Born in Seireitei

"The truth is that Soze was a gullible fool who disliked rules and resented having to submit to his superiors. But because of his weakness, there was nothing he could do about it."

Grandfather smiled sadly.

"Everything turned out so foolishly... It all came down to the Central 46. A few of your father's colleagues decided to push their own schemes, stirring up trouble with a few actions and whispers into foolish ears. Shinigami in the Gotei 13 are diverse, and we have our fair share of idiots. They easily fell for the idea that the shinigami didn't need the Central 46 or its laws. That each shinigami, with their power and abilities surpassing ordinary people, should make their own decisions and act without looking back at outdated laws. Each one their own master, law, and executioner."

"That's dangerous thinking," I cautiously agreed. "But it's appealing to rank-and-file shinigami."

"Yeah, it's 'a little' dangerous," Grandfather pursed his lips. "It got out of control. What was meant to just cause a little noise and distract the Gotei 13 for a few advisors' intrigues turned into a genuine dangerous movement. Imao Soze was one of those fools who truly believed in it and started recruiting others. Dozens of shinigami had already deserted their squads. It got to the point where the Central 46 and the Head-Captain assigned the Sixth Division and the Great Kuchiki Clan to nip the Rebellion in the bud."

A shock ran through me. The Kuchiki and suppressing a rebellion! Isn't this a hint about Koga Kuchiki's backstory?! And now advisors are involved too—everything lines up. This story turned out to be real. Damn…

But Grandfather, his gaze dark and fixed on the glowing portal to the World of the Living, didn't notice my hesitation and surprise. He continued his explanation:

"When it comes to something like this, they uproot the problem entirely. Meaning even the families of traitors are wiped out to the last member, and their history is erased from the Soul Society's Annals. Soze only realized this right before his death."

"So you…?"

"Your old man is too kind," Genshiro admitted bitterly. "At first, I turned a blind eye to my friend's suspicious behavior. When he tried to recruit me into the rebellion, I refused and didn't report it. But the fool got scared that I'd turn him in or kill him myself, so he tried to catch me off guard and kill me in my sleep. In the end, I killed him. In the darkness, I didn't figure it out right away... It all turned out so foolishly."

Grandfather shook his head, and it was easy to see how painful the memory was for him. But he decided to finish his story.

"As he was dissolving into reishi, he managed to choke out: 'family.' I could've immediately taken his zanpakuto and gone to Chojiro, or even straight to the Captain, but after thinking it over, I couldn't. We had good times and bad times together, but condemning the entire Imao family to execution because of the pride and mistake of an old friend…"

"That's why you staged everything," I nodded in understanding.

A small scheme to deflect suspicion from the already infamous Soze and save his family, who would never know that their pillar and protector had become a traitor. Oh, Grandfather really can be too noble. Father wouldn't have bothered—he might have finished them off himself.

"A final tribute to our past connection," Genshiro sighed. "But now everyone's on high alert more than usual. It's not easy to set things up without drawing suspicion to myself. I knew that after such a strange death, the Second Division would keep an eye on me for a while. Forging Soze's patrol in the World of the Living wasn't hard to scribble down on paper."

Genshiro tapped his fingers on his sword's hilt.

"Especially for me. In the First Division, I assign tasks and patrols. It was easy to spread a few rumors and pretend to grieve. But there's one final piece missing."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I couldn't not try to avenge my friend," Grandfather declared firmly. "But I need a scapegoat, a real one. I had to get in touch with Ichiro; I don't have any trusted people in the Onmitsukido."

The man who brought the letter today was a ninja, I realized.

"They've found enemies for me in the World of the Living who 'killed' Soze during his patrol. And your father can easily amend all the necessary reports and records in the Archives retroactively. I have to admit, Ichiro isn't thrilled about doing this work for the sake of one idiot, but he still remembers my beatings, heh-heh…"

My cheek twitched involuntarily. I wouldn't forget those in my next life either, damn it! My father got it even worse, so he's probably scarred for life.

"And who's the target?" I asked, struggling to hide my fear of an innocent bloodbath.

"A village of some Hollow Mediums," Grandfather replied indifferently. "Don't worry, I won't make you spill blood yourself."

