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Long ago before there was a man named Chad Sado came to the picture there was a ..fallen bird that crash landed through the atmosphere of Soul society…..
It was a very different place back then…
The air in the Maggot’s Nest was thick with the scent of stagnant water and the ozone sting of spiritual pressure. It was a time before the Gotei 13 had polished its image into one of stoic nobility—a time when the divisions were still jagged, raw, and led by men who had not yet learned how to carry the weight of the world.
Walking through the subterranean gloom, the young Kisuke Urahara didn’t walk so much as he glided, his movements jerky and predatory. The blue glow of the spirit-light caught the sharp, frantic gleam in his eyes. He wasn't the laid-back shopkeeper of the future; he was a scientist with a fresh scalpel and a lack of tethering morals. He tapped a rhythm against the plastic bag of blank cards, the crinkling sound echoing like breaking bone.
"Oh, Hanatarō, don't be such a bore," Kisuke chirped, his voice high-pitched and vibrating with a terrifying, manic energy. He leaned in close to the younger medic, his face stretching into a grin that didn't reach his cold eyes. "It’s not a 'waste of time' if we find out where to cut first. This winged cow…Think of it! A creature that falls from the sky with colors we’ve never seen in this gray graveyard. If it's a demon, I want to see if its heart beats in reverse. If it’s a Hollow, I want to know why it hasn’t dissolved into ash yet. Imagine the sounds it’ll make when I start peeling back those primary bands to see the muscle underneath."
Hanatarō flinched, clutching his medical kit so hard his knuckles turned a ghostly white. To him, Oscar wasn't a living soul; he was a biological anomaly, a freak of nature that threatened the cleanliness of his charts. "But the smell, Captain... it’s so animalistic. It eats enough to bankrupt a district. Surely, it’s just a mindless beast. We should just... dispose of it before it ruins the floor."
In the center of the damp cell, Oscar sat motionless. His magnificent red and blue plumage was matted with filth, the long, salt-white mane of his hair covering his his eyes , He wears a Chaquetilla—a short, waist-length jacket made of heavy, sun-bleached buckskin, left open to accommodate his massive chest and the white mane of hair spilling down his front. His trousers are Calzoneras, tight-fitting dark suede held together along the outer thigh by silver botonaduras These buttons are functional, unfastened at the hip to allow his six-foot tail to move freely. A frayed, crimson faja is wrapped multiple times around his waist, the deep red matching the primary bands of his wings.
For piercings, he bypasses the refined jewelry of the Soul Society for something more "old world." He has a single, heavy gold hoop in his left ear and a thin septum ring made of dark, hammered gold —. Across his chest, he doesn't wear a captain's haori, but a tattered serape draped over one shoulder like a tactical cloak, hiding the jagged tilt of his wings from prying eyes.
"Enough," Shunsui interrupted, his voice lacking its future gravelly warmth but possessing a rare, burgeoning spark of empathy. He was the only one who looked at the 'Bird Man' and saw eyes instead of specimens. He looked at his companions—Kisuke, who was already sketching diagrams of wing-joints in his head, and Hanatarō, who looked at the prisoner with the disgusted curiosity one might give a cockroach. "You both sound like spoiled brats playing with a wounded stray. Look at him. He’s breathing, he’s bleeding, and he’s listening. Stop talking about him like he’s a piece of meat before I decide to lock the both of you in there with him to see who the real 'creature' is."
Kisuke’s laugh was a sharp, jagged glass sound that rattled the bars of the cage. "So protective, Shunsui! But look at those wings... don't they just make you want to see if they can still carry the weight of a soul once they're plucked?" “ Ya know how monsters have been seen devouring unsuspecting humans ? Well we caught this wild specimen EATING one of them, it spoke complete nonsensical gibberish “¿Dónde estoy? Déjame ir” or whatever the hell that means Behind him is a young weird looking child with long blonde hair and a wide smile. “I would like to see the weird tengu “ he commented playfully. “Actuality..his name is Oscar…” Shunsui got information of them “Call him Oscar not ‘demon ‘ or tengu …Oscar.
The air in the lower levels was thick with the scent of damp stone and the cold, sterile hum of the blue Kido seals. As the group approached the "cell"—a literal birdcage of thick, soul-tempered iron—the light from the guards' torches danced across Oscar’s vibrant feathers.Oscar sat in the center of the gloom, hunched over the remains of his meal. The wet, rhythmic crunch of teeth against marrow filled the silence. He was chewing on a heavy bone with a focused intensity, his six-foot tail coiled around his feet like a sleeping serpent.
