Born in Seireitei

The Okikiba family's estate occupies an expansive territory, encircled by a tall white wall crowned with sharp yellow-tiled tops—a style typical of many buildings in the Seireitei, where the color white is highly cherished.

Within the walls, however, there's little white to be seen. The grounds are characterized by lush greenery, artificial ponds teeming with fish, and quaint wooden bridges. Manicured gardens, vibrant and brimming with life, are especially breathtaking under the summer sun.

Unlike most others, Sujin's grandfather did not care for cherry blossoms. He found greater solace in the simple green of nature, the tranquility of forests, and the stillness of lakes. Since it was he who first laid the foundation of this land, his preferences shaped what the estate eventually became.

Trees, ponds, and magnificent gardens flourish throughout. Peeking through the gardens are the slanted roofs of traditional Japanese homes. At the center of the estate stands the tallest building, resembling a scaled-down castle of a shogun from Yamato's warring states era.

The main residence boasts five spacious floors, so vast and open that each could comfortably house a large family of ten without them crossing paths—unless they chose to. But that's assuming someone would even be allowed inside.

In short, the Okikiba family's main house befits its reputation as a Noble Family. Not overly luxurious to seem frivolous, yet far from modest. It projects the desired aura—majestic and imposing, like a fortress that embodies resilience and strength.

Yet, up close, it isn't as forbidding as it appears from afar. Thanks to the skilled architects of the Soul Society, who perfected the art of combining grandeur with comfort, the house is neither drafty nor damp like a true fortress might be.

Inside, the residence is warm and welcoming. Bright stone and wood dominate the interiors, with wide windows and open spaces flooding the house with light. The pristine cleanliness, coupled with the earthy tones of the wooden accents, gold embellishments here and there, and vibrant touches of color, make the home inviting and harmonious with the green gardens outside.

It's the kind of place where one feels at home from the very first visit, and young Sujin—heir to the family and merely a boy for now—absolutely adored it. This estate wasn't just a house to him; it was a sanctuary he cherished deeply. He wouldn't hesitate to voice his love for it.

How could one not fall in love with such a place after spending their previous life in a mundane apartment indistinguishable from thousands of others? Here, everything was captivating. From his first walk through the estate, Sujin was enchanted.

He loved the vastness of the house, the freshness of the gardens, the pristine ponds, the winding white stone paths, and the peace of sitting on a wooden bridge with a cup of hot tea and a small bowl of peach jam. Beneath him, red-finned carp would swim, occasionally glancing up with curious, beady black eyes.

It was amusing to watch the servants panic if he fed the carp something inappropriate. These fish were so rare and valuable that even the esteemed Kuchiki family would boast about having the same breed.

But while Sujin relished spending evenings this way, it was midday now—a sunny afternoon with a bright blue sky and warm sunlight spilling through the windows. Yet, no one ventured into the shade of the trees; midday in the Seireitei was a universal excuse to rest. A kind of unofficial summer siesta, accepted without question.

In a spacious and well-lit room on the second floor, peace reigned. The wide windows were flung open to invite the sunlight and a gentle breeze, creating the perfect atmosphere for any activity, even one as unusual for a twelve-year-old boy as calligraphy.

Sujin's face was calm and focused. His usually warm brown eyes now carried an air of contemplation. He approached calligraphy with a seriousness that belied his years, not as a chore forced upon him by a teacher, but as a pursuit he genuinely enjoyed.

To an outsider, he might appear as though he were grasping profound wisdom. It wasn't just about drawing symbols; it was akin to meditation. Those familiar with calligraphy would recognize this as the mark of someone far beyond the beginner stages, no longer just splattering ink across paper.

Even the estate's numerous servants wouldn't dare chuckle at Sujin's earnest demeanor or spread rumors that the boy was "putting on airs" with a brush in hand. On the contrary, they found pride in his dedication to scholarly arts. His father and grandfather approved as well; no one reprimanded the boy for dedicating his time to this pursuit.

