how much you want to." She laughed as I released her, circling back to regain my composure. "Can you even hold it now?"

"I'm not as dependent as you," I gasped, testing my burns by curling my hands into fists. I winced. The pain was too much to twitch a finger. Feet it is. "C'mon. If you're so great, actually hit me with that Zanpakutou of yours."

Shouron growled, backing up so there was a considerable distance between us. A hush fell over the arena. "Fine! Let's settle it!"

I tensed. If I fucked this up, I could kiss my pride, the tournament, and stopping Momohiko—defeated fighters couldn't return 'til next year—goodbye. But it was succeeding at this, losing, or letting myself get barbecued and losing. I had no choice. I jerked my chin at her. "Let's go, dragon!"

"I'll spitroast you, snake!" she screamed back. She dropped into the stance she'd taken just before rocket-stabbing Tsukino. Ten'okibi blazed by her side. I trained my eyes on him, not his wielder. She launched forward in my peripherals, a vision of elemental wrath. There! He slashed a hand through the air, and I leaped backwards. I coiled in the space between heartbeats and double-kicked out, nowhere near connecting. I hung horizontal for an instant—shit the only thing in my head—and ate dirt.

The look on Shouron's face as a bolt of lightning punched a hole in her chest, punctuated by my shout of "Eat lightning, bitch!" just before I hit ground, was delicious, though. Just saying.

She crashed into the dirt beside me. Ten'okibi knelt by her side, sealing itself. The reek of cooked meat made me gag, but I rolled over to get my mouth off the floor anyway.

"You're not a bitch, you know," I apologized as the full unit of medics stormed the arena. "It just sounded cool."

"'s okay," she gasped. I was tremendously thankful for lightning cauterizing wounds. "I've been there. Get up, so they know you won."

I did so, kipping up for the cool factor, and also because my hands were screaming in pain. I bowed from the waist to the crowd, straightening to roars of delight. Everyone I could see was clapping, and a few were even standing. I dared to look up at the captains' booths and beamed when I did. Than Sein almost looked impressed, though annoyance as the Third Division Captain chattered away masked it. Ukitake and Kyouraku were as enigmatic as ever, smiling and little more.

"Winners by ring-out and incapacitation, Fujikage Shinju and Hirako Nariko!" the announcer declared. I lingered for a few moments to wave and grin before submitting to the medics, letting them lead me away as cover to let the tears pour down my face again. Ow. Very much ow.

Shinji of all people met us at the exit, arguing with the medics who had Shinju on a stretcher.

"She's stirrin'!" he protested. "Don't waste yer time! Heal Nari-nee or somethin'!" He caught sight of me and grinned, pride radiating off him. "Nari-nee! I mean, Nariko!" He scooped up Shinju as the stretcher-carriers turned to look at me. I almost scolded him, but he was right anyway: Shinju came alive enough to wrap her arms around his neck and nuzzle into him. "Ya kicked ass! My sister's the Blue Butterfly!" he announced pointlessly.

"They already know that," I said, swiping at my face with the back of my hand. I hissed as it stung, coming away with tears and grime. "Did you bring Aizen-san?"

Quicksilver hurt flashed over his face. "He was right behind-" he began.

"Congratulations, Nariko-san." Pine and musk drifted up my nose and I turned to find Aizen standing there, wearing the widest smile I'd ever seen grace his face. Which was to say showing more than a sliver of teeth. Against my better judgment I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him over to Shinji, folding both of them into a hug. Shinju murmured protests and the medics urged us along, but it was the tears of suppressed pain dripping onto Aizen's neck that finally broke us up.

"Ya actually got hurt?" Shinji said as we grudgingly followed the healers. "Jeez, say somethin'! Yer leakin' all over the place!"

"Was it the blonde?" Aizen asked, more subdued and yet more heated. His eyes fell on Shouron, who was helping Kosen along, blithely ignoring the medic trying to patch up the hole in her chest. I marveled at it for a second before remembering she had enough pain tolerance to wear molten metal.

I shook my head as we came to the infirmary. "No, it's my fault. I grabbed her hands toward the end and forgot they're superheated."

"Mmm." His eyes fell on a random Shinigami, and he adjusted his glasses, weaving through the bustle as they sprang into action to heal the reiryoku-depleted Shinju, concussed Kosen, and all-around fucked-up Shouron. He clapped a hand to the man's shoulder and leaned in, whispering something into his ear. I couldn't make out what, but the man hopped to, practically teleporting to my side to heal my hands.

"Wear the bandages and dressing for the rest of the day," he advised as he finished up. "Those plus your reiryoku should have you right as rain by tomorrow."

"I didn't know you could cast Kidou from your feet," Shinju mumbled, somehow holding onto her posh diction despite her grogginess. "I mean, I did in theory, but I didn't know you could, you know?"

"I didn't either," I said, trying to figure out how to scratch my head without using my hands. I settled for walking over to Shinji and rubbing my head against his shoulder. For whatever reason, he let me with minimal grumbling. "Didn't even think that theory applied to me. It's remarkable what you can do when you're out of options, huh?"

"How'd you manage it, Sparky?" Shouron asked, gesturing at me as though she didn't also have scorched hands. "I thought you were pretty solidly a Hakuda and Zanpakutou kind of girl."

I shrugged. Half-remembered images of another elemental warrior woman doing the same flickered through my head, but I could barely describe those even if I wanted to spill my past to her. "Just got inspired, I guess."

"Yeah, why didn't ya whip those fans of yers out?" Shinji asked. He stood at the threshold, ignoring the annoyed looks the medics were shooting him. "The announcer made a thing of it."

My eyes flicked to Shouron, whose lavender eyes stared back with no sign of being uncomfortable with discussing her recent defeat. "That's why. I don't want to pigeonhole myself this early. Gotta show I've got more going for me than my Zanpakutou, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, finally submitting to getting her chest hole healed. "Like I didn't kick your ass in Hakuda for a bit too. You win, in case you'd forgotten. Congrats on being the new leader of the True Hearts. I'll make Kosen send out the letters when I get a chance."

"Wha?" mumbled the apparent letter-writer from where medics were working on his head.

"Wait, what?" Shinji blurted. He turned to me. "What's this?"

I shrugged again. I was getting sick of doing that. "Shouron-senpai and I made a bet. If I won, I took her position as the leader of the True Hearts. If she- wah!" I spluttered as Shouron shrugged her haori off, grabbed it with her teeth, and walked over to dump it on my head. "Never mind."

He shook his head, chuckling. "Gamblin', huh? Guess ya really have changed a bunch, Nariko." He canted his head at Aizen. "Hey, loser, let's clear out an' give the girls some space."

"You're doing a disservice to Kosen-senpai," Aizen corrected him, but he acquiesced, following Shinji to the threshold. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Congratulations again, Nariko-san," he said. "Congratulations, Fujikage-san. You're truly blossoming into the ideal Shinigami, warlike and triumphant."

I squinted after him, trying to make out his tone, and gave up. Maybe Aizen's social graces had fallen off the back of a wagon and he was running out. Maybe he, like me, was tired. Either way, I had one more item of business to attend to here, and two more elsewhere.

"Excuse me, Shinigami-sama?" I said, getting the attention of the man who'd healed me. "Would you happen to know a Takenaka-san here?"

He nodded, casting around for the man in question. "Hey, Takenaka-san!" he called. A short, bespectacled guy looked up. He gestured for him to come here. "This girl wants to talk to you."

"What do you need?" Takenaka asked as he came over, dusting off his hands on his hakama. I didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on my face. "Something up with Hirako-san's treatment?"

"Hi," I chirped, ducking my head to convince the other Shinigami it was an innocent conversation. I watched him wander away through my bangs and straightened, pulling my smile down from my eyes. "We have a mutual friend, Takenaka-san. Goes by Taoka-san, I believe?" I gave him a second to pick what face he wanted to wear and continued, "There's been a change of leadership. If you speak with Taoka-san, I believe you'll find I run the Yamata-kai now. And if you don't, I'm siccing the Onmitsukidou on you. Which I can do, just by walking upstairs and having a little chat with Shihouin Yoruichi-sama, with whom I had dinner last night."

"Right," Takenaka said blankly. "Sure."

When he didn't continue, I tilted my head, feeling a little foolish for name-dropping. "That's it?"

He fiddled with his glasses. "I just dabble for the money, miss. Boss," he corrected himself. "Only what my fellow Fourth Division members mess up in the books, too, so Captain Unohana-sama doesn't notice me. If you want to run things, it's no skin off my nose. I figure about anyone can do Taoka-san's job."

Well, I wasn't about to pick a fight with someone doing what I wanted. "Good," I purred, smirking as though my hands weren't currently useless mitts of gauze. "Tell Taoka-san to notify the rest of the Yamata-kai of the transition. We'll be having a meeting at the end of the tournament."

He nodded dutifully. "Alright. Where?"

"I'll keep you appraised," I said, rising. Shinju was more or less functional, if woozy from the foreign reiryoku being dumped into her system. You could be as nice as anything with that and it'd still mess you up. "Thanks for your time, Takenaka-san. I look forward to working with you."

"What was all that about?" Shinju murmured as we headed back to watch the remaining matches. Her arm was slung around my shoulders; despite not having too much left in the tank, I was doing all the walking.

"That guy and I had a mutual friend," I said, looking away to hide my flush. Shinju had joined Hiyori on the list of people whose opinions mattered to me, and I could only imagine what she'd think of what I'd done. "I just wanted to catch up, is all."

I was bored to tears.

No, that wasn't quite accurate. I was tremendously bored, true, but the proximity to tears came from the depletion of my energy reserves. Everyone was talking, talking, talking at me. That wasn't so awful, but did they have to do it so loudly? Or maybe it was that bad that it felt louder. I couldn't really tell, and didn't care to figure it out.

I was holding it together, at least. The well-wishers who'd mobbed me on the way up here—Shinju too; a pair had even taken her from me to carry her back to the box—hadn't fled in fear, so I clearly hadn't reached the point of dead-eyed exhaustion or sharp-tongued irritation. Our fellow competitors, once we'd finally made it back to our seats, had been a little bit better, in that some hadn't said anything, but instead stared. I'd ignored them, past trying to parse out whether they were doing the same or impressionable enough to be awed by the likes of me. The rest I'd exchanged minimal conversations with, using my hands as an excuse. Instead I'd foisted them off on Shinju, who was struggling to make her limbs function but happy enough to put her tongue to work. Momohiko, I'd noticed, had simply glared and left the booth. I couldn't let him pass without comment, of course.

"Don't worry; no one's expecting anything like that from you," I'd assured him.

He'd actually stopped at that—who would've thought my alarm bells could be set off by him not giving a dismissive sneer?—to pin me with a glare icy enough to stop Ryuujin Jakka. "You know nothing, Hirako," he'd snarled, and gone on his way, grabbing Hisakawa's arm and grumbling something about being lightheaded and needing to get some air before his match.

I'd grinned, sinking back into my seat when he'd gone. No one would be expecting that from someone who couldn't even sit in a chair doing nothing.

