Archive of Our Own

Nearly everyone else in Aizen Sōsuke’s zanjutsu class could hardly contain their excitement. Today was the day that the instructor would finally allow them to sit jinzen with an asauchi, an empty, living blade that would facilitate an attempt to discover their inner world, the place their zanpakuto spirit dwelled.

Sōsuke hung back from the crowd, away from their noisy, happy chatter.

Utter dread clutched at his stomach.

He’d been trying to keep the roiling fear off his face, but at least two of his colleagues had already asked him if he was feeling okay. Apparently, he looked a little green in the gills.

Tomiko patted Sōsuke’s shoulder kindly. She smiled up at him fondly. “I hate to say it, but I’m kind of happy to see you looking this nervous.”

“Oh?” Sōsuke chuckled. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re always so good at everything else. It’s nice to know you might have a weakness.”

It was clear from her teasing tone and genuine smile that she’d meant it kindly, but the words stabbed something deep in Sōsuke’s gut.

Weakness.

What awaited him was no melee weapon, this much Sōsuke already knew. He’d been dreaming about a deep forest lake, shrouded in midnight shadow, with perfectly still reflective water for… years.

Sōsuke’s inner world, if that was what this dream represented, and he was fairly certain it was, was detailed and rich. But, there had never, ever been anyone there besides his own reflection.

Tiny, moon-white daffodils dotted the shores, perfuming the unmoving air with their cloying scent. The forest was deep, as well. Filled with ancient, gnarled oaks, their fallen leaves blanketing the ground. Skeletal branches reached for the bright full moon above like so many clawed fingers. There was so much to explore, but he had never, in all the hundreds of dreams he’d had of that place, ever found anything besides a perfect reflection of himself in the deep, still waters.

When he called out, only a garbled echo of his own voice replied.

He hated that dream. It made him terrified that the profound emptiness he encountered each time meant that he had no zanpakuto spirit.

None at all, and, instead, he was completely alone…

Or somehow soulless.

When he realized that Tomiko was still looking at him, like she expected some kind of answer, Sōsuke pasted on his most disarming smile. “I find the asauchi creepy is all.”

“What?” Her frown surprised him. “Why?”

“Oh, um…” Sōsuke had expected this observation to be met with agreement, not confusion. Didn’t everyone sense the wrongness of those horrific constructs? The first time he touched one he had been overcome by the image of a distorted human shape with a blank face and mouths for eyes. They were hungry to be filled and they bled his power from him like a parasite. They were half-living souls and yet completely blank. Every time he’d been asked to use one, Sōsuke had had to fight the desire to fling the broken creature away from himself. But… apparently, that was once again his own, unique problem? “I guess... I’m just… anxious for the real thing?” he tried cautiously.

That achieved a nodding smile and another reassuring pat. “Aren’t we all?”

#

Not twenty minutes later after a lecture that repeated the most basic concepts of meditation techniques that Sōsuke already knew, he sat in a circle with his class. The instructor had them sit tailor-fashion instead of seiza.

Several of the more highborn students needed additional instruction on how to sit this way. It was wasting precious class time in a way that had Sōsuke clutching his hakama in order to hold back the desire to just yell ‘For gods’ sake, let them sit however is comfortable, that’s the damn point, after all!’

But, long ago, Sōsuke had learned that no one wanted the opinion of a mere third year cadet--especially not from one who had been advanced and was sitting among cadets several years older than himself.

More to the point, instructors did not like being corrected--even when they were so very, very wrong. Better to just do it the right way and, when discovered, act as though it was an unconscious instinct or, even better, a fortuitous mistake.

Finally, the wicked asauchi were handed out. Sōsuke tried to touch the thing as little as possible, and was thus almost derailed when the instructor came over to him and placed the wretched instrument across his lap, giving it two points of access, with an annoying little, “Like this, Aizen-kun.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sōsuke said, trying desperately to unclench his teeth and say that naturally, as though he were actually grateful to now have some horrific creature sucking his life energy from him like a leech.

“Put your hands on it, too,” the instructor insisted.

Aizen barely held back the look of contempt and disgust at the thought. Instead, he steeled himself with a deep breath and placed his open palm on the blade and the other on the hilt. Immediately, he felt sick, like he was being not only sucked dry but also... invaded.

You are unwelcome, he told it.

You are delicious, it replied.

Despite this inauspicious beginning, Sōsuke easily followed the rest of the instruction. Meditation was secondhand to Sōsuke. He was out in a flash.

And, suddenly. no longer alone beside his dark, still waters.

Standing on the bank of the great reflective lake, was that… thing, the asauchi. It was exactly as he’d first imagined it: a contorted human-shape, a bit too long in the arms and neck, with a flat, empty face. Its head was completely bald, its body hairless and sexless, despite its nakedness. Its eyes were hungry mouths filled with rows of gnawing teeth.

I told you, you’re not welcome here of all places. Sōsuke snarled. Leave us now!

‘Us,’ came a whispered, echo-y voice from the mouth of the asauchi. So, you do understand that you are not alone in this place.

Sōsuke sucked in a breath of excitement. This disgusting thing was useful after all! Where are you? he asked.

The asauchi gestured broadly, seemingly indicating the lake, the moon, the flowers, and the forest.

Sōsuke frowned. The last thing he expected was that his own soul was this stupid. No, I understand this is your place. I mean where are you? Why can’t I see you?

It is you who do not understand, the asauchi said in a voice sounding far too much like Sōsuke’s own drippingly arrogant sarcasm. You know our name. You have known our name from the beginning. You already know the answer you seek. It has always been right in front of your own nose.

Sōsuke’s frown deepened. In front of his own nose? But, there’s nothing--

Suddenly, everything shattered. With a sound like breaking glass, the entire world cracked and broke into a million piece.

Sōsuke startled awake, forcibly thrust back into his own body. When his eyes flew open, for a brief moment he saw that the asauchi on his lap had transformed. Gone was the white tsuki. In its place was a ribbon of a deep forest green. The guard had become a plain, elongated hexagon, a line dividing it down the middle, length-wise.

The proverb that haunted his whole life came to him again: "Flower seen in the mirror, moon on the water's surface."

“Is that your name?” Sōsuke asked aloud, as the image of the zanpakuto began to fade. “How can that be your name? It’s an idiom, a phrase! You can’t leave me with that! That’s not even a real name! Why can’t you ever give me one normal, proper thing!?”

