Born in Seireitei

Four days after returning to Seireitei.

On a training field, under the blazing noonday sun, one of the grueling training sessions is underway.

Four sturdy stone pillars stand firm, and beneath them lies a mound of scorching coals glowing red-hot with heat. I'm doing something akin to a plank exercise, except on partially bent arms. It's similar to what soldiers endure with the mocking name "one and a half" during push-ups. But I doubt they have heaps of coals as hot as hell burning beneath them.

"Tch," I hissed, clenching my teeth tightly and grimacing at the heat below.

Wearing only shorts, I had long since lost track of time due to the strain. Sweat drips from my bare torso, sizzling and evaporating the moment it hits the coals below. The sound is so constant that it mimics the patter of rain on a scorching skillet. My arms start to tremble.

In stark contrast to my suffering, my grandfather lounges nearby without a care in the world. The old shinigami sits in a luxurious chair, one leg crossed over the other, fanning himself lazily with a wide fan made of peacock feathers.

"Breathe evenly, and don't even think about falling," he calmly instructs. "Burns are rather difficult to heal."

"I feel like a piece of meat on a spit," I gritted out in reply, focusing on regulating my breathing.

Grandpa chuckled, snapping his fan shut before sternly declaring:

"That's what you get for wandering around Rukongai for days on end and not sparing even an hour for training."

"It wasn't an idle stroll," I retorted. "It's hard to train while traveling! What was I supposed to do, squats in the palanquin?"

"Keep talking, why don't you," Grandpa threatened.

He didn't stop at words. Extending a finger, he sent a small burst of spiritual energy over the coals. The gust blew away the ash, sending a shower of sparks and a wave of intense heat against my skin!

I narrowly avoided falling into that fiery pit. My arms buckled, and I shut my eyes tightly, mustering all my strength to summon my own reiatsu for protection. The relief was immediate—my skin felt as though it was coated in invisible armor impervious to the temperature.

Of course, I knew it wasn't actual armor but merely an enhancement. This technique is one of the first things fighters learn when awakening their reiatsu. The exercise itself suddenly became much easier, and my body felt lighter. However, this came at the cost of devouring stamina and spiritual energy at a rapid pace.

No matter—it just had to last until the coals were once again covered by a layer of ash. Though it didn't seem like I was getting any better, the stinging sensation on my skin felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it with no restraint. I could see my chest and stomach turning red with white blotches—early signs of actual burns. But my reiatsu came to the rescue, its gentle pressure soothing the redness.

"At least you had enough brains to learn something," Grandpa remarked with a slight nod, opening his fan again.

I pressed my lips together, swallowing the urge to blurt out that I'd only just figured it out under pressure. Circumstances were a cruel teacher, after all.

After a few more minutes, I managed to stop constantly concentrating, and my breathing steadied.

"Seems like you're getting used to it?" Grandpa immediately noticed.

I cursed silently but nodded honestly. Grandpa reached for the flat stones lying next to his chair. A stack of round, rough-surfaced stones. I'd been wondering what they were for...

When he picked one up and effortlessly tossed it onto my back with pinpoint accuracy, the purpose became all too clear.

The stone landed on my spine with a dull thud, letting my vertebrae know they were now carrying an extra five kilograms.

My arms began to falter, and beads of sweat hissed again as they dripped and evaporated. I started praying silently, glancing nervously at the remaining dozen stone discs, hoping they wouldn't end up on my back anytime soon. Damn, my lower back muscles were beginning to throb unbearably!

I opened my mouth to protest, but Grandpa cut me off.

"What?" he squinted, reaching for the stones. "Want another one?"

I quickly shook my head.

"Then keep quiet. You'll stop when I say so. You had enough endurance to wander through the forests and fields and drink with the soldiers. You'll manage this too."

"I wasn't just wandering!" I snapped.

I'd only taken a week longer on my journey there and back, wanting to delay my return to the stifling walls of the estate. It was my first time venturing beyond the family grounds—who'd want to rush back? It could all be easily excused as the hardships of travel, bad weather, or poor roads...

