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Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni was not a merciful man. He never has been and he never intends to be.
However.
If the previous Gotei 13, his prime generation, were to look at him now, they'd point in his face and laugh without fear. "You've grown soft," they'd cackle. And the worst part is, is that Yamamoto would not defend himself, couldn't deny anything. Because he had grown soft. He was a monster in his prime. A monster he wasn't necessarily proud of. He didn't want to be that monster again- wanted to keep innocent souls safe this time. So he decided to remain the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13. But for now he was an instructor at the Academy he'd founded. Teaching children to not grow up into that monster. He was the one teaching them, but he was learning at the same time.
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It started with Kyoraku Shunsui. A boy who was essentially dragged into the Academy by the the collar. A boy, not even a century, that held no respect for much at all. He looked damningly like the rest of his family. All tan skin, brown curls, and almost bored grey eyes. This boy could've been anybody and Yamamoto would've taught him all the same. The problem: Kyoraku Shunsui was a nightmare.
The boy napped all class, flirted with every other student, and most importantly, didn't listen to a word Yamamoto said- not yet. Kyoraku Shunsui's only saving grace was that he was intelligent and eager when it came to areas he was passionate about. He wanted a Zanpakuto, this much was clear. But that was...about it, really. It was obvious in the way he carried himself- when his father or his brother drug him to the Academy gates every day. It was painfully obvious that he was forced to come. The few times Yamamoto saw Shunsui's older brother or their father, Shunsui looked upset. Not bored, but a sort of discomfort you only ever saw in families that hid things. It wasn't Yamamoto's place to interfere. Not his business. But there were nights where Shunsui would stay at the Academy overnight. No one questioned it and Yamamoto was no exception. "Didn't feel like walking home," Shunsui would say with his usual listless voice, staring off at nothing. He'd brush it off like always. So he stayed and everyone pretended they didn't see him. Yamamoto did not comfort. But he did not kick Shunsui out and tell him to go home- and that was enough. Shunsui got better over time, learned to respect Yamamoto, even if he didn't necessarily show it. He once saw Ryujin Jakka in action and Yamamoto had to pretend like the awed look on the boy's face didn't make his pride flare. Since then, Shunsui had working harder to achieve his own Zanpakuto. He got frustrated easily and was almost irritable at times- pushing himself too hard and too far, Yamamoto surmised. But he was Shunsui's teacher. Not his brother or his father. So he scolded when he needed to and gave very rare, gruff praises that kept the anger out of Shunsui's kido stances for a while. But then it came time when that wasn't enough. And then he came. He came to the Academy a few years after Shunsui. A scrawny thing- skin and bones, really. If Yamamoto were a fraction of the beast he used to be, he would've taken one look at this child and sent him away back to where he came. But something about this boy convinced the old man to let him learn and stay. The new boy's name was Ukitake Jushiro. And he really was skin and bones, skin paper thin and just as bleak. His hair was no better, white as snow, while his eyebrows were a dark ink- how contradictory. But what stood out other than his hair were his eyes. A bright spring green that betrayed the tremble in his limbs when he coughed. This boy, Jushiro, was the exact opposite of Shunsui. He was patient, kind, and gentle. Most importantly, he listened and knew respect. In a strange way, him and Shunsui canceled eachother out. They had met properly when Jushiro had hunched over in class, hand clutched at his heart as he coughed harshly into his sleeves. His classmates had backed away instinctively despite Jushiro's many reassurances that his illness wasn't contagious. If anyone thought of helping him, those thoughts were squashed when a particularly rough cough shook his little body so hard that blood had begun to dot his pale lips. And of course, the only one to stand up for him was Kyoraku Shunsui. He'd stood and whipped his head around to look each of his classmates in the eye and scold them- even the "pretty girls." Then he helped Jushiro to his feet and announced he was taking him to the infirmary. He left the room and no one said a thing. Yamamoto made a silent note to visit Jushiro. Since that incident, Shunsui and Jushiro were inseparable. Shunsui made fast friends with everyone, sure, but there was something about the sick boy that Shunsui couldn't help but be drawn to. If Jushiro wasn't in class, neither was Shunsui. And vice versa, if Jushiro was diligently studying, so was Shunsui. At least, he acted like he was. They taught eachother things. Jushiro taught Shunsui how to better his kido skills. How to be patient. How to give a damn. He gave Shunsui something to protect. Meanwhile, Shunsui taught Jushiro how to relax. Taught him games he played on his own when he was younger. He taught Jushiro how to steady his