It was at this point, Sōsuke realized he was shouting. Several students woke from their mediations with a start. Others, who’d not mastered the technique and, instead, were pretending to be deep under, cracked an eye open at him.

The instructor frowned darkly and pointed to the hallway.

Sōsuke hung his head.

Happily leaving the asauchi behind, he got up and made his way out the door. He waited in the hall until the instructor came out and slid the door most of the way shut behind him.

Nanatsuki-sensei, the zanjutsu instructor, was a fierce-looking man. His face had been scarred in numerous battles. The scuttlebutt around campus was that he kept trying to take down the Kenpachi every year, and every year more of his face was missing. Pretty soon, he’d be nothing but scar tissue.

As it was, a large chunk of his nose had been hacked off, as well the tip of one ear. He kept his thinning, gray hair short, which also meant that Sōsuke could count the nicks and cuts all over his head.

It was difficult to take a sword instructor seriously who had clearly never learned to duck.

“I take it things didn’t go well, Aizen-kun?”

Sōsuke took a moment to slip his arms inside the sleeves of his kisode, while he considered how much of the truth he could reasonably tell.

He had no idea how common it was to have had dreams of one’s inner world for almost literally as long as he could remember, so he decided that was probably a dangerous detail and should be left out. “I think…” he started, uncertainly. “I think I made my… “ Ugh, could he even admit to having spoken to his zanpakuto spirit? He shook his head and started for a third time. “I think I did something wrong. Uh,” he pulled out a hand to demonstrate things breaking apart, “Everything thing just sort of exploded all of a sudden and I was kicked out."

Sōsuke let out a breath. The expression on the instructor’s face had shifted from concerned to thoughtful. Clearly, admitting to a mistake was the right answer.

“That can happen,” Nanatsuki-sensei agreed, “Especially when it’s your first time.”

“Okay, good,” Sōsuke said, trying to sound like all of this was new to him. What else would a complete beginner say? “Ah...so, I have to just keep trying?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You have to keep at it. Even if you keep getting tossed out or it gets a little scary. But, some advice? You don’t have to be so cautious with the asauchi. They don’t bite, you know?”

Sōsuke chuckled before he realized that Nanatsuki was being serious. Nanatsuki clearly didn’t know about the teeth. “Ah, right.” Sōsuke bowed his head lightly, dutifully, “Thank you, sensei.”

Nanatsuki frowned at him.

Uh-oh, this was not the reaction Sōsuke had anticipated.

“You’re a weird kid, Aizen,” Nanatsuki said.

Ah. Don’t say it. Don’t say what always comes next.

“You remind me of another student I had… what the fuck was his name…?”

Sōsuke could feel his jaws clenching. “Let me guess,” he said. “Urahara Kisuke.”

“Yeah, that was the little freak’s name. How’d you know?”

“He’s my nemesis, my ghost,” Sōsuke said. “This famous and well-loved Urahara Kisuke graduated a year or two before I entered from what I can fathom. I don’t even know what he looks like, but his reputation follows me everywhere. I find his notes tucked into the rare Kido books in the restricted sections of the library. And, every time I’m certain I’m the first to have done something, his name is touted as the one who achieved it before me… better than me. He is forever two steps ahead, and he’s not even here for me to challenge.”

Nanatsuki was tugging his ear. “Yeah? Then, you’re sure as shit not gonna like what I’m about to say. That creepy-ass Urahara kid was always talking to the ausachi, too. But, he was fuck-all better fighter than you. He actually hit where he was aiming.”

“Well,” Sōsuke said with a calm he did not feel. “One more reason for me to hate him.”

#

Zanjutsu class never did entirely improve for Sōsuke. Spurred by the specter of Urahara Kisuke, Sōsuke spent hours of extra practice learning complex sword forms and sparring with opponents two times his mass and triple his skill.

By the end of the semester, he could defend against almost any attack. He could, on a good day, mostly keep two opponents at bay.

But, like so many things regarding zanpakuto, clear and absolute victory continued to elude him.

Even though the sensation never ceased to disgust him, Sōsuke had taken to borrowing an asauchi during his free period and sitting with a ‘study group’ of students practicing jinzen. Most days, when he dropped into his inner world, he would sit beside the asauchi by the lake, staring at its expansive reflective surface, and say nothing. It was becoming, at least, companionable.

Today, after coming in second yet again in zanjutsu, he turned to the asauchi and said, You won’t strike true. I can defend until my last breath, but you deny me the killing blow. Why?

We are stronger than steel.

Are we? Sōsuke asked with a snort. He rubbed the spot on his elbow where the bokken had nearly shattered bone. He’d gotten a demerit, no less, for using a Kidō barrier to slow the thrust. Apparently, he was supposed to have suffered the broken limb instead of using all the fighting skills available to him. It seems even wood does plenty of damage.

You still think too small.

With that, everything broke again. Sōsuke found himself staring at the blade in his lap, back in the real world.

He glanced at the others sitting tailor fashion.

The heat had broken and so everyone decided to gather outside in the quad. Sōsuke suspected that there had been a certain cache to the idea. A sort of ‘look at us, we’re already advanced enough to be sitting in mediation with asauchi.’ He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t appreciate showing off as well. But, even more than that he liked having his back against the old oak tree. It smelled right. The sensation of the bark against his back made it that much easier to slip into his inner world.

And having the same sort of tree here, in the real world gave him some relief after these broken, jagged returns.

Quickly tossing aside the asauchi, Sōsuke let his head fall back against the rough bark. He stared up at the cloudless sky through the leaves, and wondered what the living hell he was missing. What was he doing wrong?

What was stronger than a sword?

Kidō. Kidō was far stronger than steel. Was that what Kyoka Suigetsu was going to be? A Kidō type?

Sōsuke knew he was still somehow off track, though Kidō felt closer to whatever the right answer was. It felt more correct because Kidō came from someplace invisible, intangible--like in Kyoka Suigetsu’s name, it was something real, but also somewhat untouchable. Kidō was formed by intention and thought and didn’t have a form until you spoke it or imagined it.

But, Kidō was still not quite right.

The answer eluded him. Yet, he was so close.

Sōsuke glanced over at Tomiko. Several weeks ago, she’d pulled him aside at lunch to tell him that she was sure she, too, was getting close. The last time she’d sat jinzen, she’d seen something moving in the jungle. She was pretty sure it was an oni.

She wouldn’t tell him any more. In fact, she’d blushed deeply and covered her mouth the whole time she’d spoken. They both knew it was strictly forbidden to speak of the details of one’s inner world.