"A couple of Onmitsukidō agents were tailing your group the entire time," Grandpa said with a condescending smirk, the kind that screams, Who are you trying to fool? "I know everything you did, down to the hour. Including the fact that you, you idiot, plotted a route through hunting grounds of a few strong gangs. If no one had been keeping an eye on you and clearing out those lowlifes beforehand, you'd either be in captivity or floating downriver as a corpse. Be grateful I didn't tell your father—he has enough on his plate without your antics."

The revelation of my little lie turned out to be a bitter pill. Mentioning dangers that had been dealt with before I even knew about them was both surprising and sobering. At the mention of my father, I flinched.

"Thank you."

Grandpa pointed a finger again, sending another wave of wind and reiatsu that swept the ash from the coals. Sparks and heat surged upward, and the punishing training continued—a fitting retribution for my stupidity.

Now, fully aware of my mistakes and their consequences, I endured the punishment in silence, berating myself for my lack of foresight. A small entourage and a family crest on a palanquin weren't enough to deter the real predators and criminals in Soul Society.

True bloodthirsty scum don't care who they're cutting down, and you'll find them everywhere. The palanquin didn't exactly have a label announcing who was inside or declaring them untouchable. Many bandits couldn't read, let alone recognize noble crests. They'd slit your throat for gold first and ask questions later. If they dared attack trade caravans bearing our crest, why wouldn't they go after a palanquin and its escort?

Then came the worst-case scenario, served up by my imagination and logic. Some attackers might understand exactly who they were targeting—and be thrilled about it. The idea of madmen who'd relish spilling noble blood was chilling. Especially those who'd see it as a twisted form of justice—paying back their suffering with the pain of those who lived in comfort.

Such maniacs, willing to blame more fortunate people for their troubles, had always existed. These weren't the kind to merely grumble or feel a twinge of envy. They'd stab anyone even slightly better off—men, women, children, it didn't matter. And the truly terrifying part? They'd believe they were carrying out some righteous act.

I'd simply followed the main roads, and where there weren't any, I forged straight ahead... Whose territory I crossed didn't concern me in the slightest.

A decade of being coddled and living without challenges had warped my perception of the world. I should've been more cautious—and I would be next time.

"By the way," Grandpa's voice drew me back to reality, "Daiki's been demoted. For his negligence and indulging your whims. He used to escort goods all the way to the 50th Districts. He could've said something, and I know you'd have listened. But he didn't. Someone like that doesn't belong in a leadership role. He'll be on gate duty for the next year."

I felt a pang of guilt for Daiki, who had become almost a friend during the journey. But I kept quiet. It was fair, and I wasn't a child to argue over such things. Gate duty was still a serious position—it wasn't like he'd been demoted to janitor.

And despite Grandpa's sharp tongue, there was truth in his words. Daiki was loyal, sure, but... not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. He hadn't really commanded much; things mostly ran themselves, or I gave the orders. In that sense, Grandpa was right.

Still, it stung to know others were suffering for my mistakes.

"What are you squinting at? You won't bore a hole through me," Grandpa chuckled. "I'm not changing my mind. This is already a lenient punishment. Or would you prefer the Clans' way? It wouldn't take much for me to lift my sword."

"No," I blurted quickly. "Thank you for your mercy, Grandpa."

The Clans didn't play around. For minor errors, it was two warnings before dismissal. For endangering a master's life? Execution. No ceremony, no fancy coffin—just a head on the chopping block, one clean strike, and the body fed to the pigs.

If you were lucky and had an impressive record of past achievements, they might grant you the right to an honorable suicide and a proper burial.

In Soul Society, death was seen differently. People didn't fear it much, knowing it wasn't truly the end. What they feared more was losing their honor or dying in a horrible way. Falling to a Hollow was the worst fate.

Yes, a Hollow might be purified by a shinigami's blade and sent to reincarnate, but its victims? That part was conveniently omitted—they had nothing left to reincarnate into. Only a Quincy arrow delivered a worse death.

So, no one was planning to kill Daiki for failing to give me proper advice. And that was good. He'd spend a year at the gates, then likely work his way back up to being head guard of the estate. The second climb up that ladder is always easier.

At moments like these, I was genuinely glad that our family was just a modest noble household. We didn't have to follow all those harsh rules and traditions, which seemed cruel to me. Occasionally, we had to adhere to certain customs, but overall, things were much more humane.

"If you lower your hands again, I'll throw in some fresh logs," Grandpa threatened. "Keep your back straight."

