Born in Seireitei

We returned to the estate after nightfall. Kensei yawned widely and kept stumbling off the stone path, narrowly avoiding tripping and smashing his forehead into a tree.

"Hope that's it for today, wa-a-a-h..."

"It was a hard day," I replied with a weak smile. "Go to your room and get some rest."

"Yeah, I'm on it," he muttered, covering his mouth as he walked into the house.

Suppressing the yawn Kensei had passed on to me, I sat down in the garden gazebo and let out a long, tired breath. My mind was still replaying the events of the funeral—the faces of the deceased's family and those bitter, hateful glares. I wanted nothing more than to step into a hot shower and scrub until my skin squeaked. But, alas, showers didn't exist in the Soul Society. A bath would have to do, though it wasn't the same.

The night sky had fully darkened, revealing a stunning display of stars. With few clouds in sight, the beauty of the stars and crescent moon was unobscured.

Only then did the servants light the round paper lanterns scattered through the garden, illuminating paths, bridges, and ponds teeming with red koi. I silently took in the familiar, homey sight.

A cool breeze chased away my drowsiness. Normally, I'd be going to bed around this time—nine or ten in the evening—but tonight felt like one of those nights you could stay up until midnight. After all, I didn't have work in the morning or anywhere urgent to be.

"Maybe I'll read something," I mused aloud.

Having answered my own question, I made my way to my father's study.

The Soul Society was falling quiet, settling into the night, when the servants interrupted my perusal of old scrolls.

Well, perusal was generous. I was more like staring blankly at archaic writing, struggling to decipher the faded characters.

"The elder master has woken up," one of the younger maids informed me calmly, placing a tray with a teapot and cup on the table.

"How is he?"

"He asked for more sake," she replied with the same unshakable calm. "He's still refusing food. Shall I bring some sweets?"

"No," I shook my head, pulling the tray closer to catch the bitter aroma of green tea. "You can go."

My gaze involuntarily followed her as she walked away. Her kimono was snug and well-fitted... but by the time she turned to quietly close the door, I was already back to staring at the scroll. In my hand, the teacup hovered just within reach of my lips.

My mind was too foggy to make sense of the text. I couldn't tell if it was a genuine journal of a gang leader from the time before Yamamoto had gone bald or just a novel. Still, it was fascinating to glimpse how people once lived and thought.

Reluctantly, I rolled up the scroll, its brittle bamboo slats nearly crumbling into either dust or stone under my touch. The fraying cords holding it together threatened to snap with every soft creak.

As an Advisor, and generally a big deal, my father occasionally received packages at the estate containing not just useless gifts but also fascinating antiques.

From statues on the verge of disintegration to writings from long-extinct families, these items ranged from worthless curios to obsolete sword techniques or outdated methods for increasing reiatsu. While mostly just historical relics, they made for intriguing study.

I enjoyed sifting through them, indulging the fantasy that one day I'd stumble across some super-secret technique or method even the millennia-old Shinigami had forgotten. It was a common trope in novels from my world—too bad reality didn't work that way. Still, it added a spark of excitement to poring over ancient junk. Mostly, though, I read out of a genuine interest in history.

Sighing, I set the scroll aside and rubbed my eyes before standing up from the comfortable chair. Stretching, I cracked my back, stiff from sitting in one position, and headed to visit Grandfather.

A short walk through familiar corridors brought me to his room. Sure enough, he was awake—and not yet drunk, but well on his way.

"Why are you lingering in the doorway? Sit," the old Shinigami ordered, pouring himself a bowl of sake as clear as a tear.

His voice was hoarse from sleep and alcohol, and his tone was as grim as a gravekeeper's. Shadows hung under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all, and his hair was in slight disarray.

Internally, I sighed. Clearly, he wasn't planning to stop, given how little he cared about his appearance. Normally, he was meticulous about maintaining a perfect image.

As soon as I knelt before the low table, he asked, "Did you attend Imao's funeral?"