---

"Hmm… This won't do. I thought it would turn out prettier, but it's nonsense. Sharper? Yes, more precise."

In the middle of the room stands a low box filled with fine white sand. The training tool is quite simple. You use a stick to draw a character on the sand, evaluate it, and erase it with a special wooden board. The principle is similar to those drawing boards for children in my past life.

Naturally, even in such small details, standards are maintained. The sand tray is made of redwood, as is the erasing board. The writing stick is not only part of the set but also adorned with golden inlays, styled to resemble a bamboo branch.

A status item, one of the numerous meaningless gifts. Not for me, but for my father. Over the years, he's accumulated so many of these ornamental trinkets he could open a warehouse for them.

After years surrounded by luxury, my eyes have become so accustomed to it that I've lost the ability to recognize the true value of things. And does it even matter when everything around is yours? It's not like I'm going to envy myself, for heaven's sake.

The tip of the stick traced sharp yet smooth lines in the sand. Almost absentmindedly, my hand drew a character that was meant to signify "sword." My trained eye immediately spotted the stroke errors, so I erased it and cleared my mind for another attempt.

Calligraphy does not tolerate haste or fuss, especially under the gaze of others. I am alone here. Calligraphy is for the soul, something between meditation and art.

In my past life, I had only heard of it and thought of it as an overhyped handwriting practice. But it turned out to be much deeper. If you find within yourself the desire to delve into its essence, you'll discover that calligraphy holds countless meanings, offering vast opportunities for mental, spiritual, and aesthetic growth. A highly multifaceted pursuit.

Haha, funny, but I only just realized that a community of people who love calligraphy is no different from a pipe smokers' club or enthusiasts of any art form. And, as of recently, I belong to it unofficially. You don't need any special permission for that.

I can find beauty in inscriptions created by another hand. I can discern the meaning the author intended to convey. With practice, enlightenment comes, making it easy to read what the symbol expresses—its slanted strokes, the sharpness of the lines, the strength of the pressure, and the emotions or calmness with which the master wrote.

It truly is an art form. The art of expressing not only meaning but also emotion through one or several characters. Even a state of mind or an entire story can be read in a single symbol on white paper.

Once I understood this, calligraphy rose above ordinary painting in my internal ranking of activities. It's more complex, more intellectually engaging.

And yet, I've learned to paint here too, and even to compose poetry... Not that anyone forced me to. Not at all.

In my past life, I was far from such hobbies, preferring more modern forms of entertainment. But there's none of that here, so I make do with what's available.

What else is there to do, really? I don't work, don't have to fight for survival, search for food, or support a family. I do get a bit bored, so I spend my time on various pursuits. There's no TV or internet—they're centuries away—and even recreational literature is sparse.

Now it's perfectly clear to me why aristocrats have so many hobbies. Simply put, people really have nothing else to do. At least in their youth, before they're given important tasks and taught responsibility.

The familiar quiet rustle of sand as the character is erased. And as if on cue, right in the moment of idleness, the door to the room opened. A dainty-looking maid in a lilac kimono entered with small, shuffling steps, carrying a tray of tea and sweets.

Without distracting me, she walked to the spot by the window with a table and soft cushions for sitting, set down the tray, and left just as silently.

It was so smooth and quick that the only impression she left was the memory of her dazzlingly white socks and a floral scent that lingered for a moment. And within that same moment, I completely forgot about her.

In the first few years, I used to get startled at how things—like food—would appear around me without me noticing who had taken care of it. I began to closely observe my surroundings, but my paranoia didn't last long. These were just ordinary people quietly doing their job—no mysticism involved. Eventually, I simply got used to it.

In the Soul Society, the current trend in servant behavior is maximum invisibility. Supposedly, a true servant shouldn't trouble their master with trifles, even if the trifle is the servant themselves. But I enjoy eavesdropping, and since half the house has thin paper partitions for walls, I quickly figured it out...