"I wouldn't back down," I answered with slight defiance.

"I know," he reassured me. "But this is my mess, and I should stain my own hands. And don't worry, these aren't innocent souls with the conscience of lambs."

"What are these Hollow Mediums, anyway?"

I knew about regular Spiritual Mediums. They're mortal humans with slightly stronger souls. They haven't awakened their reiatsu, but they can see shinigami and the souls of the dead.

Only a tiny fraction of Mediums can do anything remarkable, but such people do exist. In this world, legends about ancient Onmyodo practices and Onmyoji have a real basis, as do stories of Buddhist monks defeating "demons" and many other myths. Essentially, these were Mediums who managed to defeat a few Hollows.

But Hollow Mediums? This was the first I'd heard of them.

"They're stronger than regular humans, but it's laughable to compare them to the Quincy," Grandfather said dismissively. "Their reiatsu has properties of Hollows. No one knows how they got this power, but all Hollow Mediums have a strange ability to control surrounding objects, the ground, and even the air if they're skilled enough. The stronger ones can turn things into bizarre abilities, but for a shinigami above the rank-and-file, they're more laughable than dangerous and fragile against brute force."

As I listened, I couldn't shake the thought — these are definitely Fullbringers, aren't they? Everything matches.

Grandfather finished his brief lecture in a firm tone:

"The important thing is — Hollow Mediums are to be killed by shinigami on the spot. Once, entire clans of them existed, but when their nature was discovered, they were exterminated completely. Even the Quincy didn't consider them human and attacked them mercilessly."

"What? Why?"

"Because," Grandfather's gaze hardened, "any Hollow Medium who dies naturally becomes a Hollow with unique traits. And if a Hollow devours such a medium, it gains a unique trait too. Every attempt at mercy backfired terribly on the Gotei in the future. As shinigami, it's better for us to grant them a merciful, pure death with the right to be purified and reborn as a normal human than to let them turn into that filth. Some even requested it themselves…"

Grandfather drifted into memories of a past that may or may not have been glorious. I interrupted him with a question:

"Did this really lead to such powerful Hollows appearing?"

"Oh, believe me, not weak ones," Grandfather said darkly. "Just give it time. The worst incident happened when I had just become a shinigami. They used to tell it to us as a horror story. A Hollow Medium turned into a deranged murderer while still alive and killed several shinigami when they finally found him. He had a unique power — anything he touched or breathed on was destroyed, even Kido or zanpakuto. They recognized the power in a Hollow that appeared a few decades later. That Hollow rampaged across the World of the Living, killed a Captain from the original Gotei 13, and then vanished. But the mark he left on the World of the Living was so deep that he's still remembered today. Mediums saw him destroy settlements large and small, without any benefit to himself or a shred of mercy. We still hear about it."

"How so?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.

Grandfather grimaced as if he'd bitten into a lemon.

"That's where the mortal belief in Europe came from — that Death is a bleached skeleton in a hooded robe or cloak."

"Wait, what?" I blurted out, realizing who he meant.

Damn it, that's freaking Barragan! The King of Hueco Mundo!

"Yeah," Grandfather confirmed, fortunately unaware of my thoughts. "You have no idea how hard it is for us to work in that region, trying to convince lingering foolish souls to move on. They never believe us the first time."

The light around us flickered suddenly, the streams of Koryu trembled and shifted by mere millimeters. Grandfather glanced at the Hell Butterflies, nodded to himself, and said:

"Our time for talking is up. Though I wanted to tell you a few more things, give you some details and facts… But you distracted me with your questions!"

I could have replied, but knowing Grandfather's temperament, I kept silent.

"Well, no matter. Listen carefully. Pass through the exit portal in a single step, understand?"

I nodded.

"Good. It's better you don't know what happens to those who linger in spatial distortions longer than they should. We'll emerge at a height; I'll create a platform for you. You won't need to do anything else — just watch. If any questions arise later, you'll tell it exactly 'as it was.' You were just a witness and did nothing."

"As you say," I shrugged.