"I did," I nodded slightly. "I think I followed all the proper customs, but… I wasn't exactly welcomed warmly."

"Of course not," he snorted, downing the sake in one gulp, pouring more, and continuing as though he'd drunk water instead of alcohol. "If they'd kissed you goodbye, I'd have been surprised."

"There are rumors circulating in Seireitei," I ventured carefully, testing the waters. "I think Imao's family might have heard them too. About how…"

"Rumors!" Grandfather scoffed harshly. "They don't need rumors. Soze lived in the family home. They all knew exactly where he was going and why. And who gave him the order."

I stayed silent, not wanting to provoke him. He was clearly on edge, and one wrong word might set him off.

Silence accompanied us as I quietly watched Genshiro down sake, bowl after bowl, until the bottle was half-empty and his eyes started to lose their sharpness.

"They think I'm the one responsible for his death," Grandfather suddenly muttered. "They think they know everything."

I stayed quiet, keeping a polite, attentive expression. Grandfather, on the other hand, was scowling, his teeth clenched as if he wanted to smash something but was held back by his upbringing.

"They don't know a damn thing," he hissed scornfully, clicking his tongue before downing another bowl of sake. "They should be bowing at my feet, those ungrateful… Hmph. Alright, that's enough. And you—why are you sitting here like you've swallowed a rock? Go to bed, Sujin! You've got no business drinking with an old man and listening to his nonsense. Out! Sleep!"

He practically shouted the last part, his commanding tone, honed by centuries of leadership, shaking the walls. Before I realized it, I had stood up and left the room, sliding the door shut behind me.

"And tell them not to bother me! Freeloaders… all gathered here like flies! Damn them all…"

His final words were drowned out by a wave of reiatsu that pressed down on the estate. It was the kind of spiritual pressure only a drunk Shinigami in a foul mood could unleash. I bent slightly under its weight but quickly straightened—long accustomed to such outbursts. However, I suspected everyone else in the estate was now catching their breath after that unexpected surge of oppressive energy.

As I turned to head to my room, something caught my eye—a shadow in the garden. It darted from a tree to the underbrush in a swift, silent movement. Do our servants even move like that?

The word sprang unbidden to my mind: Onmitsukido.

But then I shook my head with a smile. No way. What would they be doing here? Spying on a drunken old man? Besides, the Onmitsukido don't employ amateurs—if it really was one of them, I wouldn't have noticed.

Even though logic and reason crushed my paranoia like a steamroller, I couldn't completely silence it. On my way to my room, I kept feeling faint echoes of doubt.

Haven't I honed my sensory abilities to a decent level? And in the end, the Onmitsukido are still made up of regular souls, not ghosts. Not all of them can shadow captains without a trace, and everyone makes mistakes.

Could someone really be watching the house? And not necessarily one of the Onmitsukido—could be anyone else. We're in a prestigious Seireitei district, the heart of Gotei 13's power, so our estate's guards aren't the pinnacle of professionalism. They don't need to be. Maybe some random weirdo snuck in. Grandfather's reiatsu probably scared them off, and they ran away, slippers and all.

Or maybe I just imagined it. Probably just a stray cat.

Nearly reaching my room, I stopped, rubbed the bridge of my nose, and turned toward the kitchen instead. I knew myself too well—there was no way I'd fall asleep now. Grandfather's antics, the funeral, the stress, and now shadows…

The kitchen was empty. The entire estate had settled down for the night, except for the nighttime guards. After drinking some cold water, I rummaged through the drawers and found a short, sharp vegetable knife. Testing its edge with my fingernail, I nodded in satisfaction and took it with me.

Before going to bed, I slipped the knife under my pillow. Either I'd cut myself like an idiot while sleeping, or, if I woke up in time, I'd stab some intruder before they got to me.

My paranoia was appeased by this precaution, and the unease in my chest subsided. Finally, I could wrap myself in a warm blanket and drift off into sleep. To hell with all the problems—just a peaceful sleep…

---

"Who's at the gate?" I asked, digging my pinky into my ear.