They enjoy it too. Seriously, people like turning ordinary work into something more interesting. Like a game of ninjas in the routine of daily duties. No one actually says it, but that's how I perceive it.

Of course, the punishments for mistakes—like dropping a tray in front of the master—are far from playful. A servant could get ten hard strikes with a flat, meter-long oak stick. Enough to make even a seasoned warrior cry. After that, negligence or daydreaming at work is out of the question.

At first, I found all this barbaric. Everything seemed that way to me—archaic, barbaric, wrong, outdated... All those epithets that come to mind when you find yourself centuries behind on the path of progress. I think anyone in my situation would feel the same.

But humans are proud creatures, capable of adapting to anything, and as a future Shinigami-in-training, I'm even more resilient and adaptable than a cockroach. So, I adjusted. I didn't lecture anyone on how to live, didn't stomp my feet, didn't point fingers and scream, "This is wrong!"

I'm a reasonable person. And reasonable people don't teach beings who might be ten—or a hundred—times older and stronger than them how to live.

Even if, in the future, one orange-haired .. manages to challenge a couple of Soul Society's laws and not lose his head for it… all the reformers who appeared before him had only one path—to the Nest of Maggots.

And I already know more about the Nest from my father's documents than from a couple of anime episodes. It's far from the rosy picture portrayed in that teen story. People can be taken from there for experiments as easily as snapping fingers. Worse things happen to prisoners there, too.

People who end up there lose their past, their future, their names—they are erased. They are nobody. Escaping from there would require a miracle. In the future, the only such miracle will be Captain Urahara Kisuke, who retrieves an assistant for himself. And that's it.

That's the price for those who stir the waters of Seireitei more than necessary. For someone like me, an Okikiba, the tolerance bar is ten times higher. But I'd rather not even try to jump and find out where that bar is.

Why bother? There's no point. I wasn't born a slave to break societal foundations and play Spartacus. Everything's fine as it is. Even if I decide to do absolutely nothing, a beautiful life is already set out for me. And I'll decide to change something later—when society itself will be ready. Starting earlier would just be like banging my head against a wall.

Sure, sometimes the servility of those around me makes me cringe, along with the ridiculous things the servants are willing to do for a single smile from their masters. But that's just me! Everyone else seems fine with it; they consider it normal.

I've ordered myself to adapt and not dare wrinkle my nose at it. It's me who has to fit in here, not the people around me.

And anyway, I'm not the protagonist of this story; fate hasn't revolved solely around me. So it's better to stay within the lines until I have the strength to stretch them.

I had time to think. The Soul Society is static, and shaking its foundations and rules would require nothing less than an order from the Soul King himself. How did Kurosaki Ichigo manage it? In just a few years, he changed how people treated each other, changed the entire Soul Society. Even from the hints in the anime, you can tell how much everything changed—it's astonishing.

Every other would-be reformer faced defeat, imprisonment, or death. Even a Captain—one of the greatest Kenpachis in history, Kenpachi Azashiro—couldn't manage it. But some redhead did.

If you think about it unemotionally, you start to understand that the orange-haired hero was saved by a unique convergence of circumstances.

His immense potential wasn't just visible—it was glaringly obvious. His strength, his background as a member of the Shiba Clan (only an idiot wouldn't figure out the connection, and back then, he was the only one like that), and the goodwill of several Captains of the Gotei 13—all this, and more, played a role. Including the understanding that the boy was merely a pawn used by both Urahara and Aizen as part of their schemes.

During that invasion of the Soul Society, Kurosaki Ichigo was nothing more than a tool, stirring up the depths and creating chaos. For both sides of the intrigue, it was a platform for clearing out the unnecessary and setting the stage, defining who was now a friend and who was an enemy.

The Central 46 was already gone, so old man Yamamoto simply spared the boy, avoiding the tension that would come with ordering the execution of the kids in such a tough situation. He could have easily just executed Rukia, carrying out the sentence. After all, she was genuinely guilty of transferring power to a mortal! And indirectly guilty of all the ensuing chaos.