"Wow," young Shinji breathed, his wide smile stretching even further. He pressed his face toward the bars, eyes darting over the primary-colored bands. "It really is a weird looking Tengu. Look at those horns! They look like they could pop a Menos like a balloon."
Yamada stayed three paces back, clutching his medical kit so hard his knuckles were white. "C-Captains, please... it’s eating a bone. What if it decides it likes the taste of Soul Reapers next?"
"Now, now, Hanatarō," Urahara chirped, though his eyes were sharp, scanning every inch of Oscar’s anatomy. "Curiosity is the father of progress." He stepped forward, the small bag of blank cards crinkling in his hand."Kisuke," Shunsui warned, his voice low and unusually steady. He leaned on his katanas, his gaze fixed on Oscar’s restless wings. "Don't. He’s not a specimen; he’s a guest who didn't ask to be here. Stay behind the line."
Urahara didn't listen. Driven by the itch of a scientist who sees a miracle, he slipped past the boundary. "Just a small sample," he murmured. He reached through the bars, his fingers extending toward the trail of delicate downy feathers near the base of Oscar’s tail.”He is a very soft creature…” He pulled a few feathers that made Oscar flinch in plain . “HISS” he spat out the jagged shard of calcium through the air at the speed of a fired Cero. Urahara tilted his head a fraction of an inch, the bone grazing his hat making a massive hole through the wall the shape of a skull
"A bit moody, aren't we?" Urahara mocked, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "You’ll have to do better than—"
SHRRRRRT.
The soft, vibrant feathers stood on end, snapping into rigid, metallic blades that caught the dim light like serrated steel. With a whip-like crack, the tail slashed through the bars diving straight into Urahara's left eye .. Blood sprayed the stone floor and Urahara’s green-and-white coat. The scientist staggered back, his hand flying to his face as he let out a jagged, guttural scream of agony. Red seeped through his fingers, pouring from his eye socket.
"Captain Urahara!" Yamada shrieked, scrambling forward with his medical kit, his terror momentarily overridden by his duty as a healer.
Shunsui didn't move to help. He remained standing, his shadow long and somber. "I warned you, Kisuke," he said softly, his voice heavy with a 'told-you-so' that lacked any joy. "Nature doesn't like to be touched."Inside the cage, Oscar finally turned. He stood to his full height, his massive wings unfurling and scraping against the ceiling of his prison. His ivory horns seemed to glow against his wavy white hair. He looked down at the bleeding scientist with eyes that were no longer those of a "creature," but of a man pushed to his limit.
His voice rang out, deep and resonant, vibrating through the iron bars in a tongue they couldn't parse, yet understood perfectly through the sheer weight of his intent.
"Retrocede o te lastimará…Vete, me niego a jugar a ningún juego," he growled, the vibration of his voice rattling the iron bars. Go away, I refuse to play any games.
The four walled in a fast pace avoiding eye contact back in the bird cell
Shunsui stepped back, his hand tightening on the brim of his hat. He didn't look at the bleeding scientist; he looked at Oscar's retreating form with a pained expression. "Damn it, Kisuke," he muttered, his voice sharp with a rare, genuine annoyance. "It took me weeks to get him to even acknowledge I existed, let alone talk to me. Now look at what you did! You’ve set the clock back to zero, went from progress to strangers ! .Urahara didn't answer immediately. He was doubled over, his hand clamped over his left eye, but blood was already saturating his sleeve. "I was... just gathering... data," he wheezed, but the usual smugness in his voice was replaced by a jagged edge of agony.
"Data?" Shunsui scoffed, stepping toward the exit to force the group out before Oscar decided to finish the job. "You got a lesson in boundaries, and it’s costing you dearly."
"This... is not a normal cut," Urahara hissed, his knees buckling. He pulled his hand away for a split second, and even in the dim light, the wound was terrifying. "What on earth... is on those feathers...?"
Yamada let out a high-pitched whimper, fumbling with a roll of spirit-thread. "Captain! Please, stop moving! If I can't stabilize the Reishi in the wound, the eye is—"
"I need to go to my lab!" Urahara snapped, his breathing becoming shallow and panicked. He tried to stand, but his spiritual signature was flickering like a dying candle.
"Captain, wait!" Yamada shrieked, his eyes bulging as he looked at the bandages he was trying to apply. "Why is your blood glowing?! Why is there smoke?!"