---

The exit of the Senkaimon turned out to be a double-gated passage. First, we entered a room with sliding wooden doors in the Japanese style. They opened by themselves, immediately letting in the cool freshness of the World of the Living.

"Breathe slowly," Grandfather instructed as he stepped out first.

I immediately understood why — I began gasping for breath. The air felt thin, as though we were high up in the mountains and lacking oxygen. Even knowing it was due to the low density of spiritual particles in the World of the Living, I was still surprised, gasping like a fish out of water.

When I finally caught my breath and adjusted, Grandfather was already outside, standing on a transparent platform made of spiritual energy. It looked like thick tempered glass, an intriguing barrier I would have examined more closely if I weren't blinking away black spots in my vision and trying not to suffocate.

Damn, books don't do justice to the term "low density." For a few seconds, I seriously doubted whether one could die from this kind of shock.

I was certain that a weak soul born in the Soul Society would quickly exhaust their strength here and collapse.

Maybe that's one reason why lingering souls in the World of the Living lose their strength and turn into Hollows? They deplete their positive charge and transform into negative energy, so to speak. Is that where the terminology comes from? An interesting thought, but now wasn't the time. I'd remember it for the future, something to ask about in the Academy.

I stepped out of the Senkaimon, and the passage between worlds disappeared behind me, leaving only the faint echo of the doors shutting.

If I were afraid of heights, I might have crapped myself, I realized, looking at the distant ground below. Almost directly beneath us, a small village of about thirty rough stone and wooden houses lay sprawled across the plain. A typical European village from old engravings and paintings… Even charming, in a way.

By the way, time differs between dimensions. It was morning in the Soul Society, but here it was nearly noon. It was incredible to witness these discrepancies with my own eyes, realizing I had just crossed from one world to another.

Down in the village, there were plenty of people on the streets. A few of them noticed us, looking up and pointing, drawing the attention of others. From this distance, I couldn't sense or confirm for myself what Hollow Mediums felt like.

Or how many were in the village. Surely not everyone here could be Fullbringers? Or could they? Who knows — were they rare at this point in history, or still widespread?

I was pulled away from observing the village by the voice of my grandfather, which had lost all its warmth. Grandfather Genshiro was now replaced by a ruthless Shinigami.

"Watch closely, Sujin. I'll show you one of our family's spells. A variation of the Binding Path that can be converted into a Destruction Path. I had to rack my brain back in the day to deal with the techniques of those damn Quincy. Some bastards could fire a thousand arrows with a single shot. I always gladly took them head-on. They died in agony. Some of them from having their vaunted Pride shattered. As far as I'm concerned, whether worms have pride or not, they're still worms."

The vulgar, crude speech — so uncharacteristic of his usually more refined manner — surprised me. But what shocked me more was the power and force radiating from the old Shinigami.

I watched eagerly as Genshiro's figure was enveloped by the glow of his reiatsu, pouring into the world. Bathed in a dark-blue light of spiritual energy, Grandfather stood at the edge of the transparent platform, scanned the entire village, and… smiled with such a horrifying, bloodthirsty grin that I had never seen from him before.

He raised his right hand, as if preparing to throw something. In his tightening fist, a crackling spear of purple reiatsu flashed and formed. Even to the eye, it appeared dense, sharp, and seemed to conceal more and more gathering power.

"Bakudo Path Sixty-Two," Genshiro pronounced clearly, winding up for the throw. "Striking Thousand Hyapporankan!"

My eyes widened as I watched one spear leave Grandfather's hand, immediately splitting into a hundred, and then that hundred multiplied into a thousand. It happened so fast that even for me — awakened as I was — it appeared like a thousand purple lightning bolts tearing down from the sky to the earth.

The village vanished in a cloud of dust and thunder, a gray plume rising up and obscuring the village and part of the surrounding area. I swallowed hard, witnessing the aftermath of a single spell.

Through the gaps in the dust, I saw the surviving villagers running around in panic, diving under debris to escape the wrath from the heavens. They rushed to the wounded, dragged them into intact houses, or fell to their knees before the torn remains of those who had been unlucky enough to take a direct hit.

I knew that a standard Hyapporankan was supposed to pin the enemy to the ground with rods of reiatsu, but in Grandfather's execution, these were countless spears that pierced everything and exploded with such force that I didn't want to imagine the fate of its victims.

