Born in Seireitei

I had a couple of seconds to get my bearings, so while I was staring at the enormous pillars of the Senkaimon, I was also trying to figure out exactly where Grandpa had brought us.

It didn't take me long to realize. There was too little security and movement for this to be the standard Senkaimon used by regular patrols going to the World of the Living. Dozens, if not hundreds, of shinigami travel between the World of the Living and the Soul Society every day. But here, there were only two guards.

Since our family hadn't yet earned the prestige for a private Senkaimon, the only option left was the one reserved for Officers and Noble Souls. I'd come across descriptions of these Senkaimon too often in the family stories and scrolls not to recognize it. And, to be honest, I'd always wanted to see it with my own eyes. Dreams do come true…

Grandpa introduced himself clearly, with that casual but authoritative tone:

"First Division, Third Officer, Okikiba Genshiro," he said, giving me a glance. "With an escort."

"Welcome, Lord Okikiba," the two shinigami calmly replied with slight bows.

I studied them and noticed that both were from the Kido Corps. While they weren't wearing the iconic mantles and masks, I could spot the thin gray embroidery with the symbol on their sleeves. An unusual circle with three symmetrical outward-facing prongs, symbolizing Demon Magic and its three branches. The emblem of the Kido Corps.

That explained why they treated Grandpa respectfully but without obsequiousness. They wouldn't put just anyone at the Gates Between Worlds. They knew their worth.

After exchanging pleasantries, the shinigami on the right drew a thin scroll from his sleeve, unrolled it, glanced over it, and said:

"You're not on the list today."

"Personal business," Grandpa declared firmly, his tone saying you don't want to ask questions. "We're headed to southern Europe. Specifically, here…"

He handed over a slip of paper where I caught a glimpse of three rows of tiny numbers. Coordinates, huh… If that's what they were, I doubted I was wrong. The shinigami read it, returned the paper, and with the same detached demeanor, nodded and spoke formally:

"Conditionally safe zone. You have passage rights. Shinigami with Lieutenant-level powers and above are subject to a Seal when visiting the World of the Living. You're on the list. Do you want to request exemption from the Seal?"

"No," Grandpa shrugged.

The guards exchanged glances, and the one on the right said:

"Then everything is in order. Passage granted."

Reiatsu emanated from both shinigami as they simultaneously took positions at their respective pillars, touching them with one hand and forming a mudra with the other. Within seconds, a spark of spiritual energy ignited between the Senkaimon's columns.

Both Kido Corps practitioners began a quiet chant, too fast and unintelligible for me. But the spark reacted, flaring brighter. A deep hum and vibration began emanating from the pillars. The very air around the Senkaimon started to ripple subtly, in its own unique rhythm.

I didn't expect this!

"Wow," I blurted in awe.

"Yeah," Grandpa smirked. "The first time is always mesmerizing."

The spark of spiritual energy between the pillars grew into a dot, then a comma, then swirled into a vortex, and finally expanded into an oval field of energy, dense like water.

The entire Senkaimon glowed, embracing the vortex and stabilizing it into a smooth, humming portal, slicing through the boundaries of the Worlds.

Looking at all of this, I realized — the two shinigami had only given the Senkaimon a slight push. The currents of energy running through the pillars instantly confused me to the point of slight dizziness. The power and finesse of the manipulations with reishi, the spiritual particles, left me in awe.

I had never seen or felt anything like it. The process seemed incredibly complex, unimaginably intricate, bordering on the mystical.

The portal itself felt like the rippling surface of a lake, so deep that you couldn't see or sense the bottom. It was the kind of thing you dive into with hesitation.

"The passage is open and stable," we were informed. "Follow the Hell Butterflies."

Grandpa nodded and patted me on the shoulder, pushing me to go first.

Swallowing discreetly, I stepped toward the steadily humming oval of blue energy. At that moment, images flashed through my mind of me taking a step and being scattered to atoms. But Grandpa didn't give me time to hesitate. He simply pushed me in the back and stepped in right after me.

In that instant, two pitch-black Hell Butterflies appeared above us and fluttered forward.

