Born in Seireitei

A vast hall designed like an amphitheater, with rows of desks arranged in a semicircle on ascending levels, allowed everyone to see the platform below and clearly observe the person now speaking in a calm, emotionless voice about the wondrous Academy.

"…since those times, we at the Academy have maintained high standards and take pride in our history…"

In my ears, it all blended into blah-blah-blah, interesting fact, blah-blah-blah. And I wasn't the only one. Most of us already knew the Academy's history, its top graduates, and so on. No one wanted to hear it for the umpteenth time, and people were starting to nod off.

As it turned out, the best students sat near the back, close to the exit, while the Lower Class was seated right by the platform below. By the time Rao, Kasumi, and I arrived, everyone was already seated, so we joined our group. Knowing where the hall was, we hadn't rushed and arrived among the last.

Surprisingly, our classmates had even saved a spot for the three of us in the middle of the row, which was a pleasant gesture.

I had no intention of acting stuck-up, and neither did my new acquaintances. We exchanged polite nods and greetings with our classmates and settled among the Privileged Class nobility.

They might turn out to be scheming larvae of future high-society jerks. That remained to be seen. But one thing they already had down pat was outward decorum and unwavering politeness.

We barely sat down before the lecture began, so there was no time for small talk.

An hour in, and we were still sitting. Listening and trying not to fall asleep. A couple of idiots in the front row had already been thrown out for chatting. I was curious about what punishment awaited them, but not curious enough to find out the hard way, so I stayed quiet and fought off sleep.

By my estimate, more than two hundred people were sitting in the massive lecture hall, listening to the droning lecture.

I figured that about half would drop out over the next six years, and some would simply die during combat tests. In my time, there were no robotic Hollows; training was done with real ones. And real Hollows didn't hold back their attacks just because a future Shinigami was standing in front of them.

Safety measures or not, death during training was common. Only about a third to half of the students in this hall would become Shinigami.

Assuming today's number was typical… On average, there should be about a hundred new warriors each year for the Gotei 13, the Stealth Force, and the Kido Corps. A small number would be quietly absorbed by Noble Families, the Central 46, the Courier Corps, and a few other minor organizations.

But in general – a hundred Shinigami each year. The reason for my gloomy thoughts was… where were they?

The number of Shinigami had remained roughly the same for centuries. I knew the answer, but until today, I refused to believe it.

The answer was – they all died.

Right now, I was looking at the tops of the heads of almost guaranteed future corpses. Rank-and-file Shinigami either didn't have time or lacked the talent to achieve Shikai and experience the explosive growth in power within their first ten years of service after the Academy.

The First and Zero Classes managed to hang on during training and subsequent service. Of the total number of recruits, only a pathetic percentage gained enough strength to no longer fear ordinary low-level Hollows. Those who survived at least ten years became veteran rank-and-file soldiers or Officers. But even they weren't immortal and often died.

Grandfather once told me that in a one-on-one fight, a Shinigami usually defeated a Hollow, often sustaining various injuries. But if another Hollow appeared… Or if there were two Hollows, that was a guaranteed death sentence for the rank-and-file.

And there was this frustrating trait of encounters between these two opposing forces: if there were many Shinigami in a patrol, the Hollows wouldn't attack alone and would also group into packs to hunt down the dangerous prey.

Patrols usually consisted of one to three Shinigami to keep the fights roughly one-on-one and avoid turning them into massacres. And this was just the issue with patrols in the Living World. Hollows appeared here in the Soul Society too, though less often. But when they did, they grew stronger faster.

Hollow breaches occur in both Worlds. In the Living World, they're more frequent; here in the Soul Society, they happen less often, but they're larger and more terrifying. And all of it gets patched up with lives.

There are simply too few strong Shinigami to send them out for every little thing. You'd just wear them down with a stream of minor tasks, and when something major happens, they'd be too drained to handle it. Officers have it no easier — their tasks are of the same level.