But it wasn't over yet.

"Tch," Genshiro clicked his tongue, squinting downward. "Like cockroaches. Bakudo Path Sixty-Two…"

A spear twice as powerful grew in Grandfather's hand. He grinned fiercely, his mustache bristling like a predator's whiskers, sharp incisors visible in his mouth. The remnants of his earlier drinking left his eyes red, the capillaries burst. With his disheveled mane of hair, he stood in the sky like an enraged Zeus incarnate. And he was even more terrifying, because he was real and merciless.

Hearing the cries of pain, sorrow, despair, and confusion, Genshiro didn't pause for a second. The Kido spear flared angrily and tore into flight.

"…Striking Thousand Hyapporankan!"

A new volley of a thousand lightning bolts split the sky with a torrent of deadly magic, crashing into the earth below. Even with his powers sealed, my grandfather remained potent enough to unleash horror, death, and fear with just a couple of spells.

I… I pitied those mortals who were now dying, not even knowing why or for what. Simply because they were born with the power of Hollows. Unlike the current Soul Society, I knew perfectly well where their power came from.

But I wasn't a naive child. Nor was I a hero. That's why I remained silent and accepted what had to be done, without any unnecessary sentimentality.

Yet, I admitted to myself that I didn't want to witness this or even be here. Who in their right mind would?

"That's enough," Grandfather said.

Genshiro calmed the raging reiatsu around him, straightened up smoothly, and rolled his shoulders, like a satisfied predator stretching after cornering its prey. He turned his back to me, scanning the other end of the village.

Though a real tragedy was unfolding below, the Sun continued to warm our skin, while the cold high-altitude breeze immediately cooled it. The world didn't care about human tragedies. But I did. A tight knot began to form in my stomach.

"I know you'll never look at me the same way again, Sujin," Grandfather said calmly. "That's normal. Reading about it and hearing about it isn't the same as seeing it with your own eyes. But it's better you witness something like this now, before the Academy. Shinigami are servants of Balance. But we're not peaceful sheep. We're warriors and executioners. We are gods of death."

After a moment of silence, Genshiro solemnly recited:

"Seek no glory in death. Think not only of your own life. Strike from behind to protect what you wish to protect."

Of course, I knew those famous lines. That's what they tell every Shinigami on their first day at the Academy. The creed upon which Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni founded the Academy.

"Blood and death await us far more often than the chance to serve honor and justice," Grandfather told me honestly, repeating the wisdom I'd known since childhood.

I noticed the wary way he looked at me, expecting anything from accusations to tears. But he received neither.

"I…" I wanted to say something warm to comfort him, to lie, but I couldn't. "I understand."

"I don't think you fully do," he said, turning to me completely. "Go down, inspect the village, and tell me if you find any survivors. There's at least one. If he attacks — you know what to do."

What? At first, I thought I misheard him, but looking at his face, now cold as stone, I realized I hadn't.

"But you just said…"

"You heard me," Grandfather's black eyes turned truly empty and merciless. "Get to it."

The platform beneath me detached and quickly descended. In barely ten seconds, I was already standing on the uneven ground. Ground covered in corpses, wreckage, and blood.

Grandfather dropped me right in the middle, where a large house once stood. I don't know if it was deliberate, but right in the middle… Oh, God, so much blood!

I stood there, frozen by what I saw, unblinking as a pool of blood spread from the rubble to my feet. The crimson liquid reached my shoes, quickly soaking through the thin soles and staining my white socks with blood. It was disgusting, slightly warm, and sticky.

While I debated whether to move or endure the squelching of blood in my shoes, some debris to my left shifted. I flinched and turned sharply toward the sound. A broken table shifted, and a man crawled out from beneath it.

A dying man, with a table leg sticking out of his stomach, a hole in his chest scorched from the Hyapporankan, and missing his left arm. He barely had the strength to drag himself toward me with one arm.

A Medium, I realized at last, sensing the reiatsu of a Hollow Medium.

It was cold. Like a Hollow's imprint. And weak, very weak. He was probably the leader or village elder, living in such a house and surviving the attack up to this point.

