Born in Seireitei

Today was one of those rare gloomy days in Seireitei. The sky was blanketed with thick gray clouds, and since morning, there had been an alternating drizzle and torrential rain lasting for hours.

On days like this, outdoor training was out of the question, but I also didn't feel like heading to the indoor training grounds under the manor. Instead of the usual exhausting physical regimen, I decided to give my body a rest.

And push my mind instead.

There are many tricks and exercises designed to develop a skill crucial for a future Shinigami—methods that even the Academy considers unimportant but are easily accessible for anyone willing to seek them out.

The Academy has been cultivating and training future Shinigami for over fifteen centuries. Its institution and instructors have forgotten more about training than most could hope to learn in a lifetime. Because of this vast repository of knowledge, they don't bother to keep small details from leaking beyond its walls.

As long as it's not secret techniques or Kido, no one will restrict the spread of knowledge among families of active Shinigami. The estate library is filled with treasures that, outside of Seireitei, people would fight over just to glimpse.

I only truly appreciated this after leaving the capital and traveling a bit. What I once took for granted turned out to be worth its weight in gold elsewhere.

That said, none of this is strictly necessary to become powerful. For a Shinigami, all you really need is the resolve to fight, a blade, and the experience of countless battles. The entire Eleventh Division stands as proof of this—and at its pinnacle is the epitome of this philosophy: the being titled Kenpachi.

I call it a "being" because to label Kenpachi as merely human—or even just a Shinigami—feels inadequate. It's a beast, a killing machine in human form. In the near future, Kenpachi Zaraki will claim that title and demonstrate to everyone that he's nearly perfected this archetype.

A sword, an insatiable thirst for carnage, an ocean of reiatsu, a body that won't fall no matter the injuries, and the experience of a thousand battles—who in their right mind would want to face such a creature one-on-one? Anyone caught in Kenpachi's bloodthirsty gaze would feel chills racing down their spine.

This is the ideal warrior that hundreds of Shinigami, especially those in the Eleventh Division, strive to emulate.

But I have no intention of becoming just another guy with a sword who can cut down anyone who looks at him wrong.

Being a Shinigami isn't solely about swinging a blade and craving bloodshed. It's a multifaceted job and way of life. Unfortunately, unless you're Zaraki Kenpachi or idolize him—and if you don't want to die young—you'll need to develop a wide range of skills and abilities useful in a Shinigami's work.

Otherwise, you'll have to rely on more skilled comrades, and one day that reliance will fail you. One day, you'll find yourself alone, left to fend for yourself. Will you regret it then? Call for help? I'd rather rely on myself.

That's why I've currently turned the calligraphy room into something that would look bizarre to an outsider.

The room has been cleared of furniture, and the smooth wooden floor is littered with ordinary wooden blocks, scattered haphazardly as if a child had tossed around their toys. But these are no toys.

Each block is imbued with reiatsu.

Mine and that of a couple of guards who can manipulate their reiatsu outside their bodies. Imbuing an object with reiatsu isn't hard after some practice. At my level, it barely has any noticeable effect on the blocks. But that's not the point.

The training focuses on developing sensory skills. I blindfold myself with a black cloth and wander around the room, trying to sense the blocks. Every time I touch one—or step on one—I get punished with ten push-ups. An hour of training, followed by punishment for mistakes, then back to another hour of training.

It's tedious and dull but absolutely necessary.

Reiatsu sensing is bread and butter for a Shinigami. It's essential for tracking enemies—or evading pursuit yourself. Locating a target or squad during a mission. Even in everyday life, it's much easier to find a friend in the vast expanse of Seireitei if you can sense their reiatsu.

Without this skill, you'd be wandering around like an idiot, questioning people for directions: "Have you seen this person? Do you know where they went?" No, thank you. I'd rather master the skill.

Sure, you could rely on ordinary experience gained over decades of service. Reiatsu sensing, especially when it comes to Hollows, will eventually develop naturally. There's no immediate need to push yourself. Many don't bother. But every elite Shinigami possesses highly honed sensory abilities. And I intend to be part of that elite someday.

Although the training seems simple, the main point isn't the blocks themselves but the principle behind them—the essence. These don't have to be blocks; they could even be living people. The goal is to train myself to focus only on what I'm searching for or what's important, filtering out everything else. Right now, I'm searching for small, minute amounts of reiatsu. I know my reiatsu, and I know the reiatsu of the two other souls—I'm focusing on those.