Just one second, and everything around me changed. No more light and warmth of Seireitei, and no more dense, ever-present background of Soul Society's spiritual energy.

Darkness. Stale air. Deafening silence. And no sky above — just blackness, terrifying to look into. It felt like the dark void would swallow me if I stared too long, and gravity seemed like a joke here… I shuddered and lowered my gaze.

The first impression was terrifying. It wasn't just a sense of discomfort. This was definitely a place where no one — living or dead — belonged.

Everything here gave off a sense of alienation and emptiness. This was how the Dangai greeted me. The World Between Worlds, or simply the Passage. It was dark, but the Hell Butterflies glimmered, providing just enough light to see the grimy ground beneath our feet and the walls of the Dangai.

I raised my hand, noting the faint reflections of dark-purple light emitted by the Hell Butterflies on my skin. Looking around, I realized it was these butterflies that kept the Passage stable around us. It wasn't just light; the light itself was Kido. How strange…

But not stranger than the ground underfoot or the "walls" of the Dangai. They looked like solidified, dripping sludge — dense, sticky, and a rich brown color. But I knew this stuff was called Koryu Streams (or the Restrictive Current) and was incredibly dangerous.

Right now, only the light and protection of the Hell Butterflies kept these streams from surging violently and consuming everything in the Passage. Just one touch of a fingertip, and that was it — you were dead. And a dead body that no one would ever find.

On top of that, just in case, once a week a whole train of Koryu swept through the Dangai, obliterating everything in its path. This was called the Restrictive Bolt, or Kototsu. A terrifying thing. I'd read that the Kototsu could blast objects forward or backward by thousands of years through the flow of Time, and nothing in the Three Worlds could survive such a sudden change.

Anything touched by the Kototsu ceased to exist. In some ways, that was even scarier than being devoured by a Hollow.

As I stared at the Koryu and suppressed the childish urge to risk poking it with my finger, Grandpa, looking displeased, tugged at his kimono collar and rubbed the black Seal tattoo. On his chest, a simple black chrysanthemum — the floral emblem of the First Division — stood out.

"I hate this thing," Grandpa snorted in a comically complaining tone.

I was slightly surprised, but as I looked more closely at Grandpa, I was even more taken aback. Where had the angry, on-the-edge-of-a-nervous-breakdown shinigami gone? In front of me now stood the old, composed, coldly controlled, and confident Genshiro I knew so well.

The only thing connecting his previous demeanor to this one was the smell of alcohol and his tousled hair. It was like two different people had swapped places in a second. No joke, it was staggering. I didn't even know how to talk to him now — carefully or as usual?

Grandpa noticed my look, stopped scratching at the Seal with his nail, and smirked slightly.

"Time in the Dangai almost stands still. You can't stay long, of course, but there's enough time for a quick conversation. Let's walk and talk on the way. Although it's better to do it near the exit. You never know when Kototsu might suddenly show up. That thing loves surprises and doesn't care about calculations. Never stay in the Dangai for more than an hour, and if you want to chat, always do it near the exit. Simple rules, yet so many fools have died accidentally. The Dangai isn't a place to mess around. Remember that."

"As you say," I coughed into my fist and walked alongside Grandpa's calm stride.

"You played your role perfectly back there, without knowing anything," Genshiro praised me with a proud smirk. "But that won't work going forward. Fortunately, we have a chance to discuss everything without unwanted ears or suspicions."

"Whose suspicions?" I asked, puzzled, raising an eyebrow.

"Omnitsukido, of course," Grandpa shrugged as if it were obvious. "After all, those shrimp from the Imao family weren't glaring at you like I personally killed the Creator for no reason."

I stopped. So did Grandpa. I stood there, staring, trying to process what I'd just heard. The confusion on my face said more than any words could. He hadn't just told me that almost directly, had he?

Grandpa chuckled and casually admitted, "That's exactly how it is. And they have the right to think so. I killed him. In an alley between the First Division barracks. Drove my zanpakuto right into his heart."