"Crap," I murmured now, watching Ryuudamon stumble as his blade clashed with Momohiko's, a hit I knew from experience hurt, but not to that extent. He definitely wasn't weak enough to get ejected via Hadou #1, but just that occurred as Hisakawa took a break from caving Hanako's face in to pop off a Kidou. Before we'd left, I'd asked Taoka what his odds were on Momohiko and Hisakawa winning this match. They'd been higher than expected but nowhere near good—'people re-estimating the Wakahisa heir,' Taoka'd said, 'and other people driving it down by calling it a fluke.' Watching Ryuudamon climb to his feet, stagger towards the medics, and collapse in a dead faint, I was more convinced then ever. Wakahisa was our guy, no outside influence needed.

"Minoru-kun, wanna grab a bite?" I asked, wrinkling and smoothing my hakama repeatedly. I'd seen all I needed to see of mediocre fights. Soujun's match was coming up, but he wasn't canon enough for me to invest time in learning how he fought. "We can take orders."

We set out for the nearest stand, armed with a list of who wanted what. I was starting to get a mite concerned about Shinju, who'd requested takoyaki. A fixation on octopodes was bound to yield a weird Zanpakutou. Or maybe not—Senobonzakura'd turned out well enough, despite Seaweed Ambassador.

"Hey, can ya keep yer brother from stabbin' me next time ya wander off?" Minoru asked as we wove through the sea of vendors in search of Hiyori's coveted red bean taiyaki.

"Hmm?" I said, attention split between our quest and keeping my smile from cracking.

He rolled his eyes. "Not listenin' ta me, are ya? Or ta him, I should say," he amended. He pointed diagonally towards a stall with various sweets and we headed that way. "He looked like he wanted ta knife me fer goin' with ya, or ya for not takin' him instead."

"That's his problem," I said as we approached the proprietress. "One taiyaki, please." I dropped the payment on the counter and she beamed, turning away to prepare it. "I'll punch him into next week if he lays a hand on you for it."

He huffed. "That ain't gonna happen an' ya know it, Nariko-san. If it did, I'd handle it anyway."

I tilted my head at him. If anyone knew my brother, it was me. "You don't know that," I objected. "He's all pissy these days. Teenage boys."

"Thanks," Minoru told the proprietress, accepting the taiyaki. As he stepped forward to do so, his foot came down on my toe. I yelped and jumped back, glaring at him. No way that was accidental.

"What was that for?" I complained, casting around for our next target, a stand selling takoyaki.

"Fer bein' lazy," he retorted. It was vaguely heartwarming to know he was confident enough to say that, beneath the annoyance. "It ain't him bein' a teenage boy, since I'm one too, an' it ain't him bein' pissy, an' ya ain't simple-minded enough ta write it off ta either of those things."

I scowled at him. "Wanna be my brother, then?"

He lifted a hand, palm up, and shrugged. "Depends. How likely is it ta get me killed?"

"No one's decapitated Shinji for mouthing off yet," I said, putting on a faux-considering face, "so your odds are pretty good." At his snicker, I continued in a more serious tone, "But really, as far as I'm concerned, you're my brother in everything but law. Take that as you will."

Pink blossomed in his cheeks, and he ducked his head. "'s an honor, Nariko-san. Don't think changin' the subject will make me forget what I was thinkin', though. It ain't a secret this feud is one-sided. He's a hell of a lot more eager ta get back in yer good graces than ya are in his. Shouldn't that be the other way 'round?"

I pulled a face. "Should, shouldn't. He doesn't have anyone else to tap as second-in-command, even if Dad were to up and die this very second. I'm not too concerned about my standing in the clan." Which reminds me, gotta start training Yuuma so he's got a good foundation for when he has to step up. "Ow!" A punch in the shoulder broke me from my thoughts of Before.

"Ya obviously ain't willin' ta confront it, so I'm not gonna keep pressin'," he said, tugging me over towards a stand selling all things octopus. I bookmarked it for a treat for Shinju later. "But it's a stupid leader who ignores the feelings festerin' in her crew, I'm gonna say. 's what leads ta not havin' a crew anymore at best. Mutiny at worst."

"I'm not leading anyone," I protested. Something jolted deep inside, sending me reeling outside, and I amended, "Not our friends, at any rate." The feeling eased, but a new trepidation replaced it. I held my tongue until I could be sure he was done.

"Everyone looks up ta ya somehow," he pointed out, ordering Shinju a takoyaki. "Sarugaki-san wouldn't admit it, but she thinks you're the only decent Shinigami there is, an' ya know how she feels about that bodyguard arrangement yer clan an' hers have worked out. Fujikage-san wants yer help becomin' a stronger Shinigami, an' not only in skill, but temper too. Not ta get mushy, but I'm with Sarugaki-san—ain't many Shinigami I think are good people, an' yer one of 'em. Aizen-san an' Shinji-san, they'd jump off a cliff fer ya." He studied me. "Ya know that, right? It's a dangerous thing, ta be oblivious ta that devotion. Take it from someone who ain't got that kinda heart."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, Shinji doesn't either. Not towards me. Gross."

"So ya admit Aizen-san does?" he said.

I squirmed, glancing away to find the right amount of kan and pay the takoyaki man. We went a few stalls down to get me dango. "I'll admit it if Aizen-san does," I said at last.

"So, never," Minoru grumbled. "Romantic people are weird."

I laughed. "That's true. Want dango?" He did, so I ordered two.

"The point is," he continued as we headed back, "loyalty's gotta go two ways, an' that I do know from experience. A one-sided relationship is like a bridge secured at one end—ya try ta cross it an' fall into a pit ya ain't climbin' out of." He looked me up and down, something kind and sad in his gaze. I willfully put up the lens of pity, glowering. "Don't do this, Nariko-san. Talk ta them, soon. Aizen-san's funny lately. I went ta get water last night an' saw him comin' back from a walk, all cut up an' not sayin' hi back ta me. His eyes ain't bad enough fer it ta be the light. And Shinji-san-" He bit his lip. "Repair yer family while ya can. Ya only get one."

Something cracked within me, something that had borne the strain of years. I gasped at the force with which it tore, water springing to my eyes. At Minoru's look I willed the floodwaters back.

It was not with a heavy heart that I delivered the snacks to our friends, nor a light one. Instead it was a hollow one. A traitor, it beat on without will.

Chapter Text

I swaggered out of the baths—how could I not, when every third person I encountered wanted to gush about yesterday's performance?

And when the alternative is slowing down and letting the creeping void catch up?

Hmph. I checked another box off my mental to-do list. It was worryingly short, especially as I completed items, which I supposed was the point. I'd dressed, eaten breakfast, and now bathed. Using a latrine was floating around there somewhere, but it'd have to wait until my morning tea had had a chance to pass through the system. There simply weren't too many essentials to take care of early in the day.

I smiled as I shimmied back into my clothes, though that quickly turned into my tongue poking out of my mouth as I fiddled with my sarashi. Not for the first time I wished we had bras- something more convenient, I corrected, when a pang shot through my chest. Tie it too tightly and you got chest pains and shallow breathing; tie too loosely and you might as well have forgone the sarashi anyway.

"Let's see, what's later on?" I wondered aloud as I stepped out into the sunlight. A light breeze ruffled my hair. "Lunch, reading that other Bulletin Fujikage-san gave me—hang on, I can combine those for maximum efficiency—dinner, meeting Urahara-san and Shihouin-sama, chatting with Arashi-"

Procrastinator.

"That's a lot of space left in between," I continued blithely. "I guess I could do a calligraphy piece, but I'm getting low on paper."

"Miss?" a reedy voice asked from behind me. I turned to find a ryokan employee standing there. She put on a nervous smile as I watched. "I'm sorry to trouble you—everything's well?"

I shut my irritation up in the box holding messy emotions, giving her an indulgent smile. I'm not crazy! "Perfectly. Just thinking aloud. What is it?"

"Th-there's a man at the gate to see you," she stammered, shaking like a leaf. "He, um, wasn't terribly pleasant, but he said you'd know him? A teacher of yours?"

Something real threw itself behind my smile. I only had so many teachers, and few of those would seek me out. "Yes! I know exactly who you're talking about." And what I'm going to do until lunch. "Here, take these for your trouble. He can be abrasive at best." I dropped a few kan into her palm. "Can I assume he's still there?" She nodded, still trembling, but not nearly so much. I chalked it up to an anxious personality. When she didn't go about her business, I looked at her sidelong. "Is there something else?"

She flushed. "I, ah- my foster-brother was at the tournament yesterday. He didn't get a chance to encounter you after your match, and he could only afford a pass for that day. I wanted to know—can I get an autograph?"

Though I wasn't in one of her ensembles today, I sent Furi my deepest gratitude again. She really had thought of everything. "I'll do you one better. Be right back."

A few minutes later, I returned with a deep blue handkerchief, smelling strongly of lilies. Maybe too strongly. But then, scent faded with time.

"Here," I said, offering it to her. "This was made by the same tailor as the one who constructed my outfit yesterday, from the same cloth, and it has my perfume too. Would he want this?"

Her eyes lit up, and she took it, hugging it to her chest. I resisted the urge to remind her that that would fade the scent faster. "Yes! A souvenir is the perfect thing! Thank you, Hirako-sama. We'll never forget it."

So saying, she bustled off.

I was getting real sick of getting punched. That might've explained why, instead of stepping aside or blocking, I jumped twice my height and stayed up there.

"I'd rather not get injured on my day off," I called down to my assailant, fixing him with a mighty stink eye. "Thanks for understanding."

He grinned up at me. Himura Kyou was still just as much of a sadistic bastard as when I'd met him. "If you had, you would've deserved it!" he shouted back. "C'mon down, Hirako. Or do you only respond to 'Blue Butterfly' now?"

I stuck my tongue out. "Only if you guarantee you won't punch me again!"

He pulled a face right back, tattoos taking on a new and interesting look with the expression. "What, and waste all the effort I put in finding out where you were staying?"

I raised an eyebrow and put a hand on my hip, shifting to my back foot. "That's not a promise- oof!" The platform went out from under my feet.

"I promise." Himura smirked down at me. I squirmed against the bridal carry he'd caught me in. He dumped me back on my feet, chuckling. "Might want to work on your sky-walking some more, huh?"

I rolled my eyes. It wasn't my fault I had to wrangle two types of reiryoku- that's enough of that, thank you. "For someone self-taught, I think I'm doing pretty okay. You know they don't start teaching that in the first year."

He shrugged, corded muscles jumping. "I don't know much about anything first-year, actually. Don't teach 'em, remember?"

I folded my arms. "So what does that make me?"

His hand darted out too quick for me to catch, flicking me in the forehead. "A pain in the ass. I don't care, anyway. No point, when so many die in the trial." He yawned. "Enough about work. We're going on a walk. You're not recovering right. Way too much frowning going on around here."

"Fine," I said, faux-whiny. I'd been hoping for something like this, but it wouldn't do to encourage him. "Where to?"

He started off down the street. "Wherever our darling feet take us, Hirako," he said over his shoulder. "Come. Or did you get that uppity between the last time we met and now that my teacherly authority means nothing?"

I trotted after him, making noises about how 'teacherly' wasn't even a word. Typical Himura, he brushed me off. Fair enough. Even I had to admit I was blathering.