This is the correct way to develop this skill. And as I learned with a shudder, there's also an incorrect way, and the difference is critically important.

It seems intuitive: just meditate and try to feel everything around you, gradually increasing the radius, and voilà! Isn't that the first thing that comes to mind when you think of sensory training?

This is where the difference lies between self-taught individuals and those who have access to proper knowledge. I'm incredibly fortunate to have been born into a family that provided me with the right guidance instead of having to figure it all out on my own.

Those who train themselves to sense everything at once become dead weight. The more they excel as broadly tuned sensors, the worse it gets for them. In large battles, against powerful Hollows or when destructive Kido is involved, these people shatter like dry twigs.

It's called sensory shock. It's like someone suddenly shining a floodlight directly into your eyes and setting off a flashbang grenade at the same time. Even if you're prepared and close your eyes or cover your ears, you still suffer significant damage.

In combat, the result is simple: you freeze—you die. That's the price for starting off on the wrong foot. Any unexpected burst of reiatsu feels like a bomb going off right in front of you. This happens because they never learned how not to feel and wanted to sense everything all at once. They're like dogs with hypersensitive noses, cranked up to 100x with no way to adjust.

Relearning from scratch is nearly impossible. Even so, people with such raw talent are still in demand. They work in the Kido Corps, behind dozens of barriers, focusing on intricate spiritual projects that require exceptional sensitivity. But every trip outside those barriers is like stepping into Hell for them.

Once you understand this, the idea of laughing at "children's block" training vanishes entirely. When I first read about this, I began paying closer attention to all the warnings and footnotes about potential dangers—no more flipping past them like I used to. This isn't a refrigerator manual; I'm working on myself.

This isn't about retraining physical reflexes, which are difficult enough to change. It's about calibrating your very soul to sense the world around you. Such adjustments aren't something you can redo later if you mess up. That's how significant this seemingly simple reiatsu sensing is. A single wrong step here could ruin your abilities for life.

"Ow!" I yelped, hopping on one foot.

I felt tears sting my eyes involuntarily. An object imbued with reiatsu—its edges are slightly sharper than usual. Stepping on a block like that… Let's just say that, sometimes, stepping on a LEGO is the lesser evil. The most annoying part? It was my own reiatsu in the block I'd stepped on with my full weight.

I rubbed my foot and straightened up again.

"Another ten," I muttered, wincing as I added to my tally of punishments. Then I took another step—and brushed against another block. "Make that another… Already over a hundred."

Thinking about how much my arms would ache from so many push-ups, I sharpened my focus to a level I hadn't thought possible before. This time, I felt something distinct—the sensation that my foot was hovering above something solid rather than empty floor.

I sensed it! I swear, just now!

And my intuition proved correct as I managed a couple of successful steps. Small, tentative, but successful nonetheless.

It was a start.

---

In the evening, I sat in one of the guest rooms on the first floor, one of the few equipped with a hearth. The room was sparsely furnished with low chairs and small tables in a Chinese style, often used for playing mahjong. The hearth itself took up a considerable portion of the space in the center.

In the local tradition, the hearth was square-shaped and positioned in the middle of the room. It had steel borders, fine white sand, and an open flame burning in a small depression. Such a hearth retained and radiated heat exceptionally well. All the smoke seemed to be pulled directly into the ceiling, though that was thanks to another clever household barrier designed for purification.

I'd long since stopped being surprised by these conveniences. Honestly, Urahara Kisuke created an entire artificial training world beneath his candy shop, right in the middle of a modern city. I'm thoroughly convinced now that with the right knowledge and power, Kido is capable of anything.

Even manipulating time and space... something I shouldn't know about, yet I do. Those spells exist, and they're forbidden. I even know who will break those taboos and when. It's surreal, knowing certain events of the future.

True prophets probably feel incredibly important, like puffed-up peacocks. I can't blame them; I'd feel the same way. Knowing the future is an advantage no one should mock—on one very small condition. You need the power to intervene, to make things better or use the knowledge for your own benefit. Without that power, foresight isn't a cool ability—it's a curse.