Morning and dawn had caught me in my usual spot—on the training grounds, surrounded by the cool air and dissipating mist as I did my daily exercises. Workouts like these would have killed a horse, but for me, they'd become second nature. Once upon a time, I'd groan in despair; now, it was just a warm-up before breakfast.

That's where the sleepy servant found me, his face as stereotypically Japanese as they come, wearing a plain gray kimono.

"A lord from the Second Division," he dutifully repeated. "He didn't give his name, only said he was delivering a message for Lord Genshiro."

"And why not send a courier?"

The servant simply shrugged, pulling a confused expression. Well, fair enough. How would he know? For that matter, how would I? After all, most people outside the ranks of Shinigami wouldn't know that the Second Division and the Onmitsukido are practically one and the same—a cover for each other.

Suddenly, the shadows I'd imagined last night didn't seem so far-fetched. Damn it, and here I thought the day had started out fine!

"And? What's the problem?"

"He insists on delivering it personally," the servant sighed, exasperated. "Absolutely refuses. But the elder master gave orders..."

"Yeah, yeah, not to disturb him," I waved dismissively. "Grandfather's sleeping, I take it?"

"Uh..." A small, guilty smile.

"What, are you afraid to even peek in now?" I chuckled knowingly. "Fine, don't leave the Shinigami at the gate. Let him in—I'll meet him myself."

I managed to towel off, wash up, and dress decently before heading to the garden gazebo near the estate's entrance, where the servant led our guest at an unhurried pace.

Speaking of inconspicuous servants in gray... this guy was the pinnacle of inconspicuousness!

He wore the standard black shihakusho of a Shinigami, with no personal flair. An average hairstyle, light brown hair, medium height, slightly wiry build. He glanced around with mild curiosity. His face? Moderately handsome, no scars. If not for one small giveaway, I wouldn't have suspected this man was from the Onmitsukido at all.

As I'd been training my sensory skills, I realized something: I couldn't sense any reiatsu from him. Completely. And while it's impossible to suppress reiatsu entirely—especially from a skilled sensor—that limitation applies to experts. I was just starting out. To my senses, this Shinigami might as well not exist. Even the servant had a presence I could pick up, but not him.

And that, dear sir, was where you slipped up. Disguised as an ordinary person, yet carrying the habits of a ninja accustomed to wearing a mask.

"I greet the young master of the house," the guest said politely, bowing precisely at a thirty-degree angle.

Damn it, even his voice was unremarkable and quiet. Where do they grow people like this?

"Welcome," I replied with a smile. "I'm Sujin Okikiba. And you are..."

"I'm here on business with Lord Okikiba," the guest cut to the chase in that same polite, calm tone. "I've been instructed to deliver this to him personally."

The Shinigami pulled out a plain brown envelope, entirely unmarked. My face maintained a polite mask to match his, but I swear, internally, my eye was twitching. At least, you could've introduced yourself, damn it—even with a fake name!

"Grandfather isn't in the best mood right now," I confided in a low voice, revealing the "terrible secret." "You could pass it to me instead."

"I'm afraid that—"

Whatever he intended to say, we never found out. A sudden wave of reiatsu pulsed out from the estate, pressing down on everyone for a brief moment.

"And it's been like that all night," I added, pretending not to notice the bead of sweat on the guest's brow or the servant's labored breathing. "I told you, grandfather's not in the mood."

It was a lie—he'd slept just fine, as far as I knew. But these unnamed visitors didn't need to know that. Conveniently, Grandfather's outburst had come at just the right time.

Lucky timing? Or perhaps it was his way of sending a message that he didn't want to see anyone. I had no doubt that he'd sensed the guest long before I had. That was why I hadn't panicked about last night.

"Come on," I smiled disarmingly, nodding at the envelope in the Shinigami's hand. "If it's not a world-shaking secret, you can trust me with it. I'm not some random outsider from nowhere."