"I saw your match against Shouron Asahiya and Kosen Ki, if that's what you're wondering," he said when I ran out of breath and he ran out of patience, which took about a block. I hadn't been wondering, but I couldn't help my blush. Himura'd watched my match? He hadn't forgotten me with the end of the year? He knew what fun was? "Frankly, it was annoying."

Okay, I'd had about two seconds to get my hopes up. Having them dashed in one wasn't fair. "Sorry?" I said, bewildered.

He snorted. "Well, at least you apologized. Don't worry," he said to my deflating frame, "the audience doesn't need one. Just me. Why the hell'd I work your grappling if you weren't going to use it?"

I threw up my hands, starting to see where this was going. "What did you want me to do, sensei? Lock a wrist that was on fire? Twist fingers armored in molten gold? Shoulder lock her so she could grab my pretty little face?"

He made a noise like a horse whinnying. "I'm not saying grappling was the right way to go. It just pisses me off. The lock and throw in your first match was fine, but who really gets invested in those?"

Yakuza, I almost said, except Himura didn't care about the opinions of yakuza, even if that didn't raise a shitload of questions. I sighed. "I'll try to do better, sensei. Any other feedback?"

"Fishing for compliments, are we?" He caught me out with a smirk. He stretched, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles with a series of firecracker pops. "That could be arranged, I suppose. You've got the not attack-attack-attack-ing thing down, for sure. That's progress. The aerials though"-he had to stop, laughing so hard he wiped tears away-"where in the fuck did those come from? If I'd known you could make that work, I would've spent time training that."

I lifted a shoulder. "They just kinda felt right, I guess." I could do better than that. I had an explanation, if a mushy one. I continued, "It was after Kinsawa. We fought Quincy, Shinigami—that monster Kurotsuchi—and souls hopped up on what I think must've been Quincy blood. What struck me was the regular souls, though. I realized there's no point to having powers if you don't use them. So I experimented a little bit, seeing what felt natural, then what I knew I could make feel natural with some practice. A little bit of stuff that just looked cool, for the tournament," I confessed, giving him a sheepish smile.

Himura looked thoughtful. As he organized those thoughts, I realized with a start that I was taller than my teacher. Himura was pretty short, but even so, I'd grown considerably since New Year's. More than an inch, to look slightly down on him now.

"There's a quote," he said after a moment. "Maybe you've heard it: 'Tell me how you fight and I'll tell you who you are.' Who is Hirako Nariko, and how does she fight?"

Something shoved against the lid of my mental box. I swallowed hard. "Hey, I'm right here. You mean how do I fight?"

"I meant what I said," he retorted, coming to a halt by a street vendor. He pulled out some kan. "Uhmook?"

"No thanks," I declined. I couldn't take advantage of him like that. And to be frank, I hadn't had Korean food in a literal lifetime. I wasn't about to discover I hated it with someone else paying.

"Suit yourself. Ate these all the time as a kid." He paid and took his order. "I meant what I said," he repeated as we went on. "All that fancy clothing you've been wearing—don't think I didn't notice that—builds a persona. What you do in that clothing does the same. How does the person you show to the world fight? Who is she?"

I rubbed the nape of my neck. The uhmook smelled delicious. "It gets a bit confusing, you know, when there's only one name to go around. Fine," I relented at his look. "She's a martial artist who makes the artist part mean something. She's not your common fighter—both in terms of being able to use techniques that would be impractical for someone lesser and bearing. A magnificent death-dealing princess." I laughed. Only a persona could be described like that. Never me. "Deadly in war and beautiful in peace, because neither can last forever."

"And you will?" It had the ring of a challenge, typically Himura contrariness, but a contemplative light glinted in his eye.

I paused, testing the feel of my zouri against the ground, so here even as what rattled around up top belonged to Before. "Long enough," I answered. But I wasn't done. "Someone who's learned from her favorite Hakuda teacher"-he snorted-"and knows the value of balance. When she sees the chance for victory, courage enough to strike with full strength. When she sees the battle won't be hers, wisdom enough to counter and dodge until she can flee. Strike like lightning, flow like water." As that train of thought concluded, another steamed in. I shot a look at him, eyes wide and pleading. "Wait, you're not going to make me fight you and demonstrate, are you? It's a work in progress!"

He let out a bark of laughter. "I was thinking about it, but Shin'ou's the only place for it, and that's too much of a pain in the ass to get into at the moment."

"Spoken like an amateur." I grinned, fox-like.

"Don't tell me," he groaned. "No really, don't," he said as I opened my mouth to do just that. "I'm obligated to report it. Penalty's execution, for a student."

Ice water chased the blood from my veins. Every muscle in my body clenched. "You're joking."

He shook his head. "It's in the handbook and everything. Which you'd know if you read it." He smirked, almost fondly.

I stared at him. "But that's an absurd penalty!"

"It's trespassing," he reminded me, "on a property operated by Seireitei. They don't have to educate you, you know."

I flung my arms out. "Hello! Expulsion!"

He folded his arms. "You're smarter than that, or so they say. Take a second to think that through." At my continued dumbfounded look after a few minutes of beating on the wall of Before morality, he sighed. "Fine, I'll throw you a bone. What'd you learn your first year?"

I frowned. Soon enough my schedule came to mind. "Hakuda, Zanjutsu, Rukongai Studies, Reiryoku Manipulation, Soul Government, Introduction to Zanpakutou, er- Hohou, that was second term along with Kidou. Organized Crime. Rukongai Geography, but I never got why they didn't just make that a continuation of Rukongai Studies."

He smirked, stopping to lean against a wall. Despite his comparatively shorter legs, he set a brisk pace, so I didn't complain about the transparent attempt to look cool. "Stop and think about the repeating ones. How to use a sword, how to move at high speeds, how to fight unarmed, how to make yourself stronger and fling fire and tie your enemies up and shit. I'm not an expert on the other tracks, 'cept for Hakuda, but I'd imagine they have foundations too."

It was my turn to fold my arms. "Two terms of combat training and these imaginary expelled students are dangerous?"

He devoured the remains of his uhmook. "I'm not gonna hold you up- actually, yeah, I am. Say someone's on your level, or better. Like that's a high bar to set." I stuck my tongue out at him and he returned the favor. "Now look at what you've managed in this tournament. Tell me that person's not dangerous."

I rolled my eyes. "Even if it weren't a relatively controlled environment, most of those guys are pathetic. Predictable."

"If that's true, that's the average Shinigami. Personally, I think that's bullshit. The tournament has standards, no matter how much some might tweak them with kan or connections. The point remains that to non-stupid people, you're competent enough on a battlefield to be a champion. And you can't wiggle away from the facts—you're good enough to put down a rebellion." He pretended to examine his nails, which were short and blunt and plain. His smug ass drove me crazy. "Good enough to start one, if you got out into the Rukongai. Ever wonder why kids like Kosen stay, when they couldn't fit the shihakushou less? There's no exit."

"Senka," I retorted, naming a Hohou technique. "Remove their soul-sleep."

Now he was looking at me like I had two heads. "We aren't that cruel! It's kinder to pass them to the next world for another try later than to kill- to kill-" He grappled for words, twisting the air as though it'd open and the answer would fall out. "To kill who they are," he said at last. "It's a living death, and I'll spare you the tough love bullshit and say outright I hope you never see its victims."

My thoughts were mired in confusion. Hadn't Ichigo survived it mostly intact? But broken up, I thought. My notes didn't cover that. And couldn't it be different for truly dead souls? Or was this yet another story Seireitei spun so you genuinely preferred it this way? "But they don't deserve death," I said, like a dumb child.

"It's better than an unlife," Himura shot back. "Besides, sparing the handful of Shinigami who can actually do that? They've got better things to be doing at that level." His eyes lit up, like he'd rediscovered something lost. "And the other thing, about your peacetime classes—knowledge of the layout of the Rukongai, government, the seedy underbelly, and the chief weapons of the Gotei. Shit, can you imagine what would happen if someone fled with Shikai?" He shuddered. "Anyway, all that's knowledge someone could use to solidify their grip on the districts."

I wanted to fight it, but what evidence did I have to refute it but half-understood morality hopelessly out of its depth? Himura wouldn't lie to me, not because he was a teacher, but because he had no angle. "So it's death, for anyone who gets cold feet."

"Pretty much," he said with a yawn that took my doubts just a bit further away. "Civilians get it better for this one, actually. Just a little nick." He made a slash just above the knee. "Hard to break in when you're on crutches."

"Yeah, that's true," I agreed, unsure what else to do. The horror was already fading, though. There was no way they actually enacted that penalty, not with people like 'Don't Tell Me' Himura running around, and who tried to get into Shin'ou? The number had to be impossibly low, and the sort of people who'd try really weren't the sort you wanted creeping around a school for Seireitei's future protectors. And speaking of those, there couldn't be that many people as dumb as me. And if there were, it was a crime, however small. But unease fluttered like a bird in my chest, feathers beating an insistent tattoo.

Our sandals scratched the stone, a rhythmic rustle like wild grass. A pair went by, then another pair.

"Please don't blame me, kid," Himura said, low and unarmored. "This isn't something I like doing to you."

"It's okay," I murmured. "You're my teacher and a Shinigami. You have to tell me-"

"I don't," he snapped. A dark flame lit in pale eyes. "I don't have to tell you any of this. I could've let you learn these things all by yourself." He pinched the bridge of his noise, tipping his head back and inhaling like a man coming up for air. "It might've worked. You'd keep your head down and let the blood and ink soak in until you could send men to their death and write their kin and sleep soundly that same night. Or it wouldn't. Your family'd negotiate for you to get sent home, where you'd either bite it with more dignity than a street rat or scream inside your head until they gave mercy. But I'd put money on your shattering fresh out of Academy. Early retirement, then. The worst." He laughed bitterly. "The one extreme you'll ever reach."

"It's retirement," I said. Amidst the murky shadows he'd filled my head with, a spot of light was trying to force free. "I'd take that over elimination." Removal from the Gotei would wreck my plans, but my bones rang with Arashi's storms. They couldn't take her, nor my convictions. "Half my clan's retired onmitsu."

He grabbed my shoulders, jerking me to a stop. Before I could yelp he wrapped me in a hug. We were to all appearances a teacher and student caught up in a moment of affection, but his grip was iron and his breathing drowned out the wind. "I don't have to tell you this," he repeated. "I shouldn't. It's hearsay, but your lot deals in hearsay."

"What?" I said.

"Don't mention retirement ever again," he warned. "Your relatives took leave. Do what the handful of people who don't read the characters the same do, and keep your eyes and mouth shut. If you listen to one thing I say, make it that. Because the Shinigami are death, and we walk in the land of the dead. They never let go, especially not the Onmitsukidou."

I couldn't help myself. Fear and affection choked his voice. Both were for me. I squeezed back. "Sensei, I thought you thought we were necessary," I whispered. "That we did what had to be done, keeping strict laws that were the only thing standing between us and chaos and oblivion for all the realms. That we're good."

"I do," he insisted, for him, for myself, for both and neither and all. "But I could watch you fight forever and never know what you're really thinking. I'll give you this one chance to call me soft-hearted, because I can't let my student die."

"I promise you, sensei, I won't die," I swore softly. "Not because I'm stupid." Not ever. Not ever again. I will move heaven to make it so.