Or rather, they’d all gotten an abject lesson in that fact when Sōsuke had asked too pointed a question in class. He’d wanted to know if he should expect to eventually meet the personification of something or if he would be forever left staring at the empty water. It seemed like a reasonable question. People had been starting to mutter about physical spirits of various kinds they were glimpsing or sensing and Sōsuke was beginning to once again dread that he was somehow trailing behind his colleagues or that his Soul was actually missing something critical.

The beating he'd received in answer had been unexpected.

And deeply humiliating.

However, it served its purpose. No one ever spoke out loud about their inner worlds again, not even outside class, away from instructors.

Except Tomiko.

She’d braved the threat of a beating to share her excitement. Sōsuke just wished he could be happy for her. Instead, all he felt was a deep, burning jealousy.

Kyoka Suigetsu would still only speak to him via the asauchi. He thought, by now, given all the extra practice with bokken and asauchi that he would have gained what Tomiko had… a glimpse of something, of ANYTHING.

There was always and forever nothing.

For all the hours he sat by the lake under the moonlight, the only thing he would ever fleetingly glimpse was himself, reflected in the water. Sometimes he would see himself without his glasses on, even though his inner self tended to bring along that sense of self… the self that needed glasses to see.

But, what was that? Just his own mind, playing tricks, imagining a more perfect self. Right?

Perhaps that was a clue, but what it portented he had no idea. Sōsuke would be more excited by the change in his own reflection if he ever saw anything more than what was “there.” The images on the water were only ever perfect copies of the moon, the flowers, himself, the asauchi… the entire shoreline reflected with profound accuracy.

How was any of that stronger than steel?

How was any of that anything like the demons and oni and animals and human-like spirits that others had started to report before discussion had been so swiftly shut down?

Was he, despite the voice that answered him, actually alone?

And why? Why that stupid phrase for a name? A proverb for gods’ sake! What sort of name was Kyoka Suigetsu for a sword? It was like having a zanpakuto called ‘A Bird in the Hand is Worth Two in the Bush’ or ‘Cut off Your Nose to Spite Your Face.’

“Flower Seen in the Mirror, Moon on the Water’s Surface.”

People said that phrase all the time when they referred to an unattainable dream or something that had slipped through their fingers. How was this a proper fighting machine?

Sōsuke was beginning to despair that it was not. Whatever his zanpakuto was built for, straight-forward fighting was not it.

Finally, a step closer.

Sōsuke sat up straighter. Kyoka Suigetsu had spoken directly to him! The asauchi lay on the ground at his side, untouched.

This was progress!

His excitement quickly faded, however. It wasn’t as though he suddenly understood anything new, not really. How was he closer? All he’d apparently learned was that he would not use Kyoka Suigetsu in battle… no, that wasn’t necessarily true. All he’d been thinking about were the kinds of fights where you face an opponent head-on.

Tomiko blinked awake and caught him staring in her direction. She blushed prettily.

“Want to go somewhere and talk?” Sōsuke asked.

She nodded. “Lunch?”

“Sure.”

#

It was only when Tomiko stared up at him expectantly when they were wondering out loud about where to get food did Sōsuke realize she might be thinking of this little excursion as a date.

If that was the case, he should probably offer something fancier than the food trucks he’d originally considered. “There’s a nice izakaya that’s just opened up,” Sōsuke suggested. “I heard some of the upperclassmen talking about it.”

She tucked her arm under his and leaned in closer to his side. “I always forget you’re so much younger than the rest of us.”

He made a little agreeing noise. “The farm couple who raised me were very practical, serious people. I’ve been told I can seem like an old man.”

Tomiko gave him a funny little smile. “I thought that most people from the Rukongai just called such people ‘parents.’”

He supposed they did. He wouldn’t know. Not entirely, at any rate.

Academy was so striated. Everyone knew which students had come in from the Rukongai because they were the only ones given an entrance exam, which, more often than not, also served as a placement exam. Therefore, if you were at all advanced beyond your class, everyone knew where you’d come from.

Or at least assumed they knew.

In Sōsuke’s case, it wasn’t true in the slightest.

Certainly, the last place he’d lived with any kind of permanence was with foster parents in South Twenty-One: Chayama, the Tea Mountain District. It’d been a decent life. Picking tea had been hard work, sometimes even back breaking, but the district was prosperous, the air was crisp and clean, and mountain living had suited Sōsuke.

“My upbringing involved… several moves before I… settled,” he said.

He’d tried this answer out before and it had worked reasonably well, depending on what people knew about where their food came from and how restricted travel in the Rukongai normally was.

It was, in fact, rare for Rukongai souls to move between districts, but it was not impossible. There were a whole swath of southern districts with semi-open borders. These districts were farmlands that needed seasonal influxes of workers. So, in those areas, there were roving, migrant bands of un-familied Souls, many of them young or new, who did much of this work.

Of course, this was the life he implied he had lived, not the one he had.

The truth was something he would tell no one.

“Oh,” Tomiko said sympathetically. But, then she smiled up at him and said, “Is that where you got such broad shoulders?”

“That would be genetics,” he said plainly. “Any muscle mass I’ve gained, however, would be from tea picking.”

She giggled. “You can be so serious, Sōsuke-kun.”

Ah, she’d been flirting with him.

With an inward sigh, he asked, “Are you dating anyone Tomiko?”

She startled and blushed furiously. Mutely, she shook her head.

“Would you like to go out with me?”

Her answer was a happy sort of nod and a tightening of her grip on his arm.

#

Halfway through lunch, Sōsuke was already considering his exit plan.

It wasn’t that Tomiko wouldn’t be an excellent girlfriend, but he didn’t much care for the effort one had to put into maintaining a steady partner. You had to remember birthdays and anniversaries and there were gifts to be given and compliments to be paid. You had to pay a certain amount of attention, as well. Offer romance. Kisses.

Sex.

He’d learned to be good at it, at least nominally. Truthfully, Sōsuke found romance unsustainable. Eventually, his partners bored him. He hadn’t ever found someone he could really talk to, someone who was his intellectual equal.

“You look awfully thoughtful,” Tomiko said. They had ordered beer and the harried waitress had left them a bowl of edamame to munch on until she could return to take their order.

“I’m sorry,” Sōsuke said, giving her a soft smile. “I’ve been frustrated with jinzen lately. I feel like I’m close to something, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Tomiko glanced over her shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I know what you mean! I keep nearly seeing the oni, but he keeps slipping away from me!”