Still, they don't die as quickly as the rank-and-file. The turnover of Shinigami lives in this line of work is truly horrific.

Thinking about this and looking at the people around me, I started to wonder if it was even worth making friends with anyone outside the Elite.

Perhaps that would only lead to future heartbreak when they died. It was a grim and morally questionable thought, but deep down, I knew it was right. I'd be better off not accumulating too many weak connections. It's the harsh reality of a Shinigami's life.

Things might change in the Gotei 13, but here, attention and time shouldn't be squandered.

"…and that concludes the introductory lecture."

Whew, finally! The guy on the podium had been so boring. Talking about the Academy's traditions, its distinguished graduates, refined methods, and how amazing we'd all be once we graduated…

It was clear he'd been giving this speech for the last fifty years, word for word, every single year. If there had ever been a spark in his words, it had long since burned out and died a painful death. He spoke long, dully, and about nothing.

I was just starting to feel relief, but…

"And now, a few words from the Academy Director."

I almost dropped my head onto the desk but restrained myself. No one had ever poured so much useless chatter into my ears. And now there was an encore.

The black-haired man in the Academy instructor's uniform stepped away from the podium.

This uniform was different from the Shinigami shihakusho only by the addition of a special white cloak worn over it, which made me think of old musketeer movies. But it wasn't really similar, and I quickly dismissed the analogy. Even mentally calling the teacher D'Artagnan was risky. If I chuckled at the wrong time, it would end badly. Still, the thought was amusing.

In place of "D'Artagnan," another Shinigami appeared on the platform below, using a silent shunpo.

He continued walking smoothly, as though he'd just taken a regular step, without the slightest pause. A flawless demonstration of Hoho. I sat up straight and fixed my eyes on him, intrigued.

The Director turned out to be a sturdy, wiry, and gaunt elderly man, right on the line between a robust grandfather and a frail old man.

He hunched slightly and walked toward the podium with an almost shuffling gait, his hands clasped behind his back. His head was full of silver hair, styled in straight strands that covered his cheekbones and cheeks.

He wore round glasses with thin steel frames, and beneath a slightly hooked, eagle-like nose, a thin, gray mustache hung down in an old Chinese style, falling below his chin. Overall, he looked like… an old Asian librarian?

Anyone else might have dismissed him — his appearance was utterly unremarkable, with no trace of authority. Typically, you expect a Director to look dignified and commanding.

But our Director was old, frail, and skinny, with a uniform that hung loosely on him. His hunched posture did nothing to help his imposing presence.

That might have been the impression, if not for the fact that this was the Soul Society. If this man weren't the Director of the Shinigami Academy, people would be chatting or lost in their own thoughts.

But this is the Soul Society, and this old man is the Director of the only Spiritual Academy in the entire world.

The hall was silent as the old man walked to the podium, and people barely dared to breathe. It was easy to take him seriously when you felt the colossal spiritual pressure radiating from him compared to us. I squinted and controlled my breathing; those at the front were already wheezing from the strain.

By my estimation, he felt just a bit weaker than Genshiro. Which meant that if he wanted to, he could kill everyone in the hall… in about five seconds. Five heartbeats, and everyone here would be corpses.

I understood this. And I wondered how many of the souls here grasped the same truth, rather than merely being awestruck by his spiritual power.

Before such a person, you should sit still, remain silent, and listen closely. The moment the Director appeared, I wiped the lazy expression off my face and became serious and attentive, as any good student should.

The Director deigned to lower the pressure emanating from him. I noticed the disdainful look he gave the weakest students who were barely breathing, sweating, and gripping their desks with white-knuckled intensity. He looked far more favorably upon the First-Class students, and at us, the Zeros, his gaze was warm and kind, like that of a benevolent grandfather.

To the credit of all the Zeros, that warm gaze fooled no one and didn't make us relax. Instead, it made us sit up even straighter.