"Good," he said, grip softening into a genuine embrace. He squeezed once, then released me. Two steps later and he was upbraiding me for the crime of having sneezed once during a lecture. I didn't try to force the other man he'd been to show his face again. Himura, I sensed, had few masks, but they were close enough to his real face that tearing them away took skin with them. He needed to heal. I needed to take his words and paper over my masks with them, so I could make it these coming many years in the system whose rules were so clear and so cruel and at once neither, so no one saw inauthenticity and grew suspicious of what lay beneath.

"-that upset with the princeling," he was saying as I tuned back in. "Glad I didn't go down and put money on his opponents. My buddy Iemura made that mistake the first round, thinking it'd be easy money. Kissed it goodbye."

"I heard the people who handle that sort of thing cleared out," I said, swapping my upbeat mask for one more sly, more Hirako. "Weren't getting much luck, so they called it quits." I made a shooing gesture. "Good riddance. You know what sort they were."

"What, the yakuza?" Himura yawned. He chuckled at my vaguely squeamish face. "What're they gonna do, come after me in the middle of class? I'm not afraid to call them what they are."

I made a noise at that. "Names matter, sensei."

He waved me off. "Only as much as you let them matter. Hell, my family name's gotten so diluted no one remembers what we're supposed to be known for. Some clans, they work hard reminding everyone what they are, but not us."

I tried to think of what 'red village' could possibly stand for and came up with nothing. Nothing nice, at any rate. "Does that explain why I've never noticed a Himura theme, then?" I asked. Many, if not most clans had a theme to the names they gave their children.

"Pisses me off, Hirako, you expecting me to remember my lineage that far back." He tipped his head back to think anyway, sun throwing his tattoos into stark relief. "Eh, if you go far back enough there was a flower theme, but that's real far," he answered the question I hadn't asked. "By now, there's too many of us and not enough flowers, so everybody but main family said fuck that shit. You ask me, that's for the best."

I nodded. "True. I can't quite see you as a Kaede."

He snorted, shoving me into a bush. I broke out and trotted after him, sticking out my tongue. "Yeah, well, I can't see you as anything but Hirako. Some blood runs thick."

"Bad blood will out," I murmured, mischief forgotten in the mist of memory.

"Where'd you hear that?" Himura asked. He glanced down at me and I shivered at the paleness of his eyes, like Aizen's lenses beneath the moon.

"A friend of mine said it once," I said, staring past him, into the twist of streets and alleys. "I don't know if I believe it. That's the whole point of Shinigami black, isn't it? Too dark to show blood, yours or anyone else's. But if this tournament's taught me anything, it's that your past never stops trailing you. Some people don't deserve where that leaves them." The world swam briefly. Himura caught my elbow as I staggered, clutching my head.

"Hey, don't collapse now," he scolded. "They're expecting another good show tomorrow."

Although the momentary illness passed, my grip on him tightened. "Don't worry, sensei," I vowed. "I won't fail them."

"Good afternoon, partner in not-crime," I called as I swanned into our room. Himura had kindly escorted me back to the ryokan, giving me tips like I was some kind of rookie the whole way. "Or is it good morning still?" It was harder to tell without a clock. Time had to be gauged by the position of the-

"Yo, Nariko," Shinji said around a massive yawn.

-sun. I rolled my eyes at him. "Decided to try out your napping skills on other futons? Good to see you're working on something. Where's Fujikage-chan?"

"Here," said Shinju, poking her head around a screen from the other room. She carried a tray of tea fixings. "How are you doing, Hirako-chan? I feel like I haven't seen you all day, you know?"

"Busy," I said, forcing myself to sit across from Shinji. The proximity wasn't a problem; the table provided sufficient barrier. It was the stillness that bothered me. My muscles quivered against it, in excitement or anxiety. "I caught up with Himura-sensei. Something he said got me thinking. Can we discuss it?"

Shinji flopped back, propping himself up with his elbows. "Why ya gotta be doin' somethin' all the time? Chill, Nariko. They ain't gonna be givin' us rest days forever."

I glowered at him. "Sure, the authorities aren't. One scratch from Wakahisa-sama and we'll see about that. Scram or shut up."

He huffed, wide mouth turning down. But it was a closed mouth, so I let him be.

"What was it, then?" Shinju prompted, setting her tray down on the table and beginning to prepare tea. She'd ducked back into her room to get another cup. "And how is Himura-sensei doing? Himura Kyou-san, right? There are a few Himura in the faculty, you know. He's the half-Korean one?"

The current in my muscles demanded release. I jogged my leg, nodding. "That's the one. He was my Hakuda teacher. He made a comment about how some clans keep their namesakes alive more than others. How they remind everyone about the meaning. I was thinking—those clans, they do it for themselves too, so they don't forget, and so no one gets the wrong idea. Who does that the most?"

"The Great Noble Houses," Shinju said, rolling her eyes. I didn't blame her—it was the most 'duh' question possible. "Of those, the Wakahisa the most, I suppose. The Kuchiki are too modest to show off so."

"And the Shihouin publicize their wealth more than their business," I added. "But yeah, the Wakahisa. And as the heir, who polices and gets policed the most?"

"I resent an' resemble that remark," Shinji commented, hair a golden halo on the futon. I bit back annoyance. The strictures on him had nothing on mine.

Shinju's brow creased as she whisked the tea. "That doesn't make sense. Wakahisa-sama hasn't been targeting anyone who's even remotely affiliated with his clan, you know?"

"Doesn't mean he's not acting on behalf of his clan's image," I contended, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Maybe another Wakahisa messed up and this is his way of compensating. Like when you're at the Kidou range and your classmate botches the chant and so you enunciate yours extra hard, so the teacher doesn't yell at the entire class."

"Hmm." She handed out the little cups, forcing Shinji to sit up. "I can't say I'm an expert on what's going on with the Wakahisa. The gossip doesn't filter down as much as leak out, you know, and what the Wakahisa don't catch their subordinate clans will. I could ask my other friends. A couple under the Wakahisa might let something slip if I cash in a favor."

I growled, face a thundercloud. "That's too slow. We don't have that much time to stop the bastard."

She bit her lip. "I know. But unless you have a better option-"

"Good thing that ain't yer problem," Shinji said. He set his cup to the side with a smirk that said he'd had this ready a while and only waited til now for kicks. "Wakahisa ain't clan head yet, yeah? No one's getting dragged in front of him for a scolding. He's doin' this fer himself, not the clan. Maybe the clan as a side deal," he amended, waving a hand at us. "But there it's still all about him an' how he fits in as heir."

"What makes you think so?" Shinju said. She shot a silencing look at me, at odds with her polite words. It wasn't a politeness of obligation. She really wanted Shinji involved, for some reason. I wondered where they were at now, and how much it would mess my plans up.

He rolled his eyes. "Have ya met the guy? He wouldn't know humility if it bit him in the ass. Plus, we're in a tournament. The whole point is to gain recognition as fighters."

I leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't see Fujikage-chan and me scratching up Shouron-senpai and Kosen-senpai." Which reminded me that I had to track Shouron down and get the True Hearts haori. I'd completely forgotten to tell her where I was staying.

"Yeah, 'cause ya got these silly things called consciences," Shinji scoffed. He blew up his bangs in thought anyway. After a second's consideration, he defended his statement, "He's a Great Noble heir. Everybody's got their eyes on 'im whatever he does. He shouldn't be here fer recognition."

"Kuchiki Soujun-sama is fighting as well," Shinju objected, spark entering her eye. Despite my annoyance at her continued interest in Shinji, I dearly hoped that whatever he said next didn't offend her.

"I don't know the Kuchiki clan as well as ya do," Shinji said. Despite myself I was impressed. "I'll trust ya on yer read of him. But Nariko an' I've both been in classes with Wakahisa plenty. The way he talks, he knows how important he is. So we're back ta what I said: he shouldn't be here fer recognition. That he is gives me a headache." He pulled a truly grotesque face.

He was old enough to not make as many faces as he did as often as he did, even if I knew that wasn't going to change. But the train of thought he'd set in motion was swift enough to ignore my irritation. "He doesn't need to earn recognition here," I said, running with it. "But just because that's true doesn't mean Wakahisa-sama doesn't want it. Or maybe he doesn't know it. Maybe he thinks he has something to prove. That'd explain why he's willing to commit a crime—in a public venue, anyway—to ensure he wins. Begging the question of who he thinks he has to prove it to."

Shinju set an emptied teacup on the table and pursed her lips. "My first thought is you, Hirako-chan. It could explain the intensity of his hostility towards you and Hirako-kun, you know? But is that motivation enough?"

I mirrored her expression, Aizen-like. "It's possible. But that would indicate that he joined a tournament that risks his looking bad in the eyes of a lot of people so he could prove himself to a classmate of little consequence. We had what, two classes together? He hated my guts in both of them, but he never hunted me down outside of those." That still didn't mean it wasn't about me—the heart was famously illogical, and who knew what went on in other people's less crowded heads. But if there were other, better-supported options, I'd take them.

Shinji snorted. "Don't buy it. Entitled little bastard expects ya ta roll over fer him. Ya ask me, only one person he'd be lookin' ta please: his daddy. Ain't nobody who gets dictated ta worse 'n the heir, so there ain't nobody whose praise he craves more."

I couldn't contain myself any longer. I surged to my feet, spilling tea. I scowled at it, tossing the remaining liquid back. I nearly slammed the cup down, but thought better of it. Instead I set it down with the extreme care of someone with rage ready to boil over. "I don't buy that either," I snapped. The figurative language made it true. "Everyone knows the rest of the clan has to take the leader's orders and the heir's as well. They're not all bending over backwards to help the heir so his parents will be pleased with them."

"That's true-" Shinju edged before Shinji burst in over her.

"Back up, Nariko," he interrupted. "Ya think Wakahisa's mom's got a hand in this too?"

Of all the- "That's what you focus on?" I said. "Sure! Maybe Wakahisa-sama's mother has an influence on him! Not that I'd know, since the only stupid hierarchy I've ever dealt with is the Hirako! Maybe you're completely wrong because you don't know anything about clan life! All you've ever done is wait for a throne to be handed to you, you lazy brat!" 

Shinji stared, gears of his brain not halted so much as knocked loose. I glared back, a pillar of fire. I had never been content to sit meekly in his shadow—so why had I done it? Why had I always placed so much priority on helping him reach his potential when he'd never lifted a finger towards that goal? Why-

His lip quivered, and mine quivered, and I knew why. Shinji was my little brother. I loved him. In all his mistakes, in all his immaturity, I loved him.

I was halfway to the door when Shinju caught my shoulder.

"Don't leave it like this," she murmured. "If you ever stay instead of fleeing, let it be now. He loves you too."

She stepped across the threshold, leaving the scent of sandalwood. I didn't follow.

"I don't understand, Nari-nee- Nariko, I mean," he said. I hadn't realized I'd missed the nicknames. "What's goin' on with ya? What's goin' on with all this? This conflict with Wakahisa an' me—when'd it all get so fuckin' personal? When did my sister become this- this-" He slumped, elbows on his knees, face hidden. After a moment he muttered, "I didn't even know ya were anythin' like me 'til a few days ago."