reiatsu when it was too strong. Taught Jushiro confidence. Yamamoto saw all of it and he'd never admit it, but his stony, cold heart began to warm. The time came and both boys graduated. Together, of course. They climbed the ranks of the Gotei 13 easily- especially with their rare Zanpakuto types. Both dual-blades. Unheard of. Yet somehow, something only those two could possibly pull off. Katen Kyokotsu and Sogyo no Kotowari. Kyoraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jushiro. They fought every battle side by side, even if they were in different Divisions. Shunsui always threw a fit when he had to be separated from Jushiro despite the the thin boy's reassurances. They were in Divisions Eight and Thirteen, respectively. Whose barracks were accursedly right next door to eachother, much to the Captain-Commander's chagrin. It seems not even fate could separate them. First they were simply new boots in their Divisions. Then they were seated officers. Then Lieutenants. And then somehow they became Captains. Yamamoto had grown old during that time. There was no point in denying it. Yamamoto watched as the two grew- watched Shunsui somehow still manage to slack off even as a Captain- watched as Jushiro still scolded him for doing so even from his sickbed. They were magnificent Captains. Yamamoto shouldn't have been shocked, really. When Shunsui, unannounced as always, barged into his vast office in the First Division in an uncharacteristically nervous nature. He came in, wringing his wrists and bouncing his leg as he sat across from Yamamoto. "Old Man," he'd said quietly. "I wanna marry Jushiro." Something cracked in Yamamoto's solid heart at that- not because he was sad or because he thought they didn't belong together, but because...why on Earth would Kyoraku Shunsui come to Yamamoto of all people? He'd come to ask Yamamoto his blessing, but why? And then it hit Yamamoto like a Hollow or a Cero right to the chest. There was no one else. Unohana and Sasakibe both were present, obviously, but no one oversaw both Shunsui and Jushiro like Yamamoto had. The old man responded with his normal gruff voice that he'd allow it. But only if Shunsui brought it to Central 46. And that if he ever failed to defend Jushiro and hurt him, he'd strip him of his rank and cast him from the Gotei 13. And he'd meant every word. Shunsui only grinned, lopsided and genuine with watery eyes that he hid beneath his wide sugegasa. Within the next year, Jushiro and Shunsui were married, much to the disdain of Central 46. Yamamoto had officiated, as per Jushiro's request. How could he deny such a thing? They had their ups and downs, like anyone would. They'd experienced loss. Isuzu Ise, Kyoraku Shunzan, Kaien Shiba, and Yadomaru Lisa. They'd fallen many, many times, but they were always there for eachother to pick up the pieces, even if they were masked behind copious amounts of sake, or hidden behind angry coughs. Where there was grief, new hope sprang forth. Rukia Kuchiki and Nanao Ise soon grew, not to replace those both men had lost, but to start something new. And then there was new hope all around, starting with Ichigo Kurosaki- the human boy that Yamamoto had begrudgingly accepted. And even then, he still wasn't set on the entire Soul Society resting on that child's shoulders. But when the time came for the first Quincy invasion, Yamamoto knew there was no one that could save their home the way Ichigo Kurosaki could. Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni was not cocky when he fought. Did not underestimate his opponent. The Quincy King was right- he had grown soft. Yamamoto, for once, did not feel the need to defend himself. He had grown soft. But for once in his very long life, he was proud of that. The original.Gotei 13 could laugh in his face all they wanted. They knew Yamamoto as the horrid beast that ravaged lands and slaughtered enemies and allies alike. But he knew that was not who he was anymore. He knew what he was. Wether he liked it or not, he was a father. Why would he deny such a thing? Look Yhwach in the eyes and tell him he didn't love his boys- his sons? The two he'd watched grow from unruly and frail little boys to the ridiculously lazy, strong, yet kindhearted men they were today. How could Yamamoto look his sons in the eyes and tell them he wasn't their father. That he was only their teacher, nothing more. Yamamoto knew his time was up. He didn't even realized he'd been slashed in half by Yhwach. He didn't register any pain- only felt a sharp curb in Shunsui's reiatsu. Felt the air change when Jushiro stopped whatever battle he was in to turn around to try and make it in time to help. Yamamoto wasn't afraid. He was not a man of mercy. He was not a kind man like Jushiro. He was not as brave as Shunsui- not like he used to be. So for now, the old man was content to be just that. He knew Shunsui and Jushiro would both grieve in their own ways. But he'd seen them grieve before and build eachother back up. He knew they could do it again. The next time the three of them would meet again would be in Hell. But Yamamoto didn't care, nor did he fear Hell. If putting on the mask of the calamity he used to be, he didn't mind. So long as his sons knew he was still their father beneath all the angry flames he kept around his heart, he didn't mind. Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni was content.