As for the interlopers from the World of the Living, their insolence, invasion, and injuries to many Shinigami—execution would have been justified. Yamamoto had the right, no matter what anyone says. But he didn't.

Kurosaki Ichigo was saved by many factors—factors I don't have.

This reminded me of a certain sly character's phrase: "Chaos is a ladder." The man nicknamed Littlefinger knew what he was talking about.

And in that chaos, many, including the hero, managed to climb up the ladder. If there had been order, none of them would have gotten off so easily.

It's hard to imagine anyone else doing everything Ichigo did and surviving it. So many breaches of the law, battles, and Shinigami injuries. Undoubtedly, there were deaths left behind the scenes. Yet he got away with it all.

So I didn't rush to make grandiose plans straight out of the cradle. I simply grew, observed, and studied the world like any real child would.

I understood that I was born in a unique Spiritual Civilization. Even if it was described in the works of a Japanese author, those works only covered a few years through the eyes of a few individuals. That's it. But the reality around me was real—at least to me. And this reality had thousands of years of its own history.

Stories that could become "canon" are happening here every day in abundance—enough not for a single manga, but for an entire library. Battles take place outside Seireitei every second, and if you include the other two worlds, they number in the thousands.

And all of it boils and seethes, crossing from one world to another, intertwining into a tangled web. Fates are broken or strengthened, and world-changing events occur. Not as epic and impactful as Kurosaki Ichigo's, but still significant.

Just this understanding made me feel like an insignificant speck of dust... For now, just a speck, but in the future—a mountain! Or so I hoped, as a little not-yet-Shinigami but already an aristocrat.

So, I didn't complain, but instead listened and gradually learned. Here, there are their own norms, culture, and rules. Over the years, I didn't even voice a single complaint, something I quietly take pride in.

Hm, "war"...

It's written in the sand, mindlessly scrawled with sharp strokes. I erased what was written and tossed the stick aside. Tea time and pondering. Soon, a guest will arrive, and the calm will vanish. I should enjoy the quiet while I can.

Because my guest will be quite the handful... A guest, to be precise. A peer from a Noble Family, almost a neighbor, who's also bored, and her childhood plays tricks on her. Once a week, she consistently visits, and then, who knows what will happen.

Maybe we'll just drink tea and talk about lofty things, in her understanding, since she doesn't know much. It will lead to more amusing moments. She... is just like I would have been if I didn't have an adult's personality. A spoiled brat with a veneer of manners.

But she's fun, especially when she says something outrageous... Despite being so young, I'm glad to have her visit. After all, I do get bored sometimes. And so does she. It's hard to connect freely with the servants here, and the social statuses are strictly observed.

There aren't many of us peers from Noble Families, so we don't refuse interaction or at least maintaining ties. And I'm not a sociopath, so I don't lock myself in a basement to avoid guests.

I was peacefully enjoying my cup of tea when I noticed some commotion down below. A whole procession of servants and a couple of palanquins appeared beneath the tree canopy. The family crest in the shape of a triangle made me sigh.

"Master," - came a quiet voice from behind the paper door. - "Young Mistress Asano has arrived."

From the palanquin below, a mischievous figure of a girl popped out. Without caring about her surroundings, she stuck her tongue out at someone inside the palanquin.

"Yes, I see," - I chuckled and placed the cup on the table.

The girl noticed me from the second-floor window and her face immediately lit up with a smile. She waved both hands at once, her loud voice ringing across the area:

"Hey, Sujin! This Chiyo is here to visit!"

I waved back and gestured for her to come up. Meanwhile, someone down there couldn't stop grumbling, trying to lecture the little one. But she wasn't easily swayed. Even from the second floor, I could clearly hear her ringing voice.

"Who's getting the rods here?! This Chiyo will give you a good whacking herself!"

