Born in Seireitei

I walk through the ruins of a devastated district of the city.

I decided to see firsthand where and in what conditions the future Captain lives. And his Lieutenant, of course.

The roads are littered with debris and tracks—not just from people, but from Hollows as well. I glance around, but the scenery is the same everywhere. Rubble, scorch marks, ruins of homes. Desolation. There's no sign that anyone intends to clean up the mess or resettle this area.

To be honest, this place gives me the creeps. It feels like the sunlight here isn't quite right, and the thoughts in my head are nothing but grim. Dried bloodstains are everywhere… It's like being in a horror movie. If not for the guards flanking me, silent and watchful, there's no way I'd have come here.

A destroyed house with one intact corner catches my attention. On that corner, there's a distinct claw mark—black, as if scorched.

Driven by curiosity, I step closer and touch it with my finger. The sensation burns like boiling water.

"Ouch!"

"Sir?"

Both guards look at me with concern, their hands ready on the hilts of their swords. It's a bit awkward to see such honest, pure worry on the faces of these hardened men.

"It's fine," I reassure them, staring intently at my finger. "Just a little price for my curiosity."

This time, instead of touching it again, I hover my hand a millimeter above the Hollow's mark. There's something searing, though it's impossible to tell whether it's cold or hot. Whatever it is, it's undoubtedly malicious—still alive, in a way. My palm tingles sharply, as if the nerves are being pricked directly, with no skin to protect them.

Hollow reiatsu... So this is what it's like. Dangerous! Very dangerous. Malicious and feral.

I pull my hand back and shake my numb wrist. It feels as though all warmth and life have been sucked out of it. And this is just from one miserable trace of reiatsu! I think I've still been seriously underestimating these creatures...

"Now I understand why no one lives here," I say quietly, surveying the many Hollow tracks scattered around. "This place feels cursed."

One of the guards shivers and asks, "Are you sure they live here? Those two kids? Even beggars wouldn't agree to spend a day here, not for any amount of money. There's a reason places like this are considered cursed."

The other guard nods silently, agreeing with his companion without a word. He's not much of a talker—I can't even remember the sound of his voice. What's his name again? Ruma? Or Shirasaki? I can't recall.

Not that it matters. It's far too awkward to ask now, after so many days together.

"There are a few untouched houses on the outskirts. They should be somewhere around there. At least, that's where they've been seen most often. No one else lives here."

"Are you sure?" the guard asks nervously. "I think I saw someone at the end of the street."

"Looters," I shrug. "Or maybe former residents trying to salvage something they don't consider 'cursed.' Stop buying into superstitions. By the standards of the World of the Living, you're a ghost yourself right now."

"Ha, yeah, that's true," the guard replies with a slight smile, looking a bit more relaxed.

I know for sure that whoever he saw wasn't Kensei or Mashiro. The boy should be at his latest job right now, working off the growing debts. If I'm not mistaken, he's kneading dough in a local bakery today. A tough job for a teenager.

And Mashiro... She's probably running around causing trouble somewhere in the central market. My people are doing their best to keep an eye on her, but despite her distinctive green hair, she's not easy to track. Small and quick, she darts through alleys and across rooftops like a tiny rocket.

If not for the eeriness of this place, someone would've caught her by now and given her a spanking for all her antics. But as it stands, she always escapes here after her escapades.

While poor Kensei spends all his waking hours working to pay off their increasing debts… she just keeps adding to them, refusing to stay home and behave. I feel sorry for the guy.

And sad about the girl's behavior. Knowing the truth about Mashiro, she no longer seems like the cheerful person portrayed in the anime.

There, she was a childishly carefree and cheerful presence—a bit wild, always annoying Kensei whenever she opened her mouth.

She was just a lighthearted comedic character with a mischievous personality, without much backstory or depth. One of the Vizards, and that was it.

But in reality, she's a person with her own history, personality, and problems. Just like me. Just like the guys next to me. Just like the countless other souls around.

When you live among them, you can't just coldly analyze and label them as "characters."

They're people—living souls who feel pain, sadness, and despair. Their lives aren't sweet cups of tea like mine. Knowing this, and having the means to help, how could I just walk away, taking Kensei and leaving Mashiro behind?