It was true. Wisps of acrid, multicolored smoke—vibrant reds and neon blues—were curling from the laceration in Urahara’s socket. The blood dripping onto the floor wasn't just red; it was shimmering with a bioluminescent sheen, sizzling as it touched the cold stone.
"MY EYE! IT BURNS!" Urahara screamed, losing his composure entirely. It wasn't just a physical sting; it felt like a foreign, predatory energy was actively trying to "eat" the nerves behind his socket. The "impossible color" of Oscar wasn't just for show—it was caustic.
"Calm down! Please!" Yamada cried, his hands shaking so violently he dropped his medical kit. The clicks of his sandals echoed frantically against the floor. "I can't heal it if it’s still burning!". Urahara vision blurred on both eyes until everything turned black . He fell down with a sudden THUD foam frothing from his mouth
The next day a heavy, rhythmic humming of the blue Kido seals felt a little more oppressive today, the silence of the hall no longer broken by Urahara’s mocking commentary or Yamada’s frantic breathing.
Shunsui walked down the corridor alone, his straw hat tilted low, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stopped before the massive, ornate birdcage. He didn't have his katanas drawn; in fact, he looked like he had just rolled out of a nap, save for the dark circles under his eyes.
Inside the cage, Oscar was perched on a stone ledge, his wings folded tightly like a heavy cloak. His massive tail draped over the side, the feathers now soft and vibrant again, showing no sign of the razor-edged death they had dealt the night before.
"I'm going to be honest ," Shunsui began, his voice resonating in the moist surroundings. He gave a faint, weary frown “He is still unconscious..”
Oscar didn't even glance over. He merely adjusted a wing, the vivid red and yellow stripes reflecting the scant light available. He emitted a sharp, dismissive huff—a physical eye-roll that required no words.Shunsui sat down on the cold floor cross-legged, maintaining a respectful distance from the bars. From his robes, he pulled out a small wooden tray filled with an assortment of fresh sushi—high-quality tuna, fatty salmon, and eel.
"I apologize for yesterday," Shunsui said, his tone shifting into something more somber and sincere. He pushed the tray through the small slot at the bottom of the cage. "I should have kept a tighter leash on them. But for today, it’s just you and me. No scientists, no torches, Just two souls sharing a meal. Or, well... one soul and one 'enigma.'" Shunsui sighed, closing his eyes. "I brought the good stuff. Thought you might be tired of just plain fruit and chicken."Oscar looked down at the tray. The colors of the fish almost matched the vibrance of his own feathers
“Crudo? ¿Qué clase de burla es esta, cabrón?” Oscar rose making a small laugh with his jagged teeth . His massive wings unfurling until the primary colors brushed against the damp ceiling. He began to rub his tail—a rhythmic, metallic scraping sound as the feathers teased the transition back into blades. His eyes, sharp and ancient, locked onto Shunsui’s throat.
"¡Ya me cansé!" Oscar hissed, his voice a low, vibrating rumble of Mexican Spanish. "¡Estoy harto de estar callado, de ser tu prisionero, de que me miren como a una maldita bestia! Si te acercas un paso más, te voy a rajar el cuello de oreja a oreja. ¿Me oyes, cabrón?"
He was trembling with the sheer weight of his suppressed rage. He had just threatened to slit the Captain’s throat, to paint the floor with the blood of the only man who had been kind to him.Shunsui didn't flinch. He didn't reach for his swords. Instead, a slow, genuine, and impossibly warm smile spread across his face. He let out a soft, delighted chuckle.
"Oh, marvelous!" Shunsui beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I have no idea what you just said, but you’re finally talking back! I'm so glad you're sharing your thoughts with me, Oscar. It’s a start!"
Oscar froze. The violent momentum of his threat hit the wall of Shunsui’s pure, unadulterated cheer and shattered. He didn't understand the Japanese words, but the smile—it was so disarming, so profoundly "stupid" in the face of death—that it made Oscar’s throat go dry. The urge to yell died in his chest, replaced by a confused, frustrated silence."¿Qué le pasa a este idiota? Oscar thought, his tail-blades softening back into feathers. Le dije que lo voy a matar y se ríe.Shunsui, acting as if he hadn't just been threatened with decapitation, reached into the tray. He picked up a sushi roll with his fingers, popped it into his mouth, and chewed with a look of exaggerated bliss.