The oni. Certainly that wouldn’t be the name of her zanpakuto, would it? Was she doing all this chasing without knowing what name to call? Also… “It’s male?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “That much I know for sure. He’s giant and naked.”

Aizen took a sip of his beer. Just his luck. His new girlfriend had a giant oni for a zanpakuto. Very likely she’d end up with an iron club for a shikai. And what would he have? Reflected flowers.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe the answer was right in front of him.

“Tomiko, what do reflections do?” Picking up a salt-encrusted bean pod, he stripped it with his teeth.

“You mean like a mirror?”

Mirrors were definitely part of it, so he nodded.

“They show you what you look like.” Sōsuke was just about to consider this conversation a dead end, until she added: “They show you who you are.”

They show you who you are? “Are you suggesting that your reflection gives you a sense of self?”

“Sure, I mean isn’t that a thing, a milestone? When babies realize the reflection in the mirror is themselves? Isn’t that what makes us different from animals?”

This woman was brilliant. “Do you want to skip lunch and go somewhere we can be alone?”

#

It turned out they were too hungry after sitting meditation to just take off, so they changed their orders to take away, and found a quiet spot. The Academy itself was surrounded by walls, but the grounds were surprisingly expansive, particularly since the Kidō school had been added.

Tomiko had apparently never ventured very far into the grounds of the Kidō Academy and so Sōsuke showed her to some of the more isolated practice fields. His favorite actually had a small creek that ran along the edge of a bamboo forest. She smiled to see the running water and thin trees. She leaned in to whisper, “This reminds me of my inner world.”

Sōsuke looked around with sudden interest. “Does it?”

She nodded. “But, I’m not surprised you wanted to be by water,” she said, settling down on the grassy bank of the creek. “Yours will be water-type, right?”

He’d spoken about the lake when he’d gotten in trouble for ‘oversharing’ in class. “Could be,” he acknowledged, joining her on the sloped, grassy bank. “The moon is always there as well, but I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as moon power.”

She chuckled lightly. “If anyone was going to have something brand-new, it would be you.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

She handed him a container from one of the takeaway bags they’d been carrying. He opened the box to see unaju, several slices of grilled eel over a bed of rice. A classic summer dish. After saying a quick grace over the meal, Sōsuke dug in.

“I mean it, though, you know,” Tomiko smiled at him around a mouthful of eel. “I just don’t see you having a zanpakuto that blasts people with jets of water. It wouldn’t suit you. It’s too… plain, too mundane.”

Too straightforward, he sighed inwardly. Too direct.

“Do you think that’s always the case?” He asked, watching the trickle of clear water as it ran over stones. “That the zanpakuto’s power perfectly fits its welder’s personality?” He gave her a little fond look. “Aren’t you on the cusp of becoming oni-ni-kanabō?”

Sōsuke was making a bit of a pun. Tomiko had been seeing an oni, but the idea of oni-ni-kanadō, an ogre with an iron club, also meant to be invincible. She was tiny--small framed and thin-boned, the furthest image of ‘invincible.’

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Tomiko said with a little laugh. “But, an iron club wouldn’t be as far off the mark as you might think. I’ve always been kind of a brawler. I grew up with six older brothers. There was a lot of wrestling in my house.”

A minor noble house, if Sōsuke recalled.

“I always wished to be bigger, to be strong like an oni,” she added. “I’d have loved to have had an iron club to bash Riku in his smug face.”

And now, potentially, she was about to have one. Sōsuke laughed, “If zanpakuto spirits can give you what you’ve always wanted, then I’ll have the ability to change the world, to alter people’s perceptions completely.”

Exactly so.

Sōsuke sucked in a breath. Had that been Kyoka Suigetsu again?

Tomiko was looking at Sōsuke curiously. “You want to change the world? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Asks the noblewoman, born inside the Seireitei, born to privilege, who likely has had no reason to know that there is a shadow over her paradise, one that kept the lowborn down and the power in the hands of a few.

He liked her, but he could never tell her that he’d spent his formative years in lockdown, in the infamous Maggot’s Nest, simply for the crime of being ‘too powerful’ and thus considered a danger. He could hardly tell her that, even after being set ‘free’ by Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku, he’d spent years in manacles that suppressed his abilities.

Years.

Chained, like an animal.

Unconsciously, he flexed his fingers, balling them into a fist, still sometimes expecting to feel the cold, inflexible steel there. The phantom sensation of weight of the cuffs had stayed with him longest. He still found himself hiding his wrists deep inside his sleeves.

Tomiko continued to watch him warily, expectantly, so Sōsuke shrugged as if he wasn’t entirely certain why he’d said what he had. “Don’t you want to right injustices when you see them?”

“Oh! That’s what you meant!” Her frown smoothed out. “Oh, of course I do. Everyone wants that. But, how could you have a power like that in a sword?”

How, indeed?

#

Sōsuke and Tomiko continued to see each other, on and off, for the rest of the school year. Sōsuke remembered their one month anniversary, gave her flowers and sex, both of which she seemed to appreciate with equal enthusiasm and pleasure.

“You’re a good lover,” she told him, afterwards. “I have to admit, I thought you might be awkward and hesitant. Since you’re so young, I thought maybe… well, I guess the Rukongai mountains are good for a lot of things, eh?”

He made a little agreeable noise. Inwardly, he noted the casual bigotry implied by the idea that perhaps the people of the Rukongai were that much quicker to fall into bed with one another.

He supposed it was a stereotype that did have some basis in truth, however. He’d found no shortage of people interested in casual dalliences, particularly among those passing through from farm to farm. But, his foster parents and the mountain villagers frowned on too much of that sort of thing. One was supposed to emulate the noble class, with their courtship rituals and careful matching of status and personalities.

As for love and sex, Sōsuke didn’t much care for any of it, but neither did he hate it, and so he took lovers when they presented themselves.

It was the same with Tomiko, though he found her company passably entertaining, which was far more than he’d ever found among his various partners in the mountain village. Perhaps he lasted longer with Tomiko because she was an Academy student with ambitions, Sōsuke found he could talk to her about a range of subjects.

Plus, Tomiko was, Sōsuke had come to believe, particularly… emotionally clever.

Perhaps there was a better word to describe it but, what Tomiko had was a kind working knowledge of other people--their motives, their thought-process. This stuff--a scientific discipline, he was learning about from his Kidō instructors--was called ‘psychology’ and its study gripped Sōsuke in a particularly intense way.