I think about this a lot, sometimes too much. Occasionally, I have nightmares about people discovering my knowledge, and things going very, very badly for me. My subconscious dredges up hidden fears in these dreams, and I'm not thrilled about it.

In a way, knowing the future is always a curse—I'll admit that any day of the week.

But then I came to realize something: I don't actually know anything truly important.

The plans of the future traitor Aizen? Beyond his clear departure from the Gotei 13, I know nothing.

How did he create his Hōgyoku? How did Urahara create his? When exactly and why did Aizen turn traitor? I don't know.

How does the process of Hollowfication work? What's the secret behind it? I don't know.

How could I find and eliminate Aizen's future army in advance? Should I just head into Hueco Mundo and start searching? That's practically suicide, even for a Captain. I don't know.

Who else serves Aizen—or, rather, who will serve him? There must be many. I don't know.

Where is Aizen now, and how strong is he? What about the other future heroes of the story? How could I learn about such varied individuals without causing suspicion? I don't know.

Why did Urahara Kisuke—the only person smarter than Aizen—spend an entire century in hiding, despite having resources and support not only from Yoruichi and Tessai, both powerful individuals in their own right, but also from the Visoreds, who owed him their lives? He did nothing! So why?

With his strength, he could force anyone to listen to him, provided he chose the right time and place to avoid Aizen's illusions. With his intellect, Urahara could have wielded that power wisely. So why didn't he? I don't know.

And how do you explain Aizen's inaction all that time while Urahara hid in the World of the Living? I can't believe Aizen couldn't locate him. Sōsuke Aizen knew exactly where Urahara Kisuke was hiding—he knew where the Hōgyoku was.

And he possessed overwhelming power the entire time. At any moment, he could have struck, plunging his enemies into despair. He could have confronted them all head-on and won easily, taking Urahara's Hōgyoku for himself.

Why didn't he? Was he simply relishing the thought of orchestrating Urahara's defeat on his own terms and timeline? Did he just not care? Or did the two smartest Shinigami in history have some sort of agreement? I don't know.

These "I don't knows" far outweigh my "I knows." All I truly know is the adventure of one orange-haired boy—a prodigy with monstrous potential. A story about Aizen's experiment that ultimately backfired on the great manipulator. That's it.

Meanwhile, every day and every year, countless events unfold across all Three Worlds. Battles, betrayals, heroic deeds, even the elimination of threats that could affect entire worlds—handled by the forces of the Gotei 13. Perhaps right now, as I finish my tea, such things are happening.

Some of them I know about; others I don't. So why should I worry about what might happen a couple of centuries from now? For all I know, something catastrophic could occur within a year, wiping out a few families—including mine.

Or the Soul King could sneeze and lower his spiritual pressure on Seireitei for just a second. In that case, everyone here, except maybe Yamamoto, would turn to dust. Many have forgotten, but we live directly beneath the Soul King's dimension.

I'm neither a hero nor a god—compared to the powerful figures of this world, I'm no more than an ordinary person. So why should I worry about all these things right now? Let them worry!

The butterfly's wings that can change the world… When they do, that's the time to start worrying. How could anyone live if they're scared of taking even a single unnecessary step? That's not a life; that's a nightmare. Should I give up everything, all my goals and dreams, and live as a hermit just to ensure the future unfolds as it's supposed to?

Such thoughts crossed my mind. But after seriously considering the idea, I decided… that kind of life can go straight to hell. I don't believe my actions could doom the entire population of all Three Worlds. What kind of ego would a person need to believe something like that?

Every rational person should be responsible only for their own life and not take on more than they can handle. The "greater good" is an illusion—I don't believe in it. Everyone has their own personal good, and that's a far more achievable goal.

Until I become strong myself, I won't overthink things. That's my mantra for the next few years. Like a normal person, I'll pursue my own interests and strive for my own happiness. That's how everyone lives, whether in the World of the Living or the Soul Society. And what, am I any different? I'll do the same!

Sometimes, it's best not to overthink—just pretend to be simple and stick to your path. As someone—whoever it was—once said, simplicity is the answer. And wine, but that was probably said by a drunkard.

Funny how people forget the rest of that saying: "...health is in water." Amusingly, I even overheard part of this proverb about truth and wine here. Two drunkards in a tavern were arguing about whether sake or grape wine was better.