For emphasis, he even tapped his chest where his heart beat. He said it so easily, like he was talking about swatting a fly during breakfast. His calm attitude toward killing a comrade and friend sent literal shivers down my spine.

He wasn't joking, was he? Looking at his face and his eyes, calm and mocking, I understood — he wasn't.

Why the hell?! My grandpa… isn't a villain, is he?

Of course, he's not a villain! How could I even think that?

But… no matter how much I didn't want to go down that path, somewhere deep inside, a tiny, pitiful, but stubborn seed of doubt sprouted.

When it came to this, my grandpa wasn't a paragon of righteousness and didn't live by the "Thou shalt not kill" commandment. For him, shedding blood was part of everyday life. He was literally a god of death and, in his very long life, had killed so many people and other sentient — or not-so-sentient — beings that no one in the World of the Living could compete with him. Judging him by that measure was pointless.

And thanks to my father and his sledgehammer approach to shattering rose-colored glasses, my belief in goodness, tenderness, and justice had been reduced to almost nothing. Yet I still believed in Grandpa until the end.

He was a true moral pillar in my mind and always taught me about the high ideals of Honor, with a capital H.

Grandpa… The same man who broke off a piece of his own soul so that I could start accumulating potential to become a shinigami from childhood. I wore a piece of his zanpakuto, sealed in an amber bracelet, until my reishi awakened. He crippled himself for a decade for my sake.

Genshiro spent almost all his free time outside of work with me, training, teaching, and supporting me. He was not just my grandpa but also my Teacher, with a capital T. The training sessions were only a small part of the wisdom he shared with me.

I learned so much more from our conversations over meals, between exercises, or in the evenings when he managed to carve out a real day off, rather than just dropping by for an hour or two to supervise my training.

The bonds that formed between us over the years had become very strong and warm. There was no one in this world, or even the previous one, with whom I shared such a sense of trust.

Thanks to Grandpa, I had everything. Who would I be now without the Okikiba name? I'd still be someone, but certainly not a promising future shinigami. Definitely not a wealthy aristocrat born with a silver spoon in my mouth.

I know I'm not a genius. I might have stood out a bit from the crowd, but I would still be part of it.

Even if Genshiro is a villain who commits crimes… The sprout of uncertainty withered and died, disappearing somewhere deep inside my soul. Even if Grandpa is wrong, I will support him.

Surprise. Doubt. Resolve. This entire thought process took only a few seconds. That's exactly how long it took for me to realize — family is more important. Grandpa is more important.

More important than what? I hadn't fully decided that yet, the extent of what could outweigh years of love and support. But it would have to affect the very Balance of Souls, for heaven's sake, before I'd even consider it.

"You've got quite the look on your face, Sujin," the old man grinned, flashing his teeth.

"Hm?"

Grandpa beamed with a satisfied smile, as if he were the embodiment of the saying — as happy as an elephant. Because only something that big could produce so much satisfaction.

"I haven't gone senile in my old age to go around cutting down old friends for no reason," Grandpa ran his fingers along the hilt of his zanpakuto, silently conversing with it. "But I appreciate how much you believe in me. It's all written on your face. Your father taught you how to control your expressions… or maybe he didn't."

"Sorry," I smiled sheepishly. "But you said it yourself…"

"Couldn't help myself," Grandpa admitted with a smirk. "You really are just like your father. His own principles always came before any laws, earthly or divine. And he's a Counselor — what a joke… You're growing up just as stubborn as he is."

I smiled guiltily, knowing Grandpa was right. I'm definitely not a criminal, but my own moral compass always felt more reliable than any laws.

Ink on paper or my own heart? For me, it wasn't even a question.

Grandpa let out a tired sigh, wiping the smile from his face.

"Well, enough joking around."

I nodded, erasing my own smile. He didn't need to explain the point of such a sneaky test. I accepted it silently, without childish resentment.

"Come on, let's talk at the end."

Grandpa casually rested his hand on the hilt of his zanpakuto and walked forward. I followed silently.