"Mmm, delicious," Shunsui hummed. He then picked up another roll—a prime piece of fatty tuna—and held it out toward the bars, gesturing for Oscar to take it.
Oscar stared at the piece of raw fish, his expression a mask of deep suspicion. He didn't move.Seeing the hesitation, Shunsui reached for a small container of dark, rich soy sauce. He dipped his own roll into it and then pointed at the sauce, then at the fish, and finally at Oscar
"Sushi," Shunsui said slowly, his voice gentle and rhythmic. He tapped the tray. "Sushi."
Oscar looked at the dark liquid, then at Shunsui's expectant face. The "Bird Man" was completely bewildered. This man was either the bravest soul in the Seireitei or the most oblivious fool Oscar had ever met.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Oscar reached out a hand—his long, sharp nails glinting—and took the roll. He sniffed it, his nose wrinkling at the lack of lime and salt, but the kindness in Shunsui’s eyes was harder to ignore than the hunger in his own gut.
Oscar took the roll, his long fingers moving with a grace that contradicted his monstrous size. He dipped it into the dark sauce as Shunsui had shown him and placed it in his mouth.
He chewed slowly, his golden eyes fixed on the stone floor. Internally, he was already dissecting the flavor. It was clean, the fish was high-quality, and the texture was buttery—but to a man raised on the explosion of flavors from his homeland, it felt unfinished. It was a ghost of a meal. There was no heat to make his blood race, no acidity to cut through the fat, no salt to ground the taste. Compared to a plate of pescado a la talla or a fresh aguachile back in Mexico, this was like eating a beautiful, colorful cloud. It was hollow.He swallowed, the silence stretching between them. Shunsui watched him with that same infuriatingly hopeful expression, leaning his head back against the cage bars as if they were sitting on a porch at sunset.
Oscar opened his mouth to speak, to tell this man that his "sushi" tasted like a missed opportunity—"Le falta limón, idiota"—but he stopped himself.
He looked at Shunsui’s relaxed posture and the way the Captain seemed to genuinely enjoy the quiet. Oscar realized then that if he spoke, Shunsui would find a way to turn it into a bridge. If he got angry, Shunsui would smile. If he pleaded, Shunsui would offer pity. Every word Oscar uttered was just another thread Shunsui could use to tie him to this place.
Juegos mentales, Oscar thought bitterly. Mind games.
He decided then and there to retreat. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his voice, his rage, or his culture. He wouldn't let them "tame" him through conversation.
Oscar shifted, his massive wings rustling like heavy silk as he turned his back once more. He curled his six-foot tail around his legs and sat in the shadows of the cage, becoming a statue of vibrant, impossible color in the dark.
Shunsui blinked, the silence returning to the hallway, heavier than before. He popped another piece of fish into his mouth, his smile faltering just a fraction. He knew exactly what was happening. The bird had stopped singing.
"Tough crowd," Shunsui whispered to the empty air, though he didn't move to leave.
“You know, Senhor," Shunsui said, sliding the book through the gap in the spirit-iron bars. "They tell me you’re a mystery. But mysteries are usually just things that haven't been written down yet. Why don't we start with something simple? I’ll show you the characters for Sun. You look like a man who misses the sun."
Shunsui reached in, intent on guiding the giant’s hand to show him the "correct" stroke order of the kanji.
Oscar’s movement was a blur.
The book was snatched from Shunsui’s hand with a speed that made the air whistle. Before Shunsui could blink, Oscar had the brush. He didn't hold it like a scholar; he held it like a weapon. Without looking up, he flipped Shunsui a very clear, very universal middle finger.Then, he began to write. He didn't draw pictures. He wrote in sharp, elegant, sweeping script that looked like bird tracks across the page.
"MÉXICO."
Shunsui leaned in, squinting at the strange, looping letters. "Now, now, that’s just... that’s scribble, Oscar-kun. That’s not how you form a thought. Here, let me show you the right way to—
Shunsui reached for the brush to correct the "mistake."
Oscar’s long, colorful tail—heavy with iridescent feathers that felt like soft velvet but hit like a lead pipe—swung around the corner of the cage.
SLAP.
The sound echoed through the entire prison block. It wasn't a deadly blow, but it was a firm "Shut up" delivered with the weight of a 7ft Mawca. Shunsui’s head snapped back, his straw hat spinning off his head and landing three feet away.
The prison went silent. The other prisoners gasped. No one hit a Captain. No one.