My little attempt to slack off failed, and I returned to the required position, wincing at the unpleasant creak in my elbows.

"Another twenty minutes, and then we'll move on to a different exercise," the old man announced cheerfully, fanning himself. "You'll cool off in the water—it'll do you good."

A shiver ran down my spine at that promise. Knowing that this wasn't even close to the end only added to my despair. If I could, I'd go back in time, knock some sense into my past self, and drag myself home a week earlier just to avoid enduring these torture-like training sessions.

"Don't worry," Grandpa smirked. "Sweat it out. All the filth you consumed with your booze in the forest is leaving your body now."

I clenched my teeth and grumbled through my nose but kept my mouth shut. There was, however, one amusing aspect to all this.

From the very beginning, a blond boy had been watching from around the corner of the training grounds, his eyes wide with horror and fear. He couldn't tear his gaze away, like a witness to a gruesome accident.

Kensei, who'd practically grown up on the streets, had picked up all sorts of crude language and often swore like a seasoned sailor. My ears couldn't tolerate it for long, so every time I caught him cursing, I promised him a day of training using my grandfather's methods...

Now, I could understand his terror. If I were him, I'd be scared too. Heh heh heh. Even in my own head, my laughter sounded sinister.

The moment our eyes met, the boy flinched and bolted out of sight. But I wouldn't forget. Nine days of Hell, kid, nine days. I'm not suffering alone!

Besides, with Mashiro under the care of the Fourth Division, he had nothing better to do. He wandered around aimlessly, his face gloomy, as if his friend had been sent to execution rather than for treatment. Well, I'd cheer him up soon enough.

The mere thought that I could make someone else endure Grandpa's methods gave me a strange sense of optimism in moments like this. Often, on independent training days when Grandpa wasn't around, I'd order the guards to train with me for the smallest of infractions.

But as soon as we left the safety of the estate walls, I'd let everything slide, looking forward to some rest. Now, I regretted it deeply. Returning to this kind of training after a long break was pure agony. It felt like not just my muscles but also my bones—and the bones of my bones—were groaning in protest. That's how bad it was!

"I... I can't... anymore..."

My arms went limp. I was already bracing for the pain of falling face-first into the hot coals.

A sharp sound of shunpo filled the air. Grandpa's kick landed square in my stomach, shifting my trajectory, and I rolled across the sand, spitting out the grains that got into my mouth. My abdominal muscles cramped from the pain, and I felt nauseated as if I'd been kicked by a bull instead of an old man.

"Not bad," came Grandpa's mocking voice. "You lasted almost thirty minutes instead of twenty. I commend your effort."

I just lay there, breathing. Away from the coals, the air felt so fresh and clean. Steam rose slowly from my body, and white salt crystals from dried sweat were forming on my skin. This was a hellish punishment. I'd have gladly spent a day kneeling on dried peas instead.

"And now..."

A strong, firm hand grabbed my ankle. With ease, Grandpa started dragging my unresisting body across the sand like I was a kitten.

"...let's begin the real training!"

I started squirming! Or, at least, I tried to, but I had no strength left. My body was so drained from the heat that I didn't even have moisture left for tears. This is the end, I silently mourned my untimely demise.

"You've really gone soft, Sujin!" Grandpa exclaimed cheerfully. "Where's your fighting spirit?"

"Same place as my reiatsu," I muttered weakly. "Gone."

"I'll fix that. You've got three more exercises waiting for you today!"

I gazed melancholically at the sky, knowing the Soul King was somewhere up there. Why did I reincarnate, oh lord? I should have just stayed dead.

It was ironic, of course, but Grandpa had never been this rough with me before. For the first time, I genuinely thought I might die from overexertion. Did I screw up that badly?

I was so exhausted that I didn't even feel the pain in my back from being dragged across the ground. But I did feel the sudden jerk, the rush of wind, and the sensation of flight. A loud splash and bubbling water followed as the old man hurled me straight into one of the ponds.

"Take a break. Swim for five minutes..." I barely heard him over the sound of the water as I sank to the bottom. "...then we'll start with a thousand squats in the water."

This isn't so bad, I convinced myself, watching a red koi dart past me. And being underwater without air? Even better—less suffering.