If you think about it, Kensei spent centuries with this broken Mashiro, constantly watching over his mentally unstable friend and enduring all her antics. And he never abandoned her. Even when he became a Captain, he brought her along and made her his Lieutenant.

And even after experiencing Hollowfication, Mashiro's mind remained childlike... I can't imagine what Kensei must've gone through. No wonder they portrayed him as such a grim and reserved guy.

"Sir, is something wrong?"

"No," I replied, wiping my eyes. "Just got some dust in my eye."

You're a good person, Kensei. I swear, neither of you will have to endure this fate any longer. Not if I can help it.

It hasn't been that long yet. I'm sure Mashiro can still be healed.

Awakening reiatsu under severe psychological trauma isn't rare. Unfortunately, it's almost commonplace. And the Seireitei knows how to treat such things. The Shinigami face monsters, lose comrades, and live on the edge every day. The medics of the Gotei 13 are experts in healing not just physical wounds but mental scars as well.

The key is whether a fighter has enough strength to swallow their pride and seek help from healers. Unfortunately, not everyone does. 

If the real Mashiro is still somewhere behind that mask of childlike behavior, they'll pull her out and make her live. The main thing is to bring her to the Seireitei; they'll have the means and methods to help. 

But for now, these are just my thoughts. Whether Kensei and Mashiro will agree to accept help from a stranger is another matter entirely. 

I could just leave them some money and arrange allowances for years to come. But I'm too emotionally invested now to just leave things as they are. 

I can't help everyone, nor am I some charitable organization. But since fate brought us here, why not? 

Lost in thoughts about my motives and their troubles, I barely noticed when we arrived at the place we were looking for. 

"Is this it?" I murmured, glancing around. 

Before us stood all that remained after the Hollows' attack and the fires. Just five houses, half a street—once a cul-de-sac. 

Walking slowly from one house to the next, I found only one that still showed signs of life. It wasn't even a whole house, just the half that had survived the fire. 

Once, it had been a decent one-story home, built from thin but sturdy logs. Now, the right side was reduced to ashes and charred remains, while the left side leaned precariously but still held firm. 

It wasn't a house anymore—just a grotesque parody of one, a half-burnt monstrosity that somehow still stood. Anywhere else, this would have been an ordinary sight, but here it added an extra layer of eeriness. This place felt unpleasant, oppressive, like it wanted you to leave. 

The shutters on the windows were boarded up, crossed over and nailed down. Because of the house's tilt, the thick door had twisted outward and was jammed shut. Only a narrow gap remained, big enough for a child to crawl through. Ah, now I see why they chose it. 

I crouched close to the gap and peered inside. 

The main room of the house was shrouded in darkness. In the center was a square hearth, with a pile of debris from the area used as firewood. A single pot hung over the hearth, blackened with soot and grime. Two piles of rags served as both beds and blankets. 

I inhaled deeply by accident and sneezed. Covering my nose with a long sleeve, I backed away from the gap. The smell—it reeked of smoke! An unbearably concentrated stench of burnt wood, lacquer, and paint, all left over from the burned half of the house and now suffocating the intact portion. 

Living here would be unbearable for an ordinary person—anyone sleeping in this environment would wake up dizzy. For someone with awakened reiatsu, it might be tolerable, but certainly far from pleasant. The only upside to this refuge was its relative safety. 

For two children who had survived a disaster, safety was likely the one thing they desperately sought when looking for shelter—somewhere secure where no one could get to them. 

I had initially planned to wait for Kensei at his home until evening, but I changed my mind. It wasn't the smell or the difficulty of getting inside that deterred me. 

I simply imagined myself in their place, and it was the last thing I would want. The intrusion of strangers into the one place you consider safe would feel like an attack, inviting nothing but hostility. 

To ruin the conversation before it even began? Not a negotiation—just a simple talk with children? The image in my mind nearly made me snort. If I acted like that, my father would've hung himself out of shame in the Council hall. 