"Students," he barely moved his lips, yet his voice echoed loudly and clearly throughout the hall. "You will become the future protectors of the Soul Society. Warriors who safeguard the balance of the Three Worlds. Work as hard as you can, tirelessly. If you struggle with something, try harder. Don't hesitate to ask for help with your studies; each instructor will assist you to the best of their ability and time. Be determined. Be more ruthless to yourselves than to your future enemies."

His speech was starkly different from the previous speaker's. The Director spoke with emotion, with a spark, infusing his words with the meaning he intended, not something memorized from a script. You could feel it.

The Director silently scanned the hall with a stern gaze. Many people couldn't bear it and dropped their eyes. I met his sharp, very alive, gray eyes — eyes that seemed too vibrant for an old man — with my own. For a split second, I almost blinked or looked away, but I held firm. The moment passed, and the pressure shifted to someone else.

Solemnly and deliberately, the Director intoned as if addressing each person in the hall individually:

"Do not seek glory in death. Do not think only of your own life. Strike from behind to protect what you want to protect."

At these words, an image of an enraged Genshiro flashed before my eyes. He who, for the sake of a former friend's family, wiped out an entire village down to the last person. He sought no glory in it, thought nothing of himself, and struck his "target" dishonorably for the sake of what he wanted to protect.

The quintessence of the Academy's creed, laid bare in its most unappealing form.

To someone from my past world and time, Shinigami would seem like monsters — morally, above all else. Most of the Council's decisions and the Gotei 13's actions would be utterly incomprehensible, sparking outrage to the heavens.

But what I'd struggled to accept after living here for many years… was that most of it was justified. Not all, but most. Different times, different problems, different actions.

Ordinary people don't spend centuries fighting monsters for their very souls, nor do they carry the responsibility of preventing the collapse of the Three Worlds every day.

The me of the past wouldn't have understood this creed. It held no philosophical depth for me.

The me of today?… I grimaced and furrowed my brow. For now, I simply understood. Acceptance was still a long way off.

After a few more seconds of silence, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the minds of future Shinigami, the Director slowly nodded and said:

"That is all. Go and study today. Or slack off and die tomorrow. The choice is yours, and yours alone."

He turned to the instructor, who was respectfully waiting behind him. With a nod, the old man took a few shuffling steps and vanished in a shunpo.

The instructor cleared his throat into his fist, making some of the more impressionable students, still frozen from the Director's presence, jump in their seats.

"That concludes the introductory lecture and the Director's speech. Those who wish may visit the cafeteria, which is already open and serving hot meals. It's nearby, in the right wing, first floor. Otherwise, your day is free. Classes begin tomorrow morning; you all have your schedules. Dismissed!"

The instructor headed to the desk at the front of the podium, sat down, and began searching through the drawers.

"Powerful old man," Fumio muttered nervously, letting out a shaky laugh. "My uncle should be bringing him his slippers in the morning."

For a moment, the guy's usual squint disappeared, and he looked like a normal person. Just for a minute. Then he smoothed his already perfect good-boy hairstyle and resumed his sly glances at those around him.

"I've never felt anything like that," Kasumi said, her voice trembling, but she smiled with wide, awestruck eyes, staring at the spot where the Director had disappeared. "Can Shinigami really be that strong?"

Here they are, still untested boys and girls, I sighed to myself. Yes, now I vividly saw the difference between myself — who had endured Genshiro's harsh lessons — and the average students. I felt like a damn veteran in a high school.

But I also knew I wasn't the only one in this hall like that. There were people here who had seen and experienced far worse shit... But what do I care about them? I am me, they are them. I have enough of my own problems.

"My grandpa is stronger," I inserted casually as I stood up from the table. "And I endured his spiritual pressure in almost every training session. But perhaps the Director is more... skilled in the basic abilities of a Shinigami."

I admitted the last part reluctantly, with grudging respect. My grandfather — and even that courier I'd seen a couple of times — tore through space when they moved at instant-step speed. The sound that followed was appropriate. But the Director had appeared almost silently, softly. I didn't even catch a shadow of his movement, despite being warned of his arrival.