I could've made a snippy reply. Something like 'it started personal—and you started oblivious.' With an act of will I reined my tongue in. When had it gotten so personal? When had I become the sort of person to take her frustration out on someone with just as little choice in the matter? I was starting to get the horrible feeling the answer was 'always.'

"It wasn't malicious, not telling you," I said, turning to face him fully. "I've never attached much thought to it, whether shame or pride. I guess I didn't think it was a conversation we needed to have."

He made an effort at an irreverent eye-roll. "I get that. Doesn't make it feel less like ya didn't trust me. Which apparently ya don't when it comes ta the clan."

I wanted to tell him that I'd spoken in anger, that I trusted him. But I didn't, and the blind support my parents wanted me to give to him would only hold him back. "No, I don't," I said without pretense. "I don't think you'll serve the clan well as the person you are."

"I'm only fourteen," he protested.

"Fifteen in a few days," I reminded him. "And I don't mean your age. You've got none of the character it requires to be clan leader, let alone captain."

He pouted, which made him look much younger than almost fifteen. "I got the grades an' I got the power! No character, my ass. None of our classmates are even close to me."

"Liar." I put on a stern but fair face to counter his expression. "I'm higher ranked than you academically, and I'm not top." Granted, I was damn close, and Shinji not far behind. But he wasn't right behind, and there was no good reason for that. "And I know you aren't unmatched in practicals, 'cause you come to study group complaining every time Ono-san or Kojima-san or someone else beats you in Zanjutsu or Ikeda-san or Kita-san nearly lays you out in Hakuda. I've seen the aftermath of your botched Kidou, too."

"Yeah, barely ever!" he objected. "I swear, ya expect-"

I cut him off with a slash of the hand. "I don't expect perfection. Stop trying to wiggle out of this. You can't sit for a test to become captain. It's Bankai or recommendation, and with yesterday's showing, you're not getting that last one. Put as much work into your Zanpakutou as you did then and you can kiss Bankai goodbye too." I folded my arms. "That's the real problem with you, Shin. You don't try. You don't. Works out real nice when you can throw around as much power as you do. Enough to kill a Quincy. How many others died before you did? Because captains don't just fight. Captains command. And good luck doing that when your division's dead around you. Good luck even getting there. Our training isn't to prove we know our stuff. It's to teach us."

Brown eyes sparked. He rose like fire, scowling. "Sounds like yer jealous, Nari-nee, because ya have ta work so hard an' never get where I'll be."

"You're right," I said, throwing him off-balance. "I'll be alive. You'll be dead. Because every little mistake you write off because you earned that mark or won that match will be another wound in your corpse."

He scoffed. "Why'd I think ya were gonna see reason? Yer just here ta tear me down." He moved to shove past me and I lowered my shoulder. With a scowl I shoved back, knocking him onto the couch.

"I'm here to help you, little brother," I snarled. "You know I have to work my ass off for both of us? No, you don't, because you've wasted all of it. All the extra tutoring, me and our friends, this education. Why on earth do you think you deserve it, except for happening to get born with a dick?" The anger of eighteen years spilled out of me, leaving grey fatigue in its wake. I collapsed across from him. "I'm not telling you this to tear you down, Shin. Please don't think that. I love you. That's why I can't let you squander your gifts."

Visions flashed through my mind. White capes and black kosode, equally blood-soaked, flashing bows and swords, landscapes scarred by flame. I saw a golden head, caved in. "I talked to Aikawa-sensei the other day. He's captain-class, easy, and he's stuck unseated because the ranks have fossilized. You know how those clear up?" He shook his head, mute. "War, Shin. Nothing short of war." I nearly burst into tears then. It was a minute before I could speak. "Becoming captain is your destiny. I am nothing short of terrified that you'll die along the path to that destiny. You don't need to be good enough; you need to be better. Better than the captains of today, because the force that can down them will do the same to you and not even blink. Unless you take your journey into your own hands."

"That's the real problem with you, Shin," I repeated. "You don't try. You expect. Expect that by living your life, all that potential will unlock for you. And it's not all your fault. Our parents have pushed that our entire lives. You just have to realize they're not pushing you here. No one's going to make you become who they want you to be." My mouth settled into a hard line. "I know you want to be who they want you to be. You need to want to be a captain of your own accord. Some things the clan can't help you with."

"My big sister can," he said, with the faith of someone declaring the sun would rise tomorrow.

"No," I said, every muscle faltering, slumping me deeper into exhaustion, "I can't."

"But it's yer job," he insisted, evidently hung up on our clan roles. "Ya'd do anythin' fer me, an' me fer ya. Even if we weren't main family, ya would, right?"

I picked up my empty teacup again, staring into its dregs. I thought for a long string of seconds about my answer. "I can't save you from everything I want to, Shin. And I won't save you from everything I can." There's so much depending on my not saving you. Besides, even if that weren't true, it's not healthy. I'm not a monster.

"D'ya really hate me that much?" he asked. He deliberately shook off the lingering bitterness and pressed on, "Bein' my right hand? We can work it out, Nari-nee. I can't do it without ya." He tried again. "Kids at Shin'ou give ya crap 'bout not needin' ta be there? If I can be clan head an' captain, ain't no way someone like ya can't manage bein' steward an' anythin' else ya want. Ya ain't gonna have ta quit one fer the other."

I looked at him sidelong. He had to have noticed. Hadn't he? My whole life here, his whole life anywhere... better to err on the side of caution. "It's not important. They're not that bad."

Quicksilver recognition flashed in his eyes. When it faded, an inferno remained. "No, it is. It's our parents, ain't it?" Shinji rose again, gold flaring. I inhaled and almost choked on the searing air. It took an act of will to not fall in line, to pitch my soul's song against his cacophony. "Ain't it?!" He hauled me to my feet, skewering me with a glare. "That why yer so set on crushin' this tournament? Why yer were so inta talkin' 'bout how messed up everythin' is with Fugai and Aizen way back when? Why ya got so upset when I beat Nanase's ass? Fuck, I don't even need answers." He spat on the ground. He glared at the wet spot for a second before his head came snapping back up. "Ya better answer this one, Nari-nee: why'd ya never say nothin'?"

"I didn't want to ruin your relationship with them," I admitted. "You can't distance yourself from them the same way I hoped I could. If that soured, a whole bunch of people would be ruined. I didn't want to be the person behind the weakening of the clan." Not with so much responsibility heaped on my shoulders, not with the destiny on his. A lump grew in my throat thinking of lectures behind a screen. "And I-I didn't want you to see me like this," I said, voice breaking. "Weak, human. I'm supposed to be your role model. Isn't that pathetic? Constantly being split between fearing our own parents and craving approval. I've always been that weak. They weren't going to change, and neither was I," I mumbled. Intellectually, I knew Shinji wasn't our parents, that they wouldn't rule the clan forever. Emotionally, I felt like I'd never grow beyond the child earning a scolding whatever I did, like our parents would always hold power. And here, with clan the basic unit of society, they probably would. "If you never noticed until I told you, how could I expect you to realize anything was wrong when you had the power to change it?

"I know now," he growled. Suddenly he whirled, backhanding the tea ceremony from the table. Nothing broke, but it came damn close. "Shit! Motherfucker! Damn it all ta hell! The one fuckin' person I shoulda been takin' care of!. Tryin' ta control ya, doubt ya, when that was the- Agh!" His knuckles popped like a string of fireworks. "It changes now, Narin," he swore. "We're gonna be equal partners, no matter what that takes from me." He seized my hands, gripping them like a drowning man holds a rope. No, like someone pulling a drowning man onto a lifeboat. "I ain't gonna ask what they've done ta ya," he said, soft and controlled. "What they've said. What they haven't done or said. I'm just gonna tell ya this: say the word an' we're out. I don't give a damn if that makes us rounin. I give even less of one if the Hirako lose their 'savior.' They don't deserve ta be strengthened if they're too weak-hearted ta take care of their own."

I could barely force the words through a tight throat. "I- no. No."

He sat us down on the couch, still clutching my hands. "Ya ain't sayin' that ta not cause trouble?"

"I'm not," I said softly, extricating myself to wipe my palms on my hakama. His sweat and mine had mingled, so that I couldn't tell which if us was more nervous. "I just- as long as I know someone's on my side, I can handle it."

"Okay." He released a breath like an evening wind, hot but cooling. "Fuck. I- fuck. I can't believe this."

"Then don't," I said. "You've only got one family." I can stand to lose them again. Again. Againagainagainagain- I cut the nonsense spiral off there, internal gravity tilting the further it went. I was fine. "Shin, I owe you an apology too." I wrenched myself back under control. It'd been a stupid thing to say, one he was already scowling at me for. "I still don't agree with what you did to Nanase-kun. You know why-"

"Not really," he interrupted.

I ran a hand through my hair. "It's unequal. And don't give me the 'nothing's equal' crap. I-"

"But it's true," he broke in again. "What we're born's just the start. I can't help havin' more reiryoku than ya, like Fujikage-chan can't help bein' taller."

"You can choose not to attack someone who'd risk expulsion to punch you back," I countered, gearing up for a battle of ideals. With an act of will I shook myself. This was supposed to be an apology, not a fight. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Anyway. The point is- I don't regret not telling you about what happened. I need you to trust me to handle myself. But I need to trust you enough to ask for help when I need it. I shouldn't have frayed our relationship even further by taking out my frustrations out on you. That I do regret." I hung my head. "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better in the future, as a sister and as your second."

He tilted his head. After a moment he grinned. "I'll take it. Can't make yer stubborn ass regret nothin', so I'll have ta settle fer doin' better in the future."

Well, that was up to him. I wouldn't have settled like that, but that was people here. Legalism resulted in a society where action mattered more than intent, where stealing a loaf of bread earned you prison. Something about that jarred, sending back discordant notes of Before, but I mustered up a watery smile anyway. "Friends again, then?"

"Friends again," he agreed, relaxing for the first time since tackling Nanase. "An' one thing I won't be again's a bully. One step towards bein' a captain, yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, thinking of glorified butchers and condemned heroes and everyone in between. "One step."

Time was running out to stop Momohiko, and we had no solutions. The good part was that by we, I meant my core crew. The bad part was that I really didn't want to be asking what I wanted to ask for from who I wanted to ask. The worse part was that I didn't have a choice.

Kenji would've drawn on his philosophy books and told me we always had a choice. I supposed technically I did. But with innocent lives at stake, with the precarious justice of Soul Society hanging in the balance, it wasn't a choice at all. I didn't feel dramatic to say that, either. If Shin'ou was a formative period for Shinji, it was for Momohiko too, and the way he was going, he'd end up a tyrant. Not acceptable.

So I had to ask. The only issue was getting into contact with them. I would've hired a courier or found them myself normally, but since 'them' was Urahara and Yoruichi, that wasn't so easy.

I would've killed for access to Hell butterflies. They were the weirdest little creatures, the only natural animals to make use of ambient reiryoku. Shinigami had taken interest in them first for the chiming sound of their wings, then for the almost flash-step-like way they fled from predators their musical wings attracted. From there, it'd been a logical step to domesticate them, making use of their ability to transmit sound and move quickly as messengers. It seemed incongruous at first, given the duties of a Shinigami, to use such fragile creatures for the job, but pigeons roasted just as easily as butterflies and were easier to hit. More mundane was avoidance of the poop and feathers birds produced. Seireitei was proud of its white walls, thanks very much. They were beautiful, symbolic...