If I hated him, maybe it would've been worth doing. But despite what some think, he's a decent guy—cold and intimidating, sure, but still a good man. Although, by World of the Living standards, he was more like my great-great-grandfather in age. Ugh, forget such thoughts. Not going down that rabbit hole again. A third of the souls here are walking fossils anyway. 

"I thought I'd wait here, but I've changed my mind. Let's go," I said to the two guards, spinning on my heels. "Later, you two will come back and bring Kensei to me after sunset. Bring the girl too, if he's willing. No roughness." 

"As you command," they nodded in response. 

---

In the main room of the rented house.

Oil lamps in wrought-iron holders cast a warm, comfortable light over the large space. It could easily accommodate two dozen guests with room to spare. The floor, pleasantly warm, was covered with soft, richly colored rugs adorned with subtle patterns.

Low chairs, nearly legless, were set upon the rugs, accompanied by large cushions and low tables. This was a space for relaxation and quiet conversations. Each light source was placed thoughtfully—not to blind or fully illuminate, but to create a cozy, warm dimness with orange hues.

At the far end of the room, near the wall, stood a tall, folding paper screen. It was pristine, like a fresh canvas, and indeed, it served as one. 

On its smooth surface were painted landscapes of mountains and rivers under a clear blue sky. These "screens" were often not used to divide a room but as artistic elements that complemented any interior—more an art piece than furniture. Sometimes, they featured both painting and calligraphy.

Set against this artistic backdrop was a small, legless chair with an ornate backrest and a velvet seat, so luxurious it resembled a throne more than a chair. From this spot, the entire room was visible, and it was here that I lounged, legs crossed, savoring wine for once instead of tea.

In the Seireitei, sake in all its varieties was the drink of choice, along with tea and a modest handful of coffee enthusiasts. Wine was not popular and rarely made its way to the Okikiba estate. So, this was my chance to indulge before returning.

Cradling a black cup decorated with silver floral patterns and filled with crimson wine, I took small, occasional sips. 

The wine was red, sweet, and slightly heady, teasing the palate with a faintly spicy aroma. The Soul Society was home to many enthusiasts who devoted centuries of their lives to perfecting their craft—wine included. No elite wine from the World of the Living could compare to the finest vintages here.

It took considerable willpower not to gulp down this divine nectar until I passed out. That, incidentally, was a favorite pastime of my fellow aristocrats. 

Though they preferred sake or peculiar cocktails that didn't suit my taste—like tea sake, fruity sake, floral sake, iced sake, or nearly boiling sake with syrup. I think they'd mix anything consumable into sake if they could.

In short, my peers knew how to party, and they did it well, frequently. Of course, only outside of formal gatherings, where everything was strict and proper. 

The ones who weren't being drilled to death in hopes of becoming Shinigami were the exception. 

Those kids were more like me—serious beyond their years, already prepared for adult responsibilities, including real life-and-death battles. They knew the horrors that awaited beyond the safe walls and barriers of the capital.

Most of them were awakened or preparing for it, as well as for admission to the Spiritual Arts Academy. 

In the quiet and calm, listening only to the faint crackle of lamp flames and the chirping of crickets outside, I waited, savoring my drink. And finally, my wait ended before the wine could go to my head.

A soft knock echoed in the large guestroom. The sliding doors parted, revealing Daiki and a slight figure standing behind him.

"I've brought him, my lord," said the head guard, stepping aside and whispering to the boy, "Go in and be polite."

The white-haired boy hesitantly entered the lit room. He appeared younger than me by a couple of years, his future as a Captain and Vizard barely hinted at in his features.

For now, a scrawny, exhausted boy stood before me. His unkempt silvery hair fell into his eyes, sharp gray eyebrows framed his face, and his skin was darkened by constant exposure to the sun. He gave the room a quick, wary scan before fixing his sullen gaze on me.

He bowed, and the motion almost caused his tattered clothes to slip from his bony shoulders. Not quite a concentration camp survivor, but close enough... In this frail child, it was hard to imagine the close-combat titan he would become. It seemed unbelievable that, as an adult, he'd be capable of taking down a Gillian with a single punch. 

Yet his face and the scar on his brow already made him recognizable. 