Rolling up her sleeve, the girl bent her arm at the elbow, pretending to threaten with a small fist. More murmuring from the palanquin. The girl snorted:

"This Chiyo is well-behaved! And Sujin is my friend, I can talk to him however I want!"

What amused me most was the other servants. I could easily spot their trembling shoulders and gleaming eyes. They really seemed to enjoy their mistress's mischievous behavior.

It's a shame their faces are hidden behind veils with the family seal. I'm sure the suppressed smiles are something to see. Another trend for the lower servants, like we're all one and the same. Or something like that, I never quite understood it.

Just as I know, but haven't yet seen, the regulars from the Kido Corps love to dress up. It's better not to mention the ninjas from the Secret Operations Division. Also, the Guards of the 46th Council conceal their faces... Those who stand at every entrance with special spears. Aristocrat guards like to dress the same way too. Damn, they really love staying anonymous!

The argument downstairs suddenly stopped. Chiyo had literally walked away from the conversation. She ran toward the house. The palanquin lowered, and I finally saw an old woman emerge from it, with a bunch of gray hair at the back of her head and such a sour face that I could almost taste lemon on my tongue.

The sound of a running guest echoed through the corridor as the door burst open, revealing the out-of-breath girl. Her flushed face and bright, pearly smile, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hey, Sujin!"

It's impossible not to smile back when someone is so happy to see you and grinning like that. And so I smiled, watching as she adjusted her already perfect hairstyle. Long black strands framed her face, which had almost lost its childish puffiness. Dimples appeared in her cheeks when she smiled, and her gaze was clear. This is Asano Chiyo, the mischievous little princess.

Even now, she's already threatening to grow into a real beauty. A beauty by my standards, like the future Yoruichi—now that's a stunner. I don't understand why here the ideal is the same as Hisana Kuchiki... Or Rukia.

Many here like that type. Flat-chested girls with gaunt faces and huge eyes… I bet Byakuya Kuchiki was so fed up with Yoruichi when they were kids, it turned into a trauma.

But everyone has their own tastes. Not my business. Anyway, looking at Chiyo now, I imagined more of the woman she would grow into rather than the little cutie she is now.

And there's no sexual subtext here. It's just easier for me to communicate with her as an equal, rather than pretending to be superior. A mistake all transmigrants make with children, from what I read in my past life.

Looking down on everyone, thinking you know more than everyone else...

Why be such a pompous jerk? Teaching and raising subordinates from childhood? You just remember a little more due to reincarnation, you know? A few years of knowledge from a past life and some foresight into the future don't make you a god. If you think about it, the people around you, those who aren't children, are about the same level of intelligence as the transmigrant. So why is the transmigrant the one who's considered great, and not the others? Inflated self-importance, in my opinion, nothing more.

That's what I keep in mind when I talk to peers.

"Hi, Chiyo," - I raised my tea cup in her honor. – "How's it going? Got tired of being lectured?"

"Hee-hee-hee," - she covered her laughter with her kimono sleeve as she approached. – "One day this Chiyo will bite the annoying old woman. She'll bite hard!"

"I'm already scared for the poor old lady."

"Pfft," - she turned her nose up. – "Be on my side, Sujin! On my side!"

"And what do I get out of that?" – I couldn't suppress a smile.

The girl quickly looked around, leaned in slightly, and still covering her mouth, whispered:

"I know how much you love jam... This Chiyo brought a little bribe."

"Oh?" – my tone of interest made everything clear to her.

"Have you ever tried cherry blossom jam? The season just passed..."

"Bite her," - I nodded seriously, giving her a free pass for her mischief. – "Bite her completely. Say it was me."

We giggled, but just a couple of minutes later, I learned that Chiyo knew the price of her words. A true little aristocrat. A small clay pot of cherry blossom jam was brought along with a new batch of tea. Even the label, with golden ties, looked like something elite. Now, that could truly be called a bribe.

So I didn't need to bite old women now, right? Or say I did? That was a joke, wasn't it?