It was hilarious, considering neither was drinking either of those. They were guzzling some cheap swill distilled from fermented local vegetables. That was the only time I stayed in such a cheap place. For the stench alone, they should have paid me to visit.

Truth is in honesty… Or is that nonsense, and truth is equal to utopia—something that exists only as an idea? There I go, my thoughts wandering off-track again.

Rainy days, when water drums against the rooftops, make it easy to drown in philosophical musings. Especially after a hot bath, in warmth and peace. I love evenings like that. Even thoughts of the possible destruction of everything didn't bother me.

Nuclear war could break out at any moment too, and many have pondered it. But you don't see anyone running naked down the street in a panic. Same here. Sure, maybe we're all doomed. Or maybe not. So what? The red button isn't in my hands, so what's the point of dwelling on it?

It's the same in this situation. The "game over" button for everything is with that guy upstairs, sealed in a big crystal. When you think about the Soul King possibly deciding not to maintain the balance of the worlds for a moment, leading to the end of everything—even the worlds themselves—everything else feels trivial.

So there I was, relaxing with tea and a book, entertaining myself with thoughts of one apocalypse or another. It was dark outside, and the rain continued to pour, when my peace was interrupted by the sense of someone's gaze. A familiar blonde head peeked around the door.

"Did you need something?" I flipped a page. "Kensei?"

"No." He stepped fully into the light. "Just checking who's here."

"Got it," I said with a smile, gently closing my book. I nodded toward the empty chair across from me. "Want some tea? Take a seat."

---

We talked about trivial matters. I asked about Mashiro's health, and he simply replied:

"Better."

From there, the conversation drifted to mundane topics—food, the awful weather, a few rumors. Just small talk that wouldn't have distracted me from my reading if I'd been rude enough to ignore him. But then Kensei caught me off guard with an unexpected question.

"Why do you push yourself so hard?" The boy tilted his head, a frown forming between his brows. "Every day, even when that scary old man isn't around. Honestly, some of those training sessions look like torture."

I chuckled briefly.

"If you think I'm trying hard…" I gave a crooked smirk. "As the saying goes, you haven't seen that guy. Except for the slackers and layabouts, all young aristocrats preparing for the Academy are training right now. And far more intensely than me."

Kensei blinked in confusion, then a spark of understanding flashed in his eyes—but I didn't give him the chance to say anything. I cut in with irony:

"You first thought, 'Why?' and then figured it out, huh? 'To look impressive at the Academy compared to everyone else.' Am I right?"

I swear, Kensei nearly puffed up like an actual hamster. At his age, his expressions were still overly vivid—he had one of those faces where people say, "It's all written on his forehead."

"And what, am I wrong?" he asked.

"No." I smirked, took a sip of tea, and set the bowl back down. "But it's not about looking impressive. It's about something you haven't grasped yet—the Spiritual Arts Academy. It's not just a place where they teach you to swing a sword and lecture about Hollows. Nor is it a paradise for poor souls from Rukongai, where you get fed three square meals a day and handed clothes."

Muguruma furrowed his brow even more and pressed his lips together, probably to avoid blurting something out and embarrassing himself further. But I could already tell that's exactly how he thought of it. I didn't blame him. That kind of view was as deeply ingrained in Rukongai as the fact that the sun rises in the east.

You join the Academy. They feed you, teach you how to wield a sword, give you a nice uniform, and if you're lucky, after six years, you become a Shinigami.

And then they wonder why the people of the capital think everyone else is a bunch of savages… Another stereotype. But even arrogance and snobbery have their reasons.

By the way, most people don't know the founder of the Academy is still alive and well. They don't even know who it is. It's none other than Yamamoto Genryūsai himself. If people don't know such a monumental fact, why expect them to know anything else? They just don't want to know, plain and simple.

These days, the Soul Society isn't all that different from the World of the Living. It's about five hundred years behind due to the long lifespans of souls. The majority of people are still woefully uneducated and unwilling to learn, despite having all the time in the world.

Most souls live where they reincarnated, never leaving their towns or even Districts. Why would they bother learning about some far-off Academy? And young Kensei, growing up in such an environment, never questioned that things might not be as they seemed.

Some might have gotten angry at the boy, but not me. Instead, I poured him a bowl of hot tea and explained everything patiently.