Daiki stepped back and shut the door behind him, the soft sound startling the boy. He flinched slightly, realizing he was alone in the room with a strange aristocrat from the Seireitei.

I motioned silently with a finger. 

The boy didn't play the coward. He walked forward immediately, careful not to trip over the cushions. He stopped exactly three meters from me, gave me another cautious once-over, clenched his fists, then relaxed them before blurting out nervously:

"You're not one of those perverts who likes boys, right?" 

Ha, his voice still carries a trace of childhood, but it's already rough, firm, and demanding. He doesn't realize it yet, but there's a faint pressure of reiatsu emanating from him—a subconscious threat and readiness to fight. What an interesting boy. 

At that, I merely raised an eyebrow, took a sip of wine, and asked in response: 

"And what makes you think that?" 

"I've heard what they do to street kids," Kensei replied bluntly and honestly. "Let me tell you right now—I'd sooner bite my tongue off and choke on my own blood than let that happen, even for money!" 

"Wow, how bold," I teased him lightly. "A fitting response for the son of Muguruma Rinkaku." 

Silence descended over the room. 

"You know my father?" Kensei tensed, though the feral wariness—the fight-or-flight readiness that seemed to radiate from his scrawny frame—suddenly dissipated. 

"Take a seat," I nodded toward the cushion across from me. "We have things to discuss. And no, I'm not a pervert." 

Kensei sat down, attempting to cross his legs in the same manner as me. He shifted on the cushion, narrowed his black-and-yellow eyes, and asked more calmly: 

"So who are you? And what do you want from me?" 

"My name is Okikiba Sujin," I introduced myself, inclining my head slightly. "I'm from the Noble Family of Okikiba, and I've come from the Seireitei. As for why I'm here… can you read?" 

"A little," the boy nodded, scratching the back of his head. "As long as it's not too complicated." 

I reached into my robe and pulled out a letter, tossing it lightly. The paper landed precisely at the white-haired boy's feet. 

"Then read it," I ordered casually, sipping from my cup of wine. After taking a sip, I added, "It contains most of the answers to your questions." 

It was the letter my father had sent me. Everything was in there—from the friendship between the Okikiba and Muguruma families to the instructions for me to help Kensei. It was easier this way than trying to explain everything to a street-hardened boy who had turned into a feral wolf. 

It was amusing to watch him read like a typical child, silently mouthing the words and tracing the lines with his finger. The moment he realized who my father was, he shot me a stunned look but then returned to reading, his expression becoming more bewildered with every sentence. 

Not every day do you learn that your deceased father was a close friend and former servant of one of the most infamous Councilors of the ruling body. 

I could understand his shock, but resisting the urge to chuckle at his growing astonishment was becoming increasingly difficult. 

When he finished reading, his eyes held a chaotic swirl of emotions. I didn't pry or try to untangle them. Instead, I spoke gently: 

"To make it clear, tomorrow, you won't need to go to work. All your debts in the city have already been paid. Those who treated you poorly and wished you harm have been punished, and the few who helped you have been rewarded. At sunrise, you'll have the chance to choose a new path in life." 

I set my now-empty cup on the floor beside me. 

"Whatever you decide, I'll be the one to open any door to the future you desire." 

"Anything?" Kensei asked quietly, disbelief evident in his tone. 

"I could give you a bag of gold so heavy you wouldn't be able to carry it," I promised nonchalantly. "I could buy you a house so large you could get lost in it for a week. I could provide you with an education that would make you great. I could even make the ruler of this town kneel and kiss your feet in ten minutes if I wanted to."

With each phrase, the astonishment in Kensei's eyes grew, as did the seriousness in my tone. I wasn't joking, and he understood that. 

"My father has many servants," I said quietly. "But very few friends—especially the kind he would cherish even after their death. I understand the unspoken request in his letter to properly take care of the son of perhaps his only truly dear friend. His deceased friend." 

Kensei sniffled, carefully placing the letter on the carpet. We sat in silence for a while; I gave him time to think. 

"But why?" he asked, lost, clutching the worn fabric of his pants in his fists. "My old man was just a fool… He didn't even really visit me! My aunt raised me. I didn't know him at all. He was just a shinigami… a weak one, if I understood correctly." 