Shunsui sat there, a stream of blood cut from his cheek staining his pink kimono.
He slowly reached out, retrieved his hat, and placed it back on his head. He looked at the strange word in the book—México—and then up at the giant behind the bars.
Oscar gripped the brush with a steady, practiced hand and scrawled a full line across the parchment. The ink was thick, the letters leaning with a defiant, elegant tilt.
He looked Shunsui dead in the eye, the white bangs of his hair parting just enough to show a gaze that was sharp, tired, and profoundly human.
Then, he spoke. The voice didn't growl. It was a rich, resonant baritone that vibrated the very spirit-iron of the cage.
"La libertad no necesita alas, sino un camino."
The sound of it was like a song played on a deep cello. It filled the damp cell block, echoing off the stone walls until even the prisoners stopped breathing to listen. It wasn't the "chirping" of the Japanese tongue; it was heavy with vowels and a rhythmic, rolling heat.
Shunsui froze. The realization hit him like a physical weight. He looked at the strange script, then at the man—not the "creature"—standing seven feet tall in the shadows.
"I see..." Shunsui whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He reached out a hand toward the bars, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and genuine wonder. "So it’s not random talk. It’s not a beast’s cry at all. It’s your language. You’ve been talking to us this whole time, and we were just too deaf to—"
SLAP.
The colorful, velvet-soft tail whipped through the air again, catching Shunsui right on the shoulder this time. It wasn't a bone-breaking strike, but it was heavy enough to knock him off balance and send him sprawling back onto his rear.
Oscar didn't even change his expression. He just went back to the book, pointing a massive finger at the sentence he had written. His message was clear: Stop talking like I’m a discovery and start treating me like a man who just told you something important.
Shunsui sat in the dirt, rubbing his shoulder. A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face, even as his pulse raced.
"Fair enough, Oscar-kun," Shunsui chuckled, adjusting his pink kimono. "I suppose I deserved that for being so slow on the draw. You aren't a 'specimen' to be studied, are you? You’re just a traveler with a very short temper.
Shunsui stood up, dusting off his kimono and reaching for his hat. "Well, Oscar-kun, as much as I’ve enjoyed our little linguistics lesson, a Captain’s bed is calling my name. These old bones aren't meant for stone floors."
He turned to leave, but he didn't get a step away.
The colorful tail whipped out like a living lariat, coiling tight around Shunsui’s ankle. With a violent, effortless jerk, Shunsui was yanked off his feet. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, his breath hitching as he was dragged back toward the bars.
"Now, now," Shunsui gasped, his hand flying to the hilt of Katen Kyōkotsu. "I know you're lonely, but this is a bit—"
He drew his blade, the steel gleaming in the torchlight. He intended to just wedge the flat of the blade into the coil to pry it loose. But the moment the edge touched the feathers, Oscar’s tail didn't flinch. Instead, it squeezed.
CRACK.
The sound echoed like a gunshot. Shunsui’s eyes widened as he looked at his zanpakutō. The spirit-iron blade was snapped clean in two, the shards clattering onto the floor.
"How did you...?" Shunsui stammered, looking at the broken hilt. "Oscar, I have to go. I can't stay here forever."
Oscar didn't speak. He just tightened the grip. His golden eyes were fixed on Shunsui—not with malice, but with a desperate, crushing possessiveness.
"Oscar, you're hurting me," Shunsui winced, his face pale. The pressure was immense, like a giant's fist closing around his leg.
Seeing the genuine pain on the Captain's face, Oscar’s expression shifted. He didn't let go, but the pressure eased just a fraction. He looked at the broken sword, then back at Shunsui, a low, mournful sound vibrating in his chest. It was an apology he didn't have the words for.
"Lo siento... no quería... pero no me dejes solo." (I'm sorry... I didn't want to... but don't leave me alone.)
"I know," Shunsui whispered, his voice shaking. "I understand. You’re scared. You don't belong here, and if I were in your shoes—or your feathers—I would have panicked, too."
Shunsui looked around the dark, miserable cell. "How about a compromise? I can’t let you walk free, but I can move the cage. There’s a place called Senzaikyū. It’s a massive white tower in the center of the Seireitei. It’s quiet. There’s sunlight. It's much better than this hole."
Oscar tilted his head, his tail still anchored to Shunsui’s leg.