...and totally illegal to climb. I'd probably get double-whammied with charges for climbing the walls and not having a collar on, I reflected glumly. I was good at holding my reiatsu in—enough to slip under the radar in an estate crawling with onmitsu. That didn't mean anything to the five other senses, though, and onmitsu here didn't have an incentive to ignore me. Breaking in was out of the question.

My feet beat a grim rhythm on the mats. After we'd wrapped up our heart-to-heart, Shinji'd left me sitting and thinking. But at the risk of insulting myself, I was a shark today. To stop moving was to die.

Arashi pulsed at me from her mountings, offering me the chance to rest, but I couldn't afford it. I'll be plenty still if Momohiko gets his claws on me, I echoed to her. Grudging agreement crackled back, so I kept pacing.

"Ugh!" I exclaimed, flinging out my arms. "What good was that dinner for if I don't get anything out of it?" The ring I'd gotten from that same dinner winked in the light. I frowned, letting my arms fall to take a closer look.

The snake's body was simple silver, not yet tarnished. Rather than mere indents, it bore eyes of peridot and amethyst. I tilted my hand back and forth, making the cold stones glitter. Semiprecious, nothing too expensive. Yet it was strangely more valuable to me for that. Shizuya hadn't dismissed me with some hunk of gold and diamond, hush money if I'd ever seen it. Forget what you heard, it would've said, and that you ever mattered to me. That she'd given me something minor, not a gaudy trinket, said she'd thought about the gift. It wasn't a token, like that given to any old dignitary, but a reward. I'd earned it. But how? What was her goal in giving it?

I knew the ring was more than it looked. Bringing my hand up to eye level, I noticed the slimmest of gaps between the top of its mouth and the tail filling its throat. I turned to the window and saw it confirmed by the light filtering in.

"What could you be for?" I murmured, letting my fingertip brush the top of its head. It moved at the pressure, just a hair. Funny, since despite all the abuse my hands had taken yesterday the ring hadn't twisted at all. It almost felt pinned in place. A theory began to form in my head, remembering the prick I'd felt slipping the ring on.

I reached within myself, teasing out a drop of reiryoku. I split that further, until what wove down my arm was mist. It came to my hands and I hesitated. This was either a terrific or terrible idea. The only way to find out was to try. My jaw tightened. In one motion I channeled the energy through my finger and pressed down hard on the snake's head.

In the second that followed, not one but two things happened. The first, the one I'd expected, was that the ring fell off, clattering to the ground. The second I hadn't. The snake's eyes turned a distinctive blue-green.

When that was all they did, I set myself to other tasks. I ate a meal over the secondhand Seireitei Bulletin, as I'd planned, though by now it was too late for lunch. Too early for dinner, though. When that was done, I did a little writing of my own. My dear cousin deserved some choice words. Shinju deserved one, too, I decided when I'd finished the letter. I wrote 'beautiful victory' and hung it on her side of the room. Etsuko's hadn't been quite so nice.

I then set to thinking. I'd forgotten in the heat of the moment, but Yanmei's motivations deserved a look too. The daughter of a clan of clerks was a poison-slinging onmitsu, hmm? I had the most to go on there. If her family was in such dire straits—my cynical side said Taoka'd exaggerated their poverty, my optimistic side thought it an underestimation—she was likely an onmitsu out of desperation. Had Momohiko's father played on that desperation to assign her to his son's side? Or was there something real in the way she fawned over him? No, that couldn't be correct. Yanmei had all but told me she was a lesbian. Feigned, then, to gain Momohiko's favor. But that brought me back to the beginning. If Yanmei's place by Momohiko's side was of her own free will, what was her motivation in being there? The only answer I could think was that she hoped to endear herself to him. But even then there was something missing. He wouldn't uplift a bodyguard's clan for loyalty alone. That was expected. Romance was the only possibility. But marriage without romance? I knew it existed, but to be so calculating... was I too Western-

My stomach roiled violently. I gasped, doubling over. My fingers dug into the edge of the table. For a moment, reality fuzzed out. Was it me who was less real, or the world?

Then the door slid open. I straightened in an instant, smile appearing without summons. The two figures who entered were real.

"Feeling well?" Yoruichi asked mildly. Her realness was certain. The emotion she displayed, less so. I couldn't read the truth, though.

"As well as can be expected," I answered. "The healers did a marvelous job on my hands."

"I can see that," she said dryly, and I believed the lack of irritation a little more. "Kisuke wouldn't shut up about it the whole way here."

Grey eyes gleamed. "I was slightly concerned that the burns you suffered yesterday would impair your ability to activate the beacon. But here you are. An hour before I'd predicted you'd figure it out! Well done, Hirako-san."

"A beacon?" I parroted. "You'll have to forgive me for doubting that. Why would the Onmitsukidou have an artifact to make someone more noticeable?"

Yoruichi shook her head. Watching her lean on the doorframe, I remembered my manners. Immediately I set about making tea, a tacit invitation inside. They took it, shutting the door behind them. I thought I saw Urahara's hands shape a seal as he followed Yoruichi, touching her on the shoulder when he released it. I bent to select my favorite jasmine tea and felt him ghost past on his way to the futon. I frowned while he couldn't see it. The scent wafting up from it seemed less fragrant, the teapot's paint job a hair duller. Whatever he'd done had muted the room, only adding to my dissociation. I pushed past it, presenting my visitors with cups of tea. If they noticed the effect, they didn't comment.

"Sometimes it seems like you were wasted in the Gotei," Yoruichi commented. "Sometimes... it really doesn't." She let the sting sink in before continuing, "Well, whatever. Not like your family handles this type of mission anyway."

"What type?" I asked.

She smiled, tigerlike. "You'll find out. For now, I'll just tell you only certain people can see that beacon, and if there's a next time"-she plucked it from the table and slid it back on my finger-"you should make sure it's when you don't think you'll be around to meet the responders." She pressed on the snake's head and I felt the familiar prick as it locked up.

We sat there for a few seconds, sipping our tea. Finally I broke the silence.

"Correct me again if I'm wrong," I said, "but I suspect you didn't leave paradise just to put a ring back on my finger. Why are you really here?"

"Well now, I was hoping you could tell us that," Urahara said cheerfully, swirling his tea. "I was, at least. I couldn't hope to speak for the exalted Yoru-"

"Knock it off, Kisuke," Yoruichi groaned. "She's right. We didn't abandon an afternoon of napping for nothing."

"That is to say," he said as though she'd never interrupted, "only you have the answer to that. Why were you playing with the ring? You're no giddy little monkey, to get your fingers into everything. No, you called us here. You're something more deliberate, aren't you, smiling lady?"

"A snake," I said flatly, without changing the invoked expression. "Don't dance around it; I know what people call me. They get a bad rap, snakes." I drummed my fingers on the table. "Flexible, patient, concise... controlled." I brightened my tone. "So yes, I did call you here. I've venom to spend. The target sorely deserves it. I wouldn't waste your time, except that as you noted, I'm no onmitsu. Just a person who needs information that someone doesn't want to get out."

Yoruichi raised an eyebrow, to all appearances a touch annoyed. Likely more than a touch. Urahara's gaze was already drifting, lips mouthing the schema that filled his subconscious. I danced on the edge of their patience. Finally I let both feet touch the ground.

"I want you to help me break into Wakahisa Momohiko-sama's house," I said in a rush.

"Come again?" Sparks danced in Yoruichi's eyes. I was put starkly in mind of our shared ancestor. I'd always imagined Tsuku with those eyes, right before she made a decision that preserved the last power of a dying world. "You want me to commit a crime against another Great Noble heir, in this troubled time? To trespass in his territory? All on your say-so?"

"I want it," I said, chin high. How could I have been so stupid? "I don't expect that you'll agree. But for the tournament, for the justice to which-"

She raised a finger, not to her lips but mine. Only the fear of spitting on a Shihouin stopped me from spluttering. That was Yoruichi for you, never implying what she could outright do. "Hirako, shut up. Quit taking all this so seriously."

I stepped back. "A monster-"

"Ah, Hirako-san?" Urahara put in, still meek, still mild. Rage flashed within me. Why was I the only one who gave a damn?

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth.

"You don't need to keep trying to convince us," he said gently. "Notice how we're not saying no?"

My cheeks flushed as desperation converted to embarrassment. They'd been yanking my chain. "But- why are you saying yes? Yoruichi-sama, you just got done saying why it's a terrible idea. It's bordering on treason! On starting a clan war!"

"Remind me never to let you get your hands on a book of laws, if you're freaking over 'bordering,'" Yoruichi said dryly. "Forget about all that. Momohiko's a pissy little bastard, but I highly doubt there's anything we'd find that he'd start a clan war to cover up. Enough to blackmail his ass into knocking whatever it is off, sure."

"He's poisoning whoever faces off against him," I explained. "I was hoping to bring a case against him for it, actually." I folded my arms. "Pardon me, but you didn't answer the question."

She shook her head, scattering deep violet hair. Yoruichi was one of those rare women who was both beautiful enough to draw anyone's eye and striking enough to keep it there. Unlike Urahara, I didn't doubt that she would become a legend. "And we're back to what I said earlier. Sometimes you're so onmitsu, sometimes so not. And that's why. You're fractured when you need to be dual. Fully one, fully the other, and able to be either as needed." A broad smile crossed her face. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying to reconcile those two modes. Separate them, let them mature, and master them."

In spite of my brain grinding to a halt, my mouth moved. "Forgive me, but that's not a better answer."

"Sure it is." She yawned mightily. "You need to taste what it's like to be onmitsu to develop that side. Here's me helping you do that."

I bared my teeth. "I will never be an onmitsu." It wasn't even about my family anymore. Shinji's support had closed off that gap in my armor. This was an oath.

"No," Urahara said softly, "you won't. You won't take that oath, nor join that company. Your name will never be in the midnight books. But you will know the truth." Grey eyes glinted like flint. I shivered at the fires they promised to ignite. Like this, I couldn't doubt Urahara either. "Consider this a mercy, Hirako-san. We're allowing you to know what you want to know, before you can't forget what we need to know."

Was I imagining it, this layer of ice on my skin? Was it crushing me or armoring me? Either way, a bloody syrup seeped through the plates, metallic and cloying. Ashes stopped my tongue. I swayed.

"Plus, it puts you in our debt!" Urahara trilled. He beamed, clasping his hands. I gaped as he popped a foot off the ground, a schoolgirl receiving her first kiss centuries before the pose was invented. "We do you a favor, then you have a harder time saying no when we want you to! Isn't it devilishly brilliant?"

"Doesn't telling me about it defeat the point?" I said weakly.

"Moron! Of course it does!" Yoruichi slapped him across the back of the head, making Urahara break out into peals of whimpering. "Ugh!" She turned back to me. "Forget him. Actually, don't. But don't start puking up your guts at his foppish act."

"Act, Yoruichi-sama?" Urahara wheedled. "Your words, they're so cutting!"  All at once the dullness that had enveloped the room lifted, and with it an invisible weight from my shoulders. I breathed in and felt my lungs expand more than they had the entire conversation.

Onmitsu shit, I decided, was weird.