Such a skill would earn him respect from any Onmitsukido. And I was sure he knew plenty of other interesting tricks.

That one shunpo was enough to impress me — enough to respect not the position, but the man himself.

"By the way, what's his name?" Fumio asked. "The Director. I think I missed it."

I blinked. Kasumi furrowed her brows, too. We glanced at our classmates, who were gathering their things and leaving, but it felt awkward to ask such a basic question.

"He didn't introduce himself," I recalled firmly. "And before that, I never thought to ask anyone…"

"Eh, no big deal," Fumio shrugged, his cheerful mood restored. "We'll find out later. Let's go eat! My stomach's been stuck to my spine since morning!"

Kasumi nodded quickly, patted her stomach, realized what she was doing, and dropped her hand, but her eyes urged us on: 'What are you waiting for? Let's go, let's go!' And me? I was hungry too.

The crowd below started shaking off the Director's oppressive presence. Conversations buzzed to life, people got up, and a rush to the exit began.

"Let's go before a traffic jam forms at the door."

---

The cafeteria was still half-empty when we arrived. It took us about ten seconds to look around and figure out how everything worked. The distinctions and class separations were evident here too.

I was starting to feel a bit awkward again, but I quickly suppressed it. Not the first time. Good things are meant to be enjoyed, not to make you feel guilty that you have them while others don't. That's what they're made for.

Several long tables for the masses were to the left — those were for the Lower and Middle Class. In the center were neater tables, still long but adorned with small vases of flowers. These were for the First Class.

And to the right, separated by thin paper partitions painted with calming wave designs, was the territory for the Elite. Here, we were greeted by small, light tables for four. Instead of benches like everyone else, we had chairs with soft backs. If the rest of the cafeteria lived up to its name, for us, it felt more like a semi-restaurant.

The only thing keeping it from full restaurant status was that we still had to fetch our own food. At the back of the hall, there were three serving windows where a crowd was already gathering.

"Well, I guess we go there," Fumio nodded toward the open window labeled "0."

"Yeah."

The service was fast and efficient, no questions asked. We approached, showed our tokens, and each of us was handed a wide wooden tray covered with a steel lid. The tray was heavy, warm, and had rather uncomfortable handles.

Behind the paper walls, a dozen of our peers were already seated, some eating with an appetite so enthusiastic it bordered on impolite. I looked down at the tray in my hands. Must be something good... My mouth watered on its own. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

"Where to?" Rao glanced around.

"Let's sit by the window," I decided quickly and headed over.

Rao and Kasumi followed me.

We sat at one of the tables and, almost simultaneously, lifted the lids. Four bowls awaited us: one with seaweed soup, one with rice, one with grilled salmon, and the last with lightly sauteed vegetables. Everything looked fresh, practically radiant, though it was simple, straightforward food.

There was nothing to drink, which implied we'd either have to sip the soup or shell out for the buffet. That separate window, near the Lower Class tables, displayed prices so steep that those poor souls seemed to stutter just looking at them.

"Not bad," Rao said, picking up his chopsticks. "I wasn't expecting a feast."

In contrast, Kasumi had already armed herself and was stuffing her mouth shamelessly.

"This is so good!" she managed to say through her mouthful, eyes sparkling with near tears. "I've never tasted anything better! This rice, mmm!"

Fumio, seeing her shining face, reconsidered the soup and went straight for the rice. In just a few seconds, I found myself watching two hamsters at the table. Did they sprinkle something illicit in there..?

"Try it," Fumio said, mouth full, pointing at my rice with his chopsticks.

I took a small bite, then, more calmly, took another. Unlike my friends, I ate without any dramatic reaction, unsure why they were so amazed. Rice is rice... It seemed no different than what I always ate. Or were my taste buds broken? No, I could still distinguish flavors fine.

"Phew," Kasumi leaned back, the first to finish. "That was amazing."