"Look, Oscar," Shunsui sighed, leaning his head against the bars. "The only reason you’re even in this mess is because you ate a Hollow. In this world, those things are monsters. To the Shinigami, you didn't just 'eat a pest,' you consumed a nightmare. They don't know if that makes you a hero or the next Great Evil."
Oscar just shrugged. To him, it was simple. He was hungry, and the creature looked like meat.
"Fair enough," Shunsui chuckled weakly. "I suppose I shouldn't expect you to know the local menu.” But listen... since we're going to be 'friends' for a while, we need to talk. Properly. I’ll look for a way—some Kido, some magic, some something—to let us understand each other's thoughts. No more slaps, no more broken swords. Deal?"
Oscar looked at the broken blade on the floor, then slowly, very slowly, uncoiled his tail.The heavy, spirit-tempered gate groaned as Shunsui deactivated the Kido seals. For the first time in weeks, the "Bird Man" wasn't behind bars. Shunsui stood in the center of the hallway, his hands tucked loosely into his pink floral sleeves. He had intentionally left his shadow-stepping abilities—his Kageoni—at the door. He wanted no tricks, no sudden disappearances, and no looming darkness. He wanted Oscar to see the "sunlight" of the upper levels without feeling hunted.
"Well?" Shunsui chirped, tilting his head with a lazy, lopsided grin. "What are you waiting for? Me to carry your lazy ass? Vámonos!"
Oscar’s golden eyes narrowed. The man’s Spanish was atrocious, mangled by a thick Japanese accent, but the intent was clear. Oscar stepped out of the cage, his massive frame making the hallway feel suddenly cramped. His wings brushed the stone walls with a dry, papery rustle.
He didn't walk with Shunsui. He walked slightly in front, a deliberate power play. As they reached the first stairwell, Oscar’s six-foot tail gave a "lazy" flick. It wasn't a strike, but a perfectly timed trip-wire.
THUD.
Shunsui went sprawling, his straw hat rolling across the damp floor.
"¡Ups!" Oscar muttered under his breath, his voice like grinding gravel. He didn't look back, but the rhythmic twitch of his tail-feathers betrayed a flicker of grim satisfaction.
Shunsui groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He didn't get angry. Instead, his eyes caught on something—a jagged, uneven tilt in Oscar’s left wing. The vibrant primary bands were ruffled, and the wing hung at a heavy, awkward angle, dragging slightly against the ground.
"Hey," Shunsui said, his voice losing its playful edge. He stood up, dusting off his kimono. "That wing... it looks pretty banged up. I didn't realize it was that bad. Can you even fly, Oscar-kun?"
Oscar stopped dead. He turned his head just enough to look at Shunsui over his shoulder. The look he gave the Captain was one of pure, unadulterated judgment. It was the look a human gives a particularly slow-witted rock.
“Is this man serious?” Oscar thought” Are all Shinigami born with a hole in their head, or is it a job requirement?”
"¿Volar?" Oscar’s voice rumbled, deep and mocking. He gestured vaguely at Shunsui’s own back. "¿Puedes volar tú, pendejo?"
Shunsui blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh... I can walk on spirit particles. It’s a bit like flying, I suppose. But I don't have the hardware you've got."Oscar let out a short, sharp huff—a laugh that sounded more like a cough. He turned back around, continuing his slow, "painful" limp.
The injury was a total lie. His wings were perfectly fine, his muscles coiled and ready to snap the neck of anyone who got too close. But a wounded animal was a low priority. If they thought he was grounded, they wouldn't watch the sky. He was playing the long game, letting their guard rot under the sun of their own arrogance
Shunsui, however, took the "injury" to heart. His protective instincts—the same ones that made him a nightmare for his enemies—kicked in. He hurried forward, reaching out with his arms as if he were going to scoop the seven-foot, 300-pound bird-man into a bridal carry.
"Here, let me help. If you're struggling that much, I can carry—"
BONK.
The sound of Oscar’s fist meeting the top of Shunsui’s head was hollow and resonant. It was a firm, downward strike that sent the Captain’s hat down over his eyes.
"No," Oscar growled.
He moved faster now, his "limp" suddenly becoming much more manageable. He didn't need a ride from a man who smelled like sake and flowery perfume. He just needed this "idiot" to keep walking so he could find a way out of this white-stone labyrinth.
Shunsui straightened his hat, a red bump already forming on his crown. He watched Oscar’s retreating back—the way the tail swished with a predatory grace that didn't match the "broken" wing.
"Rough hands," Shunsui muttered, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But at least he’s moving."