Tomiko gave him an unique opportunity. She was introducing him to her girlfriends and they seemed to love to gather to endlessly discuss everyone’s…everything: their mental health, their relationships, their feelings, their dreams, their hopes… and, of course, the fashion trends in the Seireitei.

It surprised Sōsuke how much he enjoyed this. Even the fashion discussions.

For instance, he was discovering he was unique among men in that he would take instruction during sex. He’d already known that he had an advantage by having a good memory for birthdays and anniversaries, but it’d surprised him that other men apparently found it unmanly to pay even modest attention to their partner’s pleasure?

Other men, it seemed, were far more ruled by their own anatomy than he was.

Well, that last bit hadn’t been that much of a surprise. Sōsuke had had male lovers, too. Most of them, he could agree with the ladies, had only one thing on their minds--and it was usually satisfied in the quickest, most brutal way.

He glanced over at Tomiko. She’d fallen asleep. They were in her quarters since, unlike his, Tomiko only shared her space with one other cadet. Sōsuke, having come in from the Rukongai, slept in a common room.

He hunted around the bedroom for his clothes, moving quietly so as not to wake Tomiko. Finding the last tabi, he sat on the edge of the futon to pull it on. Looking around her space one last time, Sōsuke supposed that if he wanted better quarters he could ask his… patrons for a stipend.

He was never sure how to refer to the Gotei captains who’d freed him from the Maggot’s Nest. It was clear that Captain Ukitake, in particular, felt vaguely paternal towards him--sending the occasional letter and care package full of books and fruits and sweets--but Sōsuke also knew that these men held a kind of absolute power over his fate.

That made him… wary.

Once dressed, Sōsuke hunted around for a scrap of something to write on. He took a moment to compose a love note for Tomiko. He ended it with a bit of spontaneous poetry about the sunlight on her face.

Likely, she wouldn’t appreciate his poetry. Tomiko seemed a bit more like the kind of woman who would better enjoy a battlecry or a war epic sung in her name, but, since her continued interest in him was really nothing to Sōsuke one way or the other, he left it.

Even if she hated the poetry one of her other girlfriends would adore it.

#

It was during one of the chat sessions with Tomiko’s girlfriends that Sōsuke got a critical piece of the puzzle that was Kyoka Suigetsu.

Sana-chan was complaining about the flowers her newest beau had bought her. “Look at them! Can you believe it?” She thrust a small bouquet of familiar white flowers into their circle. These were the very daffodils that grew along the shore of the great lake of Sōsuke’s inner world. Sana was spitting, she was so mad about them, however. “What a bastard!”

The other women were making sympathetic cooing noises.

“What’s wrong with daffodils?” Sōsuke finally had to ask.

“These are narcissus!!” Sana corrected snappishly. “He’s telling me I’m self-centered.”

Sōsuke tried to act like he understood the connection, but Tomiko was starting to be able to see through him. “Don’t you know the Greek story of Narcissus?”

As much as it galled him to admit it, Sōsuke had to say. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

When the others giggled a little, Tomiko came to his rescue. “Aizen tested out of second year literature. He missed Professor Kamioka’s pet project.”

“Ah!” Sana had been pacing in her fury, but she loved to recount a good story, so she plunked down beside him. “So, it all starts with a boy who is too good-looking for his own good, kind of like you, Aizen-kun. He knew he had all the ladies in thrall and so he would make them fall over themselves to win his affection, even driving some to suicide!” Sana-chan told the story like she was sharing the hottest gossip around campus. Sōsuke listened raptly. “He never loved any of them back, can you believe it? Of course, eventually, he crossed the wrong girl, and then…”

Sōsuke’s heart nearly stopped when she got to the part about the reflective lake.

#

It was the story that Sana-chan had told him that made Sōsuke decide to try to touch his own reflection. Now he knew, from Narcissus’s tale, that, in fact, he might have to let himself be drawn all the way into the lake… maybe even drown.

He had to admit that he didn’t like that idea. He had no idea if the rules of the real world applied here--would he die for real, if he died here?

Would you? The ausachi asked. You won’t know until you try.

From anyone else, Sōsuke would read that as reassurance. With Kyoka Suigetsu, he couldn’t be sure. If anything, it felt like a threat. How do I know you’re worth my life?

How do I know you’re worth my life?

It seemed like an echo, but Sōsuke now knew that Echo was an important part of Narcissus’s story, too. The spurned lover--at least in some of the stories--was named Echo. The very one that cursed Narcissus for not loving her back.

Very well. He’d have to risk it.

What were the odds that a zanpakuto spirit would kill its wielder? It seemed counter intuitive, since their lives were intertwined. Still, there was no guarantee that Kyoka Suigetsu wouldn’t make him suffer.

Sōsuke leaned down to look at his reflection in the still waters.

Ironically, perhaps, just as in the story, he found himself captivated. He rarely looked at himself. Mirrors were uncommon in the Rukongai and sparse even on the Academy campus. He’d been told that could be devastatingly handsome, but he mostly tried to hide that fact. Since the Maggot’s Nest, he didn’t much care to stand out--not even in the simplest ways. The glasses helped. He needed them, certainly, but in the Maggot’s Nest a crazy foreigner had told him that eyes were the window to the soul and that the amber flecks in Sōsuke’s chestnut brown eyes reflected Hell’s own fire.

No one needed to see that, if it were true.

He let his hair grow unruly for a similar reason. Trimmed and swept away from his forehead, it accentuated a certain regalness that people always commented on. ‘You look like a bastard,’ they’d told him in prison, ‘you’re some prince’s by-blow.’ Later, in the village, it was more petty: ‘With your hair like that you look stuck-up, haughty.’

He took his glasses off. If he was going to face Kyoka Suigetsu, he should look like he really was, his true self. He pushed at his hair, surprised to see his reflection having more success keeping it held back. Only one stubborn lock fell out of place. It was almost as if the hair he felt on his forehead needed some kind of visual representation.

This other image of himself was striking, arresting--he looked… older, more confident. With his eyes narrowed and his hair back he looked... like a predator, like a wolf.

The crazy foreigner had been right about his eyes--there was a golden fire blazing in them, but it wasn’t terrifying so much as it promised a terrible power.

Sōsuke was surprised to feel his nose touch the cold water’s surface. He was even more shocked when he fell in.

Glass shattered once again.