"Well, of course," Rao smirked. "That's Mabai rice. How could it not be amazing?"

Unlike Kasumi, he managed to stay composed and savored each bite, treating the meal like a treasure.

"What kind of rice is that?" Kasumi asked, puzzled.

Don't look at me, I had no clue either... That's what I was thinking as I chewed my rice in doubt. At the nearby tables, everyone was eating with the same enthusiasm. Maybe I was the fool who got served regular food?

"It's a special variety," Fumio explained patiently, sipping his soup between sentences. "It grows only in the high-altitude Mabai Valley to the West. The land is owned by the Mabai family. The area has a high density of spiritual particles, and only there can this rice grow. They produce no more than fifteen or twenty tons a year. Even though it's brought to Seireitei, for the capital, that's just a drop in the ocean. It's incredibly expensive."

After another sip, Rao added more context for Kasumi:

"It's not just delicious, it's also rich in spiritual energy. For those who've already awakened, it's just beneficial — it nourishes and helps replenish reiatsu faster. But for ordinary souls, they say Mabai rice can help you awaken. And it's not just a rumor. I ate it for five days before my breakthrough. My training was so intense I was coughing up blood, I didn't want to do anything, but I kept eating, along with bitter medicine for recovery. It cost my family a fortune. That's why I recognized the taste immediately. Without the medicine, it tastes way better."

"And they served us this?" the blonde asked, frowning. "You think... maybe they mixed us up with the teachers?"

"Eat while it's offered," Rao said, lifting his chopsticks pointedly. "Maybe it's a gift for us elites to celebrate admission. Look at Sujin — he's eating without a care."

I smiled a little at their glances, finishing my meal without much enthusiasm. While eating, I wondered if I'd ever had rice outside the estate. Thinking back to the trips with Kensei, I couldn't recall. In restaurants, I always tried something unusual, like game or special stews, and I devoured fruits from local gardens, having had my fill of this rice at home.

At festivals in Seireitei and receptions, I mostly ate sweets…

Well, it seemed there was no mistake here. I was just significantly wealthier than even a mid-level Noble Family like Fumio's. I'd been eating this rice since childhood, and to me, it was the most ordinary thing. I didn't know that until now.

Whether it was intentional or "by status," asking would be pointless. I'd just accept it, along with my ignorance. You can't know everything. I'd just learned about the variety itself along with Kasumi.

Ha, not even a full day at the Academy, and I'd already learned something new. Academy!

I just hoped this was another solid brick in my future potential as a Shinigami. Legends aside, what if the rice really was magical and not just better than the rest?

If I thought about it, I'd had the best: trained under a strong Shinigami, healed in medicinal baths so expensive they'd make other aristocrats' eyes bulge, and from an early age, I'd been nourished with reiatsu from my grandfather's zanpakuto.

A bit here, a bit there — it all added up to a solid foundation for becoming someone formidable. If I wasted this potential out of laziness, I wouldn't respect myself. What the hell was I doing sitting here and lazing around on the second day?!

"Where are you going?" Fumio asked, lazily picking his teeth with a toothpick.

"I thought I'd had enough rest — spent all day lying around yesterday," I said, cracking my neck. "We've got great dojos in the dorms. And they're indoors, away from the midday sun. So, training."

"Oh, I'm coming with you!" Kasumi jumped up.

"Ninth Hell, were you raised by torturer-executioners or what?" Fumio grumbled, standing and picking up his tray. "I saw that we're supposed to return the dishes over there. Let's not be barbarians."

"So, you're coming too?"

"Of course," Rao smiled reluctantly.

On the way back, Fumio suddenly snorted with laughter and shared:

"I just remembered another rumor… about Mabai, ha. The valley's heiress — our age."

"And?"