"The Academy has existed as long as the Gotei 13 itself and will soon celebrate its two-thousand-year anniversary. It's the only institution of higher learning in the entire world. It doesn't just train Shinigami. Scholars, future council officials, reiatsu users of all kinds—even ordinary workers for various workshops, like builders from the Kidō Corps—all are educated there. But of course, only Shinigami are in the spotlight. The Academy was primarily created for them."

"Oh," the enlightened boy muttered.

"But the main reason all young aristocrats push themselves so hard is time, Kensei. You can only study at the Academy for six short years. It houses the finest library of spiritual power knowledge. The best instructors in the world, with centuries of experience, teach there. One look at you, and they'll know what you need to improve, what weaknesses to fix. Ha. Should they waste their time teaching you the basics or advanced techniques? They can teach you things that will let you compete for an officer's position upon graduation. Do you even realize the massive gap in skill and power between those who spent six years training from scratch and those who entered with a foundation already built?"

Kensei swallowed and nodded slowly. I raised a finger and said: 

"But of course, this privileged education and knowledge aren't for everyone. The Academy sets monstrous requirements for those considered elite students. If you don't meet them..." 

The unspoken end of the sentence frightened the boy more than any direct threat could. 

"Now imagine something," I continued in a more serious, somber tone. "There are two rival Noble Families. In the younger generation, one heir—or even just a child—goes through elite training, while the other doesn't. That gap becomes nearly impossible to bridge. It only widens over time. One will easily overpower the other, cementing superiority in both the present and the future for an entire generation." 

"It's that serious…" Kensei whispered in disbelief. 

"And if there are dozens of such families, but only one among them lags behind? How harshly do you think they'll treat the loser?" I narrowed my eyes menacingly. "And what if that loser is… you? If you were a noble? Imagine the pressure on all those people's shoulders." 

Kensei shuddered and hunched his shoulders as if against a chill. 

"No thanks. I'm glad I'm just normal." 

"Everything has its price," I said, the harsh truth rolling easily off my tongue. "You might look at the richest person in the world and think they've got it all. But do you know how much they fear for their wealth? How lonely they are because of their paranoia?" 

This line of thinking was still too much for a boy like him, someone used to the straightforward toil of manual labor rather than intellectual struggles. So I simplified it in a few sentences: 

"In the games of aristocrats, everything counts—money, reputation, fame. But in our world, what matters most is whether you can protect what's yours with your strength. The world of power is also a world of force. If you lack it, then whatever you think you own might as well belong to someone else. They'll take it and crush you. That's why everyone pushes themselves so hard. Me? I was lucky to be born talented, with a high-quality spiritual power. That's why I'm just sweating buckets now, instead of coughing up blood. You think I'm trying hard? To others, this wouldn't even register as an effort. More like a joke." 

An image surfaced in my memory of a gathering where, in the corner, stood a boy in heavy robes concealing bandages. He pretended not to care while being ignored by everyone. Pale and sickly, with suppressed despair in his eyes. 

One of those who trains nearly to death, gaining only a tiny fraction of strength. And still, he keeps going because of the pressure from his Clan. I'd never wish that kind of burden on anyone. And he wasn't the only one—there were far more like him than just two or three. 

After some thought, I added: 

"Well, I'm also fortunate that no one forced me onto the path of a Shinigami. The Okikiba family's status is already at the top—there's nowhere higher to go." 

I noticed a hint of doubt on Kensei's face, so I explained with a smile: 

"High-level connections in the Gotei 13, power in the Council, and the vast resources of a medicinal trade empire. Other families, like those of the other Councilors, can boast similar things. But all of this is used for the benefit of just three people, not spread thin across a large family or Clan. Our position is stable and strong. Supporting one young Shinigami wouldn't weaken my family's power at all. It wouldn't improve it either. I'm free to choose my path… unlike most others." 

"Then why do you even want to become a Shinigami?" the boy asked, perplexed. "You already have everything." 

"Other aristocratic Shinigami also have everything," I chuckled. "Or do you think souls with great power can live easy lives without taking the risks of a Shinigami? Why do they all join the Gotei 13? Why do they put their lives on the line? Strength, duty, secret knowledge, the thrill of battle, fame that lasts for centuries, family honor, or maybe the idea of serving the Balance itself? Everyone has their own answer to that question." 

"I see," the blond boy drawled, unimpressed by my speech. He rubbed his stomach and said, "Alright, I won't bother you anymore." 