He thought he’d be propelled back to his body, but instead he kept falling, mirror shards all around him, pictures dancing across them: a dragonfly becoming a dragon, a pendulum swinging, a sword of green like the forest, a golden pocket watch swaying, dragons returning to dragonflies with the snap of fingers…

And a voice, slow and rhythmical, repeating “Look.”

“Look,” Sōsuke repeated, suddenly finding himself sitting in the quad with his study group. Oak leaves swirled around him and he knew, if he wanted, they could become anything… any illusion?

Illusion? Was that Kyoka Suigetsu’s power?

The world broke apart again, shattering.

This time he came up from his meditation gasping for air, his lungs burning. He coughed hard, expelling water. The more he tried to breathe, the more water came out. Doubling over, he went to hands and knees, still gasping, struggling for air.

The others in the study group jumped--some back in shock, others to his aid. Someone’s palm, hard and precise on his back, knocked the last of the lake water from his lungs.

He stayed hunched over, feeling the wet gross on his sleeves, under his palms, soaking the grass. How could this be real?

But he could taste it.

He could smell it.

His body still shook with the effort to expel the last of it. His breath coming in painfully hard, hoarse gasps.

“You okay?” asked Bushida-kun, a fourth year Sōsuke often spared with. “The hell, man? Was that water?”

The others had seen it, too? So… not an illusion. But… but, it could not be real. No one had ever brought anything back with them from their inner world. It had to be impossible.

“Someone should maybe take Aizen to the nurse’s office?” Bushida asked, his tone clear that he didn’t want to be the one to go.

Tomiko and Sana volunteered.

#

It was the nurse, whispering to another healer, that gave Sōsuke another critical piece of the puzzle. While she thought he was napping, she pulled the head healer into the hallway and spoke quietly and rapidly. He couldn’t catch everything, but he heard the word ‘psychosomatic.’

She thought it was all in his head.

But, she also admitted that, nonetheless, he had nearly died.

A person’s perceptions could kill.

Thoughts could be a weapon.

#

Sōsuke stopped joining everyone in the quad after that. He muttered something about needing time to recover, but he spent his free time in the library, instead. It was difficult to find a straightforward source that could confirm the existence of mind-control zanpakuto types, but several history books referenced powers that might have been something like his.

“Whatever happened to this woman?” Sōsuke asked the librarian, pointing to the relevant section in the book. The last of his sources on her had run into yet another dead end. “The stories of her just stop.”

The librarian adjusted her reading glasses and squinted at the name Sōsuke pointed to. “Muken, I think,” she said. “Probably died there.”

“Muken,” Sōsuke repeated. It was the only place anyone in the Maggot’s Nest ever spoke of with absolute dread.

The librarian slid her glasses back on to the top of her pile of hair. “Best place for someone like that. No one likes people who can screw with your mind.”

“No,” Sōsuke said flatly, feeling the hard stab of breathlessness again deep in his chest. “No one does.”

#

After a month or so of frustrated research, Sōsuke returned to the jinzen group.

He was only moderately surprised to discover Tomiko had moved on. She hadn’t sought him out after the near-drowning incident and he’d certainly forgotten several anniversaries by this point. He had already known that she secretly preferred bad boys; he’d heard her tell her friends at one of their get-togethers that she thought Sōsuke was ‘too nice.’ He also suspected that his willingness to be instructed during sex had actually been to his detriment. Despite what she had said.

Still, he doubted Bushido was actually as tough as he pretended. Nor a very good lover.

Sana-chan didn’t waste any time, however. She thought poetry was romantic.

He was at hers that very night. For consolation beers, she’d said.

“I could have told you that you weren’t her usual type,” Sana said as they sat on the floor. She had three other roommates that drifted in and out, but her quarters had a lounge and a small kitchenette. “I'd hoped that Tomiko was over that whole phase, but seems not!”

“Seems not,” Sōsuke agreed half-heartedly. He was still disappointed that his research had only uncovered… criminals. Was it impossible to have power over someone’s mind and not abuse it?

Sana patted Sōsuke’s thigh, as though she thought he was sad over the loss of Tomiko.

One of the roommates joined them. She was a tall woman with a long braid that fell nearly to her butt. The side of her face had been tattooed with a design that flowed down from cheek to jawbone, disappearing behind her head. “Heya, I’m Ikuta Kaho. I just joined the meditation study group.” Helping herself to one of the bottles of beer, she sprawled out on the floor. “I hear you had a scare, Aizen-kun. Your zanpakuto spirit tried to kill you?”

Oh. Was that what people were saying about him?

Maybe there was another reason Tomiko had stopped visiting. She’d been so very close to her zanpakuto spirit. Perhaps the idea that his wanted him dead had frightened her.

Sōsuke chuckled. “Not hardly,” he said easily. It was true that he’d nearly died, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to show him that his power would be able to kill, albeit in an unusual fashion. “I’m just an idiot who is having trouble picking up the clues laid out in front of me.”

This made Ikuta snort. “So it tried to drown you so you could figure out that you’re water-type?”

Everyone always assumed. Given the truth, he might as well let them. Sōsuke smiled self-deprecatingly. “It seems so.”

They spoke of other things after that. Sana caught him up on all the other news of their group of friends. They drank a lot of beer. Someone made a simple fried tofu that was surprisingly delicious, and Sōsuke had always loved tofu since his earliest days.

Finally, Sōsuke had to ask Ikuta about her tattoo. “I’ve seen something like it before,” he said, just a little too drunk to hold back what came next. “The Shihōin guards had ink like that, with the sunburst, but not usually on their faces.”

Ikuta’s eyebrows raised. “You’ve been to the Shihōin estate?”

“Yes,” Sōsuke said quickly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. The Maggot’s Nest was part of the estate. “I was a child. I was with my patrons… uh, parents? Heh, if they’re my parents I have two dads.”

Ikuta shrugged. “My clan is matrilineal, so there’s lots of non-traditional families.”

“Your clan? Shihōin?”

“Yeah,” Ikuta said with a very un-True First like belch.

Sōsuke couldn’t decide if he hated her or if he was in love.

#

He didn’t dare try to seduce Ikuta, however. Instead, they became sparring buddies. This particular day, they’d finished their fight, if it could be called that, some time ago. All that was left was cleaning the dojo and neither of them had felt up to getting started yet. Ikuta lay on the floor, feigning defeat, despite her easy win. Sōsuke cradled his body in the open window, letting the outside air cool his bruised kidneys.

Ikura was a back-stabber.