He opened his mouth, trying to say something. But all he could do was wheeze, blood bubbling on his pale lips. I didn't know what he wanted. Maybe to ask what I was doing here, maybe to beg for help, or maybe to curse me.

His blond hair had turned gray with settling dust, and his eyes were dimming from blood loss and approaching death. But what they were full of was pain. He was in so much pain. And he was afraid — I could see that.

A second later, he was no longer breathing, his eyes went blank, and a new pool of blood spread beneath his body. He died like that, in fear and pain, without understanding why or for what. Without any glory or purpose.

And I stood there silently, feeling his blood soak into my shoes, just watching as the last trace of spiritual activity faded from the body of a man whose name I didn't even know.

A quiet shunpo sound appeared behind me.

"Now you understand," Grandfather declared, without emotion but with a note of solemnity.

"Somewhat," I parted my lips, realizing I'd been pressing them into a thin line.

I had already guided one soul personally into the cycle of rebirth — that madman, when I fought and awakened my reiatsu. That had been a pure, almost ceremonially solemn death.

But this… This felt entirely different. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't right. People shouldn't die like this, should they? I wanted to scream, but I quickly suppressed the childish urge.

"No words are necessary," Genshiro said in a warmer tone.

He stepped closer, stood beside me, right in the pool of blood, and placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, sharing the warmth of a hand that had just killed everyone in this village.

"I know what this feels like. The cruelty of the world is staggering when you witness it firsthand. Today, the boy inside you died, and tomorrow, when you wake up, a man will look upon the world."

I remained silent.

"Among the Shinigami, those with the mentality of children die quickly. This is for your own good, Sujin. You'll understand me later."

Grandfather patted my shoulder and let go. I barely felt the pat; my body felt like a numb marionette. My mind understood everything, but I couldn't shake the paralysis.

Even though I grasped what was happening and knew my reaction wasn't normal, I couldn't dispel the cold and emptiness that had settled in my heart after what I'd seen. My body betrayed me.

But it wasn't over yet. Grandfather walked me through the entire village, every street and house. We checked everything, making sure the Mediums were completely dead. I had never seen or imagined so much fresh death, so many corpses and so much blood. I never thought I would walk among all this, witnessing how sudden and merciless death could be.

Moreover, that I would walk among the dead alongside their killer and still know that I loved this person as my family. The dissonance in my worldview had never hit my consciousness as hard as it did today.

I was trembling violently as Grandfather opened the Senkaimon and led me along the Dangai path made of black earth and old, brittle bones. I couldn't stop shaking, no matter how much I ordered myself to or screamed internally. It was pathetic. But Grandfather didn't comment on my state.

A few shunpo later, we were home. I ate something, tasting every bite fully, but without any enjoyment. I might as well have been chewing cardboard. Instead, I forced myself to nibble on the rich spread of dishes under Grandfather's understanding gaze and the servants' worried eyes.

It wasn't until an hour passed in a blur, when I was sitting in a hot bath, scrubbing dried blood off my legs with my own hands, that I fully awoke and felt my body again. The heat of the water, the wet hair sticking to my face, the pruned fingertips, and my frantically pounding heart.

I froze, closed my eyes, and took a long inhale of the hot steam through my nose, exhaling through my mouth.

"Shit," I whispered, staring at my fingers, which were no longer trembling. "I thought I was ready for something like this. I wasn't."

Splashing water on my face, I tried to wash away the heavy thoughts. As Grandfather said — today, the boy inside me died. I'd put it differently. The last bit of naivety and belief that the world could be kind and bright for me was gone. That it wouldn't force me to face true horror. At least not in this lifetime.

Well, I had been very wrong.

The water in the bath stilled, showing a blurry reflection. My eyes… Even I noticed how my gaze had become sharper, colder. The warmth was gone from my brown eyes, even when I tried to force a charming smile. This crap wouldn't let me go so easily, would it?

"At least I didn't puke like a cowardly wretch," I "comforted" myself. "God, just let there be no nightmares. I've never had any, and I'd rather keep it that way."

I worried for nothing. That night, I simply couldn't sleep.