I heaved a sigh, pulling on a mask that felt like it weighed as much as Seireitei's gates, heavy enough to crush all confusion beneath it. "Urahara-san, I won't kill you if you keep it up, but I'll seriously think about hurting you. Please stop giving me headaches."

He pouted. "Well, I suppose. Only so you can get some rest for the tournament tomorrow, though." He winked.

I cleared my throat, disturbed to notice that it was dry, as if from disuse. "Thank you both for sitting with me," I supplied, sensing that it was time to give potential eavesdroppers a pretext. "It's nice to have company without chatter from time to time. I just haven't been able to get that from my friends."

"Sounds like you need better friends," Yoruichi retorted, grinning. She yawned so hard her jaw cracked. "Speaking of, I'm bored. Kisuke, let's go."

Urahara's lips twitched at her conversation switch. He stood, sketching a bow. "If you ask me, a moment of community and contemplation is quite welcome. I might need one myself, come to think of it. Could I trouble you sometime for the same?"

"You may," I said, inclining my head. "Perhaps in the evening, though? My schedule is rather busy during the day."

"Of course," he said, following Yoruichi in inching towards the door, the picture of a polite attempt to disengage. "That's exactly how I meant it."

"See ya, Nariko," Yoruichi said, ending the charade. With no further pleasantries, she dragged Urahara over the threshold and off to paradise. "Listen to Kisuke and get some rest."

I was left alone, increasingly little time and one question on my hands.

Who was 'we'?

Chapter Text

"You're not changed for dinner, you know," Shinju observed, demonstrating why I relied on her powers of perception to guide me in this cold war. Not.

"No," I said shortly, lying on the futon, staring at the ceiling. Okay, that was unfair. Shinju knew how to swim through courtly waters that would drown me. Hell, I barely knew what I was doing in this nightmarish blend of violence and intrigue. But that didn't quell the bees swarming my insides. They stung and stung until I was puffed up and sick and ready to knock teeth out. "I'm not hungry," I amended through gritted teeth.

She frowned. A spot of appreciation at the concern eroded my irritation. "Are you okay? I know all this has been stressful, particularly trying to unravel that person's manipulations. Not to mention those nasty burns you got."

I huffed, more disbelieving than irritated. "Says the girl who drained her flow of reiryoku. Are you sure you're okay to go out?" I sat up and held out my hands as proof, showing her the palms and backs. You could barely see the burns of Shouron's fingers.

Shinju smiled. "I'm very fortunate. The nature of my reiryoku is gentle enough that exhaustion and recovery aren't harsh. While I haven't got a Zanpakutou to intensify it, I'll enjoy that benefit."

Ordinarily that would've set my gears to spinning. What little tidbit had been left out of the scrolls? What did it mean for me, with my dual nature? Just thinking about the warring storm and sea inside sent faintness rolling over me, though. I flopped back onto the futon to cover it. "Go to dinner," I sighed. "Oh, and tell Minoru-kun something for me, will you?"

"What's that?" she asked, plucking at her hair, for all that it hung loose down her back.

"Thank you," I said. "I took yesterday's advice."

She recognized what I meant, and smiled softly. "Yes, I'll tell him. Rest up, Hirako-chan."

She left, smoke and sandalwood.

I heaved myself upright a few minutes later, casting volatile lightning against lethargic waves to make the effort. My fingers found indigo silk and a silver guard. Found home.

I didn't fold into jinzen in time.

Dark waters rushed up past the floor and caught me.

 I woke on the gravel of my inner world's Zen garden.

I've messed it up, I thought absurdly as I gathered sluggish limbs under myself, dragging them across the stones. Crashing into another world, throwing it all astray- The ground rolled beneath quivering legs and I cried out. A pair of thunderclaps sounded. One covered the sound. The other-

Arashi was there, talons wrapped around my bicep and in the back of my hakamashita. She waited a breath to be sure I was steady. Then she guided me across the courtyard, to the temple. Its doors were open for once. I couldn't imagine what that symbolized.

"Arashi, I'm sorry about messing up the gravel-" I said, or tried to say. It came out gibberish, a mishmash of Japanese and English that tore my throat like broken glass.

"Hush." She didn't look at me, but up at the sky. I followed and shuddered. Patches of iron clouds mottled it. It would've been a normal partly cloudy day if not for the color. As we passed into the temple a bolt flashed from clear sky to cloud.

"A bolt from the blue," I said, borrowing the phrase into Japanese. Arashi glared down, but I didn't care. It was only what I did every day, after all, pouring everything I was, everything I thought and knew and loved, into a language that could never contain it. The leftovers didn't even have the decency to spill over. No, they boiled into vapor and blew away and no one but me ever knew-

The temple groaned loudly. Arashi's grip tightened.

"What's going on?" I mumbled, forcing my tongue to thrash English syllables like a drowning man attacks the sea. "Why is everything coming apart?"

"Because you are," she replied, helping me through the temple rooms. We came to the inner sanctum. There she lay me down on cool, smooth stone.

"Why?" I asked.

"I'm your soul, not an oracle, daoshi," she said, removing her sakkat and setting it on the floor. Its straw surface gleamed in the twilight, hanging fabric pooling around it like moonlight swallowing a dying sun. "I only feel the shudders of your inner world. So the question is back to you: why?"

"I don't know," I whispered, "but I feel as though I have been from the very beginning."

The beginning. My birth, which I couldn't remember. I didn't even know whether I had remembered, once, and the passage of years had wiped those last fingerprints of Before away. Fingerprints. Those weren't truly unique, were they? I couldn't recall that either. The solid shore of that life had been worn away in so many ways by the tide of Lethe, both pebbles and cliffs. My favorite movie, how I'd died or if I'd died, they were sand beneath water as dark and heavy as granite. What remained was a boat, sailing blindly towards- what, exactly? What destination did the captain have in mind?

I should've known. I should've been the captain. I'd chosen all those months ago to wrench my life off the Hirako rails. I'd thought I was choosing freedom and justice, the grand mission of saving the world. Now I wondered if I'd been choosing at all. So much of what had made me me had been lost, slipping away over years or suppressed or simply forgotten. Or discarded. I'd charted the course of the future and left out the past. I hadn't even considered I might need to. I'd trod the path back to the start so many times it had become muscle memory. Now I found I couldn't give directions. Couldn't even tell you what landmarks lay off the road.

I wanted to scream at someone for stealing my life, but I had no one to blame. Pure, impersonal chance had treated me like every other reborn soul. That was the only explanation, if an unsatisfying one. The Soul King was a figurehead, a cosmic sieve for souls. I'd been smart enough to record that much. Too sane, as well, for my rebirth to be some obsession with the fiction I'd thought of it as. Too unsuperstitious for some occult ritual.

I'd had faith, once. I remembered that.

"Why am I here?" I moaned. This time it wasn't a question of method, of how I'd been placed here and by whose intent. It wasn't a question at all. "Why was I born here, where every time, every fucking time I do right, I'm wrong? Where no one will ever get it because our schools of thought are in entirely different buildings, with different pillars?" I let out a half-wild yelp. "Like those aren't crumbling! Here I am, bloody-handed and ready to break into someone's house because it's justice!"

"It is just," Arashi said, tart, antiseptic. "And it is necessary. We've talked about this and you said you accepted-"

"I know," I groaned, jerking myself to a sitting position, back against the wall. Thunder crashed outside our shelter. "And I do accept it. Oshiro and Kinsawa and Momohiko, they all deserve punishment. But what the hell kind of person am I, what the hell kind of world is this, where that's the right conclusion?"

"You're a good person, in a difficult world," Arashi said. It was the truth as she knew it. She was incapable of saying otherwise.

"No," I said bitterly, fisting my hands in hakama, "I'm a regular person reborn in someone else's world. No matter how much I accept my place here, no matter how close I am to the people, how well I learn to think like and talk like and dream like them, I'll never be completely one of them."

Nearly twenty years. People developed Stockholm Syndrome in less time. My adjustment hadn't been to somewhere so actively hostile. Benevolent, even. They'd scoured my tongue clean with lessons on how to read and stuffed my ears with history lectures. My eyes had been clouded by tears of laughter as much as sorrow, my skin taught to forget the feel of another world by soap and silk, by sweat and blood. Every damn thing this world's inhabitants had done had rubbed it in: I was real to them, and they to me. They'd rubbed it in, and rubbed me raw in the process.

Shelter in and from this alien world had cost me so much. And yet I paid more secrets every day. A small price for the pain of losing everyone I'd gained, if they knew what I was.

I'd condemned people I remembered, people I hadn't known but now did, people I would never meet. I'd known that for a long time, tucked it in the back of my mind like a reference point from Before. But only now did the realization hit. I had written off my little brother as acceptable to hurt. To butcher, to torture, to exile. My cousin had put herself between me and death, not knowing I'd placed her there, for all the same as my brother plus being chopped in half. And those were only my friends. I'd done it knowing that they were people, not characters, but blind to my own hypocrisy. The memory of sitting in that library, thinking I was so rational and far-sighted, made bile surge. I clapped a hand over my mouth as stone cracked and fell away outside.

"Daoshi?" Arashi placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I said faintly. My head swam. "I don't want to, Arashi."

"You have to," she chided as gently as she was able. Our moralities, intertwined as they were, were so very different. She had a design where I had a heart.

"I know what I have to do!" I said, voice leaping into shrillness. "I can see it all laid out! And it's nothing but a tunnel of death and pain with no light at the end! And I have to. I was born to." All at once the hysteria left. "I might as well kill them now. Except that's a heap of bullshit." I laughed. "The whole point is that I have to time it all right. Kill the people my plan decided were right, because it said so. Claw my way up a hierarchy that hands out death sentences like candy. I'm barely better than Aizen."

"I hate myself, Arashi," I whispered, chin on my knees, "and I don't even know who that is anymore."

The inner tension that had plagued me for days shuddered. In an instant I realized what it was: a dam. My dam, holding back-

A grinding sound yanked me from despair. I looked up bleakly. Was it my imagination that it came from above? I was still triangulating when the stone roared and plunged towards me. I let it, morbidly curious.

"Daoshi!" Silk and feathers swept around me and speed blurred the world. Me in her arms, Arashi bolted.

"I thought this was sanctuary!" I yelled over the rush of wind.

"It was!" she yelled back. "But your internal crisis is raging too strongly! Your center is coming undone!"

Rock crashed in front of us. She skidded to a stop just in time, though the suddenness pitched me to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, casting about for an opening. Finally I seized on a thin sliver of space, trembling as the temple groaned.

"There!" I said, running for it. If I sucked in, I could make it through.

"I can't!" Arashi said, though she followed. "I'm too tall."

"Sorry," I said with a startled laugh. Of all things that could be wrong with my soul, I hadn't thought one would be my Zanpakutou being too tall. "Become a blade! I'll carry you."

She stared at the gap, expression unreadable. After a torturous few seconds, she shook her graceful head. "No. Leave me behind. I've only muddied the waters."

"I can't!" I argued. "You're my soul!"

She gestured around us. "This is your soul, daoshi. I will emerge from it if you are victorious. If you do not-" Dust showered us as the roof shuddered. "Go!"

I'd trusted myself enough to doom everyone I loved. I could trust my Zanpakutou to tell me what would happen to her. I went for it with no more hesitation.