"Perhaps," I nodded, deliberately ignoring the shine in his eyes. "But he lived his dream of becoming a shinigami and achieved it. Even if he was ordinary among them, he died the way every shinigami dreams of: in battle, to the very end, bravely and honestly. A hero." 

"Like my mom," Kensei whispered softly, a mix of sadness and pride in his tone. Then he hissed with such hatred that the hair on the back of my neck stood up: "Against Hollows." 

I didn't pretend not to hear. I knew well who his mother had been. A shinigami, too. She also died in the line of duty several years before Rinkaku's death. Kensei had no family on her side either. 

"Yes. Like her. Their valor and deeds are enough to warrant someone at least caring about you. Don't you think so?" 

Kensei's head snapped up as if the very suggestion that his parents were anything less than worthy offended him. 

"There you go," I smiled. "If that's how you feel, then cast aside your hesitation. You have one opportunity to draw on all the power and wealth of the Okikiba family. Ask for whatever you want!" 

"Anything?" 

"As long as it's reasonable, anything." 

What Kensei did next was something I could never have expected from a boy his age when faced with such temptation. He responded immediately, as if the ideas of hesitation or doubt simply didn't exist in his mind. 

He looked down at his hands, clenched them into fists, then looked directly into my eyes—decisive and unafraid. 

"I have my hands, and I have my legs. I'll achieve everything in life on my own," he declared firmly before finally stating his request: "I only want one thing—for you to heal my friend! Her name is Kuna Mashiro. She's changed a lot after a Hollow attack…" 

Feigning interest, I listened to the story I'd already heard from the merchant. I couldn't tell you how I managed to hold back a broad smile. What an extraordinary child… 

"…is it possible?" he finished, asking timidly. 

"Yes," I replied. Oh, what a dazzling smile the boy had. "It's possible, Kensei. Tomorrow, I'll take both of you to the Seireitei. Her—to heal her. And you—to make your wish official." 

And to give you both a truly good life, I vowed silently and firmly to myself. 

"But while the night is still young," I said with a sly smile, "why don't we talk properly and celebrate our first meeting—and your friend's future recovery?" 

Two claps of my hands, and the doors slid open to reveal my guards and a few lovely servants. All the sentries were present, except for the two guarding the sleeping Mashiro. 

"My servants!" I declared, spreading my arms wide. "Let's throw a grand feast!" 

"Yes!" they roared, their voices booming, instantly filling the house with the mood of impending revelry. 

"A feast?" Kensei practically squeaked, clearly not expecting this. 

The large room quickly filled with people. Tables were noisily shifted around, cushions thrown down nearby. The aroma of food, especially roasted meat with spices, began to permeate the room. 

Men and women, chatting and teasing one another, quickly got the festivities organized. 

"Come on, come on," the servants and guards urged each other. "Bring it in faster!" 

"Where are you putting that? It goes in the center!" 

"Whoa, whoa, someone hold this—it's heavy!" 

"Dibs on sitting near the entrance!" 

"Hey, I saw that—you put the bottle on the table!" 

Muguruma, completely stunned by the commotion, watched the organized chaos that had overtaken the once-quiet room. 

"Yep, a feast!" I laughed, watching as even more large trays of food were brought in. "Tell me, Kensei, have you ever tried wine before?" 

He looked a little surprised but answered honestly: 

"Just a bit of sake at a city festival. It was awful." 

"Then you'll definitely like wine," I leaned in conspiratorially and winked at him. 

As for laws about alcohol and teenagers… Well, they hadn't even thought of such things in the World of the Living yet. And in the Soul Society, it was even simpler—if you can work or wield a weapon, then you can drink! This was doubly true for those with awakened reiatsu since it wouldn't harm their bodies. 

Otherwise, the Captain of the 8th Division would've destroyed his liver centuries ago with all his drinking. 

Hearing my promise, Muguruma eyed the clear bottles filled with crimson liquid with curiosity. Oh, the face he'll make tomorrow after his first hangover... But that's tomorrow. Tonight—tonight is for the feast! 

I'd never thrown a proper feast before, and this feeling was exhilarating!