"You weren't much of a bother," I sighed, opening my book again. 

I'd gone a little overboard with deep topics—it was too early for him to grasp such things fully. And his mind wasn't wired for it. That was the end of our complex conversation. Kensei left, probably off to beg food from the cooks outside of mealtime. 

He'd asked a rather personal question. I had ended on a serious note, giving Kensei no direct answer but leaving him with something to think about. If he ever wanted to follow in his parents' footsteps, he'd need to find his own reason. Without that, he'd just be a guy in a black shihakushō, not a true Shinigami. 

As for me, when I listed those reasons, I was really sharing everything that drew me in. Different parts of it all appealed to me. Serving a noble cause while gaining more power, knowledge, and a sense of fulfilling work rather than empty days. 

I was wealthy enough to indulge in any worldly pleasure I desired. And once basic needs are met, what else does a person strive for? The answer varies for everyone, but this is mine. 

To have all these opportunities within reach and turn away to live as a rich amoeba? You'd have to be a hedonist, a tired veteran, an old man, or simply a fool. I'm none of those. 

Even without threats looming—whether the Seireitei falls to ruin or life remains peaceful and simple—I would still strive to become a Shinigami. 

I'd always been amazed when book characters' motivations boiled down to Survival with a capital S, especially if their stories resembled mine. 

It was such a blatant self-deception that it made me sick. Survival was always an option. When you know the source of a threat, avoiding it is relatively straightforward. Flee to a place it can't reach you. Hide under the wing of someone strong who'll protect you, or burrow into a hole so deep that even cockroaches can't survive but you can. That's Survival. 

These so-called survivors craved power, authority, and fame. Sometimes money, women or men, or self-affirmation. Or maybe their authors did? It's a double-edged question. Or perhaps stories about someone genuinely running away just aren't interesting to read? That's why no one writes about them. 

But I, well-read and able to glean insights from fictional experiences, could now see it all clearly. Fiction or reality, does it matter when the emotions involved are the same? People just want something and either find the strength to pursue it or don't. 

I no longer fear death in the Soul Society. I simply don't want it, I'm wary, but not afraid. Like everyone, I'd rather not die at the hands of a Hollow. 

The Aizen Rebellion or a Quincy invasion? I could simply flee to the World of the Living and avoid it all. To strive for power, I need a more honest reason. And I've given myself one. 

I'll become a Shinigami for the same reasons as the true warriors of the Gotei 13. Not out of fear of the future.

It was far too long an answer to share with Kensei—and filled with secrets I would carry to the grave. But for me? Oh, it was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that even breathing felt easier. 

When I fully embraced it, I was surprised by how much more flavorful the tea seemed. As if I had become more alive… or stronger, as a soul. 

Hmm. I smiled, recalling my old man's words. As always, it all came down to resolve. Overcoming oneself and seeing with clarity. Soul strength isn't always about training—there's much in self-discovery and mysticism. 

"Yesterday's struggler against a wall of centuries will achieve Bankai..." That Shinigami saying, I had thought, was about patience. Turns out I was wrong. It's about resolve. Or maybe it holds an even deeper meaning, accessible only to those who've attained Bankai? 

I shook my head, listening to the drumming sound of the rain. These kinds of days always pull me too deeply into philosophy. 

The tea was finished, the book closed. Time for sleep. Tomorrow would bring a new day—hopefully sunny and filled with grueling training, leaving no room for thoughts. Just an empty head and a body exhausted from exertion. I've grown so used to that routine that I've started to crave it. 

I shivered. Am I turning into a masochist?! No, no, no, I'm normal. A thousand push-ups over a fire pit is normal. Somehow, that usual joke felt less funny now… At what point did things like this become normal for me? 

I spat over my shoulder three times and knocked on the table for luck. May the Soul King spare me from becoming a training fanatic. Praise all the gods that I'll never witness people in green tights screaming about the Power of Youth in real life. I've read enough terrifying things about them to know it's best not to invoke them lightly. 

Brrr. Silly thoughts always creep in before bed. Bleach is one thing—it's just a coincidence. The multiverse theory has been thoroughly proven by my experience. But the Naruto world definitely doesn't exist; it's way too absurd. I hope… Now, where's my favorite pillow? I've missed you since morning!