"And she didn't make it! Didn't even awaken her reiatsu. She's lived there since birth, eating Mabai rice. They say she spends all day plucking a shamisen and hates training. No one wants to marry her, either — unless the valley comes as a dowry. But she rejects every suitor. Just eats and sleeps. When I heard that, I thought the vein on my forehead would burst from anger. Before my breakthrough, every spoonful of that rice was worth its weight in gold, and she devours it by the heap for free, not worrying about life at all."

"I wish I could swap places with her," Kasumi muttered enviously. "Idiot..."

Whether because it was delicious or because of the privilege, Kasumi's envy burned hot and passionate. She grumbled all the way home. I was surprised by this strange side of the usually quiet and reserved girl.

But when it came to training, I saw Kasumi channel all her dissatisfaction and jealousy, igniting it to the limit and then converting it into motivation to push herself one hundred and twenty percent.

Well, I shrugged, everyone has their own way of handling grueling training.

We trained in the same hall, but each stuck to their own routine and exercises until the Academy provided official techniques and recommendations.

"Damn, she's a beast," Rao whispered to me in awe. "I don't want to face her in Hakuda. She'd tear me apart without noticing."

Meanwhile, Fumio and I were practicing basic strikes with bokuto(bokken). Nothing helps digest food better than a good old thousand swings with a three-kilogram stick.

Kasumi, on the other hand, went through a crazy warm-up of squats and push-ups at breakneck speed. Now she was shadowboxing, likely imagining that Mabai heiress.

She struck hard, fast, and relentlessly, the air groaning with each blow. For half an hour, she hadn't stopped, moving from one end of the hall to the other — whish-thud-whish.

By my estimate, if I tried to block even one of those strikes, a bruise was guaranteed. I didn't even want to think about taking a hit to the ribs or the face. It was terrifying to get in her way. And in all that time, she barely seemed out of breath — just a slight sheen of sweat.

Now I saw firsthand what a Top Score in Hakuda looked like. No joke, it was impressive. Even disregarding the difference in reiatsu — since I was taller and physically stronger — in terms of skill precision and mastery, I couldn't do that, and I wouldn't be able to for a while. Maybe in a year… I hoped.

Did she just rip out her imaginary opponent's trachea with her fingers? Eyes, groin, pain points on the thigh and foot… And that clever kick looked like it was meant to dislocate the kneecap. I felt a chill imagining a living person in place of her strikes. Damn, she knew some dangerous techniques against people.

Fumio caught on too.

"We've got a dangerous beauty living nearby, huh?"

"Looks like that magical rice charged her with energy up to her eyebrows," I chuckled, wiping sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.

"Women's anger is terrifying," Fumio joked with a shudder. "By the way, you're doing well keeping up. Didn't think any of our peers could match me."

"That was just a warm-up for my joints," I smirked provocatively. "Think you can handle my usual training?"

"Is that a challenge?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I've got half a bag of tea left," I hinted heavily. "From home. Green Dragon from the Nanamaki plantations."

"I saw that in the cafeteria, sold by weight at a crazy price," Fumio grimaced. "If only we could get to Seireitei…"

I just shrugged. According to the rules, first-year students couldn't leave the grounds for the first month.

"What, scared already?"

"Didn't know you were that type," Rao chuckled. "I told you, I can train until I spit blood. Show me this dreadful workout!"

"A bet?"

"A bet," we shook hands.

Line, hook, sinker, gotcha. You walked right into this one, hehe. Suffering alone would be boring. You'll all experience what pain is! When your grandpa is Genshiro Okikiba!

"Your smile's a little scary," the guy began to have doubts.

Too late… You're already in Hell!

Meanwhile, from the other side of the hall — whish, thud, whish. Her fist flashed with afterimages.

"Mountain… goat! Such deliciousness… Oof, take that!"

"So, it's all about the food?" Fumio groaned, overhearing the girl.

"Don't fall behind," I called, getting into a horse stance. "Now, deliver strikes like this. One-two."

"How many?"

"A long time. Until I say stop."

Oh man, your thigh muscles are going to cramp so hard tonight… That pain. Hehehe.

The first training session of three future friends was in full swing.