During their sparring, he’d found out that she had been able to transfer in during the middle of the school year at a high level because she'd been “home” tutored. She was some zillionth cousin to some distant Shihōin, but, no matter how far-flung the relation, all Shihōin were expected to be experts in the martial arts.

This history explained her annoyingly painful and difficult to counter fighting style.

“They expect me to become Management,” she sighed from the floor.

Management.

The very Squad that had presumably pulled Sōsuke from his mother’s dead arms and sentenced him to life in prison without trial for… nothing, no crime--only the potential.

All of which was seemingly coming to fore.

Sōsuke’s stomach tightened at the thought. Would he gain a mind-control shikai only to be thrown into a dark hole forever? Would they drag him away again, despite having yet to commit any atrocity?

“Seems you’ve heard of ‘em,” Ikuta chuckled.

He had to cover his mistake, especially if she had seen something in his expression. “I’m currently double-enrolled at the Kidō Academy. There are those among our ranks who are recruited to assist the Onmitsukidō, particularly the Detention Unit. I had a brief... internship at the Senzaikyū.”

“Oh, yeah? I heard about all that recent business. Did you get to go to the execution?” Ikuta looked… jealous? Though, perhaps, only curious.

“I did,” Sōsuke said plainly, though attendance had hardly been optional--it had been strictly enforced with the presence of armed guards. To the point that one of the other Kidō students had attempted a feeble joke about how the tables seemed turned and that they were now the prisoners. No one had laughed. Particularly when it became clear that their attendance was part of the internship, a final lesson, as it were.

The lesson had certainly stuck, though Sōsuke was uncertain if he learned what his masters intended.

Sōsuke had never seen a man murdered before.

He’d watched people die of starvation and neglect in the Maggot’s Nest and the Rukongai. He’d seen them take their own lives in desperation, lose it to violence, and, of course, Hollows were once people, but no one talked about that… even so, he never had he witnessed the conscious, deliberate act of taking someone’s life, their whole existence, as payment in the service of… what? Justice, he supposed.

No, not justice.

Order.

For the maintenance of civil order and military discipline.

And, given that all the remaining twelve had also been present, a reminder that even captains were not above the whims of Central 46.

“I’ve only gotten to go to a couple,” Ikura said. “They’re kind of boring, don’t you think?”

Sōsuke quirked an eyebrow and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “Yours didn’t beg, I take it?”

She shrugged. “Eh, there was crying, but it was so far away. I meant the Sokyoku. It’s just all flame. Everything ends in fire and ash.”

“Still plenty efficient,” Sōsuke noted dryly.

She made a desultory noise from her spot on the floor, throwing an arm over her face. “Ugh. I think I’m fire-type. My family is gonna disown me.”

Sōsuke was having trouble mustering even fake sympathy. “Is fire too bright for your murder-ninja clan? Is the element of surprise ruined when everything is in flames?”

She propped herself up to give him a hard glare. “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like,” she snapped, “To have a zanpakuto that won’t give you the one thing you want, and is the exact fucking opposite of everything you need.”

Sōsuke couldn’t hold back his dark scoff. “You’ll get exactly what you need, Ikura. If your family doesn’t come to respect the power of your zanpakuto, the Gotei certainly will. Fire is a perfectly acceptable melee weapon. It kills people startlingly well. You and I have both seen the power of its work. Fire is something easily understood as a military advantage. You, my dear friend, will have no difficulty securing a place in this world. I, on the other hand…" he could hardly say what he thought his true career trajectory might be, so he let out a long breath. “I’ll probably end up in the Kido Corps.”

She’d listened to his whole rant, her face moving from stubbornly angry to more hopeful. Her eyes were bright now, like he’d done her some kind of favor, given her a motivational speech. “I hear those guys have to surrender their zanpakuto.”

“It’s true,” Sōsuke said. It was like the stupidness of zanjutsu: one weapon at a time. What kind of foolishness was that?

“You really going to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Sōsuke admitted. “It may already be too late.”

“No way,” Ikura scoffed. “You can’t have shikai already.”

“No, but I have a name. I believe I could call it.”

Then, Ikura said the most brilliant thing Sōsuke had heard in some time. “Then, why don’t you just fucking do it?”

#

The next day, when Sōsuke joined the jinzen study group, Ikura sidled up to him. She leaned in to whisper: “Should I warn everybody that you’re gonna blast them with your water jets?”

An idea had been forming in Sōsuke’s mind since the moment he considered following through on Ikura’s reckless idea. He’d thought about it all night and felt he had a possibly workable plan. “We don’t know what my powers will be,” he whispered back, “But, yes, I think we should warn them that I’m going to try shikai.”

“Really?” Her shock made her loud. Everyone turned to look at them. She didn’t notice the attention, however, and continued: “What if you fail? You’ll look like a right idiot!”

Sōsuke’s mouth opened, but with everyone’s eyes on him, he wasn’t sure how to explain.

Ikura had no such problems. When she finally noticed everyone staring at them, she smirked. “Can you believe it?” she said, pointing at Sōsuke rudely. “This idiot is going to try calling shikai.”

Bushido made a face. “I don’t want to get wet.”

Tomiko nodded. “Isn’t this dangerous?”

Sōsuke might have capitulated to their concerns, but he was quite certain he needed other people around for Kyoka Suigetsu’s powers to work. So, he shrugged. “If you’re afraid, leave.”

That had the effect on Bushido he’d anticipated. Shoulders squared and his lip went out. “I’m not scared. I just said I didn’t want to get soaked. Besides, all you got is an ausachi. You’re going to fail.”

Sana piped up to say, “But... don’t the katana just change shape? I mean, that’s what happened when our instructor showed us his. It’s not like the weapon automatically goes off once you call it, right?”

At that, the others were more encouraging. “Yeah, give it a try,” they said. “Why not? Don’t worry if it fails. It’s all good practice. That’s why we’re all here, right?”

By the time they were all settled in, Sōsuke even got a “gambette” or two and at least one, “We believe in you.”

Only Tomiko said, “I’m going to get an instructor. Or maybe a nurse.”

The nurse didn’t seem like such a bad precaution so Sōsuke just nodded that she should feel free to go, even though he was quite certain he’d end up with another beating if she chose to fetch the instructor.

If this worked, however, it’d be worth it.

#

Rather than go all the way to his inner world, Sōsuke dropped into a twilight meditative state. As annoying as Bushido was, he was right about one thing. This was no fully-formed zanpakuto lying across his knees.

If I call you, will you come, Kyoka Suigetsu?