The subtle implication that he was the random outsider wasn't lost on him. He realized he was being unnecessarily formal in a situation that didn't call for it. A trained dog, forgetting how to speak normally…

"You're right," he conceded with a faintly apologetic smile. "I trust this will reach Lord Okikiba promptly."

The envelope ended up in my hands.

"See him out," I instructed the servant.

"This way, please," the servant invited, his tone firm.

Left alone, I mulled things over... and then opened the envelope. I wasn't eager to bother Grandfather without a good reason. If it was important, I'd take it to him; if not, it could wait until he was sober and no longer shaking the estate with bursts of reiatsu.

What puzzled me most, though, was this recent loss of control. Yesterday, today—he'd never, not once, behaved like this before. Doubts about everything were piling up…

A single line of information on yellow paper:

"They have been located in the specified area. A village, 40–50 living. Spiritually aware, hostile to Shinigami."

"Hm..."

I barely had time to scratch my chin before freezing in place. Behind me, out of nowhere, a blazing mountain of reiatsu materialized, pressing down with sheer presence.

"G-Grandfather?" I turned my head with a neck-cracking snap.

There he stood, arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at me. His hair was as unkempt as ever, his shihakusho lazily draped over his shoulders, and his zanpakuto hung at his waist. Grandfather's eyes burned with the irritation of a tiger whose tail had been yanked. That look sent a block of ice straight into my stomach and knocked the breath out of me.

If we weren't close blood relatives, his presence alone would have flattened me to the floor, leaving me crawling and babbling like an infant. As it was, his spiritual energy didn't see me as an enemy, so it merely weighed heavily on my shoulders instead of outright crushing me. But even that was enough to make breathing a challenge.

"Hand it over," he said, snatching the letter from my fingers.

With one glance, he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it to the floor.

"Tch" he muttered, pausing for a moment before grabbing me by the collar and yanking me to my feet. "You're coming with me since you like snooping so much."

The pressure eased slightly, and I could finally draw a full breath.

"Khm," I cleared my throat, hoarse at the worst moment. "Where?"

"You'll see. It's time I showed you something..." Grandfather's tone was infuriatingly cryptic. "Almost fifteen years, and you're growing into nothing but a houseplant. Just arrogance growing. Where's your answer?"

His roar reeked of booze. What answer? Where are we going? Why? All those questions withered under the fiery glare of a Shinigami mad at the world.

Wait a minute—did he just… wink at me?

Every suspicion I'd had about "something being off" returned with triple the intensity. I'm not dumb, so instead of asking questions or showing my surprise, I simply said:

"Yes, sir, going... wherever it is we're going."

Grandfather, slightly pacified, gave a sharp nod before grabbing me by the collar again. I felt his blazing reiatsu cautiously envelop me from all sides.

"We're heading to the Senkaimon."

That was the last thing I heard before the world around me spun at dizzying speed, the air tearing past so fast it made my ears pop.

---

"How do you like Shunpo firsthand?" Grandfather casually inquired, glancing at the Senkaimon.

Clenching my teeth and pressing my lips tightly together, I could only glare daggers at him. I fought the urge to embarrass myself by covering my mouth or frantically scanning the area for the nearest bushes. Especially not with the two Senkaimon guards staring at us, startled by our sudden appearance right under their noses.

I could really use a good vomit right now... No, don't think about it, Sujin, just don't. Breathe through your nose.

It was better to focus on the majestic sight of the Seikanmon, the gate between the World of the Living and the Soul Society. Beneath our feet were white tiles laid in massive squares, forming an empty plaza. In front of us rose two towering ivory-colored columns—Senkaimon, not yet activated.

The Shinigami guards, trained to handle such sudden arrivals, remained surprisingly composed. Their hands rested casually on the hilts of their swords, but upon recognizing Grandfather, they relaxed slightly.

I kept my mouth shut, but the question burned inside me—what the hell is going on?! Are we seriously heading to the World of the Living right now?!