Maybe I should've hesitated. The world I emerged into was in ruins, far more than the alien sky I'd first seen, which was now weeping. Huge chunks had fallen away, leaving a long drop below. Shrouded in mist and dusk, I didn't want to know what was down there. It had been final enough for Oshiro, and I sensed it'd be final enough for me.

The air crackled. I flash-stepped away just as lightning struck, shattering stone. The place I landed was no better, failing moments later.

"Shit!" I hissed, frantically searching for a safe space as I flitted around. "I can't stop this if I'm running!"

My eyes fell on the pond. Though the water rippled with every crash of thunder, it was intact. Fuck it. I lunged across the chasms. In panic I stumbled, crashing into the water.

I didn't have time to swear about getting wet. I had to seek peace within the storm. So I folded to the bottom of the pond, shut my eyes, and went to my deepest place, where I went when I had to decide the fate of the world outside. It would have to work for the world inside as well.

I didn't know what was inside anymore, just the person beneath was tired. So tired. No one would believe a mute mask. To change that person would cost me Arashi, to say nothing of my friends. To change the world, I had to change how I viewed it. I had to bring that light at the end of the tunnel closer, to illuminate what had come before. To go back to my second birth, when I had crossed the horizon of memory and potential.

A line of fire opened on my cheek where shrapnel struck. Closer now.

Birth, rebirth. I kept picking at the word, like a scab that had to come off for healing to begin.

I had been born, like all nobles. Twice-born, really, since I'd been born Before. In that way I was like wandering souls of the Rukongai. A wandering soul, except I'd wandered into Makoto's womb. It made a sort of sense.

But it didn't, did it? As mysterious as passage to Soul Society was, the two major theories of rebirth and form didn't work for me. 'Time of death' was out, since Before I'd lived past infancy. I didn't even entertain 'self-image' for the same reason. More accurately, I had at some point been an embryo. I hadn't spawned into Makoto, or into her arms, swaddled, as a newborn.

I was impossible. But here I was. So what the hell was I?

'Then you're a body snatcher. It's the only logical option, given that you share the Hirako phenotype.'

No. That was impossible. Urahara didn't know anything about me. Just look at how far off his other guesses had been. I wasn't a shapeshifter, let alone a Quincy. Nor was I a bastard. Taking my own response seriously, I was far from wise. I knew myself.

Oh yes, I knew myself. I knew I looked like a Hirako, but not quite, hair darker, duller, eyes brighter, even teeth not so prominent. I knew that while I'd never break the mold completely, my features had set more and more different every year. I knew I spoke Japanese unaccented, where my real first language should've twisted my tongue, yet the English of my mind and soul was unchanged.

And I knew that a storm raged in my spirit. Lightning and water. Not one power, but two. Mine and Hirako Nariko's. Hirako whoever she'd been, before I'd come along. Before I'd made everything hers mine.

I'd been wrong again. Before I'd ever taken someone's spot in Shin'ou, I'd taken the place of Shinji's sister. Cuckoo-like, I'd pushed her out of her own soul, set myself in her place, and thrived in her world.

It wasn't guilt that snaked its cold, throbbing tendrils through my heart. My soul was collapsing in part because I understood I hadn't asked to be torn away from everything I loved and placed here. No, it was a numb horror. A horror that put me at a fork in the road, because the other part of the collapse was that I didn't understand where to go from here.

I was not Hirako Nariko. The person who could've developed into her, who wouldn't have hesitated at every introduction, was gone, displaced by a consciousness so used to living it had never questioned how. There was a comforting sort of logic in dehumanization. If I wasn't human, I had no obligations to humanity. I could leave the death and duty behind and return to the home-that-wasn't. Spend my days making meaning in the characters I brushed onto paper. Let the storm inside quiet so I could hear the dying whispers of my old self. Save the world? It'd done a fine job without me the first time. Get fewer people killed? I wasn't a person. They wouldn't care if I got killed. Hell, without me, fewer people would probably die. The survivors would hurt, but they'd recover. I never would. Would never get back all of who I was.

I was Hirako Nariko. I answered to another name, celebrated different holidays, held new friends close. I might not be human the ways others were, but I cared deeply and desperately for humanity. This world they'd made was bloody and random and painful all over, but I wasn't alone in trying to find meaning in it. I had friends, family, and a slightly better idea of what to look for. Loss? What holes could I point to in all of that? I had more, if anything. An answer to the call to justice that had rung out in me before I'd had the power to do anything about it.

I had spent my time here filling in the gaps of who I had been. Who I was now was someone different from the girl who'd died in another world. It hurt like hell, to think about what had died with her, but the fact that I could feel it told me that death wasn't the end. I had continued on after my great death. From that I knew twenty years without it would've seen me through enough little deaths to recognize myself as little as I did now. That girl continued on as me, and that world with me, flowing alongside this one, connected though out of step.

I'd been looking at it wrong. That error, of having to leave one side of myself behind, had ravaged my soul for years. I wasn't at a fork in the road. I was paused on a greater path, waiting for someone to help me up and lead me on. The truth was that I'd been limping away from that someone my entire life. She was me.

My eyes opened to falling lightning, a white serpent with fangs meant for my heart. I stood and took her hand.

Water roared from below, met the bolt in a great crash, and threw me from my feet.

When I could see straight, I lay on elaborately raked gravel. No, too smooth. The Zen garden had been transmuted to glass that caught the sky and held it. For the moment, that was blue shot through with sun-white. I sat up, not caring whether it got messed up. Tides were as fluid as they were regular. A disturbance wouldn't last long.

Slowly, I gathered strength beneath me. There was enough to stand. I didn't. Instead I sat up and cast my gaze around, getting the lay of the land.

The central stones were glass too now, but unrefined, the treelike structures created when lightning hit sand. I'd been struck down beneath them. They and I were surrounded by something more stable than gravel, smooth, pale stone slabs. A temple of the same material stood off to my right, doors open, light and air allowed in. An unchanged koi pond lay in front of it, water channeled into an outer ring around the slabs. Beyond that was familiar mist, but it was faint, wreathing pines. A reminder that the world I'd left behind was still there, if beyond my reach.

I took it all in. Pronounced it new, mine, nearly complete. And finally, achingly, laid the last piece to rest.

I put the barrier between Now and Before to death.

Eighteen years of repressed loss hit me like a tsunami.

I sobbed. Huge, gross, heaving sobs. I wept for a world I'd grown up in and been uprooted from and been buried in alien soil and told 'make do.' For a moral compass I could trust to point north. For a clock to keep the hours from running into days into weeks into almost twenty years. I cried for tea with milk and sugar. For hugs hello and goodbye. I mourned friends won and lost and love that had never been. I cried for my family, whose loss I could never put a shape to, yet saw the Hirako's failure to fit it every time I looked at them.

They were gone. All gone, never to come back. I could tear open all the worlds and never find them. Never find myself. I had given and given and this world had taken until all that remained of who I'd been was shadows.

I don't know how long I cried for. I won't guess. Some pains don't owe explanation to anyone but yourself. At some point Arashi came, held me, and demanded nothing.

I came back to the real world shadowed by knives. In the spirit of Soul Society, I couldn't tell whether the fact they weren't literal knives was reassuring or not.

The onmitsu stepped forward in unison. If they exchanged words, I didn't hear it; if they had eyes, I couldn't see them. The two weren't identical—one a head and a half taller, the other with slightly wider hips. There were humans under the uniform. But the message they sent was clear: they were tools, exchanged as the demands of the Onmitsukidou warranted.

One tossed something at me. I caught it and did a double take. It was a pile of cloth the same color as that the onmitsu wore. Most people assumed that ninjas wore black, and certainly the ones you were meant to see did. Dead-black gave civilians the freedom to imagine horrors far worse than any that sort were involved in. The real wetworks were done in a subtle but distinct dark blue-grey. Where black stood out at night like a silhouette, these uniforms were one with the shadows.

I wasn't part of that world. But I also wasn't a fool. The onmitsu wanted me to put it on, so I did, stepping behind a screen to change. They already knew more about me than I them, and I wasn't giving up any more information.

I changed mechanically, fear of onmitsu blunted by the numbness of recent emotional release. The uniform didn't feel like anything special, apart from being thicker than it seemed and lightly padded in vital areas. By Shinigami standards it certainly wasn't. I inhaled and found slight but firm resistance on my chest. What little was there vanished under a sewn-in binder. Only my eyes escaped anonymity. But no, as I blinked away the abrupt erasure of identity, cloth brushed my lashes. A whisper of grey veiled my eyes to anyone farther away than a few feet. To identify me by them, you'd have to be close—a superior, a partner, or a target. How very Onmitsukidou.

I couldn't hide from them forever. I squared my shoulders and stepped out from behind the screen. The onmitsu's gaze was impossible to read, but somehow felt impatient. Whatever. Let's see them do calculus. As soon as I'd thought it, I reconsidered my math skills. Then squashed the entire train of thought. My fear was returning, and I wouldn't let it derail me so easily. Even if I knew these were wetwork clothes from experience.

One cocked their head at something I couldn't hear and gestured for me to follow. No sooner had I registered the motion than the two vanished. Learning on the job, I thought as I flash-stepped after them, and regretted it. This wasn't going to be a job.

We flitted across roofs not yet slick with morning dew and came to a stop a few streets away. I frowned. A wetworks uniform and we ended up somewhere I could've walked to? Not only that, I'd passed by the store we crouched above a few times. It sold pottery. Flower vases and serving dishes mostly. Far be it from me to set minimum qualifications for insurgency, but this didn't strike me as the hotbed of conspiracy onmitsu should be dealing with. Then the shorter onmitsu turned to me, chuckled, and I knew it wasn't.

"Tamp your reiatsu down," Yoruichi said, confirming my suspicions. "Unless you want your old man getting wind you put on the grey after all."

I opened my mouth to greet Urahara by name, but just as quickly shut it. I'd already won the name-guessing game once. Besides, guessing that Yoruichi's companion was the same person as her onmitsu-trained second shadow in the daylight wasn't terribly hard. Not unreasonable, since guessing that a princess would be doing dirty work in the first place was improbable enough. Instead I nodded. My reiatsu slid under my skin like my old identity. I was quietly grateful that the feeling of the latter was now equally natural.

She made a show of looking me up and down. It was probably so I knew she was examining me at all. "Shinigami haven't turned you into a mindless brute yet. Before we go, you need to know how to talk without speaking." She nudged probably-Urahara, who raised a fist, palm out. "Stop," she translated. He made a horizontal V-shape, palm-in. "Acknowledgment. Close it for yes, fold the middle finger in for no." He formed a fist with the thumb and pinky extended. "Dismissal." He extended a hand palm-out, thumb curled in. "If they're moving, follow. If not, come here." He crossed his fingers, folding the rest down. "Last but not least: abort mission."

She didn't stop to ask if I had any questions. The onmitsu weren't big on questions. I hadn't thought they were big on recruiting people off the street, either, but now wasn't the time to investigate hiring policy. Besides, I wasn't joining them.

I repeated the handshapes to her satisfaction and she nodded. "What's your name?"

I did a double take before remembering she couldn't see it. "My name?" I said aloud. I'd thought we were past the point of introductions. "It's-"