Depends, their voice like a thousand echoes filled Sōsuke’s mind. When you LOOK, what do you see?

Not an illusion, he knew that much. I see their minds, open to...suggestion?

Yes. But if you call, you must also look.

Such an infuriating zanpakuto! A final hour riddle! What was this nonsense? What could possibly be the answer? What did it mean that he, too, must “look”? Did this mean he had to have the ‘suggestion’ in mind before he used the zanpakuto’s power?

Sōsuke considered abandoning this attempt. No one expected him to be successful. He could take the time to properly consider a first ‘suggestion.’

But, if that damned zanjutsu instructor was coming…. No. Sōsuke refused to face both public failure and the lash for nothing.

But what to make them experience?

Time was running out. It would have to come to him as it came.

Taking a deep breath, Sōsuke let himself remember the sensation of falling into that crystal clear, icy cold lake as he said aloud: “Look, Kyoka Suigetsu.”

He opened his eyes to a misty fog. He’d been unable to latch on to a specific image and so the practice area was now shrouded in a dense, murky fog. He saw it, too, but unlike the others who were opening their eyes to the sensation of wetness on their cheeks, he knew it wasn’t really there.

Sōsuke watched in amazement while his colleagues stood up in shock, stumbled around, shouted.

Ah! He had no idea how long this suggestion could last. Did he wait it out? Or…?

No, of course. This was one riddle’s answer that he knew ALL too well.

“Shatter,” Sōsuke said and, in that instant, the fog was gone.

The instructor was just running into the quad as Sōsuke looked down at the transformed asauchi. It now looked as it had briefly appeared to him in class. He held up the naked blade, turning his hand around to admire the grip and guard.

“Bright fucking Buddha,” Nanatsuki spat on the ground. “You really are just like that weird-ass Urahara kid.”

#

It was two days later that Sōsuke finally heard the word ‘hypnosis.’

The zanpakuto instructor, Nanatsuki, gave him that beating. After all, what he’d done had been extremely dangerous. Someone could have gotten hurt, so… instead, Sōsuke paid for that potential harm in *actual* pain.

Such, it seemed, was his entire life, writ small.

He had been tempted to try to give Nanatsuki the ‘suggestion’ that he’d taken his punishment, but the truth was, that sort of thing was currently beyond him. He was as yet unclear if he could project that kind of full-body, fully-sensory ‘suggestion’ on so many minds without a physical substitute. Sōsuke wanted to do as much experimentation as possible in private.

He took the beating to remember that ‘fog’ was a stupid shikai and it would now be stuck with him for the rest of his life.

But, fog, at least, held no hint of mind control. And it was, in point of fact, another good metaphor for his life--being something behind which he could obscure his true self.

In the positive column, after demonstrating shikai, he’d been simultaneously promoted out of selected zanjutsu classes and kicked out of the Kidō Academy.

It was that last that had proven the most useful.

At the farewell party, one of his Kidō instructors offered him a curious present. Agata-sensei had worked extensively with Sōsuke on various meditation techniques when she’d discovered he’d had an aptitude. She’d taught him several of these techniques with the express purpose of cloaking his spiritual pressure--as well as the chants for physical concealment spells.

She’d desperately wanted to recruit him for the Stealth Force.

“Disappointed, my boy. Disappointed,” she clucked, gesturing to the zanpakuto Sōsuke now wore at his side. Agata-sensei was the oldest-looking woman Sōsuke had ever known. Not quite bent over, she walked as if every bone in her body protested the effort.

But, get her weaving Hado? No one was more nimble.

“My deepest apologies, sensei,” Sōsuke bowed. The pain the motion gave him brought him up short. Damn that Nanatsuki, anyway.

She shook her head, clearly unhappy to see him try to cover his wince. “The Gotei are beasts, Sōsuke. You’ve made a terrible error. Your talents will be wasted in war.”

“Yes, as nearly everyone has told me tonight, sensei.”

“Well, they’re not wrong!” She plucked at his sleeve and Sōsuke felt a warm flow of healing energy. He’d had at least a dozen of those given to him tonight, as well. It seemed the Kidō Corps did not approve of the Gotei’s disciplinary methods. “Mmm, so,” she continued,”when I thought you might still be on the righteous path, I happened to pick you up something in the Human World.”

“Oh?” Sōsuke helped Agata to a chair.

She relaxed into the Western-style chair with a sigh. The entire room was in the style of a Victorian English parlor. The Kidō Corps prided themselves on their modernity. Europe was currently ‘in.’

Fumbling in her robes, she produced a thin package, carefully wrapped in paper, but clearly book-shaped. He took it from her with a smile and a deep bow.

“You know me too well, sensei. I can’t thank you enough,” because whatever the subject, Agata had yet to steer him wrong when it came to books.

“You’ll like this one, Sōsuke. There’s a new mediation fad in Edo--or Tokyo, or wherever the capitol is now.” She waved her hands as if she found the Human Worlds’ politics uninteresting or unintelligible. “It’s called hypnosis. Apparently, it can help you correct your bad habits.”

“Ah, and which might those be, sensei?” Sōsuke settled on the floor next to her knees. Ignoring convention, he pulled open the wrapping paper.

She rapped her knuckles on his head. “Becoming a dog of the military for one!”

When the paper slipped free of the title, Sōsuke let out an audible gasp.

It read: Hypnosis: The Power of Suggestion

He glanced up at her. “Can you get me more of these? I’ll.. pay. I’ll pay you anything.”

Agata laughed. “You haven’t even read this one yet, my boy!”

“Please, sensei.”

She gave him a fond smile. “Ah, so I did guess right. You love all those psychological riddles. Mmmm, very well. Let me see… I don’t think it’s against the rules for you to do your work study as my secretary. Agree to serve me until you graduate and I’ll get you any book on hypnosis that I can get my hands on.”

Sōsuke chuckled. “You sly dog, sensei.” He looked at the title again and was amazed at his unbelievable luck. Truth be told, he’d clean stables for a year just for this singular book. Agata was a kindly teacher, he would likely continue to learn something of value, even if all he did for her was fetch her tea. “Very well. I submit to your demands.” He glanced up at her spreading smile, and admonished, “So long as there are more books.”

She wagged her eyebrows mischievously. “I may have already bought several volumes.”

Sōsuke laughed.

“I’ll expect you at my office at three pm sharp.”

Sōsuke clutched the hypnotism book to his chest. “I’ll be there. With bells on.”