Grandpa helped me understand what truly mattered to me and what I would choose if I ever faced a difficult decision in the future. And as Genshiro realized, I would be on his side. Any lingering doubts or chances of it being otherwise were dispelled, and I could feel Grandpa's relief. He even walked with a lighter, springier step.

Sometimes, such things are necessary to destroy doubts between people and nurture even greater trust.

If I couldn't forgive such a small thing as a simple test, what would that say about us? We'd be nothing more than strangers bound by blood. Understanding these things takes just a bit of life wisdom. Thank the Soul King, I had just enough of that.

I'm even willing to admit that in the past, I might have held a grudge like an idiot and ruined our relationship over "betrayal and distrust." How fortunate that I'm not a hot-headed teenager. Though age isn't always a measure of true wisdom and understanding.

I nearly stopped in a small shock of realization. Oh! A few scenes from anime flashed through my mind.

Thinking so much about Ichigo's story, it was no wonder that even at such a moment, a scene from it came to mind.

I thoughtfully stroked my chin, walking through the dimness of the Dangai, contemplating a future that hadn't yet come to pass.

The return from the Soul Society after rescuing Rukia. That's when the orange-haired teenager met his teacher, Urahara Kisuke.

For all the half-truths, for sending him blindly into the Soul Society without any knowledge of Aizen, the Hogyoku, or that it was inside Rukia… For all that, Ichigo merely gave Urahara a light punch on the nose.

Kisuke had apologized on his knees, but Ichigo smiled and told him he had already forgiven him, suggesting he should apologize to Rukia instead. He even gave him an excuse by asking, "You didn't say anything because you thought I'd chicken out and not go, right?" Kisuke made a silly face and cheerfully agreed… For which he got a sharp elbow to the nose.

The serious mood broke into playful banter, and the atmosphere grew warm. And that was it.

I was furious back then, thinking, How the hell could you forgive that?! I thought for sure Kurosaki would kill him for it. That he'd pull out Zangetsu and, shouting, "Die, you damn manipulator!" slice that hat-wearing schemer into cubes.

But instead, they made peace. What a stupid scene! I had yelled as a teenager watching it.

But now. Now I understood. That simple scene… revealed the immense trust between Student and Teacher. Now, I wouldn't be as surprised by why they were so respectful toward each other later on.

Especially Urahara, who, without irony or mockery, always addressed Ichigo seriously as Kurosaki-san. He fully recognized the wisdom and big heart of the teenager.

Urahara Kisuke saw a person worthy of respect in him, not just a kid with a cleaver. Unlike many others. Including me, for that matter.

Had I been unfair in my assessment of the main character of this world before? And of Urahara? A foolish teenager with great power and a scheming scientist with low morals…

I hadn't fully believed that before, and now I had completely changed my mind. Are people ever truly one-dimensional? You need to learn to look deeper. In my past life, I wasn't exactly an expert in social interactions or understanding people's souls, especially from a different culture.

But in this life, I still have time to look at everything from a different angle and correct myself. By constantly thinking about the people of my new reality, I find myself understanding more each time.

Not just their combat abilities. What kind of people are they, what drives them forward and makes them tick? This will definitely come in handy in the future.

Know your friend, know yourself, and know your enemy. A cliche definition of future victory. Cliche, but still true. But now isn't the time to dwell on that.

"Always watch the butterfly, Sujin," Grandpa reminded me offhandedly.

"As if it were myself."

Both Hell Butterflies fluttered peacefully above our heads, emitting a violet glow and specks of pollen. The path had widened a little, and the light of the final passage shimmered faintly ahead.

We kept walking, and I tried not to pay attention to the crunch of tiny bones and pebbles beneath my feet, avoiding thoughts of how they ended up in the Dangai or why every meter of ground seemed to be dotted with ancient, crumbling bones.

We finally emerged from the narrow zone, where we had to avoid snagging a sleeve on the Koryu Streams, into a wide passage. The exit was near.

I decided this was the right moment to continue the conversation and finally figure out the truth.

"So, what's the truth, Grandpa? I have so many theories swirling